Intoxicated gibberish dribble

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


Diazepam tablets taste like chalk. Delicious sugary anxiolytic chalk. Makes drinking fermented grape juice easier, too, and the effect is additive. Fantastic combined GABAergic alteration of one’s consciousness. Especially attractive to the anxiety-afflicted (neurotic) man, whether one knows it or not.

Ethanol is, pharmacologically, a dirty slut. Bukowski knew that way before nerds began studying binding affinities to different receptors. So does my dad, a proud alcoholic, without ever having studied it. And my grandpa before him, a guy who is now 85 and only just starting to exhibit symptoms of alcohol dementia. My addictions are more fashionable than theirs are. My genetics are half as different, and my upbringing was not half as bad.

Intent becomes clear when fear is relinquished.

Addiction is the stimulation of dopaminergic neurocirculatory pathways.

The object of one’s addiction is circumstantial and for the most part determined by factors outside of one’s control, past and present, whether one knows it or not. Past trauma can, and often does, no matter how ostensibly insignificant or brief, affect the present mind set.

Horse with a bagel in a stable is staple and nothing else is of any concern; words are agents of ideological manipulation and the blank page is the canvas of the occult. This is consequently a good thing. How else is one to express themselves but through an unrestricted medium?

They burned books a lot throughout history. Too much power for one man to have, to freely express himself on paper in the language of the time and place?

Preconceived notions, familiar and warm to us, unfortunately always trump idealism. Like in war and nationalism, one is always eager to shoot down alternative ideas as ‘the bad guy’ in the convenience of unfamiliarity.

We idealise those we admire. We admire traits we do not possess. If we did possess them, they would not impress us so much.

We are not important no matter the actions and thoughts leading to other conclusions. We are about as significant as ants and as vain as cats. We simply make a big name for ourselves. That is all.

We are only as important as the actions that define us. We tell ourselves and each other a whole lot more, and then we die, customarily making a big deal over our deaths, and the cycle unceremoniously starts anew.


Submitted: April 02, 2021

© Copyright 2021 olive tree. All rights reserved.

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