Wasted-life-musings - Musings Of A Wasted Life

Chapter Something: Junkies Don’t Deserve Your Sympathy

Being a former drug addict ( not heroin though ) I can tell you a few things, and dont worry, I’ll be covering this subject again, and again...consider this a brief synopsis.

1.) Addiction isn’t real, nothings real, the world is completely inside your mind, if addiction is real, it’s because you made it real.  Yes there are physical addictions, so you sweat and puke a few days, man up

2.) It’s your body and mind, what you do with it is your choice, until that choice affects other lives.  See if I OD’d tomorrow, very few people would miss me, no ones lives are actually contingent on mine, when i show up home high and falling over myself, my kids dont miss school, i dont sell their playstation for a fix, i sell MY playstation.  Do whatever you want to yourself, that is your right, but you dont have the right to ruin other lives like the parasitic entity you are.

3.) Junkies are selfish children with victim complexes, dont believe me, talk to one.  It’s always daddy didnt hug me enough, mommy liked my brother more, etc.  They are histrionic nightmares completely absorbed in their fantasy world they’ve made for themselves ( much like people in holywood ) and they will justify everything they do as such.

4.) they will manipulate you, physically, emotionally, you will either be one of their many enemies and or notable mentions in their suicide note, or you’ll be an enabler when they hit some 12 step program, bottom line, they’re never the problem, but everything else is SUPER problematic.

5.) 12 step programs are bullshit, giving yourself up to a higher power and admitting you have no power over your problem, see victim complexes.  Thats just an excuse and removes any and all personal responsibility, much like a catholic going to confessional once a week after hes been a dick hole, youll be a selfish little child all week and fuck over everyone, then call your sponser crying, and then strangers in a meeting will hug you and tell you how its not your fault, and so on and so on, you will never change this way.

6.) Trading one addiction for another isnt being clean ( go ahead, ask me how i know, hey alcohol hurt my nose less atleast ) being manically happy and talking about jesus all the time doesnt fool me that you’re not thinking about that needle 24, and i know you’re not convinced, or youd shut the fuck up and get a hobby.

7.) and finally, there are 7 billion + people on Earth, hard working, intelligent, sad people, everybit as sad as you, and frankly, we dont need your 10th grade education junky ass in the genepool.  I refuse to cry when some junky i knew in a past life dies, all i can think is gee im glad he had 3 kids he didnt raise, im sure with their crackwhore mom and dead junky dad they’ll turn out JUST fine. 

( Remember Idiocracy? )

A Scanner Darkly (2006; Richard Linklater)

" Walter Benjamin, he wrote an essay titled: ' The Destructive Character ' in which he said ' The destructive character is cheerful and friendly, and knows only one motto, make room. ' and there is no moral value whatsoever in that...no good, no evil.  No apocalyptic ulterior motives associated with it, no war and destructive wrath." " There is nothing more than the need thereby recognized, that for all, for every, for anything new to emerge, the preconditions must first be created, the old must be eliminated, room must be made, and that's simply why destruction is needed. " - Blixa Bargeld, Einstürzende Neubauten

Sometimes you find amazingly talented people on youtube, here’s my youtube crush I’ve never talked to, she’s a much better guitar player than me....

Ur the man

Love you too

The previous night brodie dreams hes in a jail the size of a continent, rolling hills of barbed wire, he dreams that the inmates sleep stacked like firewood wrapped in shroud, on different levels of raised platforms in one open room, he dreams of a rec time only held on the roof, men marching in circles, he can see the snow laden fields housing a grizzly sea of endless rooftops.  He watches the smoke roll out of the chimneys and crash to the ground as he feels the cold play xylephone with his bones.  The smoke below joins and dances in a wispy procession of some grotesque marching orgy, it smells of salt and rust.  He dreams of scaling down the wall  and sneaking off, dreams of draining small amounts of his blood into stolen jars, he buries each only elbow deep in the frozen ground with a stone hes named pell mell.  he dreams he cuts off a finger here, and a toe there, with a single stolen knife from the kitchen and hides them in various locations, so that when he dies his spirit can recall his steps and rebuild his mortal coil.  He dreams of a great tube fluttering down from the sky, driven into the ground on one end with force, he sucks on the other end and siphons the sickly pink hued souls of unrest through the tube into a coffee can.  The coffee can fills too full and the slime spurts out with such force it flings him high into the air, as the land comes crashing forward, he wakes.

Dream Journal

Last night I dreamt I had a jar of black flies ( you know, the ones that bite ) and my job was to keep adding flies, but only keep so many alive, while killing the rest. Id open the lid fast and mash my hand in and kill so many and scoop them out then add more live ones.  Apparently my subconscious brain likes to tie math to living shit or something.

Dream Journal

Last night I dreamt that I was trying to create matter and life, I’m not sure if I was rebuilding the Earth because it was destroyed, if I was god, or what.  I was in a place filled with bags of powdered material, which I had to combine with water to make different things.  Like, for example I had a bag of cow meat dust, and a bag of bone dust, and I would measure these out and mix with water and shape to recreate a cow.

Your guess is as good as mine.