Addendum : My Latest Move

I completely neglected to mention what my latest move is! Now, you may ask, what is the reason for spilling the beans in the first place?

I’m moving away from the things that are really bothering me in my life, and for that I am proud, joyed! I have made a list, and it might have been documented by someone, hard to say, and on that list are things that will be noted, then scratched and finalized. No longer a nuisance, see. I mean, if you allow things to continually be a nuisance, how can you really continue your term as a functioning creature in this very world? I, for one, find it hard, very, really.

So from this moment forward, you and then I will see changes in and outside of myself that may very well determine the fate of myself and quite possibly that of others, see! My roommates will surely not notice any difference, even as they are up in the morning and chirping and laughing and being dishonest with themselves, as they live their lives that are surely jokes to practically everyone who is not them! I will do my best to not give away my secret to them, because as you know it is not in my best interest, for me to change my current situation, to let them in on any fantastical revelations which would surely improve the quality of their lives and everyone around them, the hims and hers they deal with often and those very people who I have no interest in assisting.

I will add, you see, that if I consider myself one day to be kind enough to reveal this revelation in order to improve their situation, I will, but I will have to give that more than quite a bit of thought. I mean, these are the ties that bind, and they bind tightly!

Note to Self : Don’t Worry About Him, Next to You

That person very well is thinking the same thing about that thing that you’re thinking about, and what if he isn’t?  Then he is, as they say, a lost cause.

I can’t allow myself to be distracted by what I can’t control.  In Miami, where the roads all go nowhere and even if they go somewhere the end is not that pretty, that person next to you isn’t worried about a THING.  Think about where you are — no, wait, don’t, because no one else does!  It doesn’t make a difference anyway.

Unless you believe in things like idle conversation, don’t fall prey to opening your mouth and filling the air and heads of others with chatter, because it’s mindless, see, and it won’t get you or them anywhere.

I’ve got too many things going through my head right now too worry about this.  Move on, please!

Interlude : Tune In, Tune Out

I won’t take up very much of your time here, because I know your time is limited, as is mine. But I must say I don’t give away much about my life. I don’t keep many friends, see, so that makes it easier to keep my aura enclosed. But I feel I need to discuss my predilection for drugs, narcotics, to describe to you why they are necessary. If I don’t think about these things, no one else will, so I will take the time from my busy schedule to spin a bit of a yarn for you right here.

I don’t have a lot of things in my life that motivate me. Major world issues, going to birthday parties, sunlight — I’m mostly unflappable in the face of these items that often drive others to act. But I can get twisted with the best of them, and it gives me reason to go. Really, it can almost be said by me that what most people might refer to as narcotics and as addictive are not narcotics and not addictive to me: rather, necessary tools for keeping myself on an even keel. If the doctors won’t help me out — and they haven’t to date, see — than I can find someone to provide me with the necessary tools to stay on the up and up. Which means, on occasion, unfortunately, I must make a trek. And for this exercise, I will don my mask.

The heat is a nuisance when I have my mask on. From the moment I walk out into the open, the heat tries to dictate what my mask and I want to do, and that really is to mind our own beeswax thank you! When squarely tackling the agenda, the first thing on my mind is layering — progress! I mean, progress happens in layers; you peel off layer after layer until you get down to the core deed. If self-satisfaction lies at the core, and I have a sneaking suspicion it does, yes, then I will get to it by peeling the layers back, until I get to the last one–

Mask. The heat aggravates me so and the mask will not talk back to the heat (or to me, really), so I must be the aggressor. I am angry with the heat, and the heat fills me when the anger sets in, so much so that the mask becomes a burden, and it is not meant to be the burden — it saves me, often, the layer of protection being the final layer, until I get to the core, my destination.

I never make it a point to go farther than I need to go. If I ever give myself the impression, and I often do, that I am going too far, I will resort to all available options to rectify and simplify. This happens to be a short trip, forward and just far enough sideways. In the end I get what I want, regardless.

The first burst is a good one, straight through the heart and landing squarely in the mind, and distributed to all extremities and follicles from there. Then the second, I mean, it compounds the situation, and it purports my decision. From there I continue on as need be, but as always occurs, it should not end and should always begin. The best is first, then the rest.

