I never suspected this, but reading is easier when slightly intoxicated. The alcohol stops the mind from wandering. My thoughts become more precise. Focusing on the words becomes easy, as opposed to something that requires extra attention. I think I need to dumb myself down before I can become even remotely intelligent.
Currently drinking a 2:1 ration between almond milk and amaretto. It is incalculably gorgeous, and I recommend it to anyone currently alive. I don't mix drinks often. Vodka and raspberry-kiwi juice, in an even spit, is the only other I entertain regularly. This is mostly because I drink cheap, almost intolerable vodka. I really need to start exploring better options. Though I do enjoy the juice more with the alcohol flavour thrown in.
I was raised on cakes with icings and batters laced with alcohol, it would shock me if I didn't currently find the taste appealing. Alcohol is childhood to me. Morning cartoons and playground equipment. Monkey bars and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. My Little Pony. My Pet Monster. Mine. (None of the other kids enjoyed such a taste, and I did. It made me superiour, much as my affinity for vinyl records and vintage clothing did.)
I am eighteen. These things are no longer rare. But some things become a part of your soul.
I've been vacillating between the book and a number of online media tonight. Masturbating until the entire act seems vulgar, and then stopping. Ten minutes, tops. Don't know why these things are so hard for me. One part of me says, 'Bodily function.' And then I do. And then I stop, because soon my mental state kicks in and says, 'No. There's no point in this.'
I don't love myself. Perhaps that's the problem.
I'd be a glorious slut. I certainly talk about sex enough. If I consider you a friend at all, I've probably come onto you in some sort of text message. Sex is friendly, it's kind, it's sweet, it's distracting. A certain part of me realises it's a part of love as well, but mostly my mind associates it with lesser emotions. I could blame this on having no real father, and a sexually abusive stepfather growing up, but I don't honestly think either is relevant. I am a Scorpio. This makes sense on a primal level.
(And just a few weeks ago I'd abandoned astrology altogether!)
But I do use sex as manipulation, and see it as nothing special in itself. I am mysterious, whether I'd like to be or not. I am the blatant stereotype of my sign, and lord knows I never thought I would be...
My album has ended. I have nothing in particular to say, and am mostly motivated by the rhythms in songs. So. Goodnight.
revoless.
2:58 a.m.
August 15, 2003.
Listening to: Logh.