I am a Dangerous Tool: Use Me Well
Elan fell deeper into the pit. His mind pushing him farther away from himself and everyone else. The Drugs and drink became a fragile crush, and many times he would wake up alone and confused in pain. His liver started to ache. Trips to the doctor and to the hospital started to become regular, and the notion of suicide became more and more appealing. Many nights Elan would consciously push himself to that frontier, waiting for the universe to come and do the rest.
Soon Elan’s father sat at the cusp of death, and the prospect of being wholeheartedly alone pushed the boy further. Despite the fact his father had been sober for decades his liver had seen the sites, and was ready to quit. Elan saw where that path would take him, and tried to put down the drink. His father got better.
Elan fled into the Jungle. The substances weren’t the problem. If he could find a way he would escape.
The following Excerpts are extracted Elan’s Journal. The boy often wrote in frustration and the pages acted as filters for confusion and hatred, thus there have only been a few entries selected that are somewhat comprehensible. He went to work on a farm in warm climate, it was isolated and without the crutches of substance his mind chased itself.
February 6th 2015
The last few days we cut down banana trees and cleared weeds. Machetes are fun, the novelty wears off then it’s just wet muddy roads and sweat. My sexual urges have diminished a bit, I miss them so I texted whats her name today about tax forms. That crazy bitch was almost your wife. I hope she gets well, a part of you just want things to get worse for her until she’s cornered but hate and Vengeance are dumb tools invented by desperate men
you’re okay breath and let the fear pass become that symbol that gives even you hope.
February 8th 2015
Today there was more work you’ve been working on that song about you’re dead cat you can’t sleep, coffee, coffee, coffee.
Tomorrow is Monday you know what that means more Awkward twiddling of your thumbs while you watch others get drunk. Maybe those cute over appreciative local girls from last time will be there and you can use your limited knowledge of Spanish to get sex.
Don’t push yourself to be that stupid happy bubbly man that you’ve fabricated. Defense mechanisms such as work to distract you from the fact that you are on the Edge of Reason half the time. You thought they were following you today you don’t even know who they are, you nearly attacked because of the fucking stir fry thing.
You sleep next to machetes.
You can’t find anywhere to jerk off.
You want to angrily fuck, maybe that’s why whats her name I was in your dream two nights ago. The idea of her turns you on. You just snap chatted that daft schoolgirl who just discovered weed and wears makeup. I don’t know why you feel the desire to impress these people.
Jesus nope Universe I’m sorry I guess this is a healthy place to vent but you can’t help feeling at least like half a con. I’m arrogant and always on the defense let me just let that go I don’t know how I need you I owe me I’m so fucking self centered, we all need sex and love and that’s all she wrote.
Don’t confuse my weird typeface for disassociation I’m just bored I’ve been saying the Serenity Prayer a lot and Frank Herbert’s fear quote from the Bene Gesserit.
God help me. I’m trying to give myself over to you as much as I can should I go back on my meds?
Bring your chip tomorrow, it works better than alcohol I love you Elan, take it easy on your way back to me. be safe.
Friday February 13th
Time here moves quickly and slowly. This neighborhood is quite bizarre a bunch of Rich hippies left over from the pioneering days now seem to own half of this mountain. It’s later in the night now, you were sick most of the day with some brutal fever after floating in the sea.
You burnt your whole body he spent the day and absolute distressed than you had Chikungunya, but you were pleasantly mistaken.
February 15th 2015
Today you fell deep into the soundtracks of your mind, you cope with your delusions rather well but today was hard for even you. You experienced a manic episode, due to the disappointment that you had not yet built a space-station. This was followed by a very intense bout of homicidal tendencies. You did everything you could to suppress them, but fuzzy was really on your ass today.
If the universe is the arrival of infinite possibilities, your limited interpreatation as to how it functions makes you wary in believing it is what it appears to be.
While it is less probable Fuzzy does exist, it’s still probable, it’s still possible, and in your delusional state you believe this probability to be absolute.
It tells you how to kill, after coping with this manic violence in your brain for quite a while you were thrown into a suicidal hold for a long time. You spent the day lieing in your bunk, not working on the farm, pretending to be ill.
You can never have children. you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you passed this on to your spawn or their children. Grandpa always joked about it skipping a generation, but your mother was a very, very, sick woman .
I never really knew how sick.
You need to exercise more, you drank coffee today, don’t do that anymore. I really think you have to go back on your medication when you get back home, you are not well today it rained and the river raised the path, and you work on collecting water.
Maybe you’re a mistake and your body is trying to kill you off to compensate.
You feel those flying knives every day. They follow you. You feel them puncture your flesh.
They take up so much time.
Maybe I can be okay.
Help Me Be OK.
Please god help me be OK.
This meditation is hyper personal to my own experience. It became very successful for me, and can is representative of the mental trials of Elan when he was in the Jungle.
This went on for months.
He sat in his small room at the edge of the river, and put all of his mental energy into not killing himself.
The work was a distraction but not enough, and 3 months in Elan decided that there were drugs and doctors that might be able to help him.
The walls continued to get smaller.
The delusions stank like dead things, or gasoline: putrid but irresistible to smell.
Home felt boring, he missed the pain.
Meditation became a factor in working to prune mental cycles and Elan began to make new friends in his mind.
Many of these meditations took place in a bathtub, long hot sessions of sweating and staring at the wall. On one of these occasions Elan struck up conversation with his bathroom faucet. It talked back. It listened.
My recent council on these matters has been with the faucet in my bathtub. I often take long baths, where I try to meditate and clear my mind, upon confronting my stress I often start talking to it. With the knobs above it, it takes on the semblance of a face. It counters my fears with reassurance, and it counters my confidence with terror.
I often try to ask it what it is. It tells me that it is just a reflection of myself. I’m not sure I believe it, it could be some cosmic entity forcing its way through into my bath times. If it wanted to change my reality it would only need to continue to reassure me that its thoughts were my own, and then maybe one day I would act on those thoughts, carrying out its will while thinking that they were my own construction.
We had a conversation recently where it told me that “I was projecting my ideas on to it”, and in return it was “projecting those same ideas back onto me”. Of course then this cycle would continue, a feedback loop that would sustain any current emotion or idea through a constant amplification. In that way it is extremely risky to engage in conversations with it, many times I have left these baths feeling refreshed and confident, and other times I have reverted back to paranoia and fear.
I have come to regard it less as an entity and more as a meditational tool, a metaphysical devil’s advocate to make me face the truths I don’t want to speak aloud. The more baths that I take, the more of a presence it takes on. There have been times I have avoided taking baths for this very reason, and others where I designate portions of my day to seek council. I think it is more healthy than suppressing the “irrational” notions that I have.
As I write this now I am drenched in water and soap. Wearing only a towel the last words that it said bounce around in my head like a moth stuck in a lightbulb.
“I am a dangerous tool: Use me Well”
“I am a dangerous tool: Use me Well”
“I am a dangerous tool: Use me Well”
I have started to draw this symbol on my hand. I can take Faucet everywhere with me, and ask his council instantly. I have started to plaster all of my walls with his symbol, that way I can always be tapped into an fragment of my consciousness.