How to make your own drug

Original Facebook Date: January 13, 2007

Location: Study - My kingdom for incense -

Feeling: Indifferent

Listening to: Coldplay - Yellow

Haven’t you felt the sensation somebody looks at you and wishes you were dead?
Its in their eyes, they hate you. (Evil laughter)

Hello folks, this time I post in time. My first week back to school is over, and man did it feel as long as if you never did leave school. In this days my meaning is to study and only to study, and after I sat here today and began to process horrible numbers (The Horror), I realized that I am functioning only for studying. I haven’t done anything outside the apartment or even outside it that hasn’t been studying. Well, obviusly I have had my usual news actualizations and watched TV, read some books and all that crap, but the amazing thing is that I have been doing it for the past months. I have gone out with the few friends that I have, and well I admit it some evenings were quite memorable (Live at the Grammys, someone knows what I’m talking about). But in the other ones, fuck have I been bored. Why? Easy, I went out with ‘Y’ drones. I just never seem to be able to get anything good out of time with those guys. Yes, they’re my friends, but they bore me out of my mind. This afternoon, I realized that I’m very VERY bored. I can’t believe I have had the patience to stand all this waiting for something to happen, but It just seems as if it wasn’t happening. And amazingly I still wait, I can’t do anything new because I’m afraid I’ll trigger a crisis. Don’t ask me which because I don’t really know. Everyday that passes is made an easier expectation by the whining promise of what is bound to happen. It is hard.

Fantasying and imagining is good for keeping your social sanity, when I go to sleep, when I sit down somewhere, when I’m in English class, I doze off to a river of thoughts and see what will be. And reality seems so awful that sometimes you panic when you come back.

Imagination is a powerful drug.

Oh yes, and I have abused of it for many years now, many don’t realize what their minds have done or how much power it has. I’ll tell you this secret of mine, but in a way that won’t let you understand it (I have found pleasure in being evil, yes). My mind, recolecting my awed fictions, constructed a world and a story in it, where history and lies come together to kill what apparently everyone has ever fought for. Every single thing you see in reality comes to animation in the pool of hypothesis and descriptions inside your wrinkled brain. It’s a saga, a documentary and your own human desire. Senses are living dead that you can’t tell from the real ones, yet you make up everything, while yuxtaposing it to reality, and there it become believable, when you feel the pain and excitement of that which isn’t real. That is the power of imagination.

Be grateful, this drug keeps you alive......somewhere else.

Sharkman, signing off.

PS:I think I just spilled my inspiration filled guts up there. Is writer’s block over?