I had my first migraine last night. What a terrible thing. Absolute crushing headache that told the Tylenol to fuck off bro, nausea, vomiting, vision was fucked up. I just turned out all the lights, crawled into bed, put a cold compress on my head and pseudo-meditated through the pain until I thankfully fell asleep.
No jobs working with autistic people or suicide prevention jobs. At least I looked. So, I tried. That's it. Pack it in. I'm blinding out of life. Off to the streets I go.
We say someone has soul or they have the fighting spirit. These are positives. But what is it? Surely it goes to the belief that we have souls inside of us that travel down to hell or up to heaven after we die. It doesn't feel like I have a soul. It feels like I have a consciousness. I can bite, I can see, I can type. My cat Pico has soul but does he have Soul? Does it relate to the spiritual life? What is the spiritual life? I will be tormented while I am awake. Unless I can escape to a forest. That is secular spirituality for me. Returning to nature. Nature (and spirituality) is not living under a park bench downtown praying to Dionysus slogging up all the red wine I can get my hands on. "Modern Man in Search of a Soul." We never fucking find it because it's not there. Fighting spirit is DBZ/Puroreso bullshit. It's a farce. It's made up. It's staged. Who are we fighting for anyways? The slave masters? I'm fighting so my boss can get a promotion and the CEO can buy a beach house in Provence?
But I have to let this stuff fly because I am suffering. If only I could keep it all inward and disintegrate it. That would be ideal.
Do the folks that work all day, take care of kids, and watch "Hamilton" before bed time think of suicide and death? I'd rather fucking sit in inner torment listening to Moderat. That is probably my biggest problem. Inner torment. Existence. The time after birth and before death. I suppose running out of money and not having a J O B is a problem. Reading Cioran when "down" is not. Fuck that. I am so depressed. I am self-obsessed. I am more self-obsessed than depressed. Today was a pretty functional day. I read Cioran and napped all day. Went for a walk. Did a wash. There is that moment in a nap when you rollover to the cool side of the pillow and everything in the world seems ok. Even lying there a bit before rolling out of bed feels like bliss. Actually being fully conscious and trying to figure out what to do is shite. I am sitting in a rectangular box with the same sensory inputs that never change. Sure, I can change this screen's inputs but that will probably lead to channel surfing. I abhor channel surfing. I might just vomit to the degree that I did last night. Actually, last night's vomit was amazing. Never have I ever had such a clean and thorough purge. It made me consider being bulimic. God knows my waistline could use it. I want to blame it on the medications. I probably could reasonably blame it on the medications but it could also simply be gluttony.
–––––––––
“How important can it be that I suffer and think? My presence in this world will disturb a few tranquil lives and will unsettle the unconscious and pleasant naiveté of others. Although I feel that my tragedy is the greatest in history—greater than the fall of empires—I am nevertheless aware of my total insignificance. I am absolutely persuaded that I am nothing in this universe; yet I feel that mine is the only real existence.”
–Emil Cioran, "Nothing is Important," On The Heights of Despair
I can see no other philosopher to read in a spell of depressed isolation with no hope of social connection. He is my only friend.
–––––––––
My little consciousness thinks of itself as the center of the Universe. That little piece of fluff in my arm hair is the most important thing happening in the world. My sorrows, my pain. It is nothing yet it is EVERYTHING! I need to get out of myself and help but I am confined to this blasted rectangular box. People have more serious problems than me. Real problems and they might not even think about suicide or death. And I'm not talking about first world problems which typically amount to petty materialism. I have realized I have such a low threshold of patience for petty materialism.
I ate a ripe peach and a piece of dark chocolate to improve my mood. It may have worked.
–––––––––
I don't trust people's opinions that are overly excited about entertainment. It might make me want to watch the recommended entertainment even less.
–––––––––
I followed a seagull flying through the air for roughly 1 min. the other day. I was lost in it. The Taoists are very wise to catch a breeze and watch the birds.
–––––––––
This blog is so trivial lol. I am sick of lamenting over existence and biting Cioran. I don't know what else to do though. Sleep is no where in sight. I may have read my fill for the day.
We are THROWN into this existence (now I am biting Heidegger)! How the hell did I get here? I remember visiting my grandmother in England. I was 3. I am playing soccer as a young lad. Learning how to read and do math. I was innocent. I was happy. When did I lose my innocence?
