Friday Love/Hate

I love the unclogging process. I have been denying myself words because I haven't been working much, and I have this fucked up thing where if I'm not providing for my family, I feel I should deny myself pleasures. But writing the words that constantly clog up my brain isn't really pleasure so much as necessity. Those things get backed up to the point I get all self-destructive and reckless, except I sort of quit drinking for the most part, which usually unlocks my recklessness, so instead of self-destructive I just get all depressed and half-suicidal-by-chance reckless, meaning I'm less worried about falling off ladders 32 feet in the air or stupid thangs like that. Plus, in all that backlog, I lose so much - stories, articles, instant haiku, tons of rhymes - it just clogs up as a dam in my mind and I tell myself, "Remember to jot this down" in one of the 37 composition books I have stashed everywhere in my daily routine, but I don't take the time because I know if I start, I might not stop for a while. But letting it loose makes me a happier human being. Not so much so people can see it, because honestly that's not important to me, but it helps. Sometimes I wish I could just be locked up somewhere, writing, or etching my word devilry out onto old pieces of cardboard, or something. But I realize we don't really have mental institutions for lightweight screwballs like myself anymore in this country, and for real jail is too real for a lost in thought idealist whiteboy like myself. Plus, I got a family. My house has cluttered energy though, and I'm not sure why because it's not that cluttered. It used to be haunted, but we moved the ghost along, but I think there's some psychic cobwebs still hung up around the place. So I kick it in the camper the gypsy lady left here five years ago, and hope the skunks that live somewhere on our property aren't out as I walk back across the yard through the just past full moon light and spray my retarded ass with skunk evil.

I hate having air conditioners put in my house finally, even though we made it till the beginning of August at least. It changes the feel of a house, like a fucking space pod separate from your outside world. The freon also weakens the bones, and used in accordance with fluoridated toothpaste and HAARP beams from the angels humming nationwide through cell phone towers, leaves you susceptible to watching too much TV or goofing off on Facebook for two hours when you should be re-writing that one stupid thing to submit to the Oxford American since you are what half of those fuckers want to be. Conditioned air? I have become far too soft.