Having Feelings After a Long Time Without Them

So, when I started this (and probably still now), I didn’t want this to become a place where allowed I myself to be overly personal. I wanted to write informational entertainment and anecdotal histories. But what I am about to write is trashy journal writing. I don’t care.

I’m not on drugs anymore, but I’m still a Dadaist. Although, I probably never would have found Dadaism without drugs. And I’m very grateful for the philosophy, so that’s strange. Because I’m also very grateful that I am not on drugs, and that the things that drove me to a Dadaist view are no longer upon me directly. But, as a result of that, I am stronger. I am wiser than I would have been if I hadn’t faced as awful of things as I have.

One of the things that comes back after you’ve been on hard drugs for a while is… “feelings.” I know that’s not the technical term. But, for instance,feeling about people. The feelings that make you really like someone, really want someone, really love someone.

I’ve always had this thing for falling in love with girls I can’t have, especially those who are on the Internet and a great deal of our friendship starts off to do in writing, texts, etc. I don’t know what it is (or maybe I have some ideas), but… at a certain point in my life, both with and without the use of drugs to make it so, I have not felt actual feelings for anyone. The most I have felt in a long time is the amphetaminergic thirst to fuck hard, followed by the amphetaminergic necessity that is being alone.

I’ve never been promiscuous with anyone really, and if I ever have, I was young, and it was occasional. See, on dope, I had the sense to know that sex is negative and harmful on speed. It’s dangerous. If you’re having sex with other drugs users, you may be having sex with people who have used needles, sold their bodies, or something like that. It’s not everyone (the same way it wasn’t me), but there is that there and it’s very dangerous. It’s also destructive and it’s not healthy.

A stimulants effect on a person’s sex drive is fucked up. I have always known that. And for the most part, with small exception, I have acknowledged that not only can a user of this drug not be in a relationship with someone (“and why would they need to be anyway”), but they also can’t be having gross sex with them either (“and besides, it’s better without them”).

You become very detached the longer you do it. While high, you really don’t need anyone. You don’t stop to think about others terribly often either. Your mind just isn’t capable of it.

So… I have this friend… from the Internet. I’ve been friends with her off and on for coming up on 10 years at some point soonish. We used to not be busy adults and we talked all the time.

I try to keep in touch with her. I miss our affections from the past, which when we do talk, we talk about wishing we could see one another. But, we don’t have time to talk nearly as much. Or, at least she doesn’t text me back often anymore. I know life is more than our texting, and I try not take it personally. But this leads to me not texting her, which leads to her not texting me, which leads to me feeling this way.

These are feelings that originated when I started first using drugs, and I started first documenting my feelings. Somewhere I have a journal where I’m fifteen and writing about a girl that broke up with me. I’m miserable. I’m a wreck. Shortly after, I start trying pills that kids with “ADD” pass out to us, because they hate taking them (because they can’t sleep at night). And pretty soon… I don’t write about her ever again.

So that’s a thing that I can’t allow to drive me back one day.

Right now, I’m not at all worried.

Thank you for indulging this garbage.

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dopefree for a month but from time to time have a blunt

I don’t really smoke blunts. They’re common around here these days and pretty much everywhere, but I still roll my marijuana cigarettes with a paper, and no tobacco; although I do give them European styled cardboard filter tips, just because it’s frankly the most sophisticated way to smoke it from my perspective (and not to diminish anyone else’s…)

This is because I break glass pipes too often to go buy another one while I’m spending a lot of the money I was spending on dope (and more, as a matter of fact) on computer parts.

This is basically just part one, as I still have a lot of parts to buy.


I haven’t really been in the mood to write lately, you guys. Maybe it does have a lot to do with losing my habit and having other ways to occupy my mind than graphomania … like learning how to do stuff like this.

And I just wanted to say that… I will try to write when I can, but if I don’t, it’s because I’m not doing dope anymore… still. And I will come back to make sure you still know eventually, and to show you pictures of my growing baby.

The Great Way is not difficult for those without preferences.

Except, I kind of do have some preferences about these computer parts, admittedly.

And with marijuana, I have shown how doable it is for some people to give up hard drugs and still keep it. And because of its value in this way,. I am not ashamed of it. It’s beautiful, unlike the twisted things I forsake.

Of course, I won’t be smoking it with the fans running on the rig…. if you were wondering.

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.

xxx

xxx

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.

This Post Does Not Contain Thing Ignorant People Fear

We’re going to be talking about the genres of my writing. If you are new to my writing, you may not have seen the things I am talking about yet. I plan to to change that if you continue visiting my zine written.

The first thing I probably need to address is the GOS conundrum (a graphomanic obsession session), which this does not count as though it be strikingly similar in some ways. In order to identify what makes a writing labeled as such, we must say what writings cannot be labeled so; otherwise, all writings would appear to be graphomanic.

Without further adieu, here is the writing, originally printed in July 2016.

labelsonfood

This is a “wall-of-manifesto” piece I wrote and originally posted to DadaNoise or an Instagram as a caption to a photograph. I edited it slightly and saved it to a graphic, because why not. Writings like this also have characteristics I categorize as, “ran on ranting clauses” and “non-poem prosaics.” These are all often types of my “graphomanic obsession sessions,” which it is important to note that this does not qualify as. While it could have been one such, it lacks the qualifying factor that is,

–GOS (graphomanic obsession session) documents are always characterized by–

…a repetition of the same words, phrases, thoughts, and ideas; occurring more than twice, and interrupting the movement from one thought into the next without insistence to further elaborate the same thing.

It need not be ongoing completely without transition to anything else, but in the text, an eventual return to the point already made must characterize the development of points from sense into seeming nonsense; or, seemingly unrelated points that meld together and…

the document may be a wall of text or a line break prosaic poem or almost anything at all, but it must perpetuate itself into an unending loop of characteristic mania…

Lastly, the characteristics described need not characterize the beginning of a document; it is only that they eventually can be identified in the text that is important to categorizing the work.

Though the style is similar to many writings I will call graphomanic, …thing that sounds bad to the all knowing consumer!, is lacking in the way of being an obsessive compulsive inability to break out of the the mental state that makes for such writing.

What makes it a “ran on rant” might seem obvious until you have observed more pure and clear examples of this genre. There are not nearly enough semicolons, parentheses, and em-dashes to truly show off what I mean when I call it the “ran on ranting clauses.” But, it still is.

The “non-poem prosaic” is essentially a thing that is not designed to be interpreted as a poem, or a lyric, which expresses itself in a style of diction that is less straight forward than prose typically is and found more often in poetry. Often times it will be a wall of text, as if to intentionally forego line breaks or a sense of metre, because it isn’t a poem. Other times it will have arbitrary line breaks thrown in haphazardly in the same intent, as if to mock its non-poem status as a thing altogether too prosaic.

It is not a “manifesto”; rather, it is a “diatribe.” In the genres of my writing, a manifesto describes a complete depiction of how and why. A diatribe expresses emotion and does not bother; though, logic characterizes neither necessarily and may or may not be present.

I will present more examples of what I am talking about in other posts.