–––––––––
Sitting in existence really isn't much fun. 2am on a Wednesday. I walk around the neighborhood somebody is going to call the cops. Fucking suburbia. I say hi to people on my walk today though. They seemed like reasonable people. We are all just out on a walk trying to survive this life. I envied the folks playing tennis. They were IN IT! I miss tennis. My old fat ass probably couldn't even survive a set these days. No pop on the serve. Dead forehand. Busted backhand. Can't even get into the net. ¡Disastro! I need to figure out some way to lose some LBs. It probably starts with not stuffing my face full of food all day long.
–––––––––
Have you ever noticed that your fingernails grow faster than your toenails? (Oh shit, that was Beckett)
–––––––––
I have nothing original to say. I am a broken human. If you haven't read "Waiting for Godot" by Samuel Beckett I would suggest doing that at some point in life. Probably sooner rather than later since the more days you live the higher chance that you will die and the fact that something that can be gleaned from "Waiting for Godot" could help you etc etc etc blah blah blah. "Endgame" is also good.
–––––––––
God is never coming. Spoiler alert. Jesus isn't coming back either. How do I reconcile these likelihoods with being a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I don't fucking know. I need friends. I need to not be confined. I am going mad. Not even a good mad. Mania is a good mad. Actually it's not. There's my bipolar for ya huk huk. I love when people call someone bipolar when there are just marginally moody in a period of time. ROFL. Mania is thinking I am God. I am dj'ing a show to no one and everyone. I am flipping through a Carine Rotfeld lookbook making edits because I know better than their editor. I am designing a music festival that will rival all music festivals and lead to world revolution. I am a God.
And I think I am just an Angsty guy. You can't tell an Angsty guy to just stop being an Angsty teenager. Sometimes the ANGST is there for life. Like why would it go away? Like I get some white collar job, have 2 kids, and watch "Hamilton" before bed time? I eat granola for breakfast and drive a new Toyota Corolla? I really wonder how often other people think about death.
How often can I talk about the same fucking topics? Self-obsession. It's a vicious circle. I am like a dog chasing it's tail. I don't know how to get out of it confined to this rectangular box either.
Is it better to be self-obsessed without kids or not self.......... there is no non self-obsession. Obsession with a kid is still self-obsession. They say that's the meaning of life....
I need to take some LSD. There's not enough going on in this house. The floorboards are floorboards. The lights are just simply lights. I want to go somewhere.
––––––––––
What good can I do in this life? Does it even matter?
–––––––––––
Sometimes a nigga just needs to listen to "The Sky is Pink" by Nathan Fake and really just sit in it. I have been suicidal lying in bed just crying to this song. I've also been driving into pink skies with rainbows and crying at the beauty of it all. And now I am somewhere in between. It GETS existence. That torment and that fire inside.
I remember I was driving through the farms of Indiana. The Sky Was Pink as loud as it could go. The Sky was pink and a double rainbow? Pretty remarkable.
I had a friend who seemed relatively happy. Made a good wage. Had a nice house. Nice car. Had a good kid. But dig a little deeper and he is drinking a litre of vodka a day playing free money slots on facebook the duration of non-work consciousness. He kept a pistol in his night stand. He told me the only time he's ever gotten close to using it was numerous times on himself.
––––––––––
There was one time that I hung out with a crew of people. We would go to the bars early to watch the Detroit Lions games on tv. We would all get fucking wasted at like 11am on a Sunday. It was kind of fucking awesome. I went to the jukebox and played all the best music. Women were dancing on tables. At one point I had 3 women twerking on me. All married women by the way. The husbands didn't care. I didn't care. My goal was to get the bartenders who were fucking hot man. Totally fucking hot bro. The wives were cool as fuck. They all wingmanned for me. Good times. I would drive home fucking hammered and stop at Popeye's Chicken by my apartment slurring my words. Fucking idiocy. I'd get a shit ton of fried chicken some giant ass sugary drink and then go home and start hitting the bourbon until I would pass out....
–––––––––––––
Those last drunks were no fun. I always have to remember those last drunks or otherwise hitting the bottle starts sounding like a better plan than just living in the torment. At least there are people out there like Beckett, Cioran, Sartre who get it. I was a wild animal. I am a wild animal. Just because there is some civilization that got involved doesn't mean that at the core I am not a wild animal. A scared wild animal. I know some things. Maybe too much. Naïveté as a virtue or a vice? We are all heroes to deal with this shit. With shitting and existence. Shitting and dying. Eating and shitting. Shit!
