The ultimate distraction.
22:49, SS Beehive, 13 May 2k3.
Oi.

Feeling blah. Here for solace of a sort- the likelihood of me doing anything stupid here is extremely low. Containment breach, higher self kicking in as a pale voice on the horizon- the voice of reason, as it were. Pull your head out of your ass and think clearly for more than five seconds. Humor the powers that be and let's pretend that's possible, shall we? Maybe it'll work like depression- fake it long enough and you eventually realize you're out of it, off and moving.

I want an easy life, but it ain't gonna happen- so far, all attempts to make it such have resulted in stagnation or distraction. It's extremely easy to get diverted from goals or things that need to be done- the recent experience with video games is proof positive, the kicker. That bit of self-indulgance that finally proves the niggling shadow of a problem as that grisly 800lb gorilla that needs to please leave, thank you.

Balance. Given the situation I'm in- relationship, technology, materials- balance is lacking. The easy path is the usual option, and not one to be indulged overlong without consequence. File under obvious and let's keep moving. I'm on the wheel. Gotta keep focused, as it were.

There's a plan formulating as to how to get out of this, and it requires effort. At this point in time, energy is at amazingly low levels and such a thing will require a seemingly titanic amount of effort- akin to quitting smoking, for example. Dethroning the idiot kings and taking my own place at the helm of whatever the fuck it is I think I'm supposed to be doing is the ultimate goal, has been, will be. Always, distraction. Linux. Media. Video games. The internet. There's only so much you can shove up your face before you start juggling- a playstation means less time online, and more time sucked up by video games. Pick it up. Can't put it down- no reason to, yo! We're out of high school here- out of the realm of the so-called Real Responsibility, on to the time in our lives where we make our own path. Twenty two hours given to Square is twenty two hours not spent on Aeon, on LOC, on anything useful. One could argue burnout.

One could also argue that burnout is a motherfucking myth, thanks. One could follow this statement with the fact that a minor slack in a noteworthy area is all it takes to start sliding down into blah, it being a long, loooong time until anyone notices anything.

Slack is as subtle as nicotine, caffeine, sugar or cocaine. You don't notice it until it's not of you- then it's everywhere. When you have it, you're blind to it. Much like vehicles- as a pedestrian, they all look alike. They all blend together. Get a car and all of a sudden, that chunk of your life is popping up everywhere. You're spotting plymouth reliants like dandilions on the lawn because you have one and you're conditioned to looking for that silhouette in parking lots. Without that conditioning or familiarity, the symbol is nothing.

Blacken my life with all such needs, blacken my life.

The thing to do would be the thing that has been done in the past- this time less tangible. Workout for status and juggernaut capacity. Blind invocation for the ejection of all such blackness, leaving the field for where the action is, using the energy as a lever. Whupping the shit out of those barriers that hold you back. The murder's upon us and we are uplifted.

Built to erase.

So we're at a baseline of less than zero, where the negative is instinct. Video games. Shuffling computers. Wanking- in action, in method, in execution. In order to build the negative must be recognized and exsorcized. Banished. If you can't stand the heat, get your ass the everloving fuck out of the desert.

If this evil force can be stopped and destroyed, then the universe will be safe.

I am the only one in authority with the power to authorize the use of nuclear weapons. There is no other, none shall stand before me. No false gods. No false distractions. Some of the obstacles have made themselves obvious through the simple truism of "if it isn't productive, if it isn't satisfying, it's shit and must be destroyed." Burnout. The will is a high caliber weapon of mass destruction- bent against itself it destroys ambition, recognition and progress in a glaze of slack with an AK-47 loaded with a magazine of false excuses- burnout, I don't feel like it, I'm sick, someone else needs to do this before I can get going with my part- on full automatic.

It looks pretty goddamned embarassing to be losing the war against self. The seige perilous is a masteful subterfuge- an infiltration and assault of the blackest order. Difficult to seige the enemy when the regiment is built out of the harmonics which connect your mind to your material existance. Line noise. Feedback. Signal loss. Losing packets. Pingout. Power fluctuations. Annoyance.

Talk talk talk. Bitch piss moan. Spell out the problem and neglect the solution- I am, after all, taking the refuge necessary to write this from a place known for exactly that. Far be it for me to expect a free ride- gotta pay lip service to the piper and output the background radiation. I am surrounded by unknowing throngs of slack. I know better, which means shit in this case since I'm in the same goddamned boat. Visceral satisfaction in the aspect that I do seem to be the only one looking for an oar.

Break for reload and a discussion of a less upscale hole-in-the-wall in ghettysburgh. Easier than attempting to ascertain the woes of my somewhat shot in the face linux system. Yet another distraction, but an apt analogy- Life, much like Linux, is a more or less functional default install and requires a prodiguous amount of tweaking and research to align the system to a useable state.

A plan has manifested. It's a dangerous one from the "how I'm going to feel tomorrow" standpoint, but it's the only thing worth doing- the only thing that occurs with that familiar burning sensation. In fact, the plan IS that familiar burning sensation. Productive self destruction. Stretch thoroughly, get moving, feel the burn. These boots were built for walking- we'll see how they handle city concrete at a much faster pace.

The idea is to purge to null. Exhaust. Burn out. You have to tear down before you can begin to build up again- simple fact of body construction. Healthy body, healthy life. The decline of physicality has brought with it the nest of ick that is the present state of affairs. If history reads that physical conditioning and productivity existed within the same time frame, then there is absolutely nothing to lose by attempting to invoke a repeat occurance of this phenomenon.

The plan, as a base, is simple. Get home. Gear up. Go out. Burn out. Return. Shower. Report back.

1318 the next day:

Went jogging. Quite a bit. Came back and did Things. By the book and on the record, recorded and annotated. Blam.

No one can touch me when I'm on the wheel.