In the middle, well, it just flows and flows.

I ensure the best; I try before I buy. I won’t allow it any other way. I have standards, see.

At the end of the journey, I take my mask off to see the results. (No, you can NOT see me now without it on — that is a step we are not yet ready to take, see!) I am not very often uncomfortable with my decision to get to where it is that I got to. And once that gratification has settled in, found a place to lie comfortably, the rest can do the same. It almost doesn’t matter what happens then — my standards fall to their lowest points, and I wait.

Now we both have work to do, taken from our respective list of duties, so please finish me up here and I’ll be on my way …

Chapter L, as in Lying for a Living

I haven’t had a good day in a while, or, when I do have a day that’s somewhat promising, the next ends up being monumentally worse. I mean, it always could be worse, but I’ve never been one to trick myself into being optimistic. That would be akin to lying to myself.

On a morning-ly basis you can attempt to rectify this: you can pump yourself up with notes next to your nightstand that you see as soon as you open your eyes, you can jump out of bed and pump false confidence into your brain and pump your fists in the air, dress yourself up for success, or treat yourself to a nice waffle and ham. There’s orange juice, vitamins, supplements, cleaning out the ear wax, all signs of progress and hope that preparation is the cure-all.

If I could get out of bed in the first place, really. It’s insurmountable. For one thing, those people outside my door. These are the things they do every day, and I can hear them. Even if I was out of bed before them, I would see them soon after, their ignorant optimism. I really think they’re lying to themselves and they know it. I really do.

What kind of person lies to himself or herself or itself, then? A person without morals. See, if you can convince yourself to lie to yourself, I mean, to convince your emotional personality self of something your logical self knows is not true, are you not the snake among snakes, really? And I just don’t want to join snakes at the dinner table, if that makes sense to you, and I hope it does.

So it makes more sense for me to lay there: forget the motivational messages, the false acts of kindness to myself. I’m going to stay true to myself, let myself stay down. It’s the only way to retain my integrity, really.

Chapter A, as in A Country of our Own (Lets Get A)

Miami is it’s own country that mixes all sorts from across its borders via boats and planes (and even plains one would argue although I won’t here). Inside the limits of the downtown, peoples from those cultures have formed a shameless culture of their own that defines the city to outsiders. When I go downtown, I think of the Miami I see on television. I mean, it’s fine for them. They can do what they want.

Drift a bit outside of the downtown — well, you don’t want to do that. In reference to other areas around the world that can be called metropolitan, the dropoff from inside to outside is drastic. The culture or lack thereof, and I do really mean that, manifests itself in ways that will color you differently. It makes you want to stay inside. See, it makes ME want to stay inside, so oftentimes I do.

If you’re a walker — and I do have able legs — this is the reason to stay put. There’s nowhere to go. You walk hours on end and you’re back where you started. That is, if your legs can move in the first place. A lot of that is in how you prepare, and in my mind, preparation is futile.  But I’m not going to get down aboutit.
My roommates, well, they don’t make it any easier. They remind me of why I don’t walk, because if I do, I will learn more than I should. And I will turn into them. And turn on myself. I really think that.

So in case you haven’t noticed I’m keeping myself sharp for the upcoming strategy, the one I have yet to utilize but surely will come in handy — I mean, I always prepare and today and tomorrow are and will be no different, because I assure you there will be some movement among all parties involved and I you know am involved, I really am involved, sometimes I wonder if I am too involved although I know that I have made these decisions for a reason, because when the chips are ready to fall I will not be, and that is the greatest feeling, to be looking back up something that can be deemed as disastrous without having that feeling of burden, being entrenched in it, as you stand safely beyond the outer ring with no responsibility for anything other than forward movement on your part and no one else’s parts.

I can already sense how things are going to shape up, I really can.

Addendum : In the Waiting Room

In Miami, there isn’t much to do outside of waiting, waiting around for something to happen. Inevitably it will, but you’re in for a wait. Days at a time. Most of the time, even when the weather beckons, it’s not even worth going outside. Because what you end up finding – people without goals, morals, untanned skin – won’t comfort you through the night or ultimately make your stay any better. If that stay is temporary, fine, you just burn a few days. But if you’re in it for the long haul, well, good luck. You’ll really need it.

