HugeThrilla

Aren't you always getting scared of the future
Aren't you always thinking someone will shoot you
Aren't we always looking over our shoulders
Aren't we always drawing guns from our holsters

Shoulder Holster, Morcheeba

It at least the 50th time in a row I listen to this song.

I’ve always knew god didn’t exist and I am even more convinced of it this morning. Yet, walking in the city 15 minutes ago I just wanted to go to a church and hide inside it, get some kind of protection inside a huge rock building, dark, calm and where, maybe I’ll be safer, where nothing can reach and affect me. I want him to exist, I want him to be looking over me and everyone around me, smiling from above, suggesting a helpful idea from time to time, watching over us when we’re driving fast on the highway, sending a cute little butterfly when we’re sad. It is asking too much, but I don’t care; if he existed he would do it. Even subtly, just anything to make this trip on this fukin rock easier. Really, is that asking too much????

He doesn’t exits but that song does; I wish it could play in the air for everyone to hear it.

I wrote these turds at work, suffering from two straights nights of almost no sleep. I tried to say something, mostly try to understand the state I had put myself into and also make the day more bearable, but nothing really come out. Hopefully I'll pick it up latter and finish this.

What was I looking for? The coffee already cold, sweaty like a pig cause of another sleepless night, messed up tunes blasting in headphones, I was somewhere else. No one around me seemed to be there either, except these two guys in front of me working like crazy, like I usually do when I sleep. Today it all just looked incomprehensible, why was I all interested and absorbed in my task at hand on regular days? But today?? But today was different...

What was so special about that sleepless night? Why was I thinking so much faster and about some random shit? And this language... this attitude, I never use words like this.

I had followed my traditional routine, even last night. I didn't sleep but I still connected to the feed-master to get my messages and the news; btw apparently another vessel to Venus was sabotaged by the messiah-seekers, dirty little rats. Then I cyberfucked my girlfriend in London and I went out for my traditional walk through the second level of central park. Really, started off just as a regular night in New York. I eventually met up with some co-workers at this bar smack on the outskirts of the park, a few amphetamine shots latter I knew it was time to hit the sack, turn on the dream machine and get ready for another good day at work.

Then my stupid dream machine had to fuck up. Right away I started dreaming about being trapped in this endless room, with no exits and that seemed to grow as I tried to cross it. I never remember ordering the nightmare dream-machine, I had explicitly set it to orgy mode exclusively. I tried to fix it, checked if the latest fixes were uploaded, nothing, the damn thing was already busted (that will teach me to buy Marsian production). I had already taken my anti-amphetamine and my sleeping pills, but still I was restless in bed. It was the summer months, and the atmosphere in New York was set to above average hot, so I took off for the park again, maybe someone was still chillin there.

I wanted to kill a few hours, I ended up killing the night. There was no one I knew at the bar so I headed out to the neighbourhood brothel where I had a membership card (it came with the gym and library advantages my new raise got me). I took another hit, they had this amazing new interface, never tried it before, was quite wild. I thought I was tired enough to go sleep, but I still took a little detour on the way home, guided by my map-implant. I had already been in New York for the longest time I’ve spent at the same time in my life, over 22 months and I still didn’t know my neighbourhood.

It’s an overload, it keeps me awake, keeps me running; or at least so it looks to me. I need the stimulant, it’s an addiction, the worst kind. I need it everywhere and all the time and I need it acting on the entire entity that my body is.

For almost a year now I can't look at a computer screen without ANY kind of musical stimulant pumping half of my brain, cause only one of my headphones work. And that pretty much summarizes it; one half is excited and distracted and the other is kept for working, thinking, inventing, solving and pretend-listening to others around me. I get bored if half my brain isn’t drowned in music, I get tired, I get cranky; like a real fukin junky. Can I really concentrate that way? I have come to convince myself so, and I even believe it. It might also just be helping me to isolate, cut the uncontrollable and extremely boring stimulation from the outside world.

Isolate and boring outside world, another sign of my addiction. When did the world become boring?? All I know that at some point my brain turned off to all the bulshit that people around to me are saying. That's not me, I don't want to be like this; but they AIN'T stimulating me. I need a hit and a big fukin one.

