Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Siting on my bed in a hoody and boxers crying like a baby. Thinking why do I hold on to hope. WHy do I need this fucking hope--when all logic points to doom. This is what makes things hurt so bad when what I know is going to hurt happens, this 'oh no not this time. This time it will be differnt.'

I have lost all hope and not cared at one time in my life I was on the streets and drinking evey day. I walked around yelling at people and giving the finger to cops. I asked for spare change--my thing was to do it really fast like an octionare. But then a girl came along and hope started to creep back in to my life.

With girls I always wanted it to last forever. I always tell myself that they want me more than I want them--that I am in controll, I hope this, but that is never the case and a much as they tell me that they are worried about me fucking other girls and that they love me. Well it must all be lies. In my case at least...

So right now like I said I am on my bed in the rooming house writing on the laptop I bought. And hell shit I was crying because a girl I went out in high school who sent me an email wishing me a merry christmass did not answer an email from me--well 3 emails--so I sent a 4th email saying that I was sorry that I sent 3 emails and that it was becasue I thought she was still in love with me and that I was a loser. I am also coming down off coke.

My next door naibore is a 90 year old man and coughs all the time--my room is across the hall from the wash room and he just went to the wash room--I know it was him because I heard his trade mark fart and piss piss piss in the tolet and tolet seat. He does not close the door so I can hear it loud and clear, but hell the old guy is probally just afraid that he will fall down in the wash room. It is good of him I can't wait untill the day I wake up and go for the morning piss and there he is pants around his ankle and his old dead cock hanging flasit on the floor of the washroom.

So I am a little on the emotional side lately. the girl that pulled me out of my drunken street nirvana later dumped me, aginst my hopes and wishes. Iwas with her for a year--it was a messy break up--mostly my fault, but she did not have to be such a bitch about it. Might go in to more detail about that might not--I hope not. moveing on.

It is the 30th of december I think right now. It is 4 in the morning and I do not think I am going to sleep tonight, and that is by choice because I have Ativan which could put me to sleep pretty well. But I was thinking about all this self pity and shit. Fuck what am I looking for? some one to save me? YES! I want someone to come along and think I am the hotest thing since the 'hot oven 3000' Rick Tomas is doing a show on it on one of the late night programs I watch when I get bored of porno. But shit again still that hope--someone is going to save me.

The saved don't look like they are having all to interesting lives though. All they really talk about is how good it is to be saved and smile phony looking smiles and drink lemon aid. Some people say they are always learning--but talking to my 90 year old niebor tells me different. All the fuck talks about is how he worked so hard and how hard done by he is, mind you maybe he is not saved he is in a rooming house with shared bathroom and kitchen in motreal at 90. Well I got a nice glimse of my future...

So I am thinking now if that pathetic email to that girl is going to get a reply--oh hopes--it was quite depressing, and poorly wiriten. I think I ended it with 'FUck!
fuck fuck fuck
sorry
bye ____' Her name is not ____ I just don't want to use her name. Why? Because I don't and that should be enough... Anyway it could get a response--but what will it be?--that damn hope keeps me up at night some times. But fuck it is pathetic really that I get all hoped out of shape because of what amounts to a christmass card in this day in age. SHe probally was thinking this is what I get for beineg a nice person? A buch of fucked up emails about weird shit that is misspelled and follows absoultly no normale or sensible and without liniar thoughts or themes expect for the lame attempt of suduction through text? Does he not get that I have not answered the last 3 emails why would he think, oh god--I think you are a good person and I care about you but it really it was just an email to see how you are doing... Sorry about your ex girl friend, but man I have not seen you for 2 or 3 years what the fuck are you on?

Coke or Ativan I would say, if that question were posed. DO to the ulcer I got on dec. 24 I can not drink any alcohol. Oh and that was a trip, the ulcer, sitting in the emergancy room at the hospital because I hounestly thought my stomach was going to burst open... And even with the worrisome thoughts that my stomach would burst I still managed to try and make eyes at a girl in the emergancy and who the fuck knows what she was going thourgh? Certainly something worse than an ulcer. I felt bad about it as soon as I though 'nice ass' as she walk by. I waited there they took x-rays and again in my gown ass showing I gave a little smile to the x-ray operater. WHat a little weasle they must think of me down at the hospital. Any way I got the medication and shit--the ativan, but the coke is my own perscription I wrote myself.