See, it depends if ‘people’ are your thing. Some people get in to social interaction, or actually feel they need it to survive. Not me. Too much baggage. I mean, if I need to talk to someone to tell them what side of the stoop I need them to look toward to pick up my garbage, that’s one thing. Or which doorbell to ring when they’re delivering my pizza. But that’s not social interaction as much as social necessity. You can call it what you want. It doesn’t mean very much either way.

And, either way, you’re gonna bake in this place. Like a pumpkin seed. It affects you in more ways than one. I can’t think of a way in which i’m not affected. If you have layers to shed, start doing it before you get here. If you don’t, you’ll quickly see what I mean.

I’m in it for the long haul.

Addendum : Out of a Relationship

Outside of a relationship, I sometimes don’t know how to deal with girls. They take up a lot of time either way. You might as well get what you want from them, because they’re getting what they want from you.

See, I really believe that, but I don’t tell nobody. And there’s a reason for that: it’s called “social injustice”, and some people believe in it, but I don’t. I’m 31 years old and I don’t believe in much, but I do believe in things I can’t see, and I can’t see when someone is trying to take me for a ride. I used to like rides, but one time I got taken for a ride I will never ever forget. It was by this girl. It took me places I never thought of going, and in retrospect, places I probably never should have been. Because, and I really believe this, when you go to hell when you’re still alive there really ain’t no coming back. You touch on this thing called “social injustice” and you don’t come back, and not because you don’t want to come back, because maybe you do, or maybe you don’t.

Anyway, when you’re in a relationship, you’re getting taken, so you might as well balance that out by taking a chunk yourself. It’s life’s natural balance. Don’t fight it.

Note to Self : Don’t Worry About Playing Well With Others

See, I get extremely aggravated when my planets are not aligned — disregard that it seems as though my planets have permanently fallen out of orbit. I mean, lets talk about my personal living space: it’s the way I want it should be, especially regarding the current alignment! Things always fall into order as they may. If I were to, and I may, drop a handful of marbles on the table, they, those marbles, will each go a direction that makes the most sense regarding the particular path of that marble in that given moment! That is the way it should be. I will not try to stop that, I really won’t, and it’s a promise I don’t even need to make to myself.

But humans are warped, especially those others around me. If I were to take a handful of THEM, and if they fit into my hand I would do so, and drop them on the table, the first reaction would not be to move forward toward that most logical destination, but to stop dead in the tracks, look back, and ask the owner of that hand what exactly is that hand doing in the first place!

See, herein lies my problem. I’ve dealt with all that human goop obfuscating brain waves for far too long. The waves, my own waves, they don’t do me any harm, because I can receive them without residue. They only have a short distance to travel. But when those waves originate from another source, those sources I cannot and will not call my own, as they are directed towards me through the goop that has developed after years and years of training and experiential this-and-that, well, they just are very unattractive by the time I get a chance to decode them. So many times, I do not bother. I simply do not want all that goopy residue anywhere near my clean waves.

But I can’t continue to worry about this stuff, especially regarding the people who live around me. See, we are each entitled, as rulers of our own domains, to do as we will. I certainly would not want to take that away from anyone. But lets keep this in perspective: I have a job to do, and it has to do with number one, the head honcho,. not numbers two or three or five or whatever numbers that aren’t one.

I mean, it comes down to this: don’t call me insensitive if I won’t give proper thought to your problems. I have my own. They’re buried in there. I’m sitting on them, and letting them stew in the goop.

Chapter M, as in Beach, Nearby, Walk: Means Something Special

I’ve always had a thing for water. I mean, I like drinking it, and I like how it feels on my skin. Judging what I’ve seen from others who interact with water, water is a likable sort of thing. If water was a guy, I would buy it a beer, and if it was a girl, I would flirt with it and give it attention.

