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Merry Tanksgeeving

‎”can you help us out we really dont know how to grow food and shit.”

“ok”

“can we borrow this land btw?”

“uh i guess.”

“…get the fuck off my land.”

“but I let you bo-”

“LETS KILL ‘EM!”

Tequila&Apple Juice

Very odd mix. But good nonetheless. I figured my first entry would be a late night inebriated conscious catharsis of some sort. I guess it’s just as well. I just had a few friends over, all of whom left suddenly and at the same time, leaving me to my thoughts, which is never good. Especially slightly buzzed. At least the tequila has an emotionally numbing quality. I can see why people take to the bottle. It’s a sort of freedom I guess. From memory, pain, responsibility. I understand why my father died for that. He led a pretty sad life. I feel like in some ways I’m slipping down the same slopes as he. I just wish I realized we were the same person sooner.

Anyway, moving away from that depressing shit, I guess I’ll write something on liberation. Not the typical “freedom from oppression”-type liberation, but rather personal, individual liberation. The kind that you feel when you’ve become purposefully lost. For those few moments between realizing you’re nowhere familiar, and finally getting back to familiarity, you become something like an anomaly. You’re nowhere, no one. To a degree, it’s like listening to or watching a musical performance you know you’ll never come across again. To yet another degree, it’s like choosing to be alone. Like writing in this blog thinger. I guess it is freedom from oppression, but it’s more likely to be self-oppression. I’m probably not making much sense, and I hope this goes rather unnoticed. I actually reallly would like no one I know to see anything I write, but then again that would defeat the purpose of this thing, right? I guess it’s got another type of liberating quality, being able to write shit that would be free from the scrutiny/judgement of anyone you know. It’s weird how in that case you trust strangers more than the people with whom you share your life. I realize I’m now drinking alone, something I thought I’d never end up doing. Ah the joys of misery. God, I sound like such a bitch haha. I should probably bury my head in my pillow before I make any regrettable decisions ( not that my life isn’t definable by one regrettable decision after another). Goodnight, blogosphere (is that a term?) I don’t know, whatever. I guess since I’m not gonna pour tequila and applejuice on my tiled floor, I’ll offer up a sort of electronic libation. Here’s to you, Pop. Fuck it.