Some thoughts on Timothy Morton's book Hyperobjects; Philosophy and Ecology after the End of the World

Ultimate reality is always experienced as wrongness and failure because human beings are restricted to partiality of perception by their finitude, or so says the stodgy book of theory I'm reading by Timothy Morton. It's called Hyperobjects and essentially it's about phenomena and their 'thingness' which are so vast in time and space that human beings can only glimpse them, and yet in their absolutism they've shaped the formation of our species and the way we grasp the world itself. They are inescapable and yet their existence is only ever smelled, sensed, gleaned as an ambience and never in their totality as an 'object' (thus the prefix Hyper). Does that make any sense? 

As it's most obvious example Morton talks about climate change being a hyper object, but only as a knock on from global warming, because apparently confusing climate and weather itself as fixed objects is a mistake; weather is something we've only assumed as fixed because it's existed in a certain patterned way for as long as humans have existed (in this specific historical strain anyway), when in reality weather is a radically contingent process, like a scale on a dragon so huge it spans our entire galaxy with it's snout at the sun and it's tail at Pluto. And we are microbes on that scale assuming the absolutism of it's features as a reality, as a whole, and suddenly the dragon shrugs and it's scales ripple and behave in ways previously unseen which obviously rocks our whole world (or worlds) and forces us to overhaul everything we've taken as ontological givens. 

Or something.

And as we already know, things like pandemics are ripples from the dragon shrugging, because industrialising our environment and pushing it to it's absolute limit has rebounded in a rapid increase of global temperatures and so an acceleration of certain negative (to us) geological potentials, or a natural entropic process of eventual renewal (one which humanity will probably not be around to see) that in our limited life-worlds can only be experienced as a conflagration, a cataclysm, a dismantling of a world that was premised on borrowed time anyway. Oh well.

It's like existing in a single petri dish, which we've made singular by globalising, and then maybe putting that dish in a microwave so that every wriggling bacterial presence is jolted with directives of virulent growth and starts vampirising the bodies around it. Oops.

Anyway as far as an anthropocene is concerned, I'd been thinking about it in exclusively dystopian terms, but that would be to think lowly and separately of humanity itself. The very word suggests an inherent separation between ourselves as a species and natural processes, when in reality no such division has ever occurred, we are still inside 'nature' (whatever that is) and the notion that we have somehow splintered off from and then attacked 'nature' is an aesthetic consideration. A false marketing rendition of our world, of our role in it. 

But then how am I to think about global warming when I also think we definitely pushed the pedal on climate shift by industrialising so aggressively? Is it maybe that our actions have always been intimately enclosed within nature's script (as the anthropocene suggests) but in choosing to consciously alienate ourselves (a dream) inside nature we deliberately blinded ourselves to this intimate reality, and thus are only coming into collective knowledge of it because industry (an aggressor) has goaded some very immediate effects? 

Why did we choose to alienate ourselves in this way? What comfort was taken and from what perceived threats? Was a short term sense of dominion really worth the apocalyptic price of admission?

I think modernism has a lot to answer for.

There's a consideration in Morton's book of the economy itself as a hyperobject, and as a sprawling diagnostic of value which is wildly speculative, acculturated, impossible to predict even with all the corruption and insider trading, then certainly the economy counts as a spatio-temporally massive 'thing' which can never be grasped in it's totality. Only sensed and gleaned, sometimes effectively and sometimes futilely. If it was anything else then a little bump or jolt (like a credit crunch, or a few months of isolation for the good of public health) wouldn't have such catastrophic results; knowing it's dimensions and directives with wholeness would not make it, or us, so vulnerable. But it is and we are. 

Yes, we are fucked now. 

But then maybe if hyper objects can only be registered as wrongness and as failure, and it's impossible to find a workable angle, grasping for coherence itself is a waste of energy. What then should our energies be directed towards? As the life-world we've built around ourselves deteriorates and reveals itself to have been a chimera all along, what becomes a worthy investment for the immediate future? 

