Like I Used To – Heath Ison

July 2, 2020

Petty fears. Irrational fears.

So what have I accomplished? 

Looking back, slacking back, dreaming back, reflecting back, jerking off in reverse to un-seed myself back—wait, step back, too far back. I realize that things are exactly the same now as when I was a younger. I probably didn’t care much back then and I find myself today in a similar enlightened situation. 

Life is a labyrinth (if you don’t live life like a labyrinth then I highly recommend giving it a try), and time follows suit if not slightly lagging. But the day is fast. That’s ok. It’s better that way. It’s when it’s slow that things could get potentially dangerous. Loaded with constant reminders—trivial reminders, shifting in and out of time and taunting you to engage in self-demeaning behavior. 

I try to maintain a daily schedule. This act is essential to prevent inferior forces (internally speaking), attempting to disrupt my Bruce Lee-esque stream. Don’t fuck with my stream. Former shells have been better less decayed into spirals of cycle/repeat/fucked into oblivion. Maybe it’s the elderly in me surfacing. 

Coffee/cigarette/inform/cigarette/meditate/inform/moments of intermission. 

I don’t wipe my ass like I used to. I’m just not as focused on the process itself. Don’t get me wrong, all is clean and tidy but I remember when I was younger how I would bring myself into a fit of anxiety to assure that every microscopic piece of matter had been extracted. These days I often think about what is for dinner. 

When I lay down to go to sleep at night I noticed that right when I enter a hypnagogic state I have one quick convulsion and try to grasp for air, struggling to breathe. This hits my “try again” sleep reset button and I try again. I don’t know what to associate this with. I have difficulty swallowing my spit as if I have forgotten how to do this, too. Humans might as well be defected software with bodies that never update. 

I don’t masturbate like—no, wait—that’s still the same. 

Being content was a challenge. Want, want, now—gotta happen now. No! Shit face go fuck yourself over! Hey, that’s all gone now. That or I am deceiving myself. Self-deception can be delayed, but not completely eliminated. Maybe it should’t be. A little lie to yourself every now and again might just be the small antidote you need to get you through the day. This one little drink won’t hurt anything—strike that, reverse it (as Gene said).

I now tend to find my eyeball closer to table edges when I bend over. Just a thought I had last night. 

DEATH vs. “SUCCESS”: A RACE AGAINST IRREFUTABLE TIME

I am grateful when my art turns out to be shit and I inspire myself to try less. Try try less. I’m always surprised at the results. It’s like you’re being punished when you give too much of your all. Whatever all of all is. The next time you get up to walk stagger into the walls. Miss your mouth with the fork and jab your cheek. Un-memorize how to remember without effort. 

What is dull to one is ecstasy on steroids to another. 

I allow my creation to take me over from time to time. In all sincerity, it is more you than you are. At least it’s honest about you. I keep in mind that everything I do is better than what I’ve done before and what I’ll do after (it’s that aware self-deception trick again). 

It’s just reality, your dear friend. And I’ve been lost since I’ve got here. But where was I supposed to go in the first place?