I’m A Fountain of Pain
Before another year without an entry, or with a single entry for the whole year, passes I came to this blog to begin a new season of me writing in it.
I’m fighting to kick the cigarette habit for sixteen years now; and smoking everyday for twenty-four.
Maybe I never took the fight hundred percent seriously, maybe I’m lacking in aspects of my personality that make quitting something easy.
Point is, I never could completely kick them.
What I know is that I have, the last year, tasted a sample of what life will be without analogs.
I’ll write long and deep on this new vice involution; about how this time, my definitive ditching of packaged analog death-sticks, after more than a generation loving them, goes.
Now, this post, is not just about vice involution, it’s also a way to officially stop putting up with whatever I’m constantly mentally prosecuted, that prevents me from living the way that I really am and the way I want to live.
The last fourteen years, while productive and useful in the work and study department, were of hardcore pain in the “my romance” department. I haven’t had the enthusiasm about women I always previously had.
It all started in India, when I, after three and a half years without a computer, bought and started using one… now I think it’s time for me to consider otherwise.
I must consider otherwise because I think I always considered the lack of drive to speak to girls and young women due to the envy, jealousy and social resentment of the environment attempting to dominate me.
But I have meditated this story long and thought that maybe in the state I was when this begun I wasn’t in no condition of developing a relationship to anyone.
The first time it happened to me, it was in a cybercafe that was in an alley in front of the door of a Mother Theresa of Calcutta’s Mission in Kolkata.
I was designing (for the scene) there, I heard girls talking and I turned around, there were a couple of girls there and one of them, was watching me straight into the eyes, she was a dream of beauty, she was a girl that I dreamed of in Occident a dead forgotten night of the mid-to-late nineties.
I didn’t talk to them, and only reacted about having let pass a dream, like a stupid, one hour later in my dump at North Purvachal in North Kolkata.
The road of trials I’ve experienced since then was something that lets 1984 of Orwell looking like the Red Riding Hood…
And around 2005 I had a bad experience, a bad sequence with a girl that I stalked, and she was a minor.
I shouldn’t call that little slut a girl, she was a confirmed slut known for masturbating two boys at once in the high-school were she went, a catholic parish one.
I don’t know why that skunk attracted me, must have been just projecting real love into anyone random by means of believing she was someone that she wasn’t.
What I mean to tell here is that it was a scarring experience because that skunk called the police, and the police called her parents. I just wish she, her family and everyone like them burn in hell, because they took advantage of my innocent love to insult me.
By the way of this I’ve learned that most poor people are mentally deficient social-resented crabs that are best avoided.
A dehumanized Life is a Life of Loneliness
After that sequence I haven’t seen anybody that I thought looked worth of my company, until mid-late 2014, when the girls that look like the girl of my dreams started to appear in my path. From then to now more than half a dozen are making me crazy.
The first event, the false start of what I’m experiencing now, occurred when I was in India in 2013… more on this below.
When this really started, in late 2014, they took me with my guard down from the first girl. I never expected to find the girls of my dreams in this city, I thought the search of the girl of my dreams, that started in Asia would end there.
In 2013 when I went to India again, I saw an Indian girl that had the face of the girl I know is for me, but she was a Muslim. I knew that talking to her would be just putting her in an awkward social situation.
I also tried to rationalize that I could never woo a Muslim girl, the social-cultural differences felt way too much pressure, and I bet our realities are widely apart.
I think that since January 2004, when my life started to be influenced by technology, a change was produced in my mind and soul that severely handicapped me for the following thirteen years.
What I really think was, like I said before, is that technology was a factor that, added to my already faulty personality, made me in many ways unfit for romance.
To love someone genuinely, one must have a life of balance between the love and the hate one has for oneself first.
What I mean by this? I mean that a balance must be achieved between the things one does that make one good and the things one does that are degrading.
If one can’t achieve a surfeit of goodness by means of self-love, then what hope there is for a life of love sharing?
Outcomes are blurry at best in a situation like this, because there is not manifest the basic capacity for love one needs to have: a confirmed, intelligent and also forgiving self-love.
After a childhood and teenage years of nicotinic computation, I felt I could use a long vacation away from computers, that computers were eating up my life.
At twenty-three, when I went to India alone for the first time, and as I stood without owning any technology except for a Casio clock, a disc man and several walk-mans, while I knew the kind of girls that will haunt me for life, I also experienced the happiest years of my life.
I realized that to live without technology dignified me.
At the spiritual level, no period of my life compares to it, and how I learned and progressed at the personality level…
But buying a computer—and a crappy one at that—added an element of slavery and masochism to my life that threw my personality off-balance right back then and in the years that came after it.
My personality had already many faults, for instance:
· A. Having kicked cigarettes, but not hundred percent, make-doing with biddies all day, and also getting excited every day, at sunset, when the hour of going out to buy two or three traditional sticks came; they sold them loose.