––––––––––––––
I think Cioran is a better writer than Sartre. Sartre is like my guy though. The first existentialist that I encountered. Reading Nausea, Being and Nothingness, and No Exit was like MIND BLOWING at the time. I was like 26 at the time so got to it pretty late but DAMN. That's when I was hitting the Dostoevsky pretty hard too and it was like revolutionary. I miss those times. I was so hopeful.
––––––––––––––––––
Now, I don't know if I am bitter with this resentment or that resentment. I just resent existence. And Sartre wrote "Being and Nothingness" in response to "Being in Time" and Heidegger thinks Sartre is a joke and I wish I knew Greek and Latin and French and German and et et et alll. "Burnout Society" by Byung-Chul Han is powerful. Most of his works are pretty great. I've read most of them twice.
Here is the guy I got the initial reading list from:
It took me a while but I got through most of it. I think the only thing I didn't read was Leviathan.
It might actually be interesting if Loco ever got a chance to debate this guy. University was relatively cheap when he was going and he figured out how to beat sports betting and loved student life so he just kept getting degrees. His PhD in Philosophy and Political Science was related to Rawls and Right-Libertarianism.
On July 14 2020 16:18 RiKD wrote:
No jobs working with autistic people or suicide prevention jobs. At least I looked. So, I tried. That's it. Pack it in. I'm blinding out of life. Off to the streets I go.
Counseling obviously. Or volunteer with a crisis hotline. Though the latter is a big commitment and doesn't pay the last time I checked. Nowadays I'm not sure I would even be a good person to talk someone off the ledge. I'm afraid I'd feel that many are justified.
I dont know what a dt drop is. Is it a wrestling move? -Oly
On July 14 2020 16:18 RiKD wrote:
No jobs working with autistic people or suicide prevention jobs. At least I looked. So, I tried. That's it. Pack it in. I'm blinding out of life. Off to the streets I go.
Counseling obviously. Or volunteer with a crisis hotline. Though the latter is a big commitment and doesn't pay the last time I checked. Nowadays I'm not sure I would even be a good person to talk someone off the ledge. I'm afraid I'd feel that many are justified.
Yes. Counseling. But I have to get into grad school for that. No tellin' if I will get in. I already got DENIED by 1 school. At this point I don't see how the other would go any differently. My dumbass only applied to 2 online schools. I don't know why I didn't think about going brick and mortar. But with Covid that is kind of up in the air. My sister applied to only 1 online school and got in so I thought that was the way to do it lol. That's why I am looking at jobs to get me some money and get me experience and recommendation providers. But looking at that as a job search is making me vomit. It's too much. Too much means to an end. And it doesn't look like that situation actually exists. So, I am back to shit jobs and volunteering on the side.
There are tricks and risk assessments to suicide prevention. I think I would be pretty bad at "talking someone off the ledge" right now but I could learn the tips and tricks and maybe help someone. Who knows? It's hard for me to feel like an individual case could be justified. My therapist recently asked me if I have had any plans of killing myself in the future and I said yes. Then she switched it around and asked if there are 3 things I'm looking forward to? And I said coffee, books, family. And the way it was framed and the following conversations put life into a better light. I am not really one to talk to about existence at the moment though. I just want to snap at everybody. Shake everyone up. Make them feel what I feel. Even though if someone was living in naïveté and happiness the last thing I would ever want to wish on them is the torment and suffering that I feel.
I woke up. I had some coffee. I had a regular bowel movement of snake like wonder turds. But I feel weary. No one is going to solve my J O B problem and certainly no one is going to solve my existence problem. I'm on my own. Especially due to this isolation I am on my own. That is not a good thing for a self-obsessed, depressed person. Maybe I should volunteer to do the suicide hotline for no dinero. I don't really want to have to be on call at weird hours. I really shouldn't be talking it down when I have no info.
We are connected to nature but so far removed from it. With our concrete jungles and our screens and our petty materialism. The only thing that will save the world at this point is ecology. Not fucking Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos. They have shown their hands already. And they have shown themselves to be losers. Musk doesn't get it. He is going to give all his houses away and all his belongings but he is still lying and attempting to deceive regarding the Cobalt in his batteries. All the big companies are no different. How do you think they got big? The entwinement with the USA Government and exploiting resources and labor.
