tis monday. 10-something. i'm sitting in my room, with a pink towel wrapped around my head, listening to edith piaf's "mon legionnaire" and playing with this new toy i got earlier while out with pierre and heather, my two soulmates:
it's a death-clock. a fucking analog device you can install into your computer to help you keep track of your demise via databases and statistics. it'll even keep a small window on the side of your screen that ticks away whatever estimated life you have left....I LOVE IT!!!!
+++++
pierre had called me while i was walking home from work. i had left the office at 6. it was a very trying day. A VERY TRYING DAY. but i was happy to have sunlight when i walked out towards south station.
that walk is usually the only thing i look forward to while at work. my thoughts used to belong to something else, but that is gone, and thus replaced with a two-mile leisurely stroll through marine industrial park, where i can regroup and detox and just have a bit of time to think alone. sometimes, i am happy to just walk in solitary, other times, it is more of a curse than a blessing.
MiniTherapist: Maybe because you think too much, or tend to pick the wrong subjects to dwell on. You're addicted to the dystrophic analytical mindset and it takes its toll on you...
Vaughn: WOAH!!!! Where the hell did you come from? You're Emmy's creation, not mine!!
MiniTherapist: I know..I figured I'd give the old Ehm a good rest and harass you for a while. She won't mind.
Vaughn: Fuck, dude, you should knock first. I'm not wearing any pants.
MiniTherapist: Not like it matters, I'm not interested in such things. If I wanted to be an incubus, I would have switched schools my freshman year.
Vaughn: That doesn't make any sense. Why are you here, anyway?
MiniTherapist: You seem to be in a very fucked-up state of mind lately. And, I'm bored. Goddamn, I'm so soporific and bored.
Vaughn: I'm not in a fucked up state of mind. I'm doing the things I like. I'm having fun. I almost flew off of a flatbed truck and careened into a train while riding in the dark...life's been exciting and marvelous effervescent!!
MiniTherapist: I'm not fond of that denial. And it seems that you equate your happiness with how many times you can successfully cheat death. Your facination with death has never done you any good.
Vaughn: What do you know? You're Ehm's shrink!!
MiniTherapist: Yes, but I also know that the only reason you like cheating death, you like reading about death and viewing autopsies, you like having needles inserted into your skin, is because it is the only time you can understand what it means to feel alive.
Vaughn: That's not true. I feel alive when I ride, with the wind to my back and the resident cars as my bitches...
MiniTherapist: And you ride how?
Vaughn: (hesitates) Without a helmet. On the wrong side of the road most of the time, not looking when I cross, no lights of any kind.
MiniTherapist: Exactly! And you forgot one very important thing...
Vaughn: ...I like to cut off trains.
MiniTherapist: BOOYAH! The only reason you like riding is because you like to cheat death. You LIVE to cheat death. It's not about the funk to you, or the fancy builds. Every time you ride is one time closer to death, and if you escape that death, you are that much stronger. You have one extra scar, one more story. You are alive again.
Vaughn: >sigh< OK. So you got me on that one, but it's not a 24/7 obsession. I wouldn't be pushing type around if it was, I'd be leaping off of waterfalls in Nigeria.
MiniTherapist: I'm not saying you're completely engrossed with it. I'm just saying, there are times when you are more obsessed than not with this near self-destruction, mainly because it serves as a distraction. You being alone is a good thing because you being you, you formulate these incredibly gnarly ideas and actually have the time to fabricate them. But at the same time, you think too much if you are left to your own devices.
Vaughn: Yes, I know. And I grow depressed. And I chainsmoke. I don't like that aspect of me.
MiniTherapist: Oh, no one really does. You're really vile in that state.
Vaughn: But the thing is, I haven't gotten like that. I had maybe five hours total of dwelling, granted it would hit me here and there, like while I was eating a Cadbury egg, or while I was speed-kerning at work. But it's passed. And the instances of stupidity are low.
MiniTherapist: Sure, they are. And I'm the one with the fractured jaw.
Vaughn: It's not a fracture. It's not even a concussion, and the bruise is fading.
MiniTherapist: Whatever. My point is: this state of mind you have, this weird euphoria you've been experiencing, it's making you incredibly confused because you feel as though you shouldn't be so happy. You are trying to escape from this feeling, involving something entirely beyond your grasp, and in that you occupy yourself with these moments of proximity to death. Granted, you could be doing a lot worse. Like last November.
Vaughn: Hey, fuck you! I was really sick. The situation didn't help. Being in that house didn't help. Everyone and their fucking bullshit didn't help.
MiniTherapist: Exactly. You're not doing as badly. But you have to understand that there are consequences to this lifestyle. Like that clock you just bought. You are subconsciously reminding yourself that you too are mortal.
Vaughn: A memento mori.
MiniTherapist: Indeed.
Vaughn: Wow.
MiniTherapist: Awe-inspiring, aren't I?
Vaughn: Not really, but I'll accept you for what you are, which, right now, is a ubiquitous hallucination, neither opulent nor unpalatable. I need some rest if you don't mind.
MiniTherapist: Yeah, sure. I should go check on Ehm, see what other dementia I can contribute to. There is no seatbelt for the mind, you know.
Vaughn: That is a Suicidal Tendencies lyric.
