Not sure

Everything that follows is fiction, as it this entire blog.

It is so boring to not be under the influence, sometimes anything will do. I feel like a bottle of rum, got up at 10am and might as well have stayed in bed for how little I've done since then. Haven't smoked in so, so long. Well it's been about a month, due to money. Once I'm paid I'll reap the rewards of this tolerance break. Haven't wrote much lately, got plans for a graphic novel, about some sociopath who wears a childs superhero outfit and ends up in some basement bar dungeon type setting inflicting harm on some more than willing participants and consuming a lot of chemicals along the way. Just finished a pot of coffee, could do with another but it'd take time to prepare.

I went to the cinema a couple of days ago and saw Stanley Kubricks 'The Shining', it also inspired me to re-read the book, so I'm juggling between that and The Executioners Song.

Everything else that follows is fiction...just written to exercise my mind.

I'm dropping out of the world anyway, for a while again. I hate other people who do that. I've got some friends who are so caught up in their social anxiety and general ineptitude when it comes to people, that going to the shops to buy a frozen pizza feels like an ordeal. It's not like that in my case, I just feel like I've been preoccupied by all these nights out, lost a lot of time and money and not really got anything in return. I watched my friend get thrown out of a club for being caught in a cubicle with some dude, I was pretty fucking angry for a bunch of reasons at the time and decided to stick around just to get smashed and drown any emotion.

We had ended up in a gay bar anyway, fuck. A lot of tequila in my system and I was in an unfamiliar city so I couldn't protest with the people around me, I had no idea where we were going from the start. I just wasn't feeling drag queens and chart music, so I found a corner and stayed there. Only people were trying to make conversation with me, I had got too smashed to hold a decent conversation and my throat was tired trying to talk over the 'time warp' or whatever was playing.

Sometimes it feels like a waste of time being at these house parties and bars where I don't really know anybody and feel as though I know myself less and less by the end of the night. Bars that charge £5 for a double vodka and coke and play music that feels like junk food for the soul. The kind of illuminati chart trash I have to listen to for twelve hours a day at work, I look forward to peace and quiet as much as I do a bong session when my shift ends. Work has got me in a kind of limbo state, between falling apart and keeping it together because I just have to, the alternative is complete failure. I need a decent amount of money put away by this time next year, I need something to show for my time in the most intense job I have ever taken on. So it's probably an idea to stop blowing money on bullshit like £5 vodka drinks all night.

Something splits me in half when I drink. I become aware of the one side of me that hates myself, and wants to hurt myself. That leaves me wanting to drag nails through the flesh on my arms and it's like steam pours out, the stinging takes over from the thoughts. The self loathing just blows me away and when it passes leaves a hollow sadness in its place. The other side is just a hot anger, say something that I don't like, that any other time I'd just overlook or not even notice, and I feel like I've made an enemy for life. I'm not a generally emotional person, mostly apathetic and uncertain, but alcohol seems to blow the lid that usually seals all my subconscious junk up far away.

So now I'm getting phonecalls I can't be bothered to answer, work I'm putting off and a kitchen that seriously needs cleaning. I think I'm going to start on that bottle of rum in an hour. My life is pretty fucking weird for a 23 year old, I always feel I stand out in a pretty bad way when I'm in a crowded room. I ain't going the same places as most the people around me, haven't got laid in over a year and I feel like just being me is a burden and disadvantage in itself.  Part of me loves the world, the incense burning book reading hippie who has nothing else to worry about but my weed stash running too low in me that can get along with everybody. But the awareness of what I am beneath all that, what I am physically sort of corrupts everything else.

There have been good times, the first time I ate shrooms, every song I have ever recorded and the casual sex with people who became complete strangers shortly afterwards. Viewed from the right angle all that stuff is great. I'm keeping more and more to myself, I think the last time I really, sincerely felt something for a girl, I was just a teenager. And I don't think teenagers have the greatest judgement, I sure wasn't an exception to the rule. Drinking Jack Daniels from the bottle in a park, with time for anybody who had time for me.

Relationships are not an option anymore anyway, I wouldn't want to inflict myself on anybody even if I could. And I truly can't. I talk some real shit when I get started, and I think there are people out there who actually read this thing...whoa. I'll probably apologies properly when I continue writing later.

I always grind to a kind of unexpected halt after I start writing, I hit a block and feel like I have nothing left to say, or that I don't want to make things worse than they are already, I'm not entirely sure of what I've typed so far but I'm sure I'll regret it later. Peace out.

X