Critique?

[Ratonderio]

Hola. I'm new here as my post count indicates.  I recently read the Principia Discordia and found that it suited my lifestyle aptly. Previously Albert Camus/Absurdism was my favorite thing in the world and to me the two are so similar that I couldn't help but love the whole Black Temple Prison idea etc.  Anyway..couldn't really think of a way to introduce myself so I thought maybe, because I've lurked the boards for a while and seen that everyone here would give reasonable criticism as opposed to niceties, I could have a piece I was working on some critique.  I enjoy writing and enjoy hearing from other writers so..

Chea.

I continue to have this evanescent yet perturbing, perpetual notion. It's a funny, fleeting feeling of a wanton necessity to write of events in the past. A curious matter, one can be certain, my past. There's a certain grim satisfaction to be taken in the discourse of one's past and even more pleasant becomes the process of procuring such thoughts from your head and setting them on paper. All assonance aside, this specific notion finds itself nagging my thoughts and I find myself indulging in said idea and finding it more and more pleasing.

See, there was a specific time in my life that I've found excruciatingly painful to bring up; perhaps because the emotions during that time I still struggle with today. In recent experiences, I've found it easier to write these thoughts rather than speak them. The idea is for the person reading to perceive a sort of scope on my personal perspective during that specific period of life. I don't ask for forgiveness, I never have. Forgiveness, I feel, is given willingly and the idea of asking for something that is given willingly makes that agreement void to me. I pay penance in committing acts of well-being to replace past malevolence and my actions speak my request, I merely ask understanding. For those willing to forgive, a benevolent debt of gratitude unto you and a deeply seeded, hearty "thank-you."

From first glance, a week in my life might look like a Hunter Thompson novel; and so the story goes.

Monday; the ineffable tragedy of the week. Perhaps it's the first workday and a glance of the dismal play of one's life through an unending cycle of work days and week ends and a gloomily abhorrent view of the rest of your life to come. There is no joy to be procured from Mondays. Or is there? And so my week begins. But where to begin?

Amphetamines are tragically fun to consume and excitingly perfect for a day at school where they will keep your mind entertained due to the droning, monotonous tone of a bald, gay Oceanography teacher causing your mind to scream for mercy from his wrath. My perception of life through times becomes specifically jaded through all of the tireless activities of the day that I find it desperately hard to cling on to reality or to keep my eyes even open. Amphetamines provided a serene, blissful escape from all of the lacking areas of my life.

My love for insufflation held true in these little capsules. This morning, like many others, held dire excitement and untold glories; it held secret treasures and my own hidden smirk to the world. My hidden secret, my hidden pleasure. When one divulges in the pleasure of such things they experience a strong wave of euphoria and an overwhelming sense of an unfaltering, courageous well-being. You become outspoken and your mind juggles through a convoluted mess of ideas, phrases, inventions, and other thoughts and manners of the mind. You can pleasantly occupy yourself with, well, yourself; or you can occupy others with your irresistible urge to engage in a thrilling conversation with your fellow human being. Your whole demeanor becomes that of one decidedly impervious to the possible physical or emotional harms of the world. Exciting, isn't it?

I remember taking countless pills, on a specific occasion, of this deviously enticing drug and spending roughly twenty hours in this extreme bliss. A friend and myself found ourselves entertained solely with music and a computer program that caused fancy designs to sprawl across the screen in synchronization with our favorite bands. The night was filled with the strangest sense of bemusement and there was no falter in well-being until the next day when the pills were all gone and our eyes were blood red. Over forty-eight hours had passed and the disgusting notion that I would never be able to sleep consistently droned in my head. The mere sight of food caused a gag reflex and the diarrhea was acidic enough to burn through the porcelain bowl it filled were it to sit long enough. And that unpalpable sense of immortality and strict well-being fled along with the drug and the emotional wreckage was barely tolerable. The vast amount of pressure I had to place upon myself was of an utterly unexplainable magnitude to simply perform regular functions. Seemingly innocuous tasks such as watching television or going to the bathroom or doing dishes became insurmountable heights. My physical composure and pallor spoke volumes of my condition and the sights, oh the sights. Speckled, lurid creatures of unknown origin danced around the corners of my eyes asking to be found, but never showing themselves. Helplessly, frantically I would peer around for those hallucinatory creatures of insanity and would never spot the devilishly clever beasts. Whenever I was alone, I was never completely alone; my thoughts were auditory and I could never feel safe from an unknown voyeur. But we digress; amphetamines were still a novel choice for this day.

My mind was lucid with explanation to what I must do. I quickly performed the procedure in the early morning hours; I moved assuredly and with a driven purpose I cracked open a couple of capsules and let flow the contents onto a cd case and watched as the small beads formed a small pile of their own creation. I quickly scooped them together with a card and crushed them for insufflation. No one is coming? Good. I spread the fine powder into two lines and reveled in the beauty of the whole ordeal as the powder dissipated into my nasal passages and the residue became a bitter-sweet mucous that slowly, slimly dripped it's way down the back of my throat. Tasty.

