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Still depressed. Maybe I should just give up hope that this will change. I certainly can’t seem to shake it. I have changed my daily routine in hopes of remedying this affliction. I wake early, around 9am. I then go to a morning meeting at 10am. Afterwards, I go for breakfast at Bon’s with a friend. We always have interesting conversations. We infact enjoy each others company. I seem to have troubles with my afternoons. I completely hate them, infact. I’m fine in the evening, for I go to another meeting around 7 or 8pm.
But until then, I loathe existing. So then kill myself you say? I don’t blame you for suggesting. I hate listening to people whine about the baine of their said and pathetic lives. It bores me.
I think we’re all sad. I think we’re all lonely here. I think we’re all in the icy water, drowning. Some of us sometimes pull together the courage and strength to imagine the hot weather on a tropical island. The warm breeze, a lover by our side. Without complications. Total blissful harmony. But it’s not fucking real. It’s a fantasy. It’s made up to avoid the painful reality of thrashing about in this fridgid body of water, alone until our untimely end. After that? who knows, it doesn’t matter yet.

Your mind’s arrogance and condemnation intrigue me. I am curious as to whether your voice is a serious reflection of your obviously inflated ego. Not that that’s a bad thing. And not that I’m trying to lessen the blow to your ego either for to get blown is your choice. I only mean that everything is a matter of perspective. You have yet to ultimately insult me enough to keep me away from you. Instead I choose to learn from you. To study your mind and activity so that I may strengthen my own mind and destiny.
–> example.
I recently have been analyzing a great deal the philosophy of morality. Specifically, the system of principals and judgements upon which our daily choices are made. Everything as simple as why we choose to eat the foods we choose to eat to why we all aren’t choosing to kill eachother all the time. Every choice I make, every jugement I make I am swamped with considerations regarding the right thing to do. And how I feel when a good or bad event comes to pass. My early assumption on the matter is that morality is a matter of persepective. I think apples are good because they are juicy and red. You think apples are bad because you shot your father playing William Tell. What I think is good, you can think is wrong. It’s all a matter of perspective. What follows is that if there is no definite right and wrong, there is no definite truths at all except ones that can be proven objective.
Writing this out, it seems this whole reasoning is fairly obvious and rudimentry. I shall delve further in to it in my thoughts tomorrow.

Your blog – yes, i read all of your absurdly long post. I thought it was fantastic, considering your recent comment that you cannot seem to think of anything ‘good’ (morality case) to write. and until I’m published I don’t give a fuck about grammar and spelling, as self-righteous and wise as it makes me feel to flaunt off my university-grade english, I prefer getting out my ideas and thoughts rather than making them 100% understandable first draft. It’s a hell of a lot more coherant than what I used to write high.

Sorry for the incoherance for those of you that look for that in my writings. uhm. I’m still clean for those of you who were wondering after the last post. Thanks for the care. Sorry for freaking yall out. I was freaked out too.

i wishj i could tell u what is going on in the brain behind my mouth. The words coming out of my mouth are different than the one’s in my head. There is an urgency that desires me to just tell you what is really going on. But for some unknown reason I’m holding back.

I’m so fucking close to letting go. To letting all that I’ve worked for go. I have the drugs but i just haven’t taken them yet. That feeling of knowing my life depends on telling you about what’s in my back pocket, but fearing you will take away my only hope.

I wish i could cry out to everyone right now. But instead my fingers are the only thing capable of speaking. Catatonic. Dazed to the world. You ask me whats wrong and i can only say i dunno and sputter out sinlge words… but they don’t make sense by themselves.

Funny how I’ll do something I don’t wanna do. I had a bad feeling about it before I even did it, but that didn’t matter, that was what enticed me more. logic? it’s not logical.

You know that moment? This one…

You suddenly find yourself at a party, or maybe not a party but theres people around and there’s drugs. And this is unusual for you. Well, it used to be usual, but the last while you have stayed away from drugs. So this moment is reminiscent of a time ago. You’re curious. Curious like you were the first time. The first time you tried those drugs, so naiive. Well, here you are, and there the are. You’re the only sober one in the room. Usually everyone is sober. Or atleast, the ones you know. You know that your friends love and care about you, but the current company? You have your doubts. It seems they are more interested in the dope that you. You actually know this to be true. You remember being there. You remember what it was like to care more about the dope than people. So much that you forgot people were dying around you while you inhaled the vapors. A choice suddenly is offered you. Door A or Door B.

