Addictive Behavior

“Sometimes peanuts take the whole trip.” –Threebrain

Oh, where is my update? Is it choked up somewhere between valid information and Bleeding Heart: Caught On Clipboard? How individual is the typical individual? What messages do you find hidden here, beyond my general purpose to provide paradox? More importantly, why did large numbers of white suburbans ever begin listening to ghetto music, really? In this passage, it will become clear that I can only be detrimental today. Hey, I think that might have qualified as a thesis sentence. What say you, academic onlookers? … Well. You wouldn’t know a creative thesis if it dished up fresh menstrual blood and proceeded to replicate Mona Lisa on your bedroom ceiling.

Gasp! My Compaq just rebooted on me, and this introduction came right back. So much for giving me another shot; it’ll take a miracle to steer this one anywhere but down. Once the mood has been set, it’s very hard not to throw in “while I’m at it”s. Why save face when you can go head-first into the saturated levels of barrel scum, you know? Oh yeah? Well I’m the scum at the bottom of the scum they scrape off of the scum on the scum of the scum on the- Come on! Don’t just stop there. Set a record or knock it off.

One of the most painful things about sundown is the last remaining moment of self-awareness during transformation. Earlier this week, my mother baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies for a special occasion and I went from “operating well in presence of dessert/going about life normally” to “lurking in the corners/waiting for Kitchen Woman to leave baked goods unattended.” A war against resistance and desire means you have the same odds no matter which Gemini face you bet on. But when my law does fall to one side, it’s with a sad, broken grasp from the other.

“GRAB! GRAB! GRAB IT NOW OR GRAB IT NEVER! FULL HANDS!” I remember thinking, after having crept out over floorboards toe-heel so as to avoid unnecessary creaking. In the blink of an eye, paper bag was unfolded and ziplock was open. “Shit, should I close this back up?” I tried, but the paper bag was noisy and threatened to alarm. “There’s no time.” Suddenly, flashes of wall, chairs and rooms blurred past and all I could make out was the path I’ve come to know so well… I could see my bedroom up ahead….and…

over the carpet divider! Bouncing and twirling on the floor mattress, cookie crumbs flinging around. It’s all true. And I know what you’re thinking, besides, “Dear God.” You’re thinking it must have been the semi-sweet chips that made everything a surge of euphoric celebration, but you only think that because I haven’t shown you enough of the reality. I haven’t yet gotten to my actual content, because it’s so much easier to play around serious things than to address them, directly. Can’t I just kind of…hint at what I’m really feeling and let this summoner’s dance speak for itself?

Sometimes, every once in a while, the Same Sun comes shining through my windows. The Same Sun that you go walking out under when you go do all those…things. The Same Sun that triggers deep breaths and appreciation for all those bright, blue skies out there.

Perhaps my greatest possession has been the faintest clue.

Mandi wrote a blurb about the drag racing strip over on Industrial (Flint, MI) and it was sweet.
Damn. I remember that.


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