Particle Collisions

This afternoon I rewatched the movie Trainspotting. Netflix watch instantly is ideal for watching movies one has already seen. You don't want to waste days in transit back and forth on a dvd to see a movie you've seen before. But to just click a few times and there it its, perfect. Especially if it's subtitles. Which is compulsory for british stuff. They can be hard to understand.

The movie was much more optimistic than I remembered it being. Sure, lots of bad stuff happened, but iltimately it was a hopeful story.

I totally understood the addiction part. The flow of the drug as it envelopes you. The disconnect from the real world. The surety that sober life has no appeal.

It's much better to scrape and scrounge to get another fix. At least them you still get to feel god. The prospect of life without that is poitiviely unbearable. What's the point? I'm expected to stay alive simply to be miserable all the time. No sir. Not going to happen.

That's what people don't get. The addiction is to pleasure. Who isn't addicted to pleasure? No one. They just find it other places. They're missing out. There's no greater pleasure than disappearing from yourself. Evaporating into the choke of the poison. Nothing can compare.

If you can find pleasure is everyday ordinary life you're delusional or stupid or in denial. The junkies are the only ones with a legitimate path to happiness. Because happiness isn't real. It's fabricated and conditional. Based entirely upon our ability to escape the truth of existence.

It's a series of dog eared pages. We've read before. And need desperately to read again. The story is of no consequence. That one spot of ink is all that matters. That one black dot where the world takes a bite of her and chokes on it.

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