fuck joseph-gordon levitt

he bites his tongue
swallows his pride
hides his pain
deep inside

but to what end, does he befriend this sorrow?

If only to hold on,
'til tomorrow

"Can I borrow a feeling,
can you lend me a jar of love"

So sad,
Milhouse's dad.
At one time it was a joke.

Thoughts I had,
Dreams good or bad,
Swallowed before their spoke.

Smoke when sad
Drink when mad
If I keep this up I'm going to choke.

Sing a song
Nothings wrong
Throat's to dry to hit the bong

SHUT UP SHUT UP AND TAKE A GRAVOL

Smoke a bowl and go to sleep
why bother talking
talk is cheap

just lay down and go to sleep
not mean
not bad
not being a creep

the sentry and me, and also the void

the sentry and the void
a perfect analogy
for the anamnesis I have come to know

I reinstate the amnesia
but it doesn't take,
for me at least

I can still remember
fleeting thought it may be
my reflection upon the abyss

my infinite regression
a dangerous obsession
the search for truth is tearing me apart

the serum swallowed
the placebo effect
convince myself that I'm wrong
so we all can go on

i must be crazy
but aren't genius and insanity
two sides of the same coin?

can I use and not abuse this knowledge?
do I even have a will of my own?
Or am I pre-programmed and executing as designed.

ignore the possible implications
continue as you were
reality is real
for everyone

even me

Right, wrong, or relative?

I'm all tongue tied, like I've got something to say but I can't spit it out.
I can't shut up but I'm not saying anything. Just "Did you know.." this and "Can you believe..." that. Full of fun facts. But I throw them at you one after another, only stopping for fuel. Quick breath, quick smoke, small bump, big chug, "Where was I? Oh yeah! Blowin' your fuckin' mind man!". I must be hard to hang out with. Then again, I like me. Fuck, I have some of the best conversations with myself, working out details of plot scenarios for shit I'll never bother to write. Good in small doses. Why I medicate my thoughts to the background perhaps, is to focus a little more on reality? That can't be right. I was always told drugs are an escape. What if you're escaping insanity? Should you quit fighting it and just lose your head? Or is it the drugs that make you crazy? My inner monologue is like this outer monoblog; repetitive, indecisive, vulgar, critical, cowardly, generally pretty casual, but sometimes serious, occasionally frighteningly so. Sometimes I write with a different voice, sometimes I think with a different mind. If one gets more air-time, does that make it more valid? The real mind is the day-to-day where are my shoes, left at the lights, what's for supper mind? Or the staring at a fire, listening to a song, paddling a canoe, moving and doing quiet mind, is that the more real mind? More-real mind, what the fuck eh? Like I have any authority beyond my own skull. Define your own world, that's what the guy running my bone-jar says right now. Trust in random and time I guess. If you can at least do that, then you're doin' alright. Because if time is passing, things'll change, and as long as there's random, there's things to amaze.

Thoughts on Life

So bored I could die.
Well not really.
Thinking of the line from Go With The Flow
"I want something good to die for, to make it beautiful to live"
but of course the next line is
"I want a new mistake, losers more than hesitate"
so it's like, fuck, i have been more than hesitating.
But I do want something good to die for, at least I think so.

Maybe I'm stuck on the psychedelic thought-manifestation trip
So, what is worth dying for if it can all be recreated using thought?
Nothing, right?

Nothing is worth dying over?

But what if you can rethink yourself back into existence after you die,
then wouldn't there be no reason to try and live?

Too many paradoxes.

Maybe I just want too much.
Probably based on my drug use. Over-stimulation leaves you bored by reg-stim.

But didn't I start using drugs because i was bored?
Hard to say now. I thought hindsight was 20/20. That amuses me.