I am a mad person. Fighting existence to the death. No holds barred. There will be only 1 winner. The Universe. Even if it can not hear the blood stain, the sweat drip, the tears rolling down the contours of the face. The worms will win. The worms will win. Flawless victory. What the earth becomes has no bearing on the Universe. It has seen earth barren before. An ant does not contemplate death as it senses the pheromones of a comrade that has just found food. I am laying in wait. It is excruciating. This rectangular box is a torture chamber. The Universe stares coldly, silently. There are no negotiations. I will get older, perhaps suffer through old age and eventually die. Worm food.
Worm food. But I will go out in FLAMES to spite the worms. Decay is a worm's best friend but you can't eat annihilation! Annihilation of mind, body, and soul. DAS NICHTS! That is the remedy to DER ANGST. Perhaps the only remedy.
I wish to travel to Berlin, take quite a lot of MDMA and see a Moderat show. Drink Coffee with Byung-Chul Han. Ride a bike around the city. Eat some Apfel Strudel. Have a smoke. Have sex with Heidi Klum and right as I am orgasm'ing Byung-Chul Han decapitates me with a katana. I know Byung-Chul Han is South Korean and not Japanese I just trust him to be my #2 more than anyone. If Byung-Chul Han or Heidi Klum do not consent to my fantasy I will try to overdose on heroin in a secluded dumpster. No, that won't work. I would have to go through with finding heroin and all the gear and that's a pain. I highly doubt Byung-Chul Han would even meet me for coffee so maybe I should start over.
I wish to travel to Berlin, take quite a lot of MDMA and see a Moderat show. Ride a bike around the city. Eat some Apfel Strudel. Have a smoke.
I still wish to be decapitated immediately following orgasm or pulling a personal best deadlift. . . by Byung-Chul Han.
–––––––––––––
It's fun to get a little mad. I have always thought I would be happier as a dolphin.
––––––––––––––
Has anyone here stared an alligator in the eye? It's eerie man. Those things have been around since the dinosaurs. That is one of my main rules in life. Do not fuck with an alligator.
–––––––––––––––
I go through some intense existence man. Bare existence. Pure existence. No drugs or alcohol or gods. What is truth? You are telling me there is no truth? Dios mio man. What are we doing here? Just floating around in space. I am agony in the air. Grief amongst gravity. Despairing, decaying, DYING!
I wish to have my own butterfly garden. Nothing can change my mood so quick as to see even a common butterfly in flight. Monarch. Gulf frittilary. Black Swallowtail. Yellow Swallowtail. Yellow Sulfur. The Giant Black Swallowtail is my favorite in these parts.
–––––––––––––––––––
I never felt so connected the first time I did Ecstasy. I remember there was this really attractive asian young lady behind me in her little get up just dancing her heart out. I was ROLLLIN' man ROLLIN'. I never danced so well in my life. I remember sitting there thinking does she want me to dance with her or are we just here for the feeling, the music. So, then I'd dance my ass off harder going to places I've never been before. And it felt like we were all there together. I didn't have to be a creep and try and dance with her. We were already dancing together. We were all dancing together. The afterburn is pretty incredibly too on the comedown. The music still resonating across the body. Like taking the first sip of a magical warm tea. But then you can't sleep and feel like shit the next day so that's not good.
––––––––––––––––––––––
This life is an Odyssey. You do a bunch of shit and come back home and only your dog recognizes you.
––––––––––––––––––––––
Frozen bananas are actually quite good. It's almost like a dessert in itself and they are a great addition to smoothies.
Is that what it boils down to? I have no drugs, no alcohol, and no gods. That's an intense existence. Like staring at the void intense. I will only decay and dwindle before I die. Drinking I could get it just right where things were ok for a little bit. Until I couldn't. I can't. That makes me sad. That's why I like hanging out with fellow drunks... errr.... I mean fellow people with alcoholism. It's just the whole God thing is a drag. No drugs, no gods, let's go. If I have to do it alone I'm going to do it alone. Thankfully there are my leftist people. I miss them dearly. I am doing it alone at the moment. I am terribly isolated. I am terribly lonely.
I have a meeting with my sponsor today so I was reading AA literature. Such a contrast between "Alcoholics Anonymous" by Bill Wilson and "On the Heights of Despair" by Emil Cioran. And they are talking about the same void, torment, agony, etc.
