I like to travel, read, write, dance and pretend. At the moment I am suffering an insufferable phase of self-aggrandizement, premature maturity and lack of wit.
If you think you can help me out of this funk, write me at idaman.z@gmail.com
There is a delightful perverseness in lighting up a cigarette after a murderous run. It is akin to the pleasure I extract from leaving scratchmarks on the smooth skin of a woman's back, or making obscenely orgasmic faces while dancing on the podium of a packed club.
I've made friends along this route of self-discovery, and boy, have I discovered a lot. These new people in my life, they are kind and generous, and they think I am headed towards total extinction on my route to emotional evolution. I don't blame them, considering how I act. A young woman I've become pretty close to said to me, "Sweetheart, if you do this long enough, often enough, it'll be part of you forever. It'll be an addiction,a very, very strong addiction that would be nearly impossible to give up, and in the end it would destroy you." She is right. But for one to change there must be desire to change; without it metamorphosis is possible but meaningless. I do see the need for a revision in my behavior, wait, not behavior that is not the right word, maybe the psychological and mental motivation for my behavior
...But.
I have been trying to unearth what the but is. I don't don't want to change, but I don't crave it either.
How long should, wait, no, COULD, I keep up this lifestyle? It is heady, it is exciting, it is dangerous, but it also wears you out, it numbs you to risk, it makes you detest beauty in its glorious simplicity and gaudy complications. Boredom comes quickly, and as the cycle repeats, apathy and restlessness appear more often, their shadows growing exponentially each time they strike.
I am tempted to shed this drunken hedonism for a life of faith and truth, just for a change of scenery, but I think I’d get bored in three weeks.
