i can never make up my mind whether i am such a mess because of all the drugs i have taken over the years or whether i take drugs because of my life.  i find it hard to cope without getting stoned everyday even though i know it fucks me up even more. i kid myself that i am doing research on a number of different  'personal' levels and that i shouldn't worry so much that a lot of the time i can't form a cohesive sentence... when i close my eyes i feel like i am in a dark closet screaming.
i don't have many friends, although over the years i have had my fair share.  the problem with me is i tend to get bored or dissappointed easily.  it is my own fault and i don't blame the people who i meet.  i just think i have a long way to go before i come to terms with my own judgementalism.  if people treated me nearly as badly as i treat myself (and others) i would have topped myself by now!
 
 

I've grown fins as sharp as shards of glass that when I breathe cut people who get too close to me. I watch them draw back and bleed and I am glad of the space they leave.

people say it is amazing that i haven't already.  it is true that i often feel like killing myself but i just get stoned and forget about it.  one good thing about short term memory problems is that you don't stay upset for long because you can't remember what triggered the pain in the first place.  pain needs something to feed off, it dies if you don't feed it.

i'm no different to anybody else. i have my moments when i think everything is going to turn out okay and life is going to be wonderful. i have a habit of trying to reform and then backsliding spectacularly and of shooting myself in the foot so that i won't succeed at anything i attempt.  Just to prove that i am a complete dickhead here is something that i wrote some years back when i took up meditation in earnest (yet again).  you can tell that even then i knew i was kidding myself.

TAKE THE MANTRA AND RUN

..."Ok so that was the way it was and I ain't going back!   Why should I?  It's just another point of  view?  A dark perspective.
Life is different for me now.
There has been no change in my circumstances yet - but I'm confident there will be; wheels in motion and all that.
OPTIMISM - so this is what it feels like eh?!
Do you know?  Have you ever experienced it? It's a bloody miracle for me, let me tell you!
Don't get me wrong.  I haven't found religion - no, nothing like that, well not really.
And it's not as if life has suddenly taken on new meaning for me.
I haven't discovered any true purpose or anything like that.  In fact, I still think it's a crock of shit but now it doesn't seem to bother me so much.
Now I've got somewhere to go and it's not The Good Samaritans and it ain't the Pub.  It's me!  Yeah me!  This weirdo shit-kicker with no furture and no past.  I've discovered this place inside myself that wraps it's arms around me and gives  me little love pecks on my soul until I feel better.
It's just like resting in my mothers arms... maybe not.
It's like reclining in a big armchair with lots of cushions behind me in front of a roaring fire in the dead of
winter.  It is a sanctuary.
You know though, it's not that easy.  You've really got to want it enough to do it.
Do you know what I mean?  It's like, it doesn't matter how good something is for you, if you're
more interested in beating yourself up than respecting yourself then that's probably what you
are going to do, until you move the groove.

It doesn't come easy, no Sirreee.  I'm a girl who likes her misery, for example.  It isn't easy
for someone like me to let go of their worries; my aches and pains, my tortured soul and say "OK
that's enough shit for one life time, give me something good now!"
I tend to want to hang onto the crap and have a couple of minutes every now and then of bliss.
But now, with my 'twenty minutes a day' I'm  finding I can't maintain my glumness, the panic,
the pathos.  It's being replaced by a calm centredness.
Frightening really.
My horizons don't always have to have the sun setting on violence and debauchery anymore.  I
can live another way, another life.  It's going to be fulfilling, with the sounds of children laughing
and the spray of the surf and the golden globe of the sun settling into the sea...

Maybe, I hope, kind of.
 

you see how deluded i can be?  i can't remember how long that particular goodness and light period lasted - not long i would guess, they never do.  it doesn't take longer than 3 months usually before i end up back in the poo, up to my neck in it.
weird the way that happens, i DO set out with the best intentions but then i tend to sabotage my life so that i will feel bad again, justified to return to the bad habits; at least thats the way i can't seem to help feeling about myself, like i am a total fucking nutcase that revels in feeling bad and getting wasted... even in my best moments i have little flashes of evil telling me to "forget all this 'goodness' whatever that is anyway and get back into drugs and debauchery - go on! ya know ya want to do it! ya know that's who you really are, you're just kidding yourself that you can be/are any different..."
 