The morning went by quickly, as usual. The frantic pace I set myself for in the mornings allowed for little leeway. After the morning rituals were completed I grabbed my school supplies along with a few other required accouterments. As I jumped into the truck, happily buzzing, I made the way to school in search for a quick, vacant location for another fast line of one of my favorites. I ducked into an empty dock with my dirty Nissan pickup and found myself exuberant with my current status and so my day began.

The classes were less dull, the people were more exciting, the day was speeding towards spectacular and all the while I took comfort in my little secret. I laughed at the teachers, the police officers, and the school officials as I walked throughout their hallways. I gave presentations, I spoke when appropriate and I smiled to their faces while I basked in the knowledge that they knew nothing. I felt good and they all felt the crushing defeat of another Monday passing them by. Maybe there is joy to be procured from Mondays.

I went to school, I went to work, and I went to sleep. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday I had amphetamines to push me through the day and Wednesday a slight panic set in. I was all out of pills and the crushing defeat of reality would soon be upon me. Lucky for me, I had plenty of viable options. I had alcohol and tree to get me through Thursday and the house was full of other little pleasantries such as ephedrine and dextromethorphan hydrobromide; all legitimate and legal ways to make your head feel gratitude. Thursday became passable with those various amenities and Friday, well, Fridays are always passable.

Friday. A few shots of vodka (barely struggled down through the gaggingly disgusting taste of alcohol) and a couple of bowl packs into the morning, I decided Friday would make an uproariously great day to lay aside academics and make a trip to the city to see what amazing things I could find. An hour down the road and I could be found in a house with a mid-twenties black man growing a perturbingly long beard in what could be construed as ghetto Norfolk. We looked as if we were long time friends, the banter between us and the blunt being passed back and forth was a further indicator of that "truth," but we both knew that when the powder arrived, I'd be making a hasty exit. And so the powder arrived, and so I made a hasty exit.

The "powder" is a gram of cocaine with a price of about fifty dollars attached to it. I had the weekend off and the money to spend, so I spent it the only way I knew how. The "yay" was carefully tucked away and the day was lolling on by as I headed back to Virginia Beach and careened into an old friends house. School had just let out, but I could always count on there being someone at this particular person's house no matter what time or who the person; the house was most assuredly occupied.

I strolled my way easily into the crowd and didn't disrupt the general flow of things. These people knew me and I knew these people. The one that lived in the house and myself had a special treat while the others smoked their weed from their hookah and once again I had amphetamines on the brain. The both of us downed the pills and that is when Friday truly began. The weekend was ours and we took what was ours. People flooded in and out of the house constantly, when we left the others followed. What the two of us did, the others emulated and if they failed to emulate they were dismissed. We destroyed the town at the local movie theatre, at the local bowling alley, at the local mall. People hated us and we gave them reason to. They looked at us with their exasperated looks and their dogged determination to make their contempt for us show and we smiled back and made their insignificant looks feel all the more insignificant.

When night would hit we would snort more coke and through the night we fucked and partied and dared those who would challenge us to do so because we wore our true selves on our sleeves and prayed someone dare oppose. We got caught up in the flow of things and night turned into day and day into night and we found ourselves in the same places doing the same things differently. The oceanfront became another fifty dollar trip and Virginia Beach Blvd. became another and the people and the alcohol and the weed and the ephedrine and the dextro and the amphetamines and the oxycontin and the cocaine and the laughter and the places flowed like the rains of a monsoon, heavily, freely, and devastatingly so. And so it ended.

Sunday would eventually become Monday. The Monday that everyone else had, however, I had Sunday. While others laughed and smiled and breathed happiness, I glowered at their solidity. Their happy, sound minds rested at the end of their week and mine knew no rest. I lacked sleep and I lacked nutrients and I lacked stability and I lacked control and I lacked. The thunderous headache I had and the contempt for life I felt and the loathing at the happiness of others and the inability to find that solace in myself resounded heavily in my mind and I wept. Metaphorically and literally I wept.

I had no control over the emotions that came and the suppressants I used before had been exhausted and reality bore it's teeth at me and grinned it's menacing grin and laughed it's menacing laugh. I found no hope in those around me and I knew that I had caused myself to be alone, but I still felt loneliness. I knew what I did, and what I had done and what I would do again and I scorned myself for it. I bled for it and for those that I hurt and stabbed and maimed, I paid for it through my blood and tears. My inadequacy was paid for as the warm blood trickled down my arm and dripped from my fingertips and I had found a new drug. Sunday passed slowest of all and rest did not come easy. I knew not nightmare from reality and the grasp I had on reality before slipped away until I slept. Until Monday.

Monday.

End Chea.

So, thank you for any and all feedback.