IN HEAVEN - everything is fine

Life for future reference

Isn't it clumsy how memory works. If it is not written or pictured it can be so easily forgotten or maybe a worse fate, fabricated. These days I know for certain that I am an addict and these addictions have scrambled my memories to nothingness. I reimagine my youth as something that it was not, for I cannot grasp what it was. I know it terribly wasteful but I find some sad comfort in dreaming a better time. A lover, a loving family - mnemonics which may have prevented a stunted growth. How am I now? Do you think a girlfriend could have saved you from such an abyss you now drift in or was fate so terribly inevitable? How am I? You asked, yes I remember but I thought you were being polite like the rest. These days I am unmotivated to move. I am an inert ball of slush, emotionless with fire to the brain. Oh the pain it comes sometimes. How are you not already dead? I suppose it be the fear that keeps me here though I have reasoned the VOID is nothing to dread. You said you were an addict, can you elaborate? I have said too few things in my life and now I think days for talking are coming to an end. The Sun sinks into the sea like a capsized ship. There is nothing I can do to save them, much less myself. Opiates brother, I need my opiates like everyone else cursed by the warmth of the egg. I think of Gatsby much. The melancholy trapped behind his bright smile. I need concealment night and day. Sleep is impossible without being hidden, that is the atavism in our blood - the red stuff inside that you rarely see. The shakes and monsters are worse than you can ever imagine. Some days are more offal still, when you cannot stand the stench of your breath and the only thing that will stop it is a thread around your neck. So why continue and take up our time? I suppose it is the fear again and that thing Candide said about gardens. Be careful they might be able to tell what you are saying or who you are. The world is full of crazy. These days I am as close to an hikikomori than I have ever been. Except...the rubbish is strewn on the plains of my mind. I am alone now almost completely, me and my parents hardly speak. Friends? I hardly have any of them left. My mother only gives me the food I need to survive. That has been my life for the past decade, a survival. The older I get the sicker I become. Now these maladies stick like shit on the bottom of your shoe. Eating at the flesh and bone. Older me, I am sorry to bore you, I wish you better always.