Originally Posted by siamcat

I wanted a Vietnamese feast tonight. I settled for broccoli and cheese soup...

I'm starting to see shadows where no light is cast. Moving without puppetry. Whispering inaudibly. Insinuating thoughts towards me. Absorbed not reflected...

I have soup without crackers. I hold motion without mechanism. If energy precedes matter I should have marshmallow castles and bare-breasted frauleins and angels of mercy manifesting all around me... but only these shadows. These machinating, slivering, delusory vermin haunting my peripheral whilst I stumble through this madness of echo and ping...

I want love. And not that craigslist love of shared interests and copulatory compatibility. I want that new, fresh love I felt the first time I touched my lips to another, that tingle and mystery at once terrifying and ambrosic... that love of stepping to the edge of all previous known perceptions and dancing tentatively into something with no idea of what was happening or what might become... The love you cannot find in word or gesture or storybook, only on the tip of the most sensitive organs and on the cusp of rapidly uncontrollable, spiraling emotions... that love we've all lost with youth, when possibility ceased to be plausible and embryonic dreams gave way to misshapen, debilitating 'realities' forged by previous generations who lacked the evolutionary progression and/or courage to turn their art into precedent... I want this all, for me, for us, for a dying planet, for a sickened humanity, there must be something more than this game, this politicking endlessly around the truth, the task, the POINT of life! I want to be a part of something greater than myself that doesn't involve the mobilization of vast metallic hollow tubes pointing death at other vast, metallic hollow tubes peopled inside! If I must kill at least let me choose my prey, like the shamans that led the hunters to sustenance...

Meandering through my conduit 'brain' roams these yearnings and sadnesses and tragedies through which we have always lived and died, the point, where's the point? In any of this? I'm going mad...

I intend this for my journal, my journey, through 'recovery'? Through 'madness'? Through 'myself'? Through through through into something else, something more, something I don't yet understand but ache to. Something that I can someday identify in the pit of my stomach as a spark that can propel unquavering through my own prison of time and through to the end of what decayed matter I'll eventually cease to call 'me'.

I posted here because it seemed most appropriate, more secluded, less offensive to the more indefatigable ideologies featured at any recovery site. My ideals, my delusions are often offensive even to myself, but I want to feel safe here, I want a place to purge my mental vomit with less judgment and less pain and in colorful waves of nonsensical convulsions... Paradigmal epilepsy...