Firstly the aesthetic category of nature ('I love being in nature, getting back to nature etc') has to be abandoned, because it means absolutely nothing. Considering humanity and nature as separate, or even humanity and nature in themselves, is nonsensical and goes against reality. Whatever we are it's not as contained local entities but as viscously interconnected aggregates with other objects around us, their particularities and their management of our behaviours by vector of relationship. Our sense of ourselves as contained beings moving through 'stuff' is incorrect; the 'stuff' around us consists of objects like ourselves, which in turn are made of smaller objects, which in turn are made of smaller objects etc (microbes made of molecules made of atoms, that kind of fractal shit). Each of those objects has needs, demands, unique modes and registers, effecting the behaviours of objects and entities around itself in an interpersonal field, an ambience of exchange by which we're aware of ourselves only in debt to awareness of others. Literal debt, because the subsistence of life is transactional, exchanges of energy and order (not in an economical sense, but as Morton puts it, in directives). We are all symbiotes in a parasitic orgy, which the further back you step starts looking like an infinite machine with an unending number of modules interlocking with sound and fury. Perhaps galaxies themselves are the microbes on even larger bodies outside our spatio-temporal grasp. 

Anyway, Beautiful Nature must be forgotten. It's an ideological weapon that makes us blind to complexity. 

Maybe beauty itself should be forgotten. On a social level it directs our gaze and desire, conditions our behaviour to strive for certain outcomes, holds our thinking and feeling to tailor-made vectors which, more often than not, serve a complaisant ruling class. It's consumerism's whole motor, and as the world is making abundantly clear consumerism has kind of reached it's limit. 

Fuck beauty. It's an affect of normative standardisation, removing freedom and criticality and substituting them with aesthetics. I'd rather identify with and behave inside the directives of this planet and it's myriad objects (wind, rain, city infrastructure, hormones, grindr, party etiquette) and let those shape me into whatever form they do so long as that form coincides with survival (and even if it doesn't), an anthropocenic sincerity rather than a guilt about how inescapably entrenched we are; the anthropocene is not an arrival point, is without beginning and end because since humanity has existed we have been in radically contingent relationship with environment. The idea is old, only the word is new. 

The spontaneous solidarity expected of the working class in Marxist tracts is nonsense because it excludes the nonhuman and thinks around matter the same way the capitalist algorithm does, which is in exclusive terms of resourcefulness towards human requirements.  

Fuck profit. Fuck beauty. Fuck anything that prescribes or imposes a mode of conduct outside the immediacy of situation, of context, of matter. 

We should work against alienating ourselves any further, embrace the smouldering ash-pile our world will become, because it's as much a product of nature as your lifestyle block in Piha or the organic biodynamic produce you spend triple the standard amount on. The difference is aesthetic, are merely preferences inside the metric of consumerism. If it's beautiful then you should probably kill it. 

Not really knowing what to say right now but writing for it's own sake, also probably hornier than I have ever been but simultaneously feeling a horror at being a human body during a pandemic (yuck!)

Drove out of the city yesterday to drop off some supplies to friends who are quarantining, and in the suburbs which are systemically alienated from the commerce and social capital of the city centre there was an eerie or ghostly sense of unreality, almost peace. Like maybe the universally-posed threat in the city had tapered off out here. But no, it was obviously a delusional impression and the threat of transmission exists wherever there are other human beings, other flesh-sacks capable of hosting microbial populations both good and bad. 

So this is the last day of Level 3 leniency before we commit to a month (more) of confinement in an attempt to halt the annoyingly rapid spread of covid19, an unholy contaminant whose disruptive presence has brought the world to a screeching halt unlike anything I can remember from history books or old-timey movies about the war. Maybe it's because this is a uniquely contemporary situation, not so much the disease but the manner in which we have responded made possible through the hyper-connectivity of the internet. I've said it so manny times in the past week but I'm grateful for our leader who is setting an example for rational, humane government in times of crisis, who had already set a pointed example to the United States about gun-law reform and what they could do about it if they were even remotely competent. But of course they're not and they're choking to death on corporate dick that can't acquiesce from a parasitical push for profit even amidst a global pandemic. 

Much like everyone else right now I am contemplating how to a)ensure housing security for myself considering my (everyone's) financial situation has become unprecedentedly precarious, and b)fortify from going completely insane while trapped inside my house with the same people for weeks on end, by which time their quirks will probably feel like personal attacks and I'll have to hide sharp objects from myself so that I come out of this without a manslaughter charge. Just kidding.

I am already sick of television. I fucking hate it. 

