28 August 2011

I've been trying to extol wisdom on mankind through my literary works for years, but it hasn't seemed to make the world a better place just yet. It certainly hasn't been putting food on my table as I still make use of the local food bank now and then. That is where I went yesterday, in case anybody is wondering. I don't know if any of you folks worry much when I don't blog for a couple of days. I haven't blogged due to the fact that I am trying to quell the inner fires which rise up if I post anything too bloody emotional. I have been engaged in the art of sleeping long hours. The hours of sleep stretch out before me miles in length. Seems like I am clocking at least 20 hours of sleep everytime I nod off. That might be a little bit of an exageration, for I have been awake long enough to watch at least 2 movies since yesterday. Let us just say that I have barely risen from my bed since yesterday and all I took was a lousy 50mg of seroquel. I do not know how I slip away into the land of dreams for so long. I guess I just find the world of dreams more interesting than life.

Sleep isn't such a bad thing to do when I just have a lousy 15 dollars to last me until my next pay day. Sleeping cuts back on the cigarettes I smoke. I found someone selling cheap smokes in the building, so I don't have to worry too much about running out. I could potentially spend my last bit of dough on some weed, but I am trying to exercise a little bit of self-discipline. But, before the night is out I might break down and buy some. Maybe I am going to stay awake now.

Bumped into someone who I know through George at the food bank. Someone who is also interested in Enochian Magick and probably has even more experience with it than I do. Found out that he has also stopped taking his meds and refuses to see his doctor due to an incident involving being strapped to a bed in a hospital. The fellow has the most unbelievable mass of scars on his arms that I have ever seen on a human being from self-harm. He was at the food bank helping with this sale of jeans outside. There was an ironing board set up and they were selling off second hand jeans for a dollar a piece. My friend said he doesn't really volunteer at the food bank these days, but used to in his days before St Stephen's, where we also used to work together in the kitchen.

I was told George is unhappy with his new apartment and wants to move. I can't say I am surprised. I had this feeling that he didn't really want to leave Deep Quong in the first place. True, he has enemies in the building, but there are just too many people around here he can use as contacts for weed and other substances. I just couldn't imagine him happy in a building with other senior citizens because he is too much a party animal. My friend at the food bank mentioned that George doesn't enjoy the way being around other old people has him feeling older. In fact, I think George may have been served with an eviction notice before moving, but the fascist cunt of a building manager enjoys writing up eviction notices for people. I haven't been served with one because I never really get into trouble around here. The government sends my rent directly to the building, so I am never late. Since I started having my mental health issues it seems the government just steps in and takes care of it. Prior to my mental health problems I used to more frequently get myself into a lot of shit.

Getting a disability pension wasn't my idea in the first place. My mom forced me to go on welfare and welfare forced me to apply for disability, which just goes to show you what a big old mess I had become. The government isn't usually all that eager to hand out more money to people and the first time I got diagnosed as schizo active they certainly weren't eager to get me a pension. It kind of sucks that I haven't gotten well enough to really pursue much in life, but at least I've got plenty of interests to pursue, which makes me kind of different from a lot of the people in this building who live to drink and abuse drugs. But, there are a number of people who seem to work on jobs like construction or house renovation, so there is no reason for me to go all judgmental on them. 

This summer is quite a contrast to last summer when I was a lot more sociable and more eager to drink. I have had 12 liters of wine sitting here for quite a while and have only had a couple of glasses. My neighbor Sue has drank far more of it than I have. I just haven't been in the mood to drink it. It's pretty raunchy shit in a way, and only meant as an alcoholic beverage for when I am too broke to spend money on booze. Too broke, or just not in the mood to spend money. I'd much rather drink a beer any day.

Now that I am finally out of my comatose state, I think I'll get up and try to work on some stuff. Maybe some Church of the Infernal type stuff. That seems to be the main bulk of work I have outlined for myself in my goal books. Got to try to make the most of this life, though I know it all seems rather meaningless and pointless at times. I am awake. Weed might be good. We shall see if there are any pot dealers in the building right now, smoke a joint, and check off accomplished tasks in my goal book. Then I shall probably sit and work on the COTI website or newsletter or the mailing I said would be out months ago.