house party segregation

And all the black clad vegan crust punx are terrified in the kitchen nervously holding bottles of craft beer while upstairs the teenagers fuck and snort drugs and run around naked.

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realities of war

Depression to you might be a statistic on the news or something you read about in a glossy magazine. You might have a vague understanding of it but it remains conceptual. Well let me tell you to many many people it is very real. Let me be clear, it is intense and devastating. It is yr worst nightmares made real. It is like a swarm of wasps clustered around yr head in frenzy. Depression is me sat in my small room terrified that they are gonna take my benefits away and that i’ll end up on the streets and having to wait ‘four to six weeks’ to find out how fucked I really am. Depression is feeling like my life is spiralling out of my control chaotically at a furious pace and simultaneously somehow collapsing inwards. Depression is me taking benzos and drinking beer and chain smoking joints to blur the edges and make things fuzzy because my thoughts are torture and i’m worried if I don’t get fucked enough to pass out I’ll be up all night watching Al Jazeera News and obsessively contemplating suicide and I can’t fuckin deal with that right now, not again.

court

I was on trial for some reason. I was in court.

“he was fine until he got into the drugs”

“yeah those nasty drugs ruined his life”

“Excuse me but fuck you both, this is hegemonic horse shit. It makes sense in a very basic commonsensical way but is it true? Its a load of fucking bollocks! I wasn’t fine before I got into drugs, if anything getting into drugs has allowed me to be more fine than I was prior to that. I have never been fucking fine. I have demons that circle like some kind of evil fucking distorted Alexander Calder piece and I can never escape unless I die, and sometimes when I take drugs I can partially escape for a bit, at least I can feel a gush of fresh air at the back door.”

“Drugs may exacerbate situations but they don’t change a character. So don’t blame drugs, don’t even blame the drug dealers. Blame the Queen, blame Rupert Murdoch, blame representative democracy, blame libraries, blame Tesco Express, blame Apple, blame Instagram, blame those machines you find at the entrances to supermarkets which sort out yr change for you. Blame me. Blame me. Blame me. I fucked up apparently, I’m sorry. Blame me but do not blame the drugs.”

underclass

enemies disguised as peers and lovers

and they want to bring you down

there are drug dealers spinning plates

while the social circle is torn to bits

by centrifugal force, its so very sad

I wish I could save the whole underclass

 

rat park is a distant dream

we live in a cage instead

 

but dammit I approached the work with an intellectual praxis

where he relied entirely on aesthetic judgements and intuition

 

it was all

ultimately

meaningless

fucksake

auto

girls are drawn to me cos i’m fun and cool and I act like a child and I like doing drugs

but thats draining and they realise that I am miserable, misanthropic, nihilistic, self-destructive

and when they get close enough to me to view the extent of my will to self-annihilation

they tend to go on a health kick and because we no longer have drugs and self destruction

in common

we drift apart

I am not what anyone is looking for in a man

so the women always eventually run away

nothing

I have been awake for many hours

and I can’t get that fuzzy buzz going

despite all of the benzos and wine

I’d like to sleep but the zopiclone failed

i’m looking at a solid twelve hours of nothing

until I return home to move nothing and be nothing