![]() ![]() When I try to write something that isn’t camouflaged beneath layers of metaphor, irony, post-modern self-referential other-hyphenated-buzzword-flashy-literature-bullshit and basically verbal memes that let me say what I say without saying that I was saying what I’m saying so if anyone asked what I was saying I could say “jus’ sayin’” That hamstring-muscle tingley tension flies up when I try to write something like this. I have a tendency to binge drink, but I also justify it to myself as being “better than psychoactives” or “better than SSRI’s” or “better than self-harming” or anything else that has ever replaced whiskey and Spirograph designs of self-doubt that leave me awake 36+ hours straight rotating rubix cubes in my brain or interlocking tetrominos (double-word score for tetrominos) A lot of that comes down to the stuff I put in my stomach. ![]() Tonight I was at a constant pull between what I think is right, and what I want. Life is Stretch-Armstrong corn syrup tension between these opposites. Tension is the only word I can find for what it is. That’s the difference between who you are and who you want to be. Until your whole core strains and quivers with tension. When you’re doing stretch drills in gym class and you have to split your left and right leg out as far as you can until it hurts. Obviously this is weapons-grade bullshit. That typing on Facebook or texting my friends is the same thing as “writing” because it’s easier than facing the fact that I’ve spent ten years wanting to do something that I’ve spent ten years avoiding doing. I convince myself that I’m not wasting my talents. ![]()
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