Mood Surgery

I am the fly
I am the fly
I am the fly
I am the fly
Fly in the
Fly in the ointMENT

How did it take me until the age of 30 to find and devour this album?
|

For twelve years I had been trying to give up smoking. As Mark Twain said--and who does not know the remark?--"It's nothing to stop. I've quit a hundred times." I used to feel I had said it myself, for certainly I had tried on ten times ten occasions, once for a year, once for nine months, once for four months. Over and over again I gave them up, a hundred times over the years, but always I went back. For in my dreams, sooner or later, I struck a match, brought flame to the tip, then took in all my hunger for existence with the first puff. I felt impaled on desire itself--those fiends trapped in my chest and screaming for one drag. Change the given!

So I learned what addiction is. A beast had me by the throat and its vitals were in my lungs. I wrestled that devil for twelve years and sometimes I beat him back. Usually it was at great loss to myself, and great loss to others. For when I did not smoke, I grew violent. My reflexes lived in the place where the match used to strike, and my mind would lose those bits of knowledge that keep us serene (at least if we are American). In the throes of not smoking, I might rent a car and never notice whether it was a Ford or a Chrysler. That can be seen as the beginning of the end...

I used to say "It's easier to give up the love of your life than to kick cigarettes," and suspect I was right in such a remark. But then last month, twenty-four days ago, my wife took off. Twenty-four days ago. I learned a little more about addiction. It may be simpler to give up love than to dispense with your smokes, but when it comes to saying goodbye to love-and-hate--ah, that reliable standby of the head shrinkers, the love-hate relationship!--why, ending your marriage is easily as difficult as relinquishing your nicotine, and much the same, for I can tell you that after twelve years, I had gotten to hate the filthy stuff just so much as a bitter wife. Even the first inhale of the morning (whose sure bliss once seemed the ineradicable reason I could never give up tobacco) had now become a convulsion of coughing. No more might remain than the addiction itself, but addiction is still a signature on the bottom line of your psyche.

Of all the damn books I could've picked randomly off the shelf this week. I swear to fuck. Thanks a bunch, Norman Mailer.

Tomorrow at this hour it will have been a week.
|

You can only eat and masturbate so many times in a day. I'm running out of wholesome things to do.

If you cut me right now, my blood would eat a hole through the floor.

You know that part of an acid trip where yr coming down and it never ends? Well this is like that except it never fucking ends.
|

I watched two movies last night. Emotional manipulation in a box. Four little years and I've lost all suspension of disbelief. Everything is either immediate and real or fake and calculated to resonate with me. I cried like six times. Real life doesn't do that to me. I think probably every single person reading this is unfamiliar with this experience.

I dare you to try it. I wish I could do this with music.
|

I skinned my knee. I ripped and bloodied my new jeans. I got a membership and rented two films.
|

I changed my pants. I shaved my moustache. I fried my amp.


|