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

This is the bane of my existence.

I am a soft-spoken guy. Apparently, I come across to a lot of people as chill, even though I’m typically in the midst of a depressive episode or existential crisis, brought on either by circumstance or introversion.

An old boss of mine was shocked when we were out having beers one night and I told him I didn’t smoke weed.

I guess he thought I was permanently stoned, which probably wasn’t helped by my personal email address at the time, which was intended to mean most evolved monkey, or the opposite, and had nothing to do with drugs.

I’m not anti-drug. I just don’t like the effect weed in particular has on me, and with my particular blend of emotional turmoil and addictive personality, I know that trying something addictive, even only psychologically, is probably a pretty slippery slope for me.

I do love mushrooms.

Psylocibin is the shit.

But it’s been probably almost twenty years since I last had any, and so I guess I’ll stick with a glass of wine or a nice craft beer. A well made cocktail is nice too, but only in moderation.

Everything in moderation, including moderation, if you ask me.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 2199 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The First 20 Hours, Josh Kaufmann
Comics: Strange Tales 5-8
Music: Happiness... Is Not A Fish You Can Catch, Our Lady Peace (good Canadian boys)