Jabberwock

So I haven't written in a while because I haven't written in a while.
Prolific, I know.
More about that later I suppose. So what do I write about today?
Have you ever done Psychedelics? They're quite confusing, let me tell you. But I kind of like that. They don't really ever let you think that you're acting normal.
It's truly bizarre.
A trip or two ago I said to myself: "Every time I do this, I feel like a little bit less of me comes back."
Isn't that a funny thought? Although I suppose people do drugs to erase themselves all the time.
Am I trying to erase myself? And become little eraser shavings?
I fucking love squeezing those things between my fingers. Satisfies me in a sort of archaic way, fulfilling something primal in me.
Like the satisfaction of shooting a pump-action shotgun for the first time. Something in me resonated with that. In that one split second I feel perfectly content. I wonder why that is.
I confess my reason for writing today is someone commenting to me about my blog.
Why? Because attention paid is something gained. Karma and all that.
I'm also writing because I feel like I need to. An itch to scratch, of sorts. There are so few things these days which satisfy me. Maybe taking things a tier up will do it, but I somehow doubt that. At least for long. They talk about this, the need to do something more to achieve the same effect. Maybe it's called ambition. Ha-ha.
Ambitiously trying to destroy myself.
Day by day, brick by brick, these are the seeds I've sown and this is the crop I reap.
I can't say I regret any of it. This is my life, and I've lived it one moment at a time.
Can you say that? I hope so.
Ramble bramble skeet and scramble,
 the debt is paid so mote it be
 by all within the tum-tum tree.