Black Tar Heroin Is My Fallback Plan

So, three years on and, not much has changed for me. Those things that have changed seem to be for worse. Is two more years going to be enough to turn it around? Or is it just enough rope to hang myself into a quicker backslide. The worst part, the one that really gets me, is I just plain forget sometimes. Bad Spirit Sea lies ahead.

I’m arguing with myself over what I mean when I tell myself that I can’t “waste” the time I have left.

I’m leaving behind a trail of half-finished books, which is something I’ve never had a problem with before. It all ties in to finishing this stage and moving on to the next.

It’s been awhile. Two weeks home for a funeral, second time in a row. The third is supposed to be a marriage, and then never again till the homecoming. Seems literary in its neatness. They where a time for mourning, carousing and reflection. I, once again without fail, embarrassed myself, but I seem to be getting better at not doing so and not doing it as badly. Honesty is always going to bite me in the ass though.

I’ve come back with a clearer mind now, even if it is a little darker behind and ahead of me. Can I change? It seems something not capable in my person to knock myself out of grooves that are heading in a bad direction, but the only challenges I have trouble meeting are the ones that I must move toward. They almost inevitably defeat me.

I actually teared up a little bit about the election after getting drunk. It’s dumb, but I’m still riding pretty high on what has come to be. The best line of post-election euphoria: “I Know Hope”

Tokyo was a good time, but every time I get on a boat or a plane I come back worse off than before, and in so many ways.

After living down the road in a temporary barracks for a couple months, while our old one was being painted, we are finally moved back in. I didn’t much care before, but now that I’m back it’s pretty nice. We’re closer to work, the water pressure is actually decent here, and the rooms are just nicer. The only disparaging thing I have to say about it is that were a lot farther from the gate, which means more honcho rides. Moving has also demonstrated to me how much useless shit I’ve managed to gather around me. So now I’m doing something which I used to do probably once a year, but really have been putting off for almost three now: Going through everything I own and throwing everything that isn’t vital away. This usually means getting rid of a lot of books, CDs etc., but since I don’t have the option of a trip to Half Price Books a lot of it’s going in a box to wait for the next time I go home. It’s also dug up a lot of half finished projects that I need to finish; if I ever get around to it some people can expect to get stuff in the mail.

I read Tropic of Cancer and I can’t remember the last time I was so excited by a book. The only thing that killed me about it was this wild swing in tone, where in one instant he’s out with his friends and they’re having wild times, and I’ve almost never heard better stories; and then the next he spends half a chapter in soliloquy waxing poetic about the human condition and the filth surrounding him and filling him and it’s all I can do to keep from skipping forward and looking for quotation marks. The maddening thing is that even though 99% of his monologues are bullshit he still drops these occasional lines that are amazing, I just want to frame them or tattoo them on my body or something.

Halfway now, and then new beginnings.