Single As A Pringle Ready To Mingle

‘13aa1’7!2,^№+2.3304 > 2^[54._⅕^0]

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I can afford two 8 balls. Believe you me I’ve been weighing them up big time. That’s a quarter of an ounce of cocaine. Enough money, at the prices I pay, to keep me in the bare essentials (cigs, bills, beer and food) for weeks and weeks.

I could even buy a bit of clobber with any surplus, such as combat shorts, Kappa socks, or 4XXXL Slazenger T-Shirts.

Slazenger is the cheapest of the cheap, but it’s a nice fit, and if it gets stained on day one with Ribena, or pulped raspberries, or truth untold a girl’s lipstick, then it’s no great shakes is it. Ruining a £50 Weekend Offender jumper is different.

I could buy a hoover (really need one), a laptop (for graphic design) or a music station (to play jazz on). Loads of options there. But the finances, as depressing as it is going window shopping the day after beak, is not the half of it. It’s not a fraction of it.

It’s the pleasure. And the subsequent suffering. Cause and Effect.

If I engage with my devil in arms, a woman who leads me astray from next door, it’s a sordid activity steeped in sheer perverse pleasure all day long. When I finish, there are consequences to that pleasure. On the estate, primarily, but also in the wider world. I hear suffering all around me.

I think its because my perps get busy with torture and kidnap or whatever it is that they do within earshot to hurt me. I am helpless to intervene because the empty hollowness with follows drug-induced sexual pleasure reeks of powerlessness.

So I have to lump it. But it makes me wonder. Is the suffering I perceive, in my two days of psychosis which arises, a direct response to all the pleasure I have experienced. Can so much joy, well it’s not quite joy, but you know what I mean, go unpunished?

After all, it’s not fair, is it? Why should I be able to do that while other people work for a living, in sweatshops and factories and plantations and all that?

Think of sexually-repressed librarians, for example. They cannot give up their family or work lives and lug their junk around all day, can they, or flick their bean? So why should I get all the good times?

I’m in a very privileged and lucky position (jobless, yet sustained, with plenty of free time) to be able to indulge in the most simplistic of enjoyable endeavours for multiple hours upon multiple hours at a time.

When I go without, and resist, other people get to have the pleasure. They might masturbate for a harmless five minute session before work, or play tick in the park, or treat themselves to comfort food shopping. Do you see what I’m getting at, a cosmic scale of karmic levelling up?

Of course the whole world is not about me, but the small synthetic reality befitting my tiny bubble is. It’s about me and nothing damn else apart from hurting me.

Just thinking, that’s all. Does someone pay for pleasure, with pain? Maybe not even the same person, but others. Perhaps these energetic fields of human emotions are like a weather chart. Heatwave followed by storm. Sunshine followed by rain. Rainbows followed by hailstone.

Who knows? I been working this out myself. It would explain a lot.