Door A is back the way you came in. You can leave now and everything would be fine. You can go back to what you know is good, to what you have worked so hard for, to what your family is proud of you for, to where your friends are.

Then there’s Door B. The new enchanting door. If you look at it too long it sucks you in before you can even decide. this door is the drug. And the drug is awaiting. It wants you back.

Here you find yourself in the washroom, on your hand and knees, trying to decide what it is to do. “DEcide”. It doesn’t really seem like you have much of an option. Obviously take door A. How is this choice even hard? choose Door B and you die, mutherfucker. And i don’t mean a physical death. I’m talking a spiritual one.

you’re already high in your head. You’re confused. You don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground. You can’t even remember how long you have clean. All cause you’re now standing before this “option” of the pipe or the door.

your friend calls. he’s been clean for years. crazy that he should call right now. at such a moment. how odd. he asks how you’re doing. you’re so fucked you feel like you’ve been smoking oven cleaner and sniffing glue. “uhm…. not good” you say… you look down at hell infront of you and it looks so tempting. “Why the fuck did you tell him it ain’t good?” your head tells you. “you done gona and fucked up our chances of getting high”. but you know that fucking yourself over, atleast perceptually is the only thing to actually help you out now.

aren’t you supposed to be out doing stuff? Oh yeah, there’s a party tomorrow and you haven’t printed the posters yet. you fucked up, nico. yet again. but part of you knows that fucking up would be getting high, and that no matter how fucked up you fuck everything else, if you fuck up and get high you would REALLY fuck everything up.

but back to the room. the room with the druggies. they don’t give a fuck what you do. Why shoudl they? they all high. but you, you feel like everyone wants you to be high as well. but they don’t. just you do. anyway. your friends on the phone sounding confused cause you only can say “i’m not good”. I think he understands – by the sound in his voice.

oh. he’s here now, and so is she. so i think i might be okay. just don’t leave me alone or I might fucking do it.

…And then I remembered…
“Oh yeah, this is the one place where you’re supposed to be honest. Those aren’t anyone else’s rules. Just yours. Of you lie to yourself here then you’ll regret it forever. And lying by omission is still lying. Actually it’s the worst kind of lie. Remember when you used to write in a journal, like a real paper and ink journal? Well, you used to write anything you wanted, for sake of capturing that moment forever. So that in 20 years you could look back on this moment and say “thank god I remember that moment”. Or you think about all the words in books you’ve read where you are appreciative of the fact that someone else had the balls and courage to write down honestly how they felt just as you thought no one else in the world has ever felt like you do now. We can either be honest or we can lie. But if you die tomorrow you’ll be fucking glad you were honest.”

Alice In Chains – Junkhead:
“What’s my drug of choice?
Well, what have you got?
I don’t go broke.
And I do it a lot.”

I want to get high. I may be clean, but right now, all day I’ve been wanting to get high. I’ve prayed. yada yada. But here’s the thing, the thing that is fucked about being a drug addict. When you want to get high, there’s not a fibre in your body that can stop you. It’s like you lose all ability to do anything to stop it from happening. It’s as if it’s what God wants you to do. You say he doesn’t want anyone to get high, but how do you know? Are you God?

It’s fucking bunk. Not being happy clean. And not on drugs, the only thing to take away the pain.

1. Begin with simple writing exercise

Recent downloads:
Nirvana: The Very Best of
Alice in Chains: The Complete Discography
Oz: Season 4
Radiohead: Okay Computer (Japanese Import)

2. Begin writing about right now

This started off as prose, but I decided it sucked as prose so changed it to verse.

Drumsticks in to keep the sweaty palms busy. To occupy the mind. I crave to feel you again, and I hate how weak and hypocritical that makes me. As I’ve heard, I’ve done something wrong. But what I think , what I was thinking but never would tell you is my doubts in your systematic method of self-delusion and denial. Fuck these thoughts. Fuck this looming vulture already nesting on my shoulder. At night I hear the shreaks of the eggs already hatching. Why did you ever go away. Was I ever really not alone? I know this loneliness now, but hadn’t it disappeared for a while? Or maybe I was just confused. I want you online. I want you to crawl through this fucking screen and give to me what it is I want.