Oh hope. It is what keeps those bums with shit stained pants and white breds alive and the queen of england the ungly bitch! It is what keeps Wiliam SHattner (in his case money but I am sure he still wants to be a real acter) acting. Bag ladies. Such Hope!

Your luck is going to change! but in all likely hood it will not because why are you special why should your life be any better. At least you were not born in africa or siberia or china, or just about any country in the world that is not the West. The fact this is funny because it is so petty. What the fuck would some poor African think reading this? Free health care? Acess to health care--the luxery of depression and inaction, and how long will that last?

It is not like I have not had these talks with my self before. I am developing mutipul personalities with this shit. My favorite is the little kid that just wants what he wants although the other people in the world are getting less and less sympithetic with him. 'go do something then' the say. And I go back to the mud pudle and roll around a bit more and make some mud pies and dance around inmy PJ's and eat peanutbutter and jam sanwiches and look at dinosor books and laugh at fat people. Kids stuff you know?

So it is four oclock and on of those Ativans is looking pretty inviting right now. Take one with water and forget all this brain fartish crap. Becuase I am an american and I have a dream of procrastination and doing very little for the so very much I have and you know what? I know how this sounds and I hate what I am, in a way, but hope keeps me in a constant wait. Hope. Fuck they should bottle the stuff, and sell it, but then that would solve nothing, golabaly speaking---

--Money is hope...reality is depressing...self loathing is stupid...themes are hard to keep running...drugs numb swirling minds...nothing changes with time...life is a sphere...life is too cpmplex for the human mind...life is made up of contradicting truths...thought is not food...

Geoff Parsons

just because ...i want to read your work but the spelling keeps getting me off-track and cause i'm an english teacher, and well, the truth is that i ran your work through a spellcheck. Here it is.
_____________________________________________________

Sitting on my bed in a hoody and boxers crying like a baby. Thinking why do I hold on to hope. Why do I need this fucking hope--when all logic points to doom. This is what makes things hurt so bad when what I know is going to hurt happens, this 'oh no not this time. This time it will be different.'

I have lost all hope and not cared at one time in my life I was on the streets and drinking every day. I walked around yelling at people and giving the finger to cops. I asked for spare change--my thing was to do it really fast like an auctioneer. But then a girl came along and hope started to creep back in to my life.

With girls I always wanted it to last forever. I always tell myself that they want me more than I want them--that I am in control, I hope this, but that is never the case and a much as they tell me that they are worried about me fucking other girls and that they love me. Well it must all be lies. In my case at least...

So right now like I said I am on my bed in the rooming house writing on the laptop I bought. And hell shit I was crying because a girl I went out in high school who sent me an email wishing me a merry Christmas did not answer an email from me--well 3 emails--so I sent a 4th email saying that I was sorry that I sent 3 emails and that it was because I thought she was still in love with me and that I was a loser. I am also coming down off coke.

My next door neighbor is a 90 year old man and coughs all the time--my room is across the hall from the wash room and he just went to the wash room--I know it was him because I heard his trade mark fart and piss piss piss in the toilet and toilet seat. He does not close the door so I can hear it loud and clear, but hell the old guy is probably just afraid that he will fall down in the wash room. It is good of him I can't wait until the day I wake up and go for the morning piss and there he is pants around his ankle and his old dead cock hanging flaccid on the floor of the washroom.

So I am a little on the emotional side lately. the girl that pulled me out of my drunken street nirvana later dumped me, against my hopes and wishes. I was with her for a year--it was a messy break up--mostly my fault, but she did not have to be such a bitch about it. Might go in to more detail about that might not--I hope not. moving on.

It is the 30th of december I think right now. It is 4 in the morning and I do not think I am going to sleep tonight, and that is by choice because I have Ativan which could put me to sleep pretty well. But I was thinking about all this self pity and shit. Fuck what am I looking for? some one to save me? YES! I want someone to come along and think I am the hottest thing since the 'hot oven 3000' Rick Tomas is doing a show on it on one of the late night programs I watch when I get bored of porno. But shit again still that hope--someone is going to save me.

