Awake But Napping One Handed Journal

I’ve reached a state of pain in exhaustion, mostly coming from whatever happened to my wrist while I was high a few weeks ago. All I know is that it feels off. I don’t know if it’s strained, fractures, dislocated,… I have no idea. I’ve been so distracted by whatever I was stuck on while spun out, maybe. The pain was often not there in place of discomfort, but now that the will and the chemistry to do anything but collapse in  sore, sensitive, in pain… just generally and shit.

I would say that my nose is a large part of the physical discomfort going on. I’m also incurably blown away by all pollen, all dust. all trees, all grass, and that combined with the years of harshly having to rub out my nose for the smallest relief. And that isn’t even mentioning how for the first ten years of my adult life, my preferred way of doing drugs was in the nose…. which I would never do now that I have a deviated septum.


Forget all the things you imagine about how it looks and make sure you understand that that isn’t even the part that matters. It feels fucked up. It doesn’t manage mucous in the nose well at all. That’s just a thing stimulants tend to do and often be. They’ll be drugs that effect the openness of your air passageways and such, for early days asthma treatment, and other breathing sinus and nasal issues. The sniffling isnt from put drugs in your nose. It’s from the drug itself opening your nose up and thinning out your mucuous and making it very wet bit sticky and hard to clean out. There’s always more of it, till I just tilt my head back let it all drip down into my throat  to take a break from the blowing and rubbing and itching in the transformed crevices of my reddening nose that will turn into sores, if I don’t stop… but by the time it’s some to this….

It’s over or if its not, there’s no way it will not be. In fact, I might go look out for the drowsiest medicine I got around the house. I’m ready for the sleep and the dope from the picture is all gone. Even if I had more my tolerance is insane and I cant stay up much longer. I’m nearly entirely removed from awareness of what I am doing besides just laying here, which is barely what I can manage. I definitely don’t know if I finished my thoughts in the first few paragraphs. I’m not going to bother. I might just find sleeping pills in supply around here for the best ones to take at a time like this — all of them.

And… I have to be ready to deal with a variety of things I’ll be recovering of specifically, that will be painful I think. But it will pass.

If there is any seriousness in what I’m saying come the days that follow, I will have to tell Jo– that I’m not going to be able to talk to him as much and to not hang out with him because having all the drugs is just not going to work out and that’s the way it is. I don’t really want to do that part. But like… realistically, at the very least, that has to be the short term solution is just not talk to him.]

I know that I’ve hated the journal writing I’m capable of built into a compulsive obsession I teach myself to do when I do it. The thing is, I feel like I’m in a part of my life again where I need journal writing, which helped me through my teenage and young adult years to stay sane and have a reason to take care of my thoughts and express myself in the LiveJournal…. which isn’t the same anymore. The goals of the Internet are a a lot less private. I don’t want to write private thoughts. When I’m able, I want to write something well for people to read — or as well as I can. That may be held together by a lot of this type of repeated posting that is more therapy for me and an exhibition show of real life shit for you. And while I’m not going to say any more than I want to say, I’ve said a lot. And… maybe the whole not writing a lot of trashy emo and melodrama out keeps me out of practice.


Whatever. The next post I want to say I’ll make happen as soon as I can, but I’m going to possibly sleep for as much as 24 hours. I might even wake up and go back to sleep for 12 more. We’ll see how bad it is. But I have to get back into motivating myself wake up and have energy to do stuff on m y own, because that’s how you have to kick it or it just won’t happen. So, I’m just going to try to write anything as often as I can find the energy to do it. Tea and Caffeine can be helpful

I just want to get to things I’ll do when I’m able, but first I have to sleep so… I’m really just going to take the drowsy medicine I have right exactly now. I’ll take another one later, too, if its not enough.




Why Nothing Matters Necessarily

The truth is, I don’t care about whatever I was writing before. That I didn’t finish it, or the mental state I was in at the time that disappoints me so, to see how alien and replacing of me it can be; I don’t care. I don’t care about this sentence, the last one, or the clause structure of anything.