I keep wondering what 'the stars' are doing and then also keep guiltily realising that reliance (even casual) on daily horoscopes, specifically tabloid ones, is a partial forfeiting of what personal power I have over my own life, and right now that might not actually be much but if there is any at all I'd rather conserve it, nurture it, exert it as frequently as possible over the next few months; if only to have the (potentially illusory) feeling of engagement. But you never know; the opportunity might present itself down the line to really flex, and I'd rather be prepared than limp, flabby, made soft by a few extended weeks spent indoors (how I'm going to keep fortified at this time I have no idea; a strategy is still being formulated).  Astrology is a funny one because it's internet popularity bares resemblance with the internet itself, in how it's a vehicle for co-presence, or how just like the internet it allows for the simultaneous mental holding/imaging of two or more separate, parallel realities (my life, and the hidden influence of the constellations as an omnipotent co-present influence). Perhaps co-presence has been something that's existed for as long as any media has (even the media of storytelling itself), but nothing in existence has facilitated the absolute global co-presence of the internet, in which any one individual world (mine, yours, anyone's) will at the same time have the heft and texture of it's foundational one as dictated by an amorphous platform of consensus reality, a never ending script that seems to give populist sensibilities an instant shape and voice.

I am relieved that we will be allowed to go on solitary walks. I don't think I would be able to get through any of this without a daily bit of cardio. It's my number one coping strategy for any and all of life's bitch-slaps. And this is a bitch-slap, or what feels like an unending succession of them, one after the other without a moment's respite between. Ouch. 

I do like the vague optimism around what impact locking down for a few months will have on the environment. Apparently there's heavily reduced emissions in China right now, something about clear water in the Venice canals etc. And I guess it does make sense, with no one on the streets and no one in the air, of course the planet will be taking some kind of active pleasure in a virtual pause on industry. I mean don't quote me on this, you'd have to ask Her. 

I watched Lord of the Rings; The Fellowship of the Ring last night and tried contextualising our current situation in it's allegorically neat tableaux of good versus evil, and realised I couldn't. I then wondered how many other assumptions about the way the world works, how many other little stories we tell ourselves, will be proven flimsy inaccuracies, ideological niceties with no basis in reality. Is it sacreligious to talk about benefits to this pandemic, to this lockdown? I personally can't handle any more celebrities giving advice on how to 'pull through', and I'm certainly fucking sick of certain celebrities going live on IG, mining the situation for creative branding solutions; are you fucking kidding me? 

Also also, thirsty gays promoting sales on their onlyfans accounts via IG is one of the most dystopian things I have ever seen, if only because it feels like this gig economy's grandest punchline. 

When I started writing this blog it was as a vent for unassailable anxieties about the world's pending demise, which my imagination had a specific image of, something more akin to the spat of natural disaster movies from the nineties; but things are happening a little differently, feel much different from whatever I'd been expecting. Also the timescale of collapse seems so much slipperier than I imagined it would. I guess that even in light of things like increasingly violent foreign policies by our world powers and global-warming related cataclysms, I had thought we had more time before this way of life was unequivocally disrupted for who knows how long. I hadn't factored in the kinds of changes I would have to make as a person, had only really imagined it as a no-holds-barred Mad Max-esque free for all. But actually, here at the beginning of the end (an end?), I'm not feeling violent but contemplative, quiet, shamed even. My own complicity in the consummate effects of industry, my participation as a passive consumer; these are emotional labours that we are probably all going through right now, and which we will have to efficiently deal with before coming to a place of grace, a place of radical acceptance. Because I guess it's only in the latter that we will be able to find a way through.

But I'm as green in this situation as anyone else, I don't have informed advice to offer. I do think we need to be patient with each other though, especially in our various isolation scenarios. 

Ultimately this is a time for grief, a time for processing the specific paths taken which have brought us collectively to this particular point in history, and how we might make different decisions in the future. 

God help us.

Is this it? 2.0

I can and I can't believe what is happening. My brain is having difficulty piecing together all the facts into a coherent thread, a story I can get on board with. But then my darkest dreams and private fantasies about a 'clean slate' crisis seem to be happening, but the feeling isn't giddy joy but choking anxiety because as much as I'm loathe to admit it the status quo, despite it's traits of exploitation and quantifiable miseries and structural violence, has it's hooks in me. Even if my conscious mind has criticised and reviled it, it has still been the ground of everything. And now that ground is trembling and fragmenting and threatening to shift and upturn, again in ways I've fantasised about since I learned the very word capitalism, but still; as a bull-top might say from one of the many gay pornos I've been watching in my anxious exile from group activities, 'this is gonna hurt' (cue exaggerated moaning from an underpaid amateur bottom who is probably high as a kite on some unholy cocktail of GHB and poppers). 

