i reckon my system's been overloaded with enough irish/scottish screenplays for me to attain a full-blown cockney accent. it all started when merrill and i couldn't find any decent quality vcd/dvd to watch and so, we simply settled on the best quality one. (not talking about movie quality here) guy ritchie's snatch. bloody murder! literally. but really stylo. thus whetting my appetite for lock, stock and two smokin' barrels. and then, just a few minutes ago, it was trainspotting. (yea pretty slow i know but i think it was fate that i watched all these movies at one go at this one point of time in my life. you reckon? i don't why i keep using the word "reckon".) i don't know man but i feel...wasted. just watching all these shows where everyone's wasted and high and violent and mad and...i don't know man...but one thing about these shows...the cinematography, and music (MUSIC!), and originality. (those were a few things) really captivates and strikes a chord within. you think you're wasting your time for those 2 hours because the main characters all seem to be wasting their lives away for those 2 hours too but really, these movies, this is what movie-making should be about.

but one thing these movies do to me. (that's another thing) they leave a sobering effect. i know i just said i felt wasted. but really...it's a sobering kind of wasted feeling. it's the sobering kind of wasted when you REALISE you feel wasted (and ARE wasted.) and then you feel the most wasted, because reality smacks, whacks, bushwhacks you in the face. and you wake up to the harsh horrors, to all the waste left behind, which seemed to have materialised from out of nowhere. but was there all the while. yes, the truth is, watching those shows, you'd think, "nar, those guys are far worse off and more wasted than i'll ever be." and you wonder why after one hour you're still watching. but you, ok, i realise that there's a little of each or one or some of those whackos in me. the part of me that likes lying around, watching life go by, stoned, glassy-eyed...the part of me that's scared, and is always looking for an escape, waiting, hoping...dreaming...truth be told, you don't need drugs to reach that state.

i'm talking about more than just being wasted. i'm talking about the way we lie to ourselves (and others) and the way we kid ourselves(and others), seeking alternate realities and quick reliefs and port keys (like the ones in harry potter), all sugar-coated and iced with justifications, blame, self-pity, "i can't do anything about it"s, "i'm just like this"s, bla, bla, bla. (such condiments hardly seem appetising if you ask me.) for those few moments, they're our passports to bliss and paradise, away from the hellhole we call life. and when the orgasmic effects of the drug wears out, and the anger dies away, and when you have don't even have any shit left to throw at people, you wonder why it's all so unbearable. i told you, you don't need drugs to reach this state.

you know like, when you wake up from a hangover, you feel terrible. you feel worse than you did while doing the dirty deed. you wake up in the morning and see the puke on the floor (which isn't your floor), and your clothes (which is on the floor), and you smell it in your hair (the puke, that is, amongst other things). you dread seeing the rest of the mess you left behind from the night before. but it's not the last of it. you puke your guts out the whole day and wish you could die. you vow never to drink again. that's the sobering kind of wasted feeling.

we tell ourselves we'll never repeat the same mistake. never be a jerk again. never fall into that black hole again. never kill again. never lie again. never smoke again. never this, never that. and then, one day, you slip a little. only a little, you say. one more day, you say. one more week, one more month, one more year, one more century...one whole lifetime passes you by and you haven't gotten anywhere, or worse, worse off from where you were before.

the sobering kind of wasted feeling works in more than one way. 1) you wake up and conquer it and walk on, never turning behind. 2) you wake up and conquer it and walk on and turn behind once twice a few times, and you either fall again or you finally never ever turn behind. 3) you wake up, it's too bright, and you pull the sheets over your eyes again and try to go back to sleep. only you never really go back to sleep because you're in that torturous limbo state where you can't sleep and don't want to wake up. 4) you OD.

i reckon i fall between 2) and 3). we'd all love to be in 1). lets hope we never reach 4).

i was/am/may be so close to turning behind. but for this one sobering moment, i was reminded that i told myself before that i'm never going back there. i'm worth more than that, really.

(i reckon i might be afflicted with some disorder that makes me take on the role of a character i've just watched in a movie. it even spreads to the way my eyes look at you. (eeeks) the manner of this post seems to be a testimony to that. aye?)

p.s. funny that starsailor's "coming down" starts playing on my computer as a dramatic ending to this post which never seems to end. the end.

If you don't mind
Could we not fight?
I see you're close woman
In the night
I'm sober
Still alive

Waste your days
On your own
Getting drunk getting stoned
I'm sober
Still alone

Must I always take a back seat?
Must I always be your clown?
Did you ever really love me?
Were you always coming down?

See your face
See your eyes
Shouldn't have left
Shouldn't have lied
I'm sober
Spirit's died