A lot of people saw my nihilism develop from a truly depressed state. Unlike the unaffiliated, doppelganger infested mind that I see traces of passing by like strangers today and in recent memory (what little there is, and how off and on it can be), there was a far more dissatisfaction with life and existence. It was an extremity of such. Suicide wouldn’t have been enough to solve the problems of the world and it’s suffering to me then. I thought, truly, that the only way to make it right would be if not just everyone and everything died simultaneously in an instant cataclysm, but if a certainty that life itself would not re-emerge somehow in its cycle on another speck of dust with the conditions; that would be the only way. I thought, feeling a deep disgust at the passing of birds overhead in the sky where the sun was gently coming down to a basking wet humidity of sweat and misery. Life itself and all its allergenic effects on me colored my view of how feasting upon itself and propelling itself ever forward, we all persist for the perpetuation of the suffering.

I wondered hypothetically, if I had the switch; if I had the nuclear armaments and in enough quantity, placed equidistant all over the world such that a detonation could eradicate existence even for just life on Earth if not for all eternity, would it not be truly the most noble and good thing if I took the responsibility to make it happen.

I said, “Only if every person dies at the same time, such that the suffering of life is not left on the ones remaining. If only then it would be for the best.”

But I would ask, “Even if it is for the best, and if it is what I want, is it okay that I might decide for everyone what is best for them; to give them my idea of what will be for them. Do the ends (a peaceful oblivion) not justify the means, if the only way to achieve it is to stand in opposition to people who would fight me to the exponential increase in the world’s suffering just to try to stop me. If I had such a power, there would be people who would choose to suffer just for the chance to live.

And for this reason I said, “I would not do it. But it would be for the best if others would accept this.” And in my mind, always with an ideation of suicide, I imagined the only way out I could be okay with. It only worked if everyone died. I couldn’t leave behind suffering like that, in my view of self interest. So I said, “This is a thing I cannot do,” as I often thought of how I should do it.a

My nihilism arose from this but it did not stop there. A lot of things changed, time passed, I became a different, wiser person, and I realized the folly of my feelings.

It was true that there was nothing of concrete value making it all worthwhile to endure, but it was this certainty that I began to define what I called, “the true nihilist;” that is, one who does not despair existentially at all, knowing that there is no reason to.

Yes, there is suffering. I suffer constantly I would say without even being aware of it a majority of the time. This is the thing that people should accept. There is no oblivion and this is a momentary glimmer, to be followed by another having no sense of the one before it some day. All will crumble an d everything will be forgotten, and because of this, there will always be a possibility for things that seem to always be the same, or too awful too endure; maybe changing too fast to keep up with — even the best of times that ever were — are subject to a stability brought about changes innately varied in alignment towards law and order. There is nothing that is so permanently constant that it’s reality diminishes anything otherwise, so there is nothing to despair. It doesn’t matter.

And this is where peace lies. In attachment to things, you are unable to move forward into what will be wrought with or without you. You become a helpless passenger. In fear, you lose sight of the power within you to build your life into what you would have it be, how no circumstance must shape the feelings inside of you, which are your own. There is nothing to blame but yourself if you cannot attain this.

I am no Nietzschean, but this is how I hold the will to power. There is power within you to make life anything you would have it be, and though there will always be suffering washed up in the sad and happy things, it cannot stop you if your will to power remains calmly in control of the most stressful madness that can possibly be endured; that most would crumble and be left to streets, prisons, psych wards… And when left to those things, with discipline, a will to power carries on with no reason to complain and a mind clear of despair.

Otherwise, it would be silly to say that you are a nihilist at all; perhaps, maybe, you are on the path to becoming one. But, this is a path facing madness, one that many likely cannot find their will to power knowing. And, given the nature of things, it is of course possible… that to madness, one day, it will be lost.

But I will never give up on being content in spite of all things. This is why nothing truly matters, and I let go.



It’s a good thing I don’t often write here, that you have likely forgotten this exists at all, similarly to how I do myself.

It’s possible I will relinquish any former design of what I wanted to write here, and it is possible I will occasionally make a return to them. But… right now, what I want to write is going to be more difficult to write than anything I wanted to write a week ago.

It isn’t that I can’t organize it. It is, can I be openly honest about it. And, if I tried to do that, would it be possible for me to know the truth about myself that I cannot understand now.