Well, piss in my wheaties and call me Bill Ding. You guys know who Bill Ding is? He was the tutorial character for building in Lego’s Island, which might take up kilobytes on your computer if you try to play it today. That game was hours and hours and hours of fun as a six year old, chasing the Brickster n shit. Then my mom died and then my dad cut me off from the rest of the family, so I never got to play it again at my grandma’s. Part of the reason I faked schizophrenia to get out of the Army; the CIA had gotten to me by that point and told me to do that and I obeyed because I was masturbating in my window and shit.

…ok, it’s more complicated than that, but that’s the counterintelligence version. The reason I started this post is because I reread this comment I made in response to someone calling me insane and saying they liked that. I said that was one of my more favored compliments and went on to say I needed to be called Shakespeare three more times to earn an achievement. Someone then calls me Shakespeare jokingly, which led to me drinking. I do that a lot. Drink.

It wasn’t authentic. They didn’t read anything of mine; they were just jesting, and it’s alright to jest, but I told God and Satan and Marlin Brando that if I could be good enough to be considered a good writer, I wouldn’t have to do drugs. Well, I don’t do illegal drugs anymore, just DXM and Hawaiian Baby Woodrose once and a while, and weed obviously (also my terrible addiction to stimfapping on Benadryl (DO NOT)), but I quit smoking cigarettes recently, which spiked my needs center of my brain, and now I’m drinking every day.

I’m not drinking to excess; I just drink at a frequency. Y’know, like a sine wave. Two or three beers a day. And I don’t need it, meaning, like last night I fell asleep and woke up just before midnight, sober but fully awake now, and I thought I could jet over to the gas station for a bottle of something, and I said I didn’t need that, and I was fine just chilling out to music.

Yet a got a double-shot of Fireball this morning; still only halfway gone. I don’t like getting drunk. I actually hate alcohol inebriation. But there’s the Ballmer’s Peak, which is a real phenomenon that XKCD commented on once; shown. What this is, is not the alcohol that’s causing this, but rather the sudden consumption of a substance that is not so often consumed. The Ballmer Peak is ONLY truly achievable by using [Substance] as a SACRAMENT.

What does that mean? Well, question; no jab or all jabs? No, it’s one jab, stupid. Middle way. Between many and none lies one. As in, should you drink every day or never drink? No, drink once a week. Have a sabbath or as one homeless man in Portland with a PhD in mathematics taught me, have a sabo-domingo. Y’know, from noon Saturday to noon Sunday, that man partied, and on those other days of the week, he tended for other homeless people while getting his cult off the ground.

There’s a lot of us forming cults, if you weren’t aware. Amazing what the world is like outside of your small purview. I don’t even know it all, and I’ve lived in twelve cities across America over my life. Sadly, a majority of people don’t ever really see the world as they only ever live a few dozen miles from where they are born. You go on vacations, but then you’re a tourist, not a local. I would prolly still be a drug addict of I never left Syracuse. It was the pilgrimage that healed me. Novel experiences beget novel perspective. And while I don’t know everything, I can rein myself in to let my muse out with these limitations I place on my ingestment, and I strive to be better still.

Yet, I’m as good as good gets as far as skilled righting goes. I thought receiving a thousand compliments over the years would heal me. It’s helped make me feel better about myself. But damn does the trauma and agony of my youth eat up my soul every minute of every day. I gotta sit with it. Learn to be ok with a fire waging war with me inside. Only by accepting it, will it go out. It’s like a Chinese finger trap; you gotta do the opposite of what you think. Well, the fight sure would go down faster and simpler with a friend. I have none. Just a life partner who rules me. And I love him. Just wish he could see his mother in the mirror.