Wednesday, July 8, 2015

my bitch is ironic

full-circle: back to grinding out subsistence, in the same occupation (that catapulted us into service some 20 years past).

and we're exactly the same as we were then. still plagued by phantom ambition. still moping through the drudgery of filth & stink. it's hot, loud, and boringasfuck.

irony is not a subtle bitch either. 

not only is said misery exactly the same, but it's in the precisely same location. the names have changed (including ours) but everything else has not. 

yet now there's actual physical pain to accompany the slow-death-by-hourly-wage. the ache once only felt in this spirit is now deep within the bones and its crying out feebly for mercy. 

Saturday, June 27, 2015


there is a reluctance to write anything anymore, (having endured many forced confessions). 

work. eat. sleep. shit. repeat.

if genetics are any indication, then the countdown's been set for 2030 before memories begin to slip away...

fifteen years left. 

what to do?

what to do?

Thursday, May 14, 2015

<no title>

Just reviewing your day here, wondering where and when you may have misspoke, or put your foot in your mouth. Perhaps you were a little abrasive with some esoteric comments about humans? "Hairless-apes" is maybe a dialogue better reserved for academia and not a celebration (with impressionable young minds present). Although, you’re pretty sure M*** tunes you out most times, you should nevertheless endeavor to mind your words in the future. E.g., you could add that these views in no way diminish the majesty and beauty of life witnessed and appreciate everyday.

Like the rocks, trees, and flowers...

Do you feel inadequate when outnumbered? Cuz' you don't work and rely so heavily on others for support? Do you compensate by being bombastic and loquacious? Or fear being judged for lack of ambition and attempt to occlude listlessness with idealistic rationalizations about the futility of existence, and the obsolescence of being?

Truth is you don't know shit from Shinola.

Yes. You can discuss loads of useless ideas. However, when it comes to functioning in polite society you are still very immature. On top of that you crave approval (which creates a lot of dissonance). this is evident when you go from silent-brooding to abrasive-pontificating after a few cups of coffee.

Anyways, thinking of myself, and how much I’ve got on my plate. It reminds me of the [redacted]. How you struggled to cope those 4 measly years. Maybe it's a weak analogy? I remember you (about halfway through the commitment) believing considering that, “someday all this would be a memory." Well it's been 13 years since you got out, and now you look back fondly. Even the shitty parts bring you solace today. So, when I’m down in the dumps, and maybe [redacted] acting-out, or stuck in traffic, and the house a mess, I hack into the moment. I focus singularly on the task at hand +/or discover something beautiful to appreciate. I too remember that “someday this will all be a memory."

So make good memories.

Monday, May 11, 2015

You've been alive for:

1262347479 ~Seconds

21039125 ~Minutes

350652.1 ~Hours

14610 Days

2087 Weeks

480.02 Months

40 Years

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

dear diarrhea,

nothing has changed. still stuck here. physically, but in the head-space mostly. there's plenty to be done, but no spark. everyday is the same. the self-hate is central to this dilemma. hate never fails to arise. no matter where we end up, nor what's doing. no satisfaction. with all the power, money, fame, and looks - we'd find a way to criticize to the point of sabotage. it's been the pattern - soldier, roadie, scholar, actor, dropout - none of that matters. the novelty eventually wears-off and then we're stuck again - we can't even dropout properly; i.e., in a position now some might find enviable - no job, no responsibilities, no commitments - just loads of free-time - a life of leisure and we are forlorn? so now what? wake-up and eat unto sickness - then exercise unto agony and get berated for being a feeble weakling. feeling sorry for oneself - eat some more. another 6000 calorie day goes by - "if imma be miserable anyways, I might as well eat up. you'll never know when famine will strike, so eat while you can." we are stuck inside again with the same company, conversations, and repetitions - over and over and over, "I need to go out more, volunteer, do something for somebody else, eat healthier, write, be more, meditate more, better, faster, stronger. though, i don't wanna ask for rides. I don't wanna ask for anything. I got myself into this mess. I'll get out of it! nobody wants to come out here to get me. I wouldn't wanna hangout with me either." But, wait until The Warden goes out to use the landline. don't want anyone to eavesdrop and keep score - then, "I might as well eat while i'm here." bothering people when we call. they're busy playing house, with family, and careers. We're not as important because we don't have kids, or projects, and perhaps lack some basic gratitude? always bemoaning status and situation - "don't wanna bring anyone down. it's the same-ole-shit anyways." thinking about an appointment next week, and what to say, and what they're going to say. and then a reply, and then the retort - and then - "if I'm really honest they won't let me leave. what if they want to commit me? but I do think about death a lot." it's always been there. though, it's usually philosophical. like, "where's the line between euthanasia and self-murder?" the constant self-hating-inner-monologue, "piece of shit." is married to, "just fucking kill yourself." even though we know we're not going to. but we reach for a mind-gun - like it's that simple? we know we won't. so why the thoughts? annoyed again. these unwanted thoughts drag us down. like a heavy rucksack that pulls us down into the mud, and inside our skulls. we don't want that. we'd rather have not been born. don't really wanna die, but whats a life spent hating? pathetic. embarrassing. perhaps, we're full of shit and just wanna hangout in our pajamas, never having to really take-care and be accountable? we don't wanna bother anybody, or be a liability. we definitely don't want anyone's concern. perhaps we're just negative because we're stuck with no projects and nowhere to trudge?

Friday, April 3, 2015

omnipresent blandness and blah...

"Perhaps the only difference between me and other people was that I've always demanded more from the sunset; more spectacular colors when the sun hit the horizon. That's perhaps my only sin." ~Joe (Nymphomaniac Vol. I)

I realized not too long ago that I can't truly taste anything anymore. whether the cause is bad sinuses, or years of self-abuse is unknown. I get a mere suggestion of flavor. I can tell coffee from tea, broccoli from ice-cream, but the depth is gone. the bite and edge that once made a cup of joe the highlight of my day... gone. 

Am I demanding more flavor than is actually present? furthermore, this lack of 'flavor' is omnipresent in all my senses. considering, like Joe, I have always demanded more from the sunset. the baseline was never enough for me. satiety always an elusive ghost. hence the propensity for extremes.

for instance, whether sitting on the boat in Canada fishing with dad, or grilling at the campsite, he would often mention "it don't get any better than this!" I'd concur, in the interest of politeness. However, I always found that sentiment a little sad. Those exultations of a worker-bee at play always made me sad. the gents who work for the weekend, or plan vacations.

Even sex, the great preoccupation of so many men, leaves me a little, "meh." and I've had many salacious, and somewhat sordid adventures there, so it's not from a lack of effort. 

am I missing something, or taking something for granted? are all my senses malfunctioning, like my handicapped palette? some would say I want more than my fair-share. but, what's fair? and, who determines the shares?

I rebel.

the idea that contentment is proportionate to some ephemeral x-factor is a shitty and feeble worldview.

I'm simpler then most folks. the few memories of completeness I've experienced (without chemical aid) involve a comfortable chair, and a good book. solitude. or catching that perfect nap, on my back, in the woods. but, it's been awhile. oddly, these memories occurred during my enlistment in the US Army, and typically involved shamming to one extant or another. 

is this mental-illness? the pervasive feeling of trudging under a higher gravity then others? burning under a hotter sun? seeing everything through a foggy and alien atmosphere?

or, am I just getting old and bitter?