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Computers. The technological symbol of the last couple decades � the coming of the commonplace “personal computer”. I think with a computer point of view. I sit here at 47am on a Sunday morning or what is left of Saturday’s existence in my memory � make that Friday’s existence.
Computers have a miraculous grasp on the attention span of me and everyone. Sitting in one chair was never so adventurous. � not since the discovery of mind-altering substances. In a way, computers are a mind altering-substance, not easily understood by ludites � the modern day straight in a world of drug users.
My drug of choice is crystal meth. Methamphetamine. The so-called hard and powerful version of amphetamine � speed.
Visions of fast hot cars and nights out on the town dancing wildly without effort, unlimited energy and a life enhancer are sadly a fissad for something else so deep and murky that when you realize how fucked you are the cloudiness surrounding you makes you blind to what is happening.
Help with essay on meth and computers
You watch life go by through an observation window. Strangely a part of it yet every now and then realizing you have no purpose; your life doesn’t have that fulfilling satisfaction you remember hearing some success story talk about; what do you want out of life? All meaning found in religion, love, pursuit of wealth and recognition for doing something great seems to not exist in this new concept of life.
Instead fraud replaced my goals. So many things I still want to do. But if in the moment of living my teenage dreams would I even feel like it was worth my time? Certainly not as important as the bag of dope you have, or HE has or nobody has.
And so emptiness prevails. No one understands you and you know they never can.
My parents want me off dope and back to the Nick they remembered. I still see pieces of him now and then. Those pages and pages of journals I wrote all through high-school now are redeemed in value as a reminder of how different I was � or still might be.
The unproductivity/lack of motion kills me the most. Progress is what makes life off dope move from day to day. People live for years hoping the next day is a step closer to a final achievement that they’re waited their whole life for but then when they get there they realize it’s the progression (or the journey) that really mattered. I see no progress. Since the start of my addiction, I’ve spent months constantly engaged in actions that might make me feel worthy. Yet I haven’t accomplished anything worth gloating. All my dreams seem sort of like pipe dreams. I could pursue them, but what for? What would I actually get from all that effort that would make me feel any more excited than any other effort I could make. You realize happiness is a state of mind. Nothing material or human can make that happiness exist. Only you can choose to be happy, and you can be happy any time and any place. So really, all that we change over our lives is the scenery. We dream of one day living in such and such a house with such and such companions. When we sleep we live freely. Only your own mind exists to live and there are no boundaries. No people ruining a feeling or emotion � they come as easy as a desire. No physical restraints or pains. I match my demands with the thoughts in my head.
This is my attempt to explain how life seems meaningless. Or not life, but rather so many of the things people say are meaningful seem so lackluster, boring and a bloody godawful waste of time. I live a dream. WE all do. We strive to meet the DEMANDS that we feel we have. That craving for a cigarette. That desire to be in love with a loving companion. The pleasureable thought of a beach walk in the warm summer sun. or the self-imposed goal of being X occupation and making X amount of money. But when you get there you realize the only thing making that moment spectacular is that you feel obligated to redeem that dream you once thought up in your head. “I wanted to fuck Jenny an hour ago, so now that I’m fucking her I’m enjoying it.” But are you? Don’t you ever find that the outcome is always more grim and disappointing than the anticipation?
Uselessness. I;ve been cought in a cycle that makes me unable to live life like an ordinary person. I’m not handicapped physically or mentally. I’m not intoxicated. I just resist living life in “the ordinary” sense because I can. The pursuit of money doesn’t intrigue me in an ordinary way. It is afterall what drives most people to go to college to get the degree that will get the job that will pay all bills and for all the nice STUFF that they could live without if they so chose. It’s what makes someone agree, voluntarily to giving up hours and days of their lives to do work for an employer which in reality is not the way they would choose to spend the last week of their lives but do it anyway cause in return for giving up their limited life-hours they receive some paper called “money”.
I choose to not be a part of it. I’ve never liked working. No matter what the job is as long as it’s “work” it is guaranteed to suck. I could do the same things I do in my job and enjoy myself and feel great. But as soon as that fucking EMPLOYMENT motive enters my head I loath the same tasks.
It’s not satisfying.
Who am I trying to impress? I have trouble acting out tasks unless my motivation is driven by one of two things some personal admonishment/adoration or out of love for someone or something.
Crystal is not even what fucks you up. What fucks every meth head up in the end is the conflict between life on jib and the world that does not do jib. Emotional stress from caring loved ones, financial burdens from a lack of desire to work for an hourly wage job, compassionate neglect from the psychoticness of a jib relationship and alternatively the general brandishing from the non-jib community, and of course the phycial and mental punishment we put ourselves through during and after a period of highness.
Fraud is a self-fulfilling way to spend hours. Self-employment. Ingenuity and creative problem solving. Unlimited capital potential. Unspecified time commitment. No boss. No laws or rules. And the reward for all of this is usually money. Free money. As long as you don’t get caught. They players don’t like cheaters. Even though cheaters are obviously the ones brave enough to face danger and take the path of least resistance. Because you aren’t getting paid by the hour or by the task completed it’s really up to your imagination as to how much money you can make. I’ve already said that I don’t desire to be filthy rich. I’ve seen and experienced how money ruins people like jib ruins people. But everyone needs enough to survive. Enough to “progress” to another day. It’s the closest thing to a thought. Who wants to work a job, getting all caught up ina life of employment, giving virtually everything that was given to you at brith just to live. I want money enough to not have to think about it. But employment is worse than not having money at all. That is of course unless this employment is actually a good way to pass time so as to overcome that awful sensation of being paid by someone to do something.
A whore that enjoys/desires money has sex to make money.
A whore that enjoys/desires sex has money given to her for doing what she loves.
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