––––––––––
Well, I am not going to fill the void with drugs/alcohol, I'm certainly not going to fill it with God, so I guess I write? I really wish I had something better to do. I don't. Every time I try to find something better to do I'm back here like I'm back at the bar like I'm back with a blunt like I'm back in the booty clubs like I'm back eating a burrito like I'm back alone in my room in the rectangular box trapped like a rat. No rats to wrestle. Just me and a drip of cocaine or a drip of water. How long do I last? Ahhhh, but I can write. It's like my paintings. Some are ok but it mostly helps me feel better. Although I was thinking earlier that I hate all my paintings and I am going to throw them into a bonfire. There are too many of them. But in reality I am fond of my paintings and could never set them all on fire. Who knows? Maybe I'll jump in with the paintings. That would be a horrible way to go but it would be something. What is something? Well, you put both of your hands around your penis and what remains well, now, that's something.
––––––––––––
I miss bonfires and starry nights.
–––––––––––––
I once had a $3,000 bike. When I took it for a spin I was in such transcendence I was gone for an hour and a half. I told them I'd take it with out even asking how much it cost. When they rung it up I was like "oh..." but at the time had enough expendable income that I didn't really care. I've told this story before. I eventually had to sell it. I wish I had a bike but I am not a very good mechanic. I don't really need a bike I just enjoy that form of exercise even if it is a bit rough on the grundle. Damn, my old bike had the paddle shifters and everything. I would just go with something more reasonable this time around. Just to ride around the neighborhood for some exercise.
I don't know though. I am not much of a mechanic and it's really f'n hot here. If I was in Copenhagen or the South of France a bike becomes a lot more desirable. I guess it's a form of exercise I can do into old age. I can't keep getting fatter.
Time is a mother fucker. Tick tock. Tick tock. Inching closer to infirmity and demise.
–––––––––––––––
I remember in 2008 I was at Creamfields Argentina and the big question was do I see David Guetta at x stage or Deadmau5 on y stage. We ended up seeing David Guetta on x stage. I was the only one who knew Deadmau5 at the time. Loved his album "Random Album Title" but Guetta was the clear favorite of the group. It didn't really fucking matter. I was on a ton of MDMA and the David Guetta show was great. "Love is Gone" was one of my favorites of all time. But then this motherfucker Carl Cox on the main stage absolutely BEAST MODED a set for 3 hours dancing and killing it the whole time. I was like who is this gap toothed fat motherfucker? Fuckin' murdered it.
–––––––––––––
Deadmau5 is really great to take absurd amounts of speed and then go train. Some of his songs have like an impending doom feel to them and when you are speeding like crazy it feels like you might go too far and break. It also means you have to put the anxiety that you might die somewhere and that somewhere was the weights my friends. I don't think I could even sniff at the intensity of my training back then. I had marines looking at me like I was fucking crazy. And those guys were fucking crazy. We used to train together at times. I was rackpulling like 600 lbs. at the time and was taking a bit of a rest interval. One crazy ass roided up marine starts throwing a fit the rack isn't open. Starts unloading plates. I walk right up to this crazy mother fucker and tell him I've got 1 more set and to please stop unloading plates. I load up the plates. Pull a triple with fucking ease cause my adrenalin was jacked up. Turn to him and say it's all yours. Help him remove all the plates and we were besties from then on out. I miss those days badly. So much hope. Full of raison d'etre. It was mostly superficial. But the experience of rack pulling 600 lbs. or reading "Notes From the Underground" by Dostoevsky for the first time was a real wonder.
–––––––––––––––
Now, I am just sitting at my computer writing anecdotes from my "heydays" because there is little to no hope for me. Especially, not in quarantine. Shall I try to relive those moments? Like any drug the first time properly dosed can never be re-created. I think there is a epoch of time when you get more familiar with the high and you can really dial in the dosage to get what you want to achieve but it still doesn't re-create that first high/rush/whatever. Maybe that isn't true though. I still remember the first time I got high on marijuana. That was a really good high but it wasn't the best high. The best high from my memory was in Las Vegas on some really good shit. I was tilted as fuck and inhaled a whole joint in no time. Way too much way too fast. I remember thinking I was going to die, staring at the refrigerator for way too long, then I had some sugary drink and played Mario Kart and then lied in bed listening to Björk in absolute paradise.
–––––––––––––––––
I can't deadlift anywhere because all the gyms are closed but I could re-read "Notes from the Underground" by Dostoevsky. Or read "Brothers Karamazov" which I have yet to read. Hmmmmmm. . .
–––––––––––––––––––
Is it all trifle? Do I mean British cake or that nothing matters? Mary Bary likes football. Why don't you like football?
