Nobody is really, truly, a friend. This is a troubling thought that occludes my mind, at certain times.
Of course, I’m still new here, in this town. My hometown. I moved back to my hometown single when I was 26, something about as advisable as doing a pole dance in a thunderstorm. Well, given at least some will to attract.
I wanted to play guitar, but there was one girl there, and like four of us guys. One of the guys fell asleep, right next to me (I always get a cool feeling when someone falls asleep around me, or when I do around someone else), but it ended up just being TV, and it’s hard to judge yourself in situations like these. The dialogue that bubbles to the surface in social situations tends to shirk the true tension of interactions. And then, I was someone considered quiet anyway, but I’d do crazy things in situations.
Honestly, though, the TV itself didn’t seem evil. The people did. Things would always stay the same in the world, there would always be world poverty, hunger, violence, and I think these people knew it. It was always like they were ensuring it, by leaving on the TV. It was part of their nightly rounds, they were making a check mark.
But they needed me to show them a way, they needed a leader. It was funny, I moved back, and there just so many problems unsolved. Like me, for instance. I was always, like, walking through a room while breathing oxygen with a nose and a mouth.
This one fat dude had walked by me and been cool one time. Not sure why. Maybe he had the opposite of swollen lymph nodes — he had unswollen lymph nodes.
It was like the whole damn town took a mist of mushroom jelly. But everyone has their own song to sing, and that’s what kills. Because your song breaks apart, no matter who you are, because if you’re ready for anything, then you fall in love, and when you fall in love, your thoughts begin thinking thoughts that are too big, and then you have to hone them back down to that one girl. Well, technically you don’t HAVE to. You could go on an idyllic walk by the San Francisco Bay by a bunch of sailboats. There, I’m thinking like a Zoloft magician. Do with me what you will.
Taking a drug is like entering a mutually destructive situation that everybody thinks is mutually symbiotic, because everybody is full of fear. And rightly so. What I mean by destructive is that it inhibits a person’s ability to think there’s some bizarre light glowing from outside the liquor store. This sort of thing can get you by.
Cathexis is an interesting word, (n): “investment of mental or emotional energy in a person, object or idea.” Its very existence is interesting, since in itself it implies that there exists an opposite: a refusal of, or successful evasion of, the investment of energy in one’s surroundings. Sometimes, actually, it seems that this opposite is the objective of success in life — to not be affected. To “stand your ground.” People know who you are, if nothing in life affects you. You become a “brand,” marketable. You have an m.o. And the less egotistical your m.o. is, the more likely you probably are to succeed, since you’re taking less. Being “hard” becomes synonymous with this. You just have to have something that gets you by, though, and if you don’t, you have no choice to soften yourself, to open up your feelers and to get to know what other people do. Otherwise you’ll just be thinking how stupid all these flashing lights are everywhere, how stupid it is that we extract the world and sell it, and how stupid it is that the first buildings built on planet Mars will be “sex motels.”