 

Clean White Sheet ‘In your mind’s the place to go’, I think, ‘Free the light of it’s darkening edges’, I urge. Create a world, clean, pristine, sublime, untouched. A secret place an inner fold, a warm environment for you to hatch plans and snuggle into; love of shallow breathes and quiet quiet. “The clean white sheet” I chant. The storming nightmare rages rolling bells toll with prescience; like from some old ghost movie, black and white, from the days of Yawn. The sick hollow feeling of a ride taken too rough A trip that brings up the yuk - A raw fuck up the arse in some divey joint on King Street. The deluge of Skivvy bile blustering in the storms eye, the nightmare blizzard of beggared hopes and dreams. Living off the spit and kick of the dominant marauding bitches who bully the streets with their gruff  “I AM’s”. This is the element of power that forces the storm; the I AM contingent that whips me blood raw though unrepentant; the haters of everything that has, will or might, the loathers of every thing and every one. They dervish through my brain in a frenzied harlot wreaking mess of coiled and sprung, tangled and knotted ideas and ideals, strung together, coagulated in parts and now, utterly amorphous yet shifting in rapid time. Creating the din I want to escape from to the land of freedom, over there, some place new, in my head. I want to escape from by going inside. My soul aches like a child alone suddenly insecure and wanting it’s mother. A safe place to rest, regenerate, in a quite way. To stretch and feel warm in my mind.

 

i guess it is lucky that when i was growing up one of my brothers who taught me 'kung fu' also taught me about Tao because knowing about the 'flow of life' has helped me to survive, to bend like bamboo without breaking, to have inner strength, even when consciously i am fucking up and in turmoil.  having said that, i want to make clear that i don't really know anything about kung fu or Tao except 'it hurts when you get hit and life is what you make it'.

I think the problem is that i have done too much; in my need to understand and learn and grow as quickly as possible (too impatient by far, that's me) i have burnt myself out.  for example... i had cancer a couple of years back (i had it lasered out and the whole medical experience/life crisis was enough to put me off getting sick ever again! ... which is another example of creating learning experiences for myself that i will mention briefly - i think i got cancer because i wanted to mirror the pain that i felt emotionally in a physical way. when i was sick people used to tell me that life never dishes you out anything that you can't swallow... i could, at this point diverge into my theory about swallowing, but i won't) ... so i went to work for an AIDS organisation, i made lots of friends who had AIDS and as i always do, dumped everyone who had been a part of my life prior.  I worked really hard, burning myself out, hanging out with guys who were HIV positive... it didn't really bother me that there were people dropping like flies around me - although some of the life stories i heard were harrowing and tragic, i took it all in my stride, i'd seen death before and came close to experiencing my own (not only from cancer which was the big scare but also with drug overdoses which weren't nearly so scarey, possibly because they were self inflicted and/or because i was stoned out of my brain when they were happening... except for that one time when i thought i was in hell... but thats another story :)), but then MY friends started to die, it seemed that the ones i was closest to all kicked off at around the same time. it was a hideous experience. "the pain! the pain!"  i thought it would kill me! lol
 
 

The Wake I would not die, did not die, although you did. I watched your eyes cloud and wondered where you went. That night I tried to buy Smack and none of my contacts would sell it to me Honour amongst thieves?! The only substance for abuse I could procure was Ecstasy - how ironic - I thought you must’ve had a hand in that! So I went out and had a good time Table dancing for free at Virgin Mary’s cock and tail bar I let a drunken butch girl growl me out in the toilets while her girlfriend banged hysterically on the door. I didn’t feel a thing even though I was high as a kite it didn’t affect me, I felt detached. Early the next morning I walked home then sat staring at the walls  thinking, ‘funny, nothings changed’ Three months passed while I sat there thinking ‘nothing’s changed’… but by then, of course, everything had.

HIV/AIDS Dirge Karposi’s Sarcoma Toxoplasmosis CMV MAC PCP … “But he said he loved me.”

i could hardly move for months after that.  i quit my job - i faxed the office where i was working and told them i was taking time off permanently, to kill myself.  they sent the dudes in the white coats around to capture me but i didn't answer the door and they went away - "phew!"
the ironic thing is that the guy who hurt me the most when he died didn't get sick because he had AIDS - even though he was HIV positive, he died because he got 'gay-bashed' by a bunch of skinheads who hurt him so bad the doctors said he had injuries akin to a serious car accident. when he came out of the coma i was the only person he recognised. i felt obligated to visit him at least once everyday for 9 months until he died... i used to walk home from the hospital bawling my eyes out the whole way, wanting to kill, to smash, to slash and burn... sometimes i was rabid with despair and hatred. i am a bit of a drama queen i admit.  Anyhow, that was all a few years ago now, and although it still hurts i am no longer sitting in a corner shaking my head wondering what the hell this world is all about... well not often.