 The people around me feel like echoes of themselves because the lives and dreams and plans that stilted them up or reinforced them in my mind's eye as an imaginary assumption, all of those intangible supports have gone, vacated, evacuated, emptied out into the void of non existence which feels closer than it's ever been. In my lifetime anyway. I've never lived through anything like this before lol.

We're in this strange transitional time between business as usual and formal closures and lockdown of businesses and schools. In this period I'm still going to work and putting on an admittedly threadbare smile and actively dissociating while I bring people their meals and take their drink orders. Also I'm splitting right down the middle as separate, kind of mutually exclusive concerns about isolating but also about supporting small business at this time yell each other down in the street. I mean, I've been serving families, large groups of revellers who are treating these past few nights as their last hoorah before going to ground, like it's a lark or an inconvenience and not a global health crisis with a steepening gradient of fatalities. Maybe I am being melodramatic, but which mode of operation is appropriate at this time; overly cautious or devil may care? The fact that I'm seeing the latter being performed by so many adults, and the fact that the knee jerk reaction of stressed out middle-class white people is to go out for dinner and drinks after a day of working from home and getting groceries delivered, exacerbates to me the difference in experience of a global crisis between the rich/comfortable, and everyone else.  Not everyone has the security to treat covid19 as a novel chapter in society's flawed unfolding where they can stay home and catch up on highly-rated shows they've missed. If anything most people are experiencing it like you would a mental illness, because though psychology likes to pretend socioeconomic statuses have nothing to do with mental illness, it has EVERYTHING to do with mental illness; which means people with relative material security right now, who are outside the demographic of viral severity (under sixties, standard immune health etc) will be fucking fine, and are selfishly acting like it while the rest of us scramble to feel normal. If inequality was a bottomless source of disease before crisis, then I can't help but predict those wounds brought on by structural violences will only fester and worsen now. 

The morality of the thing is freaking me out too, akin to McCarthyism or similarly paranoid witch-hunts with a vaguely ethical 'community-minded' basis. We are accusing each other of misconduct, establishing a precedent of shame and guilt, which is probably not ideal considering we've barely scratched the surface of what collective isolationism will mean when and if (but most likely when) level 3 closures are announced (at the time of writing this they hadn't, lol shit's pretty real now). I'm wondering how many thoughts and feelings and compulsive-anxious activities I can recycle over the next few months, whether I'm going to develop any nervous tics, using this time to expand my skill set and be 'creative' like my IG keeps recommending, or just go full feral and deep dive into the kinds of existential malaise normally reserved for immortal beings who are inconveniently and impossibly suicidal. There are certain movies I keep thinking about, the most obvious being Steven Soderbergh's Contagion (which I'm seeing on Google Play is currently one of their most popular digital rentals) but also that graphic-novel adaptation 30 Days of Night about a small town in perpetual night as per their arctic winters that has to survive a band of vicious nomadic vampires. 

Obviously in the latter movie there's no virus spreading except for maybe the viral contagion of blood-sucking undead-ness, though in the film's climactic scene only one character is 'turned' while every other victim is dismembered and consumed (after prolonged sequences of torture, which the vamps seem to enjoy; like tenderising beef with a skillet before frying for optimum results?). However, the reasons I'm thinking about the film right now is the lockdown the town goes into as they realise somewhat incredulously (but which they are finally forced to openly acknowledge) that they have an infestation of vamps, and being super-strong and otherwise supernaturally endowed, their only chances of survival against vamps are in hiding out. Hankering down against a virulent, spectral enemy stalking the empty roads and eerily vacated sites of everyday life. Sound familiar? 

Though of course the reality of covid19 doesn't look anything like this; ghosts/demons/vampires traipsing the skeletal remains of an abandoned city-scape sniffing humans out like rabid truffle pigs. But this image in it's hyperbolic narrative heft has something of an emotional realism to me, hews closer to the picture in my head and how various media sources have suggested I frame the situation. Is it a meta-narrative? And if it isn't, what is the current over-arching narrative and what consummate impressions (from friends and family, the internet etc) have synthesised to give said narrative (if it exists yet) it's particular flavour? 

