This weekend's theme seemed to be substance abuse, as I finished reading an incredibly hectic, creative autobiography of Anthony Kiedis, Scar Tissue, and I watched Enter The Void; both heavy on sex, drugs, and rock n' roll. Also read an article on Stephen Horseley an unknown (in my world) artist, who had himself at one point crucified; dying from a heroin and cocaine overdose (accidental, apparently) in 2010. On top of that I had some incredibly eye opening convos with my mom regarding a couple of her friends who died from drug related complications. So, hi kids, don't do drugs. But that doesn't seem to be enough no, as substance abuse is an illness, and some things can't be helped. So um, hey kids, hope you're not born with that illness that makes you want to drink/drug/hurt yourself to death. Inescapable and in your bloodline, like little mischievous bits of harm floating downstream, or maybe, infiltrating your bones. Nuzzled into your medula. Genetics are fun!
I then stumbled into a grouchy introverted funk that I wasn't able to escape until I reached Taboga on Sunday afternoon. Sunday was just a shit day, as I started and ended the day stepping in fresh dog shit; first time I got angry, the second time I couldn't help but just laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Everyone, please, run out and get a puppy! At some point that evening I was able to trade one darker mood, for a lighter, more sweeter disposition.
I started reading Beloved, by Toni Morrison and the margins are scribbled in with annotations made by a stranger. I gather she is female, but most of the times I cannot decipher her handwriting. The novel itself, is not for the feint of heart. I should've taken a breather and read a lighter humored novel, but now what? I can't leave Beloved on the wayside; I am halfway through (and also, must admit that I am morbidly interested in getting to the end, but have this feeling that it will not leave me happy at all).
I shouldn't let those dark moods take such a hold on me. But sometimes I feel like it is best they wash over me, like an air current, passing through my windows, in and around me and suddenly, out of me.