weedguru
Active Member
These are the words, of a man, who regularly finds a state of apathetic hopelesness. The words of a Man, now intent on seeking nothing other than The Edge. Of All Things...
My only anchor is Oscar. The psychotic shitsu wolverine who is as close to me as I assume a son could ever be. 'but he is just a dog' I hear the goon brigade squeal...with glee...with pride...and I wish them ILL. I wish to kill...but only if I can get away with it. There is real hatred here, as well as the bloodlust driving an instinct to destroy. A very Human instinct : DESTROY. Its there. I feel it...but due to the heightened emotive sensitivity resulting from trauma in the nurturing stages of Creature Evolution, and the sense of decency instilled by my dear mother, I have restricted its expressions to solely my OWN life.
Nothing makes sense.
I love to use Burrough's wicked lines...'nothing is certain, anything is possible'...though my hopes and suggestion when I deliver such a line, used to be drenched with positivity....Nothing is certain...Perhaps the purest love of my life will one day be in my arms and we will lose ourselves beautifully in a soft, searing hot cocoon of bliss...But that has changed over the years...to the Now, of : Perhaps someone right now is being burned alive by a vicious lynch mob, in front of his family, for the crime of nothing more than the colour of his skin, or the language he speaks.
Can I ever turn my mind away from such savagery?
Can You?
Brutal Atrocities Perpetutated by humans, on humans. FOr nothing more, than to express, without restraint, that same bloodlust I mentioned I feel i myself, earlier in this 318am rant.
I am not looking for sympathy. Nor friends. I am simply offering up what resides behind my jovial, cruel jester-like demeanour. After the firewater has stripped my sense of decorum bare, and the weed has encouraged my psyche to make pictures with words...
My only anchor is Oscar. The psychotic shitsu wolverine who is as close to me as I assume a son could ever be. 'but he is just a dog' I hear the goon brigade squeal...with glee...with pride...and I wish them ILL. I wish to kill...but only if I can get away with it. There is real hatred here, as well as the bloodlust driving an instinct to destroy. A very Human instinct : DESTROY. Its there. I feel it...but due to the heightened emotive sensitivity resulting from trauma in the nurturing stages of Creature Evolution, and the sense of decency instilled by my dear mother, I have restricted its expressions to solely my OWN life.
Nothing makes sense.
I love to use Burrough's wicked lines...'nothing is certain, anything is possible'...though my hopes and suggestion when I deliver such a line, used to be drenched with positivity....Nothing is certain...Perhaps the purest love of my life will one day be in my arms and we will lose ourselves beautifully in a soft, searing hot cocoon of bliss...But that has changed over the years...to the Now, of : Perhaps someone right now is being burned alive by a vicious lynch mob, in front of his family, for the crime of nothing more than the colour of his skin, or the language he speaks.
Can I ever turn my mind away from such savagery?
Can You?
Brutal Atrocities Perpetutated by humans, on humans. FOr nothing more, than to express, without restraint, that same bloodlust I mentioned I feel i myself, earlier in this 318am rant.
I am not looking for sympathy. Nor friends. I am simply offering up what resides behind my jovial, cruel jester-like demeanour. After the firewater has stripped my sense of decorum bare, and the weed has encouraged my psyche to make pictures with words...