Idk. The people still here seem to stick around for a very long time. Despite evidence to the contrary, they also tend to be a bit above average intelligence wise. And by and large, they're not just trying to blow smoke up your ass. So when you end up having a real, human conversation it's more meaningful when it's coming from someone who 90% of the time, just shitposts porn gifs and goatse.
It makes me question a ton of shit. I can't tell you how many times I've imagined committing some awful crime in the heat of the moment, and spending the rest of your life behind bars. The human physiology registers betrayal much in the same way it does a deadly threat. You may think yourself above certain things, but in that moment, whatever the reason- be it a flawed character or a mental break or a lack of empathy...you do it. And 30 years later you wake up and you don't even remember what kind of ice cream you used to like. That person may as well be a dead, for as little as you have in common with them. But you pay the debts that they incurred. It's kinda haunting. The same way I can only imagine what it must be like to be imprisoned or executed for a crime that you know you didn't commit. Everyone around you - down to your most trusted friends...start to believe you're a monster. And people start sending you letters less often. People stop updating you on life outside. And although your mother speaks on your behalf on the news, every year when you talk to her on the phone, her voice is a little less bright. It's simply the sound of her love for you being peeled away, layer by layer. And even the inmates don't want to have anything to do with someone so low down. And little by little, the story that they fashioned for you begins to stitch itself to your skin. So you eat by yourself in your cell and write a lot. You start to write kids books in the time you spend in your cell. Old fashioned parables to teach them right from wrong. But suddenly you don't remember which stories are even yours anymore. So when the innocence project comes to tell you they're filing an appeal on your behalf, it sounds like a fun new storyline. And the day you walk out that door, your mind is so broken, but you cry with gratitude. Because they'd killed you already. Because being able to sail away, swinging from a rafter in the garage- is so much more easy to swallow than being made to turn into an insect.
2019-01-27 at 9:51 AM UTC
in
Trump Wall vs Mexican Ladder
It's got to be surreal and fucked up to grow up with a big, close family and watch them die off. I guess in being a single child, I have it kinda better in that respect. The small shit I did deal with, I didn't even handle well. But I don't know what I would do in that situation.
2019-01-27 at 9:11 AM UTC
in
Trump Wall vs Mexican Ladder
Yeah when I got some pretty good weed for $2.50 a gram the other day, i was thinking about the logistics of that. With all the work that goes into high quality high thc strains, at a certain price, it's just not that profitable. When theres a ton of competition, all you can really do is cut costs and be more efficient. But how low can that go?
Also reminds me of some shit I wrote a while ago. You fags have all known me long enough, so I'm just going to use this as my gay little journal.
*In the fits of acute withdrawal, I would walk outside and immediately feel bombarded with smells and sounds and light. It was disorienting and almost psychedelic, euphoric. All the senses and feelings I'd numbed would flood back. I'd hear a song on the radio and remember a summer pool party at the house of a friend who'd died, and then in the next second I would snap back to my present self....broken, sweating. Dirty, unwashed, smelling of vonit. Snot coming down my face. And I realized that this sad thing wasnt some strange waking nightmare...it was me. And then I'd cry for a while. And I knew that everything I was experiencing was because of my reluctance or ability to grapple with a thing. I just didnt want to deal with things right then. I was depressed, and felt hollowed out, and I just felt like I couldnt do it. So inevitably, after a few minutes I'd call the connection . And the joy i would experience when I was finally back in my own room or car, with the heroin in my hand...I'm not sure if I'll even experience that much happiness seeing my newborn son. And it sickened me. But as soon as the dope hit, the edges of the fear and worry would start to melt away...like a patch of frost on a windowpane, in the warmth of a candle. And for 13 years, I slept. Like a baby.*
It's nothing new to say that drug abuse's mental component is marked by that avoidance of responsibility, choice, consequence. But it seems really obvious now.
I was thinking about how I always idolized the rebel, the villain, the black-hatted cowboy. And I know a lot of other guys- either without fathers, or fathers who were distant and detached- who were drawn to the same kind of things.The young mind was trying to model unknown information... what a "man" was supposed to be like.I dont think it was ever the violence or lawlessness we were drawn to- but rather effectiveness, resoluteness, dependability, rugged individualism. After all- it's often the same sense of duty that causes you to jump into a barfight to back a friend, or drive a car for someone in commission of a robbery- that causes a soldier to run into the view of machine gunners to rescue a wounded comrade.
.......
Idk that's all I got for now.
I also found out that theres specific legislation pertaining to the relationship between our military and sea otters. Reality stranger than fiction sometimes.
Also there's a big difference between being numb and not anxious, and being centered and at peace. All most drugs seem to do is take the edge off to deal with the thing. Meanwhile, more helpful drugs force you to confront and contemplate your failures, shortcomings, trajectory.
Processed/ frozen foods have got up a bit in price, but I've really seen the price hit in meat and produce. Then again, I live in a fucking desert full of people with more money than they know what to do with, so could be some artificial forces at work.
Yeah even chipotle or something over here is like $8-10. Dollar menu stuff is still $5 or so, because no god fearing American gets a si gel item off a dollar menu,
Or maybe it's just me trying to find order and meaning in senselessness. But the person I was when I was 18-20 seems like a completely alien species to how I feel now. Idk.
2019-01-27 at 3:35 AM UTC
in
Too much boozing
It's fucking weird that socialization/acculturation can override something that basic. Spooky actually....All the stuff we can come to believe is normal.
Generally I'd be in the car in the hotel parking structure getting high, and when she'd finish we'd go score and spend a stupid amount of money on restaurants.
I must not have followed closely enough to realize she was a bible thumper.
2019-01-26 at 5:29 PM UTC
in
Too much boozing
Well no. I guess it's frame of reference, and I could just be imagining things, but you seem intelligent and individualistic enough to be bothered by shit like that. I feel like history has kinda of demonstrated that a lot (idk if I can say most) of people seem to tend towards free thinking.
