Did something weird. I wrote an entry and didn’t post it. Not trying to titillate, just commenting on it. Writing an entry is pretty specific. It’s not quite like writing anything else; a letter, an obit, an essay, a ransom note, say, for instance. No dear So-so, no from 19 something to 2000 something, no cutting up magazines, no five paragraph format beginning with a thesis and ending with a summery of the happy horseshit in-between.
I don’t know, I used to write a lot. I sit differently in the chair, adjust the keyboard, or in the day the pen, pre-compose or start banging or scribbling, lick my thumb and hold it up to the landscape, you know, depending on what it was. So, when I say it was entry I’m pretty confident, and yet an unposted entry is something else isn’t it?
I’ve had a shitty couple of days. The thing I’m not posting is about one of them. Here in the future it’s irrelevant. At the time it was angry and not cathartic. Here in the future, a few shitty days later, I’m kind of embracing shittiness. Maybe it’s a poor word choice that leads to a poor concept, but, you know, fuck you that’s what you get. And more importantly, to me at least, that’s what I get.
I’ve spent a lot of energy in the last four years not letting days get too shitty. I’ve spent a lot of energy on who I didn’t want to be, you know, that guy. Ok, so you don’t know, not precisely, but you know who the that guy you don’t want to be is, guy of course used in a non gender specific way, and you succeed, I hope, I do. I don’t think I need to white knuckle it that much, and I think I need some shitty days. Um, god willing, needed .
Yeah it sounds cryptic, but I’m trying to end the run so I don’t really feel like going through it all. Some old stuff got stirred up and it was uncomfortable and led to a reality check. I really don’t want to fuck with reality all that much either. Reality is a bitch. So is Realty. Part of my reality is I have no realty and I kind of want some but far from here and so on and so forth.
This is going to sound stupid, especially given the complete lack of value of everything I’ve ever written, but I sort of need to have some kind of meltdown or shit-storm to write anything good. By good I mean something I’d like to read. I guess I should qualify “of value” too; I haven’t sold shit, don’t submit it, for the past decade everything I write is an experiment or, for shit’s sweet sake, a fucking entry. I’m only a writer because I write and once in a great while it is a great catharsis. I haven’t had any ambition to write for at least three decades (I mean for fame or fortune) and that actually made things a lot less stiff. It also means I didn’t push myself and so I write pretty much the same as I did four decades ago, have even gotten worse in that I’ve given up editing or even reading the shit I write.
Granted, this for instance, or the one I didn’t post, is no great loss to me or the world for not having been read, but it’s kind of important to me to write. It’s demonstrative of my state of mind. Quit snorting. If you always knew the state of your own mind I can’t imagine why you’d have this shit this deep in. I could blame being unhappy with my shit on being here in this artless place where there is nothing to lick your thumb and hold it up too, but that’d be straight up hypocrisy. Bleak is good for writing, nothingness fucking made all those nihilists. If I had to criticize the environs for my lack of luster it’d be too tame, too domestic in a shaggy, shabby sort of way, not run down enough to inspire and not built up enough to luxuriate. Doesn’t matter, it’s a cop out. When I write something I like it’s visceral or testicular. Nobody wants to live in a town of guts and nuts. Heh. Funny. What I really mean is it’s not about where you are but where you’re at. Christ am I fucking Henny Youngman? Huh, that’s a reference even before my time. I can’t think of a modern one-liner comedian as kitschy.
So, yeah, I should be writing a letter or a ransom note but I’m writing this fucking entry that has managed to say absolutely nothing, not even kick up a little tantrum dust.
I’m going to this dumb-ass appointment with a pain management clinic that I’m pretty sure is going to suggest cortisone shots into my back and I’m going to say hell no. I’m going on the off chance they might have an interesting idea or approach, though I’m pretty sure it’s going to be some kind of steroid injection or other and I’ll say no. They are keeping the appointment because they get paid. I gave myself a few minutes to be angry about the waste of time. Huh. I gave myself as much time as I wanted to get angry, it only took a few minutes. In part I’m betting on the long shot and in part I’m building up my local resume. Given my druthers I’d like to intrigued. Given my expectations all it would take to intrigue me is not suggesting steroid shots.
They had a little flyer about psychologists at their clinic. Pain psychologists. I have no idea why. I mean why a little flyer, a teaser. Seriously, either explain why such a program would be beneficial or wait until until you meet the patient, but a pink flyer in a packet of pre-exam paperwork makes it looks like they are having a bake sale. It’s not a foreign concept nor a coy one. Shrinks office are full of people who don’t need one and the streets are full of people who should probably be in a shrinks office. One hundred percent of those two populations knows what a shrink is. I have this feeling this place deals with a number of court mandated patients. I’ve never been asked on a pre-exam form if I took prescription drugs that didn’t belong to me and it’s a little rare to be asked to list the illegal drugs I take (I guess not so rare except for the wording). There wasn’t a box to check off fuck you. I can’t imagine anyone not being offended by the questions. I wasn’t even lying when I didn’t list anything, if I was I’d be even more offended.
And, you know, it’s a pain management clinic. Assuming one was a first time patient, like any where, ever, why put them on the defensive for having sought some relief. I’m not sure on ethical and moral grounds that I like legal steroid injections are more good (clumsy but precise) than pain killers. Cortisone will fuck you up in the long run, kidneys, liver, adrenals, auto-immune system. Heroin, for instance, at pharmacutecal grade is much easier on the body, it’s biggest draw back being addiction. Heroin gets bad press because people use it to get high and they do that because it gets you high. Nobody uses cortisone recreationally. If it’s the super bowl and you are the quarterback and the game depends on you a cortisone shot at half time is a much better idea than a shot of heroin. However, there are a lot more, like 100 percent more, eighty year old junkies than eighty year old quarterbacks.
Ok, I’m being a bit of a smart ass. But still, an eighty year old junky is pretty much in similar shape to when they were a sixty year old junky. A sixty year old ex-quarter back is fucked up. I’m not blaming the cortisone, but I’m not singing it’s praises either. And, sure, I’m not trying out for the lions (though god knows someone should) but I’m not trying to William Burroughs either. I’m just saying I’m not sure pre-exam paperwork should even attempt a moral high ground when they are peddling steroids. I’m also saying the obvious; who the fuck is going to list heroin on a pre-exam paperwork, or even who the hell does heroin and wants to see a pain management clinic about cortisone?
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