The following quotes all displayed in italics are cut from a larger piece of writing, a novel I birthed a few weeks ago, a novel that needed some serious, serious surgery in order to be semi-adaptable to the commercial constraints of this terribly rigid and still moral-driven society. There is probably much more to come because I tend to have an urgency of the mouth, or the keyboard as it were, saying too much out of a fear of not saying enough, a grand display of my fatally flawed indecisiveness, my paralyzation, afraid to choose a particular course of action or fork in the road for want of the other one and the other one down the line, tangents not humored get forgotten and I absolutely hate to think about all my roads not taken. It's my purgatory really, knowing not exactly how to act, or not act as it were, wishing and hoping for the chance to indulge them all, all the paths, anywhere that might lead me to experience, experience that might ultimately fulfill me sometime somewhere, experience that might fill the pages that regret would otherwise fill. I want to say it all, leave nothing out, because the way I say it, the exact feeling and tone that I use, might never have been said before. It's hard to know. I would like to be arrogant enough to believe the truth in that statement. I'm not quite there yet.
The indecisiveness in me cannot be cured, and really I mean no harm, but harm can occur, because I cannot choose (I'm constitutionally incapable of choosing between two really good options) and that will most likely lead to my utter discontentedness, my demise, because I am never as available as I think I am while I'm under the intoxicant of a great drug or a great man. Things seem so silver-lined or golden-hued in the night, but when it wears off, it's a different story entirely. The morning is the ultimate wake-up call; it is the realization I fear the most. Confessions are cowardly when made anonymously and I acknowledge this now sitting in this anonymous forum, writing these anonymous words. But indecisiveness remains my purgatory. As such, I tend to write a large amount of nothing, nothing, nothing, empty language all dressed up and embellished into something superficially grand, constructed in beautiful syntax, deceiving people into thinking my stock is much higher than it actually is. Maybe it's true what they say, 'You can't polish a turd'.
Well … Challenge Accepted!
Here are the quotes I hand-picked from words I wrote earlier on. Blah, blah, blah, useless copyright language and attorney spewings. Here we go...
~~~
"I am a devout atheist so no unyielding calls to a deity will inspire me to greatness that I cannot harness on my own."
~~~
"I think despite the fact that it is coming on in its own way, I need to go back to the stronger stuff, the rough stuff, the stuff that grabs me by the neck and makes me feel it. I like my drugs like I like my men, dominant, arrogant and aggressive with the means and stamina and looks to back it all up and then some."
~~~
My dark atheist outlook has found me with bleak theories of death that should not be repeated in times like this. I want to deceive and manipulate myself into thinking that something more is possible. The heroin has reshaped my mind into a temporal state of optimism. Even though I know it is unreal and futile, I want to embrace it; I want to sit here and believe that there is more than terrestrial life to look forward to. But despite my heroin-soaked brain and body, I still cannot shirk logic and rationality; I cannot adequately or successfully convince myself in the salient belief in an afterlife. All I can accomplish here is the diminishing fear of the standard nothingness of nonnegotiable death. And the inevitable prospect of that eventuality does not bother me nearly as much when I’m high on heroin.
~~~
"They must have decided from the first word that I was hoping to lead them on. It wasn’t the case even though I still basically want them all to rot in a place reminiscent of Christian hell. As an aside, my parents believed in the Americanized versions of religious holidays but not any of the religion behind them so I’m not really sure what Christian hell would consist of or entail, but I suspect that it is not a great place for a soul to end up. So I’m going to use it as an appropriate metaphor here regardless of my indifference, lack of ritual knowledge and unwillingness to learn about things that hold no relevance in my life. I just like shouting, ‘Damn you all to hell!’ And I mean it too."