Do you remember 9/11? I barely do because I was ten years old and had recently discovered masturbation, so that was taking up a lot of head space with little left over for a consideration of geopolitics. But I do remember picking up on this sense of the world having changed in the course of a few hours, the strain on the faces of the adults around me as their world-picture was called into intense and rapid overhaul re America's  reactionary call to arms, and that country's failure to acknowledge it's own invasive foreign policies which may or may not have directly caused the attack. The world had become a different place in a very short space of time, even if only symbolically as yet (especially for people as removed from the world-stage as New Zealanders, though we are now less naive about our actual place in the global order; there is no such thing as being outside the totalising metrics of this world, really, which becomes even more true under duress of crisis). 

I remember as a child reading this in my childish way and experiencing a burst of euphoria, the same feeling I would get when there was an unexpected day off, like a teachers only day or faculty deciding school would break for the year a day or two earlier than expected, because just fuck it! It was the pleasure of disruption, of the status quo being shirked in favour of something more carnivalesque. The feeling was contagious and suddenly my friends and I were chanting '9/11!' And swinging each other round like it was a game, until my teacher growled us and said we were too young to register the situation's gravity but people had died and our response was insensitive. 

Which it was.

But I feel the same weird joy-cum-horror right now, only this time it's struggling with the more adult realisations that disruption is never materially simple, that processes of liberation along the way induce suffering and demand collateral, and who is to say what (and who) is and isn't collateral? What will be cast into the flames of this conflagration and what will we conserve? Do we even have as much power as that to make some of those calls ourselves, or are we completely powerless to make significant shifts and resistances over the next few months? 

I don't know. Uncertainty is my bread and butter right now. 

Is this it? Should I start stockpiling weapons off the deep web just in case? Do you think deep fried human tastes closer to chicken or pork? I feel like it's pork. Though if you deep fry something it depends on the batter right? (I wonder if there's a youtube video on how to properly prepare human flesh)

This corona-virus shit is so real now and I don't know what other people are thinking and feeling but I'm personally shuttling between a nihilistic zen and then being the emotional equivalent of getting fucked up by that serial-killer-surgeon in America who used to sew surgical instruments inside his patients/victims so that they'd go home thinking everything was fine and then sit funny and bleed to death; by which I mean I'm physically carrying a bundle of nerves and stress and abject fear around in my gut and it feels like a tender lump that is gonna lethally explode any second, so it's like having a bomb strapped to my chest. But then the prospect of death and suffering is wrapped up in existence itself so why should I let this particular contingency (which statistically has less proximity with my person than being hit by a bus or getting cancer) give me such internal grief. It's probably nudging me towards cancer, my worry about coronavirus. 

My mum called me last Sunday concerned about that covid19 thing and I said 'what's that?' Because I was more concerned with getting a beer from the stall at the festival I was at, and she said 'what are you doing in a beer garden?' and I said 'it's Sunday why wouldn't I be in a beer garden?', and then she told me things about how people are losing their shit in her small town (somewhere between Taupo and Rotorua) and I was genuinely surprised because up until yesterday evening it'd felt like business as usual in the city. Is it some classist bias I have to think that I understand this difference in reaction, between the city and the provinces? Probably. But hey, as the CNN feed at my gym keeps telling me, there are far worse things in the world, and they're all (apparently) waiting in the wings to pounce. Yikes.

So basically I'm experiencing, much like everyone else, the slow pan into focus of a mediated crisis happening 'over there' shift into local immediacy in ways crises vary rarely do for us New Zealanders, if for any reason at all probably being our geographical isolation. I mean, apart from certain military personnel and ripples in the economy (which we should be expecting again) Bush's war on terror never really breached as far as us, and if it did then I was too young to perceive it except for some great SNL parodies and a whole new generation of fashionable anti-American rhetoric (which is having another Trump-era boon; seriously, deja-vu). I remember last year being on a plane home from California and overhearing a group of American teens (maybe a school trip) excitedly asking questions about New Zealand and what to expect of their teacher/parent/custodian (definitely some kind of field trip). The adult sort of sighed and said 'they're gonna hate you because you're American'. I remember my ears pricking up and feeling a combination of pity but also harsh agreement; the rest of the world had every reason to be disgusted by America and the consumer hegemony they'd been imposing since the eighties (and nascently even earlier). 