· B. Also the return to alcoholism and actual whole packs of sticks in my visa runs to Katmandu,
· C. Dressing gaudily without a care in life for doing so…
· D. Conditioned to fight sloth everyday with all study and all work, and not allowing myself a time for relaxing and playing
· E. An ever present, ever increasing tendency to seclusion and loneliness for specious, picky want of a significant other
· F. The aberrant desire to love women that wear f*-clothes
I wish I’ll never have to go through a teaching of this kind, of realizing how, at the end of the day, for lack of knowledge one’s life can be easily messed up and degraded, while one still feels in control.
The Scam of Fags
To be honest I always loved to smoke cigarettes, for reasons of personal style and appetites.
I smoked pipe for many years too, and I loved each step of the way of being addicted to tobacco, but with the years came the wisdom that a thing that kills so many people can’t possibly be good, and needs to be killed, in this case, with water… thrown down the toilet.
Understand that for the enlightened, one of the perks of Buddha-hood is to have the choice of personally deciding the date of one’s death.
To have a power like this for me had a negative connotation, it always reminded me how I fantasized that I’d like to be a vampire to be immortal and smoke reds all day like a human chimney.
I never really cared that cigarettes smelled and tasted of anything but tobacco, more like chocolate, powder, sulfur or butter, or more like a smoldering supermarket rack… no, I actually liked them.
Maybe there is a mystic explanation to the human race’s addiction to cigarettes. Since they smell and taste like a burning supermarket aisle, maybe there is a hidden human emotion tied to them.
Maybe it’s the anxiety of growing up in an egoist technological world where abundance is flaunted in the faces of the masses, but only lending one’s time—or prostituting it—to the greater good, one is trusted to partake in the feast of nourishment with that luring thing called money. Well not just for nourishment, but you need it for most everything of value, sadly enough.
In a reality like this, maybe an unconscious part of the mind of smokers believes that inhaling four thousand chemicals is a way of fulfilling the dietary lacks they have, for lacking the aforesaid nourishment and other things.
So it follows that having a resented view on the world and a stupid idea of what cigarettes really are, cigarettes wanting to pass as merely a quirk of one’s personality for the outside, and a friend of delight personally, can become a maddening obstacle to live the reality one really wants for oneself…
In my case it’s the reality of not being dominated by any kind of slavery. Plus the informed view that cigarettes are simply a demonic plot to rob earth humans of their health.
Someone Beautiful had to Enlighten Me
When I was giving my first steps in Dharma one time I asked a person who can be considered good company, name was Gopal Vrinda, what did he think about cigarettes.
He said something way generic in the lines of “smoke is an alien introduction, it didn’t exist in this planet until extraterrestrials brought it.” And I never could forget that ever, thus my attempts since 2001 at quitting.
I didn’t believe nor did I not believe in what he told me, I just didn’t have enough information right there nor in subsequent years on the subject. It’s by no means something easy to find information about.
But not long ago I’ve read a book by one of the greatest writers in ufology I had the luck to come by. I don’t remember which book it was right now, but it was one by Dr Barbara Marciniak, that said that something to the effect of most drugs are reptilian, specially alcohol and smokeables.
She didn’t mean that they exacerbate the reptilian area of the brain, she meant it literally, that they were introduced and are used on us by reptilian extraterrestrials, to dominate us.
After reading that I see myself as a hypocrite if I continue smoking, so today I’m just experiencing the last hours of the deadline I put myself around six months ago when I started to savor the benefits of quitting.
I’m not putting up with the reptilians if that’s the hidden meaning of smoking industrial tobacco.
Somewhere I’ve read a guy ranting that coca was also introduced by reptilians and is one of their warhorses in their stealth war against us. Not only that, this guy went as long as to tell that reptilians themselves love and consume consume cocaine.
All this on cocaine to point that it’s not a thing of UFO buffs only, now anyone can find out how big cigarette firms were engineering the tobacco in cigarettes for years, as a way to make them addictive, freebasing the alkalies, the process that is done to coca to make cocaine chlorhydrate.
If one believes contemporary UFO lore, it’s a culture of selling the rest of humanity, in the case of the government for technology, in the case of big cigarette brands, for money.
It’s All About Young Women and Mature Ladies
Young women of the face I love pulled me out of the hole of my alcohol, I was going to become a professional alcoholic if I continued drinking. I was drinking like there was no tomorrow, and drank for the sake of a more flowing capacity of redaction.
To be cured by the love that produces me the contemplation of beauty, I can’t say it was my willpower, because my will was to drink until I forgot everything about India.
Everything, except the certainty that come what might, I’ll find my significant other how I like her, roughly based in the infatuations of my teenage years and my early twenties in India.
She, a girl with around a dozen heads, is around here and, I can’t continue acting like a stupid with myself falling to the feet of the enemy and chewing the stocks of their rifles, as Rimbaud would have put it. I couldn’t have make it out of alcohol if it weren’t to predicate a girl to me, like for instance saying “I did it for Her.”
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