The sand is another story. It’s a love/hate relationship. I mean, it gets me closer to the water. Thanks for that. When sand is present, water is usually nearby. Not always, but usually, especially as is the case in Miami. If you have a sandbox, others are calling it a beach, because for all intensive purposes, that’s what it is. Lets see what Webster says about this, using the first two letters of the alphabet as a ranking system:

a : a shore of a body of water covered by sand, gravel, or larger rock fragments
b : a seashore area

Either of those is good enough for me. Regardless, when I’m lying on my bed looking up at the ceiling, I think about the proximity of the water to the sand. If I could get straight to the water and thereby dodge the sand, the situation would be a bit more appealing. It’s that barrier that kills me. See, it’s not only a distraction, but it leaves a residue — when I get back to my confines, it’s unwanted. It takes away from my nice memory of water, that residue in the proximity of my clothing and my parts. Lets see what the good book says about residue, and lets refer to the previous ranking system as a continuation thereof:

c : something that remains after a part is taken, separated, or designated or after the completion of a process

It feels good to complete a process, but I would argue — and I will here — that residue is unnecessary. It should be possible to complete a process without residue. And, if at all possible, and I really think it should be, I would do complete more processes if I didn’t have to give thought to the residue. The residue that exists from the other processes I have initiated, and this goes back to fifth grade, is such a distraction — and it still is, really — that I would prefer not to, in essence, initiate a new process. Prefer not, will not, unless pushed, and I refuse to be pushed at this point, even.

But if I didn’t have a thing for water, NONE of this would be an issue, see! But it is fruitless to ignore one’s motivations, including the irrational motivations that are driven by fear — scratch that, ‘a conscious decision to dislike’ — and to thereby never initiate that motivation!

Because things must be this way, I will continue to have this push-and-pull within myself regarding this issue. All the more reason to stay inside.

The Doctors Office : Act 1

Few things get my heart racing like a trip to doc’s chair. Everyone has fun. Scratch that — I have fun, who cares about the rest. Put the feet up, pass me the candy bowl, sheet’s gonna start flyin’ out of my head without me even straining a brain cell.

Preparation starts in the home when I decide what to wear. Presentation is the first impression: I can accentuate my emotions with color or lack thereof; I can show how open or closed I am based on the clothing type. Then it’s the facial hair — what to do with it. I can show the conservative shaven look, the sloppy and unstable unshaven look, the well-manicured shit-together look, the I’m-a-freaking-timebomb billy goat chin hair.

See, if I don’t think about these things, he who is deemed to judge me will judge me. I think that, I really do. And I’d rather be judged by my words, as crazy as they may be, and I’m thinking about that. I walked up the stairs with that in mind, and my mind is buzzing too much for me to notice the wet-paint sign on the wall. (Now I’ll be judged as the one who lacks attention to detail, because only those loose in the head don’t notice white paint on an unclothed arm.)

I opened a door. The first thing I see is a black curly haired dog that sees me and says nothing. I appreciate that, I really do, because dogs set me off. I like them sitting in an elevated position and looking away from me — that’s closer to me and further away from me at the same time. I sit down and do not sit on a cat. I can’t handle a cat right now, and it seems they pop up during times such as these.

So, lets not make a production out of the introduction: it started long ago, ten-plus years in fact. No, make that twelve. No, lets rewind to fifth grade. That’s when things started happening, and that’s the most logical correlation to my activity right now. As long as I can tie a thread between then and, forty-five minutes later, now. That’s the only thing I need to remember to do. If I do that, I will get my way, appear sane, and get my drugs. I don’t even know if I want drugs but I’ve made that my goal. It feels good to have goals.

In short, I made a production out of the entire production. See, I have to appear in control, even in front of the slightly condescending, nodding head. The grin, the furrowed eyebrows, the pencil jotting and tapping. I try not to get distracted by his shoes, the dog, or what’s happening outside that window that I look out of while I spew things from my insides. I’m just biding time. In a month, I don’t expect anything to be different, do I, really do I? But I’m not worried about that now — I’m spinning a yarn, heading toward the goal line.

I left the office ten minutes later than scheduled. I look at the white paint on my arm; it is dry. Not surprisingly enough, the sun is hiding, as per usual for this time of year, but at least it is not raining. I don’t like to carry an umbrella when I obviously have a lot of other things I’m carrying, although I do feel I could carry it right now because I left everything else on the floor of that office. Maybe the dog is licking up the remnants as I speak. Even though I’m not speaking.