today is a brand new day,

but i have to get up on time to hate life again tomorrow.

i'm not entirely sure that life is worth living. not just mine, any.

a loud noise. blurriness. the cold slide out of warmth, as we must feel being shoved from the womb. the cell phone alarm, the primer. right next to my head it is instinctively turned off, sometimes without being aware of it. then, something like peace again, but only for a moment. the music begins. easy at first, nothing so harsh, yet noticeable. it will be playing as consciousness intertwines with dreams. then the grand finalé. i have to get up to turn this one off. this is the one that is supposed to really wake me up, though i normally just go back and lay down. it's too cold. it's too hard being awake sometimes. eventually, after i think i can't possibly waste another moment without some sort of repercussions, i go into the shower. for a moment it too is warm and feels like a comfortable return home. but it too ends, cold, unhappy. no time for food anymore. just driving, only half trying to not ram into the person in front of me as i watch the break lights go on and off. still thinking how much better unconsciousness feels. the computer i will sit at for the next eight hours will be my only friend, lover, and enemy throughout the day. i feel more a relatitonship with it than any of the people who recite their recycled stories and respond with obvious anecdotes and stock phrases. good days and bad blend together into a miserable dance of servitude. the day closes, the sun goes down, the computer i spend my remaining conscious hours with at home is a nightly affair to the machine i use durring the day. every second of it all, i feel as little as possible. eventually this must end. it has to.

we can fly the jets. all to the moon. fueled by love. hating everything we leave behind.

her love takes hold. remembering life as it used to be, it's more like dreaming of someone else's life. there's no use in not trying for something grand. we're only going to end up ruined and broken anyways. her love is a reminder. it's something that can't slip through her fingers one day. she can't even hold it in her hand. sometimes she's not even sure it was ever there. but every now and then it grips her, like comprehending life in its entirety is almost within reach. then it slips away.

25 years later, thinking: was i always such a freak?

comments welcome.

easter is coming.

this easter, let's drink a bottle of red wine alone. again.

every day i feel more defeated.

this is a world full of people i want nothing to do with.

bite on rocks: teeth shatter, bite your tongue: thoughts shatter.

they're good people, it's just that other people annoy me. i hate other people. i would never tell them to their face, but they think it too. i can tell by how they look at me sometimes. they hate me. we're just suffering each other together.

discovery

i will never be happy the way i want to be.

find a fuck.

in a world where you could pretty much always find a fuck if you truly desperately wanted. more often it seems you end up rubbing one out in a dark room alone.

walk around the complex.

going out in the world is disturbing. people are annoying, navigation is frustrating