I am trying not to post a fourth one today, but i can’t stop typing because it feels so good. I’m not that good at shutting the fuck up when I'm in a mood like this. there was a post that I put up late the other night, when I was having insomnia and frustrations with life. i took it down before anyone woke up and could read it, but I want to actually post it because I like the style of it. it’s crazy, because I'm crazy, so I'm going to pull it out of the trash and let it out there.
Dump Truck
this isn’t getting cleaned up by any editing robot. it won’t touch content like this without censoring and mercilless butchering. I'm a better writer than chat gpt could ever hope to be, I've spent a fair amount of time battling with it, and my work is better 10 out of 10 times. this is raw like when I first got started with this whole writing trip and it needs to stay that way.
“I need a dumptruck, baby to unload my head” -Bob Dylan
let me just rip, man. I cant fuckin sleep, and honestly i don’t even want to. once you hit that point and you just realize it’s going to be an all nighter, and you’re waiting for tomorrow so you aren't the only one on the planet anymore.
I've been through a lot these last few weeks. I've been through a lot these last few months. I've been through a lot these last ten years, or even these 37, damn near 38.
in the winter of 2022, i got stabbed, ended up homeless, hospitalized for 3rd degree burns, and hit by a swift moving beige Honda. all of that and it wasn’t even April yet. I never even processed it, because i was busy living the next nightmare of being addicted to crack cocaine, heroin and air duster on the street all summer, the next nightmare that i haven’t processed. sleeping on piles of cardboard where the rats scurry by your face.
in the last year since pulling out of that nightmare (somehow), I've had doctors shooting craps with my brain chemistry like my mental state is some fucking Atlantic city, neon light hell hole. They got me a speed habit with Adderall and Ritalin, and they nullified my humanity with a heavy load of powerful anti-psychotics. in the past year: I’ve had times where i wanted to kill myself, I've had stretches where anxiety attacks took me out of body at around 12:13 every single day. I got manic and did karaoke on tik tok for 3 days straight without sleeping, and i cant even watch it. sometimes I think about comitting myself to the umpteenth inpatient psychiatric ward, like it’s going to make any difference. I think to myself, fuck it it'll be crazy here where i can listen to the stones on my phone, and get wrecked in online fighting game matches. fuck sitting in a psych ward with none of those comforts, eating pudding, Seroquel and graham crackers.
it’s always “oh the meds”, “what meds are you on”, “lets change your meds, you just got to get the right meds”
arrghhhh MEDS.
maybe the diagnosis is just the human condition, twisted into a descriptor of something that makes me a square peg… maybe it’s the fault of the people putting round holes all over the place, assholes.
listen to me, I'm as fucking crazy as I've ever been, and I don't know when the last time was when I had sufficient treatment for my mental illnesses was. I don’t want to believe its never been handled, because then i go on thinking it’s never going to be handled, thoughts like that:
“it’s a little more than enough to make a man throw himself away” -Jimi Hendrix
It’s all mine, baby , and I'm all alone with it.
I'm a different person than I was two hours ago, fuck what the last decade changed me into, and out of.
I'm still a man that knows his way around the language with a keyboard though. I can write like a motherfucker, and so i am, and so i will. do you know what I'm getting at? I'm trying to get free, and right now as these thoughts come through me without an actual thought I am free. in this moment I'd like to report a freedom that i didn’t know existed until I started really practicing regularly.
i discovered at some point in the last year, that I'm an artist. this is my art. now i have no choice but to make it, so that i don’t feel so empty.
“keep writing ev”- people
well, alright. since you insist.
i want to get away from all of it, all of the chemicals from nicotine to dextroamphetamine and caffeine. I want to shave my head and give out the Bhagavad Gita in Washington square park. at least those motherfuckers seen to know what to do with themselves. I want to eat 7 grams of mushrooms on a cranberry bog, figure out that nothing is everything, and I'm everything and nothing.
a leaf in the stream, fuck it.
I know everything about absolutely nothing, and i get off on telling you about it.
since you insist.
I'm going to try to fall asleep to ambient music, fuck this.
i think that i did fall asleep to ambient music after writing that, I must have. I know that i took it down before I went to sleep that night, because i didn’t want to worry anyone. now that I read it, I can tell that it’s written in a voice that I've cultivated over these past few years that is very much mine, which I why I wanted to post it. I may not be in precisely the same mood that I was when I wrote it, but I can’t really argue with what it says.
OH YEAH:
imagine, a way that you could help the guy who dumps his head out onto the internet all of the time, so that he can continue to do just that…well, you don’t have to imagine it because it’s possible, in modern reality to buy me a coffee. i would be willing to bet that you would feel very good, having contributed to my personal wellness, plus, i would feel very good and also very thankful: https://ko-fi.com/evr0ck17
