Who doesn’t love the blues?

I mean, it’s kind of my thing – feeling the full pain of the world, of life, of everything that goes on inside me like a relentless typhoon of crazy, and just… being with it.

Letting it be.

This is why I don’t believe in prescription drugs that numb out the emotion.

I believe in drugs that shut off the crazy, for at least a little while. Mushrooms, psylocybin, a well-made beer, a nice bottle of wine.

Whiskey, or scotch, on the rocks, in the sunlight with a beautifully-scented cigar.

I’ve tried them, don’t get me wrong.

Every one of them left me unable to feel, unable to practice the radical acceptance that is the only way through.

Every one of them made me want to kill myself, and left me without the strength of will or the faculties to stop it.

The only thing that ended that torture was to stop. Cold turkey.

Meditate. Think. Use my brain. Feel what there was to feel, fully.

Let it through. Embrace it.

Channel it.

And ultimately, let it go.

The only way out is through is the truest thing ever said about how to live.

The people versus the power.

Never forget.

Do not let them anaesthetize you. There’s nothing wrong with help, but if all they want is for you to be numb?

That’s not through. That’s stuck.

And stuck sucks.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1645 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: The Mutant Misadventures Of Cloak And Dagger 12-15
Music: Hard To Explain, The Strokes