~~~
"The sky is so blue and shiny that I cannot imagine it grey. The problems that I once felt were insurmountable, the dramas that I once let into my life to take over and drive me into frenzies that were only softened by alcohol and drugs, seem utterly silly to me now, more than silly perhaps. Immortality might be a joke but invincibility is utterly real. I am feeling it now. Even death, that great dark abyss, that frightening construct of nothingness, that thing that people fear so much that it scares them into the arms of institutional religion, doesn’t worry me in the least. I am fretless over it. I know it will happen, as it does to all living things, the cross we must bear by virtue of being pushed from the birth canal. But why should inevitabilities scare me into submission? They are essentially inescapable. Why should I allow something so despicably uncontrollable cause me panic so great that it keeps me up at night, tormenting me in dreams, transitioning me into breathless nightmares? This drug, regardless of what society says about it, is the perfect antidote for discontentedness, for concern, even terror. I will seek it out as long as I have blood in my veins and matter in the grey depths of my brain to perceive it so. Of nothing else could I ever be more certain."
~~~
“Soon it will come on and we will forget all about this tension and apprehension that we are currently experiencing. I know there is a time and place for all drugs but I can’t help feeling slight prejudice toward the drugs like ecstasy that maybe just want to blast my veins to smithereens and watch my organs explode like Fourth of July fireworks. I feel as though it wants me to suffer. At least with downers such as opiates, there is an initial benign period of goodwill and extreme euphoria that I can recognize as such. Opiates don’t start off bombarding me with uncertainties and insecurities. If a downer is going to ravage and pulverize my organs, it’s going to do so politely and be on with it; it’s going to cast me into a euphoric sleep where I am so enveloped in good feelings that I don’t literally care if I am closing my eyes for the very last time.”
~~~
“When heroin has me captured, I can’t think about writing anything but delusional ramblings that almost make no sense to me the next day and surely would be indecipherable to the target masses that are not familiar with my semi-deranged mind and are only looking for shoddy entertainment and a reason to turn the page. But regardless, I do really want to create something worthy of at least a modicum of praise and for that humble goal I will have to obtain something that will fix me in a chair and wrap my mind around a plotline that might have some attenuated, ephemeral meaning in time.”
~~~
"For now I will focus on the unhealthy highs of my revered age. Rock stars have written songs about this kind of stuff."
~~~
"It is this particular time and age that we were all meant for -- me at twenty-seven and him at twenty-nine correspondingly -- the age of our primes, delightful and degenerate, when anything and everything goes, where we savor the world and every encounter within it because it could be our last great terrestrial memory. We don’t know that we will ever be able to reclaim this feeling of freeness that comes with young naivety but at the same time we never honestly think that we will lose it. We always do. I’ve never been at peace with that reality."
~~~
“Unsurprisingly, I don’t really like admitting that I use drugs to accomplish goals. I guess it makes me feel like kind of a scumbag claiming such unsavory things out loud. It shouldn’t be like that but society has made it so; society has made us feel like outsiders, scumbags, and miscreants living on the periphery of civilization, so extraneous to the norm that we fear revealing our true desires because of the real and salient possibility of being outwardly shunned. I wish society was not so restrictive but I have long realized there is not much I can do to change that inherited fate. I can only wish ineffectually that it wasn’t so and whine about it in forums like this. I want to live in a place where we are free to pursue any avenue that will heighten our creativity and enrich society’s life as a whole. Unfortunately that has never really been the case. Drugs have always been categorized and stigmatized as deviant and circumstantially outside the realm of proper etiquette.”
~~~
"It would have been something, dying in opiate bliss, because I would have felt remarkable, solid, almost invulnerable, like going out with the metaphorical bang, and not a real one."
~~~
“Maybe it’s not so tragic after all. What do I know about tragedies anyway? It feels like a tragedy has happened to me although maybe I’m just bias, narcissistic, and self-important. Maybe my feats have not been so impressive. I wrote about my life as a loser in a generation that produced circumstantial losers by the millions. These stories are not even close to new; they are hackneyed and glamorless.”
~~~
