Ice, Your Only Rivers Run Cold

At the end of an Austin ice storm. Couped up at home all day, working through VPN, bored to tears. Streets were slick and icy earlier, but the stiff dry wind has made all the ice disappear. Now it’s just bitter cold.

Couped up inside. I need some wind to evaporate the ice keeping me stuck. I’d like a full thaw, some warmth, some heat, those would be nice. Anything to loosen my stasis is welcome.

Walk on by, walk on through, walk to your own and don’t look back, for here I am.

Burn Fuel

It’s almost 1AM and I’m more or less feeling my oats. I have to wake up in 5 hours. It’s not surprising that I turn to the liquid pleasures to make my life feel like it’s worth it. Really, though, it burns through my reserves of serotonin so the rest of my day is an emotional flatline. That’s a good and a bad thing. But whatever.

I’m courting a change in my life, a massive change, and getting cold feet. Eventually, anger will override trepidation and I will burn hot coals to fuel my engine of self-preservation. Change is necessary.

It’s one thing to say, “What I would give for a new life,” and a totally different thing to actually give for a new life.

Emetic Diuretic

touching every nerve on repeat
ad infinitum, ad nauseum, ad vertisium
straw men on infinite scroll
binge and purge, singe and durge
the anger, the righteousness, the fearmongering
the masturbation
we can’t see it
i can’t believe it
constant waves crashing over my head
taking on water, swallowing it all down
not wanting to drown
salt, tears, gurgling for a lifeguard
but the guards are all fired
this libertarian beachhead
has got me counting
one two three
drifting out to sea

Uphill

My life has always been a constant struggle to reconcile that I want desperately to communicate through high art and find my own space on this earth with the finest people on it, versus the mandate that I must wake up at 6:30am and perform the artless needful in order to sponsor my dreams. I see hopefulness in expression, the hope of being able to craft my own reality and be the man I want to be — like all the arty free-thinkers say — but that has never, ever jived with the harshness of my life’s reality: I’m a working stiff. Try explaining to my bosses that I want to be free; if I try hard enough, they’ll let me go to be as free as I want, for free. And then what?

Reality is somewhere in the middle, and I must take both legs in stride to make my life worthwhile.

Paddle

I hate Facebook as much as I hate many aspects of and activities in my life.

The first step would be liberating myself from Facebook, but I still need it. You know, just in case I miss something.

It’s the same reason why I keep going to the same coffee shop every goddamn day (sometimes twice or thrice). You know, just in case I miss something.

There’s just that random chance of a benefit that keeps me on the hook for more. I guess B.F. Skinner’s theories on operant conditioning are correct after all; the rat will keep pressing the paddle in the Skinner box with more predictability if you give it a randomized chance of getting a food pellet. If you give a pellet on every press, it will get bored and do something else, safe with the knowledge that it can always get a food pellet when it wants.

And it is with this knowledge that habits are encouraged to form. That piece of my soul that hopes for something that is just outside my grasp goes all the way back to childhood and youth. It’s a part of me that sees a beneficial change and actually believes it’s the hopeful prayer to an intercessory god that caused it. Random chance, coincidence, keep praying, keep attending, keep believing, keep visiting, keep clicking, keep dreaming, because something is just around the corner. I can just feel it. Keep believing!

That’s a part of me I want to kill sometimes. That kind of hope is an addiction. An addiction! There are better ways to live, more certain ways to live. More deterministic. More certain.