That’s what I appreciate in you. I let my guard right down. I see myself in you. But you make me buy your attention. Everything’s a deal. I can never trust you and so badly do i want to. But then I realize the weakness in me. To let you sell me and buy my attention.

4. Then some introspective reflection

I dunno what the fuck. It seems everyone is gone. Everyone I trusted, I shouldn’t have. I wish I could just drown in this. I wish i had it all.

dont fucking censor this.

I’m up abnormally early this morning. I woke up at 9am. I slept hours and feel really energized and excited that I got out of bed early and have the whole day ahead of me. I conquered my inability to get out of bed through prayer. I wake up whenever I want to, with the aid of an alarm clock then before I get the thought of how nice it would be to go back to bed I drop to my mutherfuckin knees and pray. I usually pray something to the effect of “please help me to stay sober and do what it is that you have planned for me today. take away my difficulties so that I can better do you will.” It’s necessary that I pray in a secular sort of way cause I am so strongly put off by christian-anything.

I am going to a 10am meeting and then breakfast. Then gonna continue the job search.

I think this blog used to be a lot cooler. It used to be more of a journal… now it’s more of a record of events. Hmm. Maybe it’s me, not my blog that’s changed. Maybe my blog is lame now that I’m sober and getting more sane.

107 days clean today.

I’m listening to The Mars Volta. I rode my bmx around downtown today. I wasn’t as good as I was yesterday. When I go riding after a few days off I feel really solid and confident. Today my muscles felt a little weak but nonetheless I was impressed at the ease which manuals are coming. and my bunny hopping consistency is getting better. Next to learn is feeble grinds and 180 bunny hops.

Going to Amon Tobin tonight. I’m not going alone. I’m excited. He puts on amazing live shows. And I haven’t been to the commodore since last year.

It was such a fucking beautiful day today. I was at Canada Place, biking around, showing off for the American tourists offloading from one of the cruise ships. Another cruise ship was just leaving the harbour. All the passengers were on deck, wearing fluorescent orange life vests, receiving instructions on what to do when the ship sinks. I felt an urge to start yelling, “YOU’RE ALL GONNA FUCKING DIE! YOUR SHIP IS GONNA FUCKING SINK!” I don’t know why, but I did. Maybe I was jealous that all these old retired fucks, practically dead already are going on a cruise. They’re so senile that they probably won’t remember it a month from now. In a moment of reflection the world began to fall away. I felt as though I was falling back in to my head. Like the first visual distortion effects of a mushroom high. The ships horn pulled me from my visceral departure and I saw that I was in fact fine, but the ship was pulling away from the dock. Even knowing this, watching an object that fills your entire periphery slowly move away is a fucking trip.

I’ve been in really good spirits the last two days. I’ve gotten a shit load of work done. Important stuff – applying for jobs, emailing potential employers, getting stuff sorted for the party next weekend, etc.

Sometimes I wonder when the ball is gonna drop. When everything is gonna get fucked again. I guess I have this natural doom machine inside me that wants to self destruct, that takes comfort in it.

Weird. I was all stressing cause I’m broke ass. Then shit just kind of worked out… I found 30 bucks in my room that I had since the last party, random bills, like the ripped ones and an old twenty that I put aside for nostalgic reasons. So that allowed me to eat the last couple days. Then just now, this guy who parks his motorcycle in our studio just gave me 80 bucks for letting him do so. So… I’m happy about that. Some would say it’s a fucking god thing, but fuck that…. I don’t believe my supreme creator is that fucking cute. I dunno. I just like to think that it’s a happy coincidence. But even writing that, it sounds absurd. After so many “coincidences” you start to wonder.

A lot of people have told me they’ve seen her lately. When they tell me at first I act like an asshole, until i realize the only reason I’m acting like an asshole about her is cause of stupid reasons. In all actuality I miss her and am happy to hear that she is still around, no matter how grave the news that follows may be. I doubt she still reads my blog. Haven’t heard from her in a while. Anyway, she’s been showing up in my dreams a lot lately. We hang out and talk and things are nice. It’s nice to be with her in my dreams.

Fuck! I was really liking blogger and it appears they are getting fucking lame. They’ve just announced their release of Blogger Images. I took pleasure in making my images appear in my blog exactly how I wanted. Now, for the sake of the general html-illiterate public, they’ve made the whole image uploading process automated and made it much more difficult to taylor it to suit my desires. fuck that.