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.