It dawned on me this morning, that I never really was asleep. I perceived time passing, thought I slept great many of hours but that was something of a lie. I haven't been able to really sleep now for a couple of weeks. At some point in time I more or less just pass out, if but for only a hour or so, where the trick part of it comes in is my perception of time passing is where I get fucked. Yet enough of this gibberish.
Frankly sometimes I wonder why I write to you at all, I often wonder if you care, or if you actually listen to me. This odd sensation creeps over me that I am only a friend when it seems best and convenient for you. An odd summery I know, and it may or may not be founded in the right mind state or at all.
It's weird writing the novellas I am writing or learning the new language, doing school work and slipping inexorably more into poverty each day. I find myself slipping farther from society into some made up or fantasy world that might only exist to the extent of my four walls. This really isn't so much the problem as a symptom of something larger. When I was using, anything or everything, I was a different person. In my states of inebriation I leveled people down in either philosophical terms or purely in a physical form. In these days of sobriety all I really yearn for is my former ability to stay up and alert for days or weeks on end again, striking new form to the work I am already doing. That also is neither here nor there, the reality is just giving up seems to be a good way to go about things, I mean hell everyone else seems to be giving up in one way or another. Not wanting or attempting to better ones own situation is an essence giving up.
Candy strip a cancer ward, it's not your problem right? Or is it safer to say that each of the people I know that I try to keep close are more resembling characters in books, or papers I write. I have no longer an access for narcotics, yet still I sit here, unable to sleep, yesterdays sleeping all day was a miscommunication of time to my head, how long was I really asleep, have I been sleeping at all? These are questions without answers really, and then there seems to be excerpts of my former life resurfacing. Then it dawns on me, you and the people I have met only know a side or in the case of you or perhaps zo & zach many sides. Yet where you all seem to lack through no fault of your own is knowing the core, the child who died so long ago to the harsh reality that life isn't fair. that same child who petrified of needles went looking for the shaft of the black death and white light.
All of this might simply be ramblings, maybe maybe not ... but it was that I wanted to get back to, in those days I was never really alone, I was there with many faces all reaching hands closer to death. We were just children playing in the road. The problem with that is I physically can't remember much more than that. And I even have to wonder about how much of that is true or how much of it was force fed lies. When did those children stop playing and start dying, where was the time in between. These are the things I am seeking out, and there aren't any like minded people like I. I never say people are stupider than myself, yet people seem to think I am constantly measuring their intelligence, nay I simply am just this way ... where the similarities to people I seek are the search, who was I who am I for that matter. Why am I still alive, where am I going, when will the solitude end? How many more chances for accompaniment will I throw away unknowingly, how many knowingly?
I don't have nearly enough answers to such questions, rather I have an unending yield of questions and only more questions to answer them. My head is spinning round and round, and no one can really tell where I am, and from time to time, I don't even know.
There is a smell of soap and sweat lingering in the air, up all night making laundry soap, and then doing laundry, that damp smell it leaves in the air when you have no dryer to dry them in. endless jackrabbit fuck thrusts to pass time of which I have so much, and I am on the brink of exhaustion but I cannot sleep. It's at this stage for some reason I think of calling you, I have no idea why, and ironically I think I bitched you out for waking me after about 20 min after falling asleep, this early. Now I can see these different sides of me and it becomes clear the connections and stand offs, some want me others can't stand me, and then I just seem to blunder through it all each day. There is this dark feeling inside me that grows the notion of the end is near, but what end? I really wish I could sleep, then none of this shit would rattle around in my head anymore, these thoughts they never really go away, and they consume me into isolation ... either that or they reset me to being the nice guy, and he can go fuck himself, because he is never good for anything.
