trouble in mind
the only alcoholism that works for me is drinking in my bed before i go to sleep, but i only do this a few times a month. i have tried drinking at the pub, but if it is a proper ham-and-eggs establishment, the patrons will harang me about politics because they assume i am an sjw or bible thumper or representative of the bourgeoise - all of which i am a little bit, if you squint, but they aren’t my main thing. but if i am alone at an establishment filled with what we may consider ‘the good people’, patrons will politely assume that i am sitting on my own because i must be neuro-a-typical and that it is best to leave me to wander barefoot in my own mental field of double gs. so i really do appreciate the abrasive and offensive blokes at places like the peninsula tavern because at least they will talk at me and i can sit and listen and say 'well..'
because i have discovered that if i am drinking, my own company is worse company than someone else's bad company. unless i can get drunk in my bed and go to sleep straight away.
i am wondering what can get me through the next ten or five years. i am thinking maybe i could get into drugs, but i don't know much about this arena. one time i did do a nang at the beach and it was very cool. as the sun rose over the waves i saw someone pull down their pants in slow motion and i saw their whole arse and when i screamed my voice was several octaves deep and i saw them running into the ocean at five frames a second and everything sounded like a long moan into the desk fan. you have had your adventures, i have certainly had mine and i have had enough, i will not do this drug again. cigarettes are OK but work too slow to get me where i want to be, and i once chewed some beetel nuts at a baby shower, and yes i did enjoy spitting the bitter red goo onto the lawn, but it only amounted to the same euphoria you’d get from eating an expensive ice cream.
i think a good ice cream can deliver me from nowhere but i feel embarassed to admit this as a fully grown man. if only there were more masculine flavours such as sandalwood or leather. but why must we men deny ourselves the things we love? when my male friends are forced to buy ice cream by me or their lovers, they always choose vanilla because of stoicism, but really, i would like to see men stepping up to eat bubblegum sundae or rainbow sherbet or strawberry shortcake. men getting the flavours their heart wants.
i once listened to a podcast where a guy talked about his morning routine of holding a handful of ice cubes to prepare his mind for the anguishes of the day. expecting mothers also do this to prepare for the pains of childbirth, but this is ersatz pain. what about the real thing? i read a book about a preacher who puts little rocks in his shoes so that he is uncomfortable all the time, and my fatal flaw is that i think this behaviour is very cool and badass.
i have been going for a run every day and i like to run up the bushy hillside to the old mountain bike park. my favourite thing is to run the downhill tracks with their twists and jumps, going as fast as i can. i like the loss of control, the knowledge that i could twist my body into an unusual shape at any moment.
one time i found a kayak on the side of the road. i kayaked from the south perth foreshore toward the elizabeth quay but the kayak filled with water, and the clouds went black and it started to rain and my hands were numb and the river water was whipping my face and the water stank and none of my destinations were worth getting to so i pulled my jumper over my head to shield my ears from the wind and let the current carry me backwards until the kayak shattered itself on the sharp rocks of heirisson island where i cut both my feet wading ashore and when i finally stumbled onto dry land i had to cross the endless plains of dust and gravel and pricklegrass and ants who swarmed and drank my trails of blood. when another storm came i took shelter in the tunnel beneath the causeway where i sat and cleaned the dirt from my wounds with a little stick but i wasn’t alone: a homeless man approached me and offered me a sip from his flask which i did and then i splashed some on my feet to sanitize the wounds and the man was mad at me for wasting his captain morgan tropical rum and banished me from the tunnel and the rain had gone but my feet were all sticky so i took off my shirt and wrapped it around them and then i had to hop the rest of the way home.
when people ask me what i plan to do in the future i think i dont know i dont know i dont know. i dont know. but i like to know that at the end of every day, all roads lead to lying down.