MiniTherapist: That it is. Think about it.
++++++
jesus, i don't think i can recover from that one.
it's a death-clock. a fucking analog device you can install into your computer to help you keep track of your demise via databases and statistics. it'll even keep a small window on the side of your screen that ticks away whatever estimated life you have left....I LOVE IT!!!!
+++++
pierre had called me while i was walking home from work. i had left the office at 6. it was a very trying day. A VERY TRYING DAY. but i was happy to have sunlight when i walked out towards south station.
that walk is usually the only thing i look forward to while at work. my thoughts used to belong to something else, but that is gone, and thus replaced with a two-mile leisurely stroll through marine industrial park, where i can regroup and detox and just have a bit of time to think alone. sometimes, i am happy to just walk in solitary, other times, it is more of a curse than a blessing.
MiniTherapist: Maybe because you think too much, or tend to pick the wrong subjects to dwell on. You're addicted to the dystrophic analytical mindset and it takes its toll on you...
Vaughn: WOAH!!!! Where the hell did you come from? You're Emmy's creation, not mine!!
MiniTherapist: I know..I figured I'd give the old Ehm a good rest and harass you for a while. She won't mind.
Vaughn: Fuck, dude, you should knock first. I'm not wearing any pants.
MiniTherapist: Not like it matters, I'm not interested in such things. If I wanted to be an incubus, I would have switched schools my freshman year.
Vaughn: That doesn't make any sense. Why are you here, anyway?
MiniTherapist: You seem to be in a very fucked-up state of mind lately. And, I'm bored. Goddamn, I'm so soporific and bored.
Vaughn: I'm not in a fucked up state of mind. I'm doing the things I like. I'm having fun. I almost flew off of a flatbed truck and careened into a train while riding in the dark...life's been exciting and marvelous effervescent!!
MiniTherapist: I'm not fond of that denial. And it seems that you equate your happiness with how many times you can successfully cheat death. Your facination with death has never done you any good.
Vaughn: What do you know? You're Ehm's shrink!!
MiniTherapist: Yes, but I also know that the only reason you like cheating death, you like reading about death and viewing autopsies, you like having needles inserted into your skin, is because it is the only time you can understand what it means to feel alive.
Vaughn: That's not true. I feel alive when I ride, with the wind to my back and the resident cars as my bitches...
MiniTherapist: And you ride how?
Vaughn: (hesitates) Without a helmet. On the wrong side of the road most of the time, not looking when I cross, no lights of any kind.
MiniTherapist: Exactly! And you forgot one very important thing...
Vaughn: ...I like to cut off trains.
MiniTherapist: BOOYAH! The only reason you like riding is because you like to cheat death. You LIVE to cheat death. It's not about the funk to you, or the fancy builds. Every time you ride is one time closer to death, and if you escape that death, you are that much stronger. You have one extra scar, one more story. You are alive again.
Vaughn: >sigh< OK. So you got me on that one, but it's not a 24/7 obsession. I wouldn't be pushing type around if it was, I'd be leaping off of waterfalls in Nigeria.
MiniTherapist: I'm not saying you're completely engrossed with it. I'm just saying, there are times when you are more obsessed than not with this near self-destruction, mainly because it serves as a distraction. You being alone is a good thing because you being you, you formulate these incredibly gnarly ideas and actually have the time to fabricate them. But at the same time, you think too much if you are left to your own devices.
Vaughn: Yes, I know. And I grow depressed. And I chainsmoke. I don't like that aspect of me.
MiniTherapist: Oh, no one really does. You're really vile in that state.
Vaughn: But the thing is, I haven't gotten like that. I had maybe five hours total of dwelling, granted it would hit me here and there, like while I was eating a Cadbury egg, or while I was speed-kerning at work. But it's passed. And the instances of stupidity are low.
MiniTherapist: Sure, they are. And I'm the one with the fractured jaw.
Vaughn: It's not a fracture. It's not even a concussion, and the bruise is fading.
MiniTherapist: Whatever. My point is: this state of mind you have, this weird euphoria you've been experiencing, it's making you incredibly confused because you feel as though you shouldn't be so happy. You are trying to escape from this feeling, involving something entirely beyond your grasp, and in that you occupy yourself with these moments of proximity to death. Granted, you could be doing a lot worse. Like last November.
Vaughn: Hey, fuck you! I was really sick. The situation didn't help. Being in that house didn't help. Everyone and their fucking bullshit didn't help.
MiniTherapist: Exactly. You're not doing as badly. But you have to understand that there are consequences to this lifestyle. Like that clock you just bought. You are subconsciously reminding yourself that you too are mortal.
Vaughn: A memento mori.
MiniTherapist: Indeed.
Vaughn: Wow.
MiniTherapist: Awe-inspiring, aren't I?
Vaughn: Not really, but I'll accept you for what you are, which, right now, is a ubiquitous hallucination, neither opulent nor unpalatable. I need some rest if you don't mind.
MiniTherapist: Yeah, sure. I should go check on Ehm, see what other dementia I can contribute to. There is no seatbelt for the mind, you know.
Vaughn: That is a Suicidal Tendencies lyric.
MiniTherapist: That it is. Think about it.
++++++
jesus, i don't think i can recover from that one.
That is a glorious di-monologue. Hope all's well!