The saved don't look like they are having all to interesting lives though. All they really talk about is how good it is to be saved and smile phony looking smiles and drink lemon aid. Some people say they are always learning--but talking to my 90 year old neighbor tells me different. All the fuck talks about is how he worked so hard and how hard done by he is, mind you maybe he is not saved he is in a rooming house with shared bathroom and kitchen in montreal at 90. Well I got a nice glimpse of my future...

So I am thinking now if that pathetic email to that girl is going to get a reply--oh hopes--it was quite depressing, and poorly written. I think I ended it with 'Fuck!
fuck fuck fuck
sorry
bye ____' Her name is not ____ I just don't want to use her name. Why? Because I don't and that should be enough... Anyway it could get a response--but what will it be?--that damn hope keeps me up at night some times. But fuck it is pathetic really that I get all hoped out of shape because of what amounts to a christmas card in this day in age. She probably was thinking this is what I get for being a nice person? A bunch of fucked up emails about weird shit that is misspelled and follows absolutely no normal or sensible and without linear thoughts or themes expect for the lame attempt of seduction through text? Does he not get that I have not answered the last 3 emails why would he think, oh god--I think you are a good person and I care about you but it really it was just an email to see how you are doing... Sorry about your ex girl friend, but man I have not seen you for 2 or 3 years what the fuck are you on?

Coke or Ativan I would say, if that question were posed. Due to the ulcer I got on dec. 24 I can not drink any alcohol. Oh and that was a trip, the ulcer, sitting in the emergency room at the hospital because I honestly thought my stomach was going to burst open... And even with the worrisome thoughts that my stomach would burst I still managed to try and make eyes at a girl in the emergency and who the fuck knows what she was going through? Certainly something worse than an ulcer. I felt bad about it as soon as I though 'nice ass' as she walk by. I waited there they took x-rays and again in my gown ass showing I gave a little smile to the x-ray operator. What a little weasel they must think of me down at the hospital. Any way I got the medication and shit--the ativan, but the coke is my own prescription I wrote myself.

Oh hope. It is what keeps those bums with shit stained pants and white beards alive and the queen of england the ugly bitch! It is what keeps William Shatner (in his case money but I am sure he still wants to be a real actor) acting. Bag ladies. Such Hope!

Your luck is going to change! but in all likely hood it will not because why are you special why should your life be any better. At least you were not born in africa or siberia or china, or just about any country in the world that is not the West. The fact this is funny because it is so petty. What the fuck would some poor African think reading this? Free health care? Access to health care--the luxury of depression and inaction, and how long will that last?

It is not like I have not had these talks with my self before. I am developing multiple personalities with this shit. My favorite is the little kid that just wants what he wants although the other people in the world are getting less and less sympathetic with him. 'go do something then' they say. And I go back to the mud puddle and roll around a bit more and make some mud pies and dance around in my PJ's and eat peanut butter and jam sandwiches and look at dinosaur books and laugh at fat people. Kid stuff you know?

So it is four o'clock and on of those Ativans is looking pretty inviting right now. Take one with water and forget all this brain fartish crap. Because I am an american and I have a dream of procrastination and doing very little for the so very much I have and you know what? I know how this sounds and I hate what I am, in a way, but hope keeps me in a constant wait. Hope. Fuck they should bottle the stuff, and sell it, but then that would solve nothing, globally speaking---

--Money is hope...reality is depressing...self loathing is stupid...themes are hard to keep running...drugs numb swirling minds...nothing changes with time...life is a sphere...life is too complex for the human mind...life is made up of contradicting truths...thought is not food...

Geoff Parsons
_________________

everythings gonna be alright.