Well, I don't feel like killing myself. It's that magical trifecta. Small plate of pancakes, fresh, lovely coffee, and regular bowel movement a punto. It isn't until later in the night that the agony seeps in. When everything is dark and quiet yet sleep doesn't come. Harakiri, red wine/xanax, or gas myself. . . A roulette of annihilation. It's amazing more of us don't kill ourselves. I like how Cioran does it. He sets it all up. Just telling things like it is and offers no solutions. "How do we recover from birth?" We don't LOL. Byung-Chul Han is the same way. He gives us searing insights to reality and then THE END HAHHAHA. In the Byung-Chul Han case it becomes pretty clear to just do the opposite of what Han is condemning. In the Cioran case WE ARE ALREADY BORN! We can't just not exist with out killing ourself and who actually wants to do that? Fuck. We CAN'T recover from birth. I remember I have blogs on here talking about red wine and salmon from a trusted fish monger and roasted local asparagus in season and blah blah blah. That was actually pretty great come to think of it. Getting wasted and cooking a good dinner is a way to escape. It's not sustainable for me though. 1 bottle turns into 2 turns into 4. It's like doubling in backgammon. 8 to 16 bottles of wine is intense but doable. 32 bottles of wine and I think only Andre the Giant wins.
But, I am never going to believe in a God so why would I pray to something I don't believe in. It makes my membership in Alcoholics Anonymous somewhat awkward and it always will. I would surely pick the option of drinking a couple of bottles of wine with good cooked food some ice cream, a cigar, and cognac if it still worked. Or would work consistently.
I remember there was this really good Mediterranean restaurant where I lived at one point in time. They had a bunch of screens at the bar. The place would get packed at night so I thought it would be a fun place to watch the Spain vs. Portugal World Cup match. I walk in and the place looks closed. I am the only one in there. I don't fuckin' care I am here to watch the game. So, they get the game on the tv and I order a shit ton of tapas and the finest red. I am guzzling this fucking fine red. I order another. The tapas comes. So, much food. Too much food. I guzzle another fine red down. The waiter is like what the fuck is this guy doing? I guzzle another fine red down. Decide it's lame in here and go on a bar crawl. Pretty typical Saturday for me at the time. . . It didn't actually work though as I remember thinking about driving off mountain roads or jumping off my 3rd floor balcony. 3rd floor balcony is a rough way to go. . . If you are going to jump might as well make it a really high bridge. But I don't like heights so I don't like that idea. I don't really like the idea in general to be honest but that's the way my brain works. Many times thinking about a way out. I was a poker player. I like outs.
There was this fantastic wine bar I used to frequent. That's where I met those professors who were interested in zombie ants. . .
I was always improving. At that wine bar I was chatting up the bartender too much. She was busy. You gotta play it cool. Let things happens. Talk to the people next to you. Ideally you meet friends of friends. It was never any better than when I met that group of hot wives that would wingman for me. I was getting warm introductions to all the bartenders in the city and the bartenders could give me warm introductions to anyone or anyone could give me warm introductions to anyone. The problem is I had to drink and drive everywhere. My apartment was almost a punto. Never good enough. Nothing was ever good enough. Good date with a hot woman. I wanted 3 great dates with models. So close yet so far. Booty calls in Chicago. I was a mess. I was a mess for a long time. Killing myself might be the most lucid thing I'll ever do. But I'll miss the coffee and petit dejeuner and regular bowel movement. I'll miss my family. I'll miss books. Well, actually I wouldn't miss any of these things. I would be dead. Nothing. In Nothingness.
I am expecting a phone call. It is not as easy to write now that it is in the realm of possibility to receive a call. My mind is constantly focused on that. I could be disrupted mid-sentence or mid-thought. But if I stop writing there will be nothing to do except to just wait for the phone call.
I learned a new word today. Ennui. A French word that basically means boredom. I was going to watch a Bong Joon Ho film but I could only find it on DVD. . . My name is Henry Ennui and I want to kill myself. What occupation or sort of excitement could save a soul like mine? What is my raison d'etre? Walk on a hamster wheel and watch sunsets? I make my curries extra hot so I can feel something in life. That was my only joy today. Making the curry so god damn hot it's like entering an abyss you are unsure if you can get out of it. Except there is dairy the all mighty capsaicin killer. I saw a rare butterfly today too. That made me happy.
Contact Users: 1225 Active, 1 Logged in - Time: 01:41
United States. Jul 14 2020 05:57. Posts 9043
