333

Now its 3:33. Or it was the last time I thought I might be schizophrenic. Drugs and liquor will do that to you.

Tonight there was a really spooky energy going around. Every event at work was timed to be the worst at that moment, and the least likely thing were happening to me.

And now my phone is somehow finding ways to combat my inattentive behavior while using it. I think its becoming sentient. Time for a new phone.

Time for more words from a sad nerdy bastard child of a math major and a pimp.

And I even ruined my roomates invested treasure. I am just the worst. I'm not even solid on what could be making everthing go wrong today. I'd like to be superstitious, but I believe in higher shit in play than ghosts and goblins.

My kitchen is a mess. Even after two hours of sporadic cleaning it still looks like a party. Or maybe I'm too partial to perfection. Maybe I should excuse the lack of integrity around here. I mean, who can be perfect, amirite?

Still, figuring out what annoys me because it impedes my ability to be selfish, or because it is somehow inane, inefficient or impractical. I need to wizard through this to get to step two: tactful approaches to combat selfishness. What's fair is fair, but a passion for justice may instigate an unfavorable situation or two. One must understand their weapon, especially if it's their words.

But words, words, words. They come and go as they please and are abused by everyone. Words will never mean as much to me anymore since then. Or maybe now they are even heavier. I'm never sure which direction they're going in. Words.

Anyway, the tool rep is up and I should think of something quick.

Indulgent Universes

There's a weird dynamic that comes in to play with the morality of an action. Effects can be valued using different factors making the line between good and bad in this perspective even blurrier. What may seem advantageous to one could be absolutely detrimental to another and so the morality of responsibility can easily be thrown out the window using a plethora of cause-and-effect scenarios that identify an action or inaction as good or bad. In the "grand scheme" sense, all actions will eventually zero each other out on their respective spectrums. So if this holds true, then I am poised to place the last few years of reeling in regret into the trash bin and just start a new game on another profile.

This time

I'm sitting on Madison Ave, in one of those metal frame chairs, sort of once contemporary, all half industrial grating, half smooth curves and square angles, and looking at a man in an M3 stop obligingly at a light, put his left hand to his mouth, and go to town on his fingernails.
I wonder what fucked him up. I wonder what drives this impulse, or what others could have said to make him so nail hungry. Or maybe its purely intentional. He has no time for clippers and also believes in fulfilling the efficiency potential of the human body, a real spiritualist.

Who cares? I like seeing train wrecks in slow motion now. Almost a much as I delight in seeing cities built. Watching people fuck up on the grand scale humors me. Not much else can conjure a sincere snicker. But another part of me condemns that joy and seeks to spite it by helping others selflessly. Am I crazy now?
That whole bequeathal and receipt of a thing being a choice we make on the daily--even if not subconsciously-- borders on megalomania. And I feel like I'm entirely too conscientious of the effect of my gifts or bequeathals in my universe. The more I see things affected by me go wrong, the more I retract my influence from its system.

But this flies in the face of being always giving. There can be no good influence without an influence. How easily I can wield my actions to align with the actuality of their consequences is still a mystery I aim to solve, but in lieu of being again the fool, do not expect to.

The balance of good and bad is too cliche and also too complicated to discuss.
Lates.

Bury Us Alive

the tuna scoop is often used and oft forgot. it is left, usually inside the tuna bucket, where no one sees it until it is needed

this is a problem that has been put aside my conscious thoughts and its solution integrated into automatic processes. there is no reflection on causes, brainstorming solutions, just 'the fix and forget.'

this is a problem that is in my conscious thought, usually all the time, where no one sees it until it manifests itself on the internet.

in trying to soothe my rapid-fire thoughts and dissolve my general anxiety, i have yet AGAIN (this is probably the eighth sincere reincarnation of the thinking me.it's usually at this point that i give up and close with a vague and cryptic statement, but this literary mannerism is trite at best and helps no one.

which i have to reaffirm, is something i'm all about.

to indulge myself: i love to help. if it helps, i'm down, and the more immediate the effect, the more willing i am to participate in its assistance. altruism was a virtue that i instilled in myself (probably to cope with my submission to greater-than-thou values in childhood) which makes it sort of selfish, but i imagine it's like a robot that forsakes its programming in lieu of an independent thought.

(here is where it starts getting slow. the more allegories i make, the more i have to redact nonsensical or irrelevant facets of them to make sure my point isn't muddled or even--god forbid-- lost!)

thoughts like these make me wonder where writing lies on the spectrum of selfishness to selflessness. words are so easily manipulated to either positive or negative effects. they have been used to broaden minds and crush souls. they can turn people away or draw them closer. but the point is they have to be constantly manipulated to garner a desired effect. writing allows for the vigilant and careful paving of a path to specific destination. this differs from speaking in that it can be edited and it can be referenced. these two tools alone make for a fantastic information weapon. a flexible and infallible weapon of truth, for whatever that delusion the truth surfaced from.

considering this, maybe i am requesting too complex a query. a weapon is only as just as its wielder, or that's what i tell myself anyway.

talk of the pen and the sword is only the surface of mr. rogers neighborhood videos i'd like to share with you. unfortunately, this spoiler was merely an exercise to assure myself that i still had a brain. going sober is harder than it seems.

much of it involves budging my inert timid soul into rediscovering its identity, potential and nurturing it the same way a responsible parent would a troubled child.

did you know that when you get depressed, your brain's cognitive processes go quiet? it makes sense, considering i can't think logically when i'm in a bad mood and, by reflection of energy alone, puts me in a worse way because of my inability to recognize the issue. i once prided myself on being able to assess situations from a number of angles, but these days i seem to have just one, and it's mine.

with any perceptive luck, i can recategorize my programs into the subconscious/conscious dichotomy and maybe feel a little more satisfied with my self-organization.