I think the problem here, at least in this moment that you're writing this, is the coke and the pills, not to simplify the situation, but it is fact that your brain chemicals have to come all the way down so low after being so high, man that's the toxic shit Bush a Co. flew up from war torn Colombia for you to blow your brains out with, processed with petro chemicals no less, and that is petro chemicals stolen from war torn iraq to boot

where's the meaning, what is the point to life, why not sink into dispair? Because the truth is that there are these layers to reality like a big onion and there are two main important layers we can look at to make it digestible here, not thiat I know this as fact cause I am a know it all or anything, but this is just my sense, stick with this cause its brilliant and I'm trying to help you; two layers to the world:

1. this everyday reality we swim in where I am here on my keys typing to a kin spirit and you sleeping on your pills there and everything in between...and

2. the divine mind that is at the root of everything and is everything

we can draw paralels to movies here, we all like movies: we in the life drama are the characters on the screen, there watching the film is the divine mind, it is me, it is you, it loves to watch our life movies; it has the power to jump into that projection booth and make whatever it wants, it can change reels at any time; we have these lives we have cause it, we, want to watch it that way

here's the solution to put meaning and whatever you want into the life movie: we have to transcend that celuloid, that film barrier, and commune and become one with that divine mind again, as we dwell in it every night, or early pill morning with old man fart sprinkling the seat, when we sleep and before we were born and after we die; we want to commune with the divine mind BEFORE we die, before this reel is over

we want to open a diaolog with divine mind in way of transforming that into a monolog, to join forces with divine mind while still on this reel, while still in the AlexanderDeath sad laptop girl not writing emails back story

to do that, we must create scenes in our life movies that implicate the divine audience member, CREATE SCENES THAT INTICE AND IMPLICATE THE DIVINE LIFE MOVIE WATCHER SO AS TO CATCH ITS EYE AND DRAW IT INTO YOUR RANGE SO THAT YOU CAN CONVINCE IT TO MEND ITSELF WITH YOU

once you've convinced that root conscienceness in you to come forward then you've got the god mind, you can make anything you want

just think of it and there it is, just make it, try it out, you'll find the hardest thing is to get started, to decide what you really want

imagine you've got god head, what are you going to make, where are you going to start?

decide what you want, and then make it, the easiest way to talk with that root god mind is in that sleepy state, cause god mind is you while your snoozing, so right before you sleep, meditate on what you want, and do it a number of nights, and it will come about, but BE SURE ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT

judih thank you for spell checking that for me.

firsty I know everthing will be alright.

loving I have always thought about everthing in retrospect/ I ll have to read all the god head stuff over though...

I meant to put this on creative writing--who changed around the boards>? Not very nice...

ANy wayI thought it was creative--I do not think it is a general disscusion peice--you know? Any way If any one eles reads this please read it as creative writing and not a talkidy talky talk peice...

geoff

I thank anyone who reads my stuff

and thank judih--you make me happy

Sorry... sometimes I move the boards around... not to be mean, just to stick something different up top 'cause I thought people might like finding something different at the top from time to time.

I'll move the thread to Creative Writing.

doreen peri wrote:Sorry... sometimes I move the boards around... not to be mean, just to stick something different up top 'cause I thought people might like finding something different at the top from time to time.

I'll move the thread to Creative Writing.

thanks

Hey dude: like magic, you'll feel
better about this life if you do something
for someone else each day, even when
it goes against your nature. Simple shit,
like ask the 90 year old if you can be of service
to him, and smile. I've also found picking up discarded
trash on city streets works. So good luck man..
_________________
Woodsball strategy

talking to the old man is servise enough--He is too proud to let me do anything for him...

Have you seen montreal? It is a dirty city man--I would get sick

To surfer

OK. First of all, I didn't read any of the replies and I didn't read your entire post, but I read most of it.

Here's my take:

First, get straight. Forget the nasty drugs -- the coke, the Ativan, the whatever. If you've got to have vices, then limit them to one or two and make them fairly INEXPENSIVE. Doing costly drugs will keep you in the tenement dwellings you're obviously in and, worse, keep throwing your body into states of TORMENT, like the one you're describing.

That sucks.

Second, how OLD are you? I remember going through pains and torments because other people that I really, REALLY wanted to like me, didn't like me. Or love me. Sometimes, I still do go through those torments, but the pain is dulled. The more you learn about people, the more you realize that lots of them are worthless crap -- even the ones you think you LOVE and LUST after and believe you would die for -- they're not so HOT after all. You'll figure it out.

I'm not saying that believing the above is a solution, but it helps a lot with the pain, when you realize that you are actually WORTH something, and so many others are not worth a damn. And of those that are worth a damn, MOST are not going your way, but another way.