And then he said, 'but just say you're anti-Trump and they'll relent'. 

I couldn't help laughing out loud. At least the fuckers have self awareness in this trying time. 

I can see beneath the harried faces of 'business as usual' an underlay of apocalyptic misenscene, like an afterimage that's actually a prescience lifted right from the opening sequence of 28 Days Later, or literally any of the Resident Evil movies. I can see the Mad Max aesthetic-potential in shopping malls and the movie-complex downtown I was at last night, or food courts and public crossings. With a little dust and less people and more artfully placed bones they'd all make haunting set pieces for a Terminator reboot-reboot-reboot. 

As for the corona-related self imposed isolation I'm not a hundred percent sure I can commit. Normally sex with strangers is how I ground myself in the city, how I locate myself in relation to lives I see everyday but never actually touch; such is the nature of class management in urban environments, that income and status group people in invisible ways, down to the level of your own desire which you think is yours but is actually an implant that ensures you'll stay within your designated herd. If anything corona-virus is going to ratchet up the 'stranger danger' which has been a mainstay of tactical class-warfare since forever, making the privileged even more phobic of contact with who they perceive to be carriers of virulent poverty, the economically incompetent and unclean. Like they're personally responsible for the systemic exploitation and misery-inducement of late-stage capitalism, and even if they're not then certainly they should be individually tasked with bearing it's consequences. In another vein, this is the message behind much therapy, that mental health (general declines in which can be statistically measured back to industrialisation and as progressively worsening with the sprawl of global capitalism) is on the individual, and situations beyond their control are illusions. If something bad happens the onus remains; the individual is responsible. This takes the pressure off increasingly corporatised governmental bodies who don't have to acknowledge that world-systems as they are make people sick; rather, they can espouse psychology epithets of 'accountability' when dissenters make such claims. And then it's business as usual. 

In other news, literally over night and with very little public consultation (as in none at all), the sale of poppers has  been banned; if you didn't know, poppers (amyl nitrate) is a sniffable substance available over the counter (until recently) that's not addictive and has been used by gays since the dawn of time;  I'm pretty sure there's a Plato reference somewhere. If I'm enlightening anyone, it's a liquid in a small bottle which you huff deeply after which you experience a moment of belly-warmth and euphoria (and crunchy brain) simultaneous with your sphincter loosening a touch. Thus it's use for anal sex. 

According to my source one of the reasons authorities have given for the ban is that it's too easily acquired and we don't want our youth having it. Um, honey please the youth are doing MDMA, and the only people recreationally using poppers for something other than anal sex are probably doing it as a very last resort. No danger of addiction here folks (though if you're already a sex addict there's probably a circumstantial relationship between the two). 

I can't help but feel like the timing of this ban has pointedly coincided with a national health panic, whereby any dissenters would have their priorities questioned and be gently reminded that we're collectively attempting to halt a chain of viral transmission. If only authorities had been as efficient when it came to the initial spread of AIDS and HIV; but of course access to healthcare and public concern are selective acknowledgements, the privileges of citizens. Thus history teaches us citizenship is not for everyone, not a given or birthright. And until recently dying queers (no matter how statistically large a chunk of the general population) were of no concern because queer lives were of no concern. This is just an arbitrary example of how the Human Being is measured and managed against the subaltern who remains invisible and thus incapable of receiving all the benefits of the visible, the patriated. I'm wondering what and who will be lost as collateral while covid19 finds liveable-equilibrium in the general body of citizenship. 

Meanwhile concerns of public health are being used to smokescreen a frankly un-democratic moral crusade on sex-on-site venues (which a ban on poppers is), regardless of the queer lives these spaces have historically served and those they continue to serve despite certain apps having recently changed the landscape (grindr, scruff, squirt etc). Undermining these sites and their histories is part of the ongoing erasure of our queer histories, even if those histories are ugly, embattled, speaking of alienation and violence on the doorstep of more decent households and lifestyles. Perhaps these uglier histories are even mor precious, giving as they do a fuller picture of how we got to be where we are (not that there's anything especially beautiful about where we are). 

I don't know. Everything's particularly fucked at present. I'm avoiding alcohol and cigarettes for my health but a part of me just wants to obliterate myself with the above.