I need it, but do I ever get it? Seems like forever since I got one, but I think it was yesterday night.

Most of the time I am brain dead from tiredness but I keep on functioning. Tickle after tickle I make myself excited , shoot some adrenaline in brain, hook up half the sound, burn cigarettes and most importantly say retarded shot. Because no one ever does so, and even when they do their scared. I want to hit the ice like an breaker, I want to get it out of people, that drug that keeps me running; I feed off other people like a vampire, I know everyone has it in them and they want it out but it can be so much funnier to be bored. Cause you’re used to be bored, your told it the in thing to, its easy and its fun and your skin will look good and you’ll be in shape.

You can dream, be an artist, be a fuck up, but just dream it, cause if you do it, your skin gets fucked up, you loose weight and that chick wont want to fuck you ("Marlin Manson" in Bowling For Columbine). That chick, its all about chicks, all the time. Like Marilyn Monroe, she's stimulating, she's a fukin mystery, she managed to fool you all and suck you in like little ants, what da fuck, I am a brain-dead zombie trying to get little boys to say some retarded shit, she managed to get everyone's attention and reaction most importantly. Was she hooked up to that shit like I am??? Probably, but to a much higher level, she was REALLY addicted.

I want to see new things all the time, and I feel like I need it. Once I wanted to see EVEN MORE new things, and I SAW MUCH MORE, but I didn’t really need it. It’s so hard to see something new now, now that I have grown into this bitch of an addiction, yet I crave new-ness even more.

I always thought I was a full-encapsulated-independent identity. Now , I am really becoming one though, before it was just a fukin joke, I couldn’t really do it alone, cause I was using the others around me to shoot up and refuel. Now I am looking for my hits alone, in writing this for example. Maybe I'll eventually become a homeless bum, fucked up from years of mis-using, but the parallel to a home-less bum in my addiction would be a SUV driving sub-urbanite. So many people do this its just scares the shit out of me. Yet I realized most of my dreams wont get realized, maybe I’ll end up somewhere in a two story house. For sure it will be like an opium den, maybe it will be cool actually... Fuck it , who cares that I ll be alone, seems like that the thing to do, isolate in the suburbs and build my own addiction-den crack house. I can walk around with one headphone on my head, naked, write, eat like a pig. No , doesn’t sound stimulating enough, Ill need other people. But once again, I am back to the beginning, other people aren’t giving me the hit they used to. I have to do it on my own now.

And so I am the zombie within the zombies.

I wish I could crash a bit now but I gotta make money MORE MORE AND MORE MONEY. I think I’ll be able to get a much bigger hit once I have money, maybe its gonna give me that freedom to be a fuck-up for a few days, weeks. The other day my friend tells me he wants to take advantage of these supposedly golden years and travel for a few months, Asia, Europe. He needs the hit too I guess, but I've lost it, I am beyond this point, I can read through this bullshit now, I know it’s not gonna give the hit really, nothing will and nothing does anymore.

I hate fakness, I can’t stand it.

I like being tired, I like being sad, I like missing people, it makes me feel alive. That’s a real fukin hit.

I like pushing myself, everything all the time, still I never really do anything.

this shit really sucks, I am ashamed of myself


"Breathe, breathe in the air, don't be afraid to care
Leave, but don't leave me...."

Pink Floyd "Speak to me/Breathe" on Dark Side of the Moon

Read this Bush on creationism.

I knew (and hope you do too) that the guys behind intelligent design were clowns. But not that a more important clown has kind of spoken up in their favour, that just makes them more respected clowns; they just climbed a few floors in the clown hierarchy.

F&#@ , as if not enough things in my life made me mad, now I had to be reminded about that guy in the White House. And he even pushed that neo-fasist (misspelled for the bots to miss the word) Bolton into the ambassador position at the UN. And not to mention his candidate for supreme court, a guy who opposes Roe v. Wade. TABARNAK its making me mad. I even lost money cause of this clown cause I betted that he wouldn't get re-elected.

Alright, its work time. Maybe I'll bitch some more latter.