Third, YES, what this means is that we are ultimately ALONE. It's ugly. It's scary. It's NOT the way we thought it would be because our parents and others tell us all kinds of lies about how great the world is, but once you face this fact -- the fact of being ALONE -- things seem slightly better. Just slightly.

I don't pretend to know why we are here. I have no clue.

I don't know why there is evil in the world, or why people are so heartless and cruel. I give up. I am even sometimes heartless and cruel. That was a hard lesson to learn. I learned that I am not so hot, either. I am equally hard, evil, hurtful, cruel, when I feel like it. So are you. You just call it by OTHER NAMES.

I don't have any answers.

But, what I think is that eventually, if you stick it out, you will get to a point where not having any answers is almost OK.

Drop this chick who isn't answering your emails.

There are lots of other women.

Ignore the OLD guy in his 90s who tells his tales of woe. There are other tales, too. He isn't the ultimate ANSWER to the mysteries of your future life. There are other old people who have a fantastic future ahead of them.

My uncle and aunt: He's nearly 80. He still RUNS. He used to run marathons. His brain is sharp, his body is still strong. She's 67. She keeps up with him and is SO intellectually lively that she's doing her law degree and passing the boards in CALIFORNIA (the hardest state for this). They are both full of money and opportunities because of their careers. They love life. Every day of it. They just bought an 1850 farmhouse, fully renovated, in upstate New York, and they moved there. There ARE other stories of old age. There's hope. The problem is, you have to work to get it, not take drugs and fill yourself with despair.

I empathize. I despair too, lots of the time. But I see the top. And I see the bottom. Don't go there. Not to the bottom. There are better places. Hey.

read to the end--I get more than you think...

Just One More
By
Sober Duck
As I cried, I mumbled to myself over and over, "enough, enough" but I kept reaching for more. I couldn't help myself. As long as it's plentiful there's no stopping. God how did this happen? What went wrong? I feel like mold growing in an old cup of coffee and my mind is trying to achieve lift off. This can't go on much longer. I should go out and let someone know I'm alive. It's been six days since I've seen sun light and I've lost ten pounds.

"Where am I?"


"You're at Walter Reed Hospital."

"What am I doing here?"

"You overdosed."

"Well, I have to get Home."

"I'm sorry, but you're not going anywhere."

"Why not?"

"When they found you, you were almost dead. You had lost circulation to your legs. You don't have them anymore besides when you were found you still had quite a stash so I don't think the officer outside the door will let you leave."

Twenty Years Of Self Destruction
By
Richard Moylan
Xsoberduckx@aol.com

As I lay in the sand and in my own feces I could not help but realize things aren't going to get any better. I reminiscence of how I use to be, the life of every party, oh the parties. How I went from a bashful young man to a boisterous overbearing loud obnoxious drunk in just a few years, hell over night it seemed. I tried to stand only to fall again and again. I tried to crawl but coordination eluded me and the pain from the glass imbedded in my knees was unbearable. I finally made it to a rotten tree trunk and managed to pull myself up into a sitting position. As I looked around I noticed that the rotten tree trunk appeared to be in better shape than me, it definitely smelled better. I asked myself, "what the hell happened?"
I remembered ordering my first drink, a whiskey and water I think it was and from there it didn't take long to get to where I am now. At first I drank with resolve, slowly building up a tolerance thinking this is great. False courage filled all my voids and allowed me to venture where I would never go before. My tongue silvered and my nerve grew long. Don Juan became one of my newly acquired personalities allowing me to sweet talk the opposite sex which didn't go over well with my ex-wife. I enjoyed many a woman until the tell-tail signs of my addiction became apparent. Rotting teeth and facial scars from knife fights began to chase off any chances of romance. My pores reeked of stale booze enhanced by body odor. Been a while since I touched the opposite sex, but that doesn't matter for I have a new companion, John Barleycorn. John and I seem to fight a lot though, I think that's how I ended up against this old trunk. Yep, I'm sure of it, John put me here.

enough is enough--got any more slogans for me--enough is enough--how about no more war--sick and tierd of being sick and tierd, who about sick of the world--your entitled to your opion, but I have been to aa before and it is a load of shit, and really, you know what I like drinking...