Subconscious Thoughts

I quit cigarettes and weekday stoning in the course of the past month. Waking up this morning, having taken my first bong rip of the week last night, I have very little to say on the matter. Because my vocal cords are fucking sandpaper.

Losing fifteen to twenty pounds (don't know 'cause I never recorded an initial weight, but I'm estimating 230-235 when I began) in the course of a month and a half casts a much more critical light on the things you previously dumped into your body. For example, a week before starting my trudge to 170, I ate an entire large pizza, by myself, in less than a day. If I tried pulling that now, not only would my stomach lining rupture, but I'd be shitting, without pause, for a week.

I hate to concede the point I've been ignoring for years, but I really don't function as well when I'm smoking on a regular basis. I don't mean when I'm stoned, I wouldn't waste word space with that gem of knowledge. I mean all the other times- the three or so days it takes for me to come down from the prolonged haze of relentless plant huffing. This was no more apparent to me than when someone asked me what day it was and I could respond in less than five seconds. If you don't think that's too long a time to be retrieving such information, count out five seconds in your head. If you still don't think so, I'll just remind you to clean your bong after every twenty uses.

Zeppelin have recently retaken their rightful rank at the top of my favorite bands list. This observation brought to you by common fucking sense and the diffusion of Anglo-Saxon alliterative verse.

I hope herpes isn't enough to ruin a Memorial Day weekend, but I'll bet it is.

I had to be reminded of my own impending birthday. Hopefully I forgot because I've been busy and not because I subconsciously want to die.

Why are people always so Goddamn worried about the subconscious, anyway? What makes the subconscious any more valid than the conscious? If I was having a good time all up in Conscious, liking life pretty well, not sulking and loathing life like at Christmas, but I was a broken little tea kettle up in Subconscious, what the fuck does that matter? Just because there's an opposing side doesn't mean it's the "real" you. In fact, I'd argue that the subconscious has LESS relevance than the conscious, because the subconscious is only ever a concept. Once the subconscious ideas are put into practice, are observed and can therefore be evaluated, they by nature become the conscious. So, really, the subconscious doesn't exist. HA!

Yes, I know there are logistical and theoretical holes in the above paragraph, holes gaping and numerous in equal score. However, such points have hardly ever been relevant to me.

And now, I leave you with a quick poem summing up this week's English class studies, which I just wrote.

The Fates of the Saxons

Runes, Runes, the letters of Jutes,

The more you cast 'em,

The more you loot.

The more you loot,

The more you can steal

So cast some runes, but get ready for Hastings.