dr. crave, your milk is here

Everything is so quiet and pulsating so gently. And then there's another bit, a strand of hair in the plate, that says get the fuck up, you are well rested. And then there's an amateur quality to charm, too, which seems to disappear at times I need most. And so I'm wondering, in this peaceful little stupid place: WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I can't explain and it doesn't make sense. I know exactly the physicalities involved in assessing the situation - the mind is in a state of forced elasticity, relaxing against its own overbearing copings - and as the "twinkle" gradually wears off, things go back to normal and the thinking cells start to work out of control again. But the mental irregularities still bang out the same note. This is when I hear a lyric piece like last night's, and say something to myself like: "thank fuck I'm not the only one that would be so bold to say this out loud" or something generally middle of the road like that. And in it being my reason for identifying. And in it being one of the causes for this nil score board, which I'm pretty sure is within our control, but we and him and some others choose to offset it - God only knows why.

I'm not so much embarrassed to say, too, that this technology is crumbling like cheap vintage cheese.Yeah, it's all there for us when we need it, but shit, do we need it that often? Do we need all the answers at armslenght? Wasn't it good when we had to battle out for it? Not to mention all these petty answers for questions I never even had to begin with. Information I don't really need, and that yet supplied will just overwhelm me anyway. Us absorbing whatever. Why look? Because people are curious, that is an innate quality that technology exploits. The senses don't know unless you actively tell them, and steer them to other uses. But what other uses?

Most of our stupid entertainment relies on technology anyway. What else could we possibly do with our time? Oh I don't know, go outside. Have a cigarette. Read a book. Meet with people. Watch something live. Cook something. Just DON'T. STAND. IN FRONT OF THE COMPUTER. This produces a slow melting rage.

And I know what I'm missing, or have too much of. Physically I like to open doors and peek through. But it's such a rambling mess of open doors at the moment. Doors which I should have just left shut. So much unfinished business, it breeds contempt. And resentment. I wish I was chilled like a bottle of juice in my icy cold fridge. I wish I had enough bricks and stones around me to just flop my body and not care. But the empire of the creating is different from the empire of the always-havers. We at least crave. I can't help what I don't understand. And what I don't understand must be mine. And nothing really suffices, ever, because I have no idea, sometimes, what I'm after. I mean I do, I do, I hope I know I do. Let that be a disclaimer to all the erroneous behaviors I've displayed (far too much), and the stupid little snotty things I say (far too often), and my general easy-to-read body language. If I had no ego, I would probably be bland like fat-free milk.