Wednesday, January 07, 2015

Oranges and Cigarettes 1714

Cigarettes and Coffee represent a large portion of my nutritional intake.  That may not seem all that surprising to those that know me very well, as prior to my giving up drugs and alcohol, they were my only intake aside from the copious quantities of marijuana, beer and often wine and some sort of spirits.

Now do not get me wrong, I have always eaten, most often for as much the appeal of the food, rather than the actual health, as I prefer those foods that are more or less than healthy depending on your particular perception of what is healthy.  I have always prefered food that was local (for the freshness more than the economics or popular reasons), that was free of additives, and usually raw or nearly so.  This is not to say that I did not eat a lot of fast food, I have definitely ingested my share of that tainted disgusting waste product that I should be quite toxic by now, still, I prefer to this day, a good diner burger over a mass produced burger.  Unfortunately there are so few places that really serve good food any longer, now relying on the same suppliers, all the diners have become very much the same, with little to no variation from place to place.

This leads me to today, and why I and my wife have not gone out much.  Well to be honest, it partly why we haven't gone out much,  It is partly because we have no car to drive to the diner, and partly because the food quality has decreased so much that it does not warrant the increases in cost.  Food cost itself has now become so dear that it is not even affordable to stay home and eat.  So at least twice a week I eat oatmeal and try to do so with the knowledge that it will help me stay alive.  Most times I have my standard breakfast of coffee, cigarettes and stale white bread.

Why haven't I given up cigarettes at least, especially since I am fully aware that they are killing me, and most likely also my wife?  Well for one thing, she hasn't either, and two, it is all the vice I have left, and I at this point would prefer to maintain my vice for the memories.

There are definitely times when I think that a nice glass of beer, perfectly crafted from barley malt and fragrant hops would be the perfect compliment to my daily bread, but being that I am not likely to afford this, nor have the where-with-all to just take one as opposed to many, though I would like to think I could at this time, it remains still just a thought that passes, and I move on to coffee again.

What keeps me alive, keeps me sane, is this ritual, this grind, this daily homage to vices I have, while keeping the ones that sought to destroy me, however at fault I was in that destruction, at arms length.

One thing I can attest to is that the other drugs I have done, and I have done most of them, they were not of much use, and certainly not helpful even to my creative process, however I felt about them at the time, they only made it difficult to create anything of any value.  It is still hard for me to create value now, more so then it was then, when I was far less distracted by work and fires that needed tending, but at least now, I am finding that what does get created is far more valuable and useful then what I would have had to rewrite in the end anyways.

So I can attest to the fact that drugs are not conducive to the creative process, at least not while under the influence, although the experience like all experiences now lend their influence to my work, and for that I guess I am grateful I could experience their influence and have somehow survived.  While I admire the works of some of the great writers, and to a degree I tried to live their lives of alcohol fueled fiction, it just was never in the cards for me.  I do not know that my work is as good as it could be, only the readers can decide that, but I do know that at least from what I can tell, I work as hard or harder and feel less wore out from it.

Now if only I could learn to eat oranges and drink water, but both of them at the moment are far more expensive then coffee and cigarettes, and that right there says something about our society, I  think.


Tuesday, January 06, 2015

Not Knowing Me at 5 AM

Things just get messed up, and you are like, what can I do?  I do not know what to do, just sit here, nothing I can do, once again, and again.  You ever feel like you just can not seem to get past a point in time, like it seems to haunt you, like an old ghost.

I'm just dancing around the subject, trying not to come to grips with truths that so often keep coming back to me in the flesh of someone else.  Watching these others implode around me, and thinking, what can I do, keep on keeping on, but I am at the end of that road too.

So I run to something certain, an escape into something I can be sure of.  It is the only thing that I can grasp, that does not come with the regret for what I should be doing.  In the end it all seems like I might just not admit that all its ever been is me in my own way.  I will have to move over and let the man go through, or accept that I have nothing left to leave to anyone.

Do not know what the hell I am talking about, it is just me not knowing anything, at five in the morning.