Friday, April 4, 2014

When Did I Become Old Fashioned?

I spent 5 minutes on Instagram, a single account, and now I feel so generic and conservative that my farts smell like Ronald Reagan's hair gel. When did I get so boring taking pictures of car brakes and singing Buddy Holly songs, plodding along as an Electrician? I can't even spell Coachella, let alone know what it is.

I feel that the decline started when I decided I should not habitually smoke pot. In California it was basically mandatory, legal, accepted and necessary to deal with the chronic crime and induced poverty of a welfare/police state where blacks and Latinos are raised like poisoned crops to feed crooked Lawyers and corrupt judges and also to ensure a demand for bigger prisons. The state looks at 3rd grade literacy reports to determine how many jail cells will be needed in 10 years. To be sober in that kind of environment would make my head explode. But smoking pot led to a steady decline in my grip on the reality I had manufactured out of jazz music and Hermann Hesse...everyone was high all the time and that kind of social climate made me question what sobriety is...if everyone is high...then isn't being high really sobriety? And being sober is actually the minority and it is more rebellious to stay sober, so sobriety is the new high. If you haven't gone to rehab then you really don't fit into the Hollywood climate of fake tits and cocaine. That kind of crazy thinking reminds me that if you live in Los Angeles long enough you will eventually think something like, "If I do only one interracial gang bang scene a month then I can afford that plastic surgery..."
And you either follow through or move back to Kansas.

So I'm sober but I know that sobriety stunts my disabled and slightly autistic mentality and I have to face unsolvable international problems with a clear mind and since I'm no John Kerry, that's asking a lot. I'm not fit for the world of drugs unless I'm also stoned and feeding my own artistic talents of swung quarter notes and creative writing.

I met a guy in Mexico who smoked pot habitually and was writing his great novel. I can say that this is what I was trying to do but loneliness and a broken heart distracted me...and also I wasn't smoking pot. Sure I did some cocaine but that was only to impress a pretty girl (who got annoyed and left when I was selfishly vacuuming the mirror with my nose).

I don't know what to do. It's fair to say I'm already chemically imbalanced and unfit for the world, so would it harm anyone if I was stoned and living in a Guatemalan mud hut writing pages that no one will ever read but that amuse me and the sleeping birds on my shoulder? If you had seen the clever and creative pictures I saw on instagram you would feel the same.

This is what I'm talking about...
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.