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anada356
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.* * \ /\
.* O . . .. ..O .. 356 20 May 2001 ) ( ')
.* O O* o o o o o o o ( / )
* ***O O O O O O O O O \( _)|
* O o o.*..o.*..o.*..o. .net "A Conversation *
* O with Beer" *
*. o |\ _,,,---,,_ *
* /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ *
* |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by Effy *
* '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o
*. .......................................*
'Anada is cat-friendly..o*`
Don't even really like beer, but I drank it anyway. Tried to
comprehend it's strangely bittersweet taste. How many hours could I spend
alone, thinking of philosophical questions, creative projects, unique
activities to assume mastery in, soley because of the fact that _I_ created
them? I built my own genius by my own standards; the highest of which was
my own, because it's what I could understand the most, what I could
comprehend the most thoroughly. Still, I knew a hundred other people with
the same behavioral pattern, and we were ALL wrong. All blind idiots who
hung ourselves from different branches of the same tree.
These days, it takes less and less for me to branch off into a
direction that will make any perceptive reader oblivious to my true point.
And the simple reason for that is, I don't want you to know. I just wanted
to bitch.
Anyway.
The more lager I drank, the better it tasted, especially flowing down
my cashed throat (from the marijuana). For all the preschool level illegal
drugs I did, I sure felt like a junkie sometimes, posessing just the
adequate amount of apathy about my habits. I began to think of things best
recognized as permanent, as human, like if I would always feel my own strong
brew of resistance to people. I felt justified in building my wall, but
regardless, I didn't like the after effects of the inevitable result of my
childhood ridicule.
Escape. escape. escape.
If it makes you feel good about yourself, it must be foreign and it
must be destroyed. Erase it from your existence. Stick to what is true,
what is familiar.
Wait, can't something new also be true and familiar? Why is it EVER
relevant to time and what you THOUGHT you knew?
When I was younger, I took crazy chances. I jumped headfirst without
even looking to where I was headed. Nothing's like it was back then. So
sure of myself, so right and so believing about everything I said,
everything I did. Such an unclouded, blue sky. What's left, and what's
left to give? Second guessing everything with potential. I'm trying to
figure out the upside of emotion, but all I have to compare it to is the
downside. What I know. What is humbling. What I know is true and
familiar.
What makes me hate myself for being a potential victim of pity.
Maybe someday I'll be able to finish this thought.
Perhaps I'll be able to remember my dreams tonight.
Then, maybe, I'll have something to think about.
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/\_/\ *
( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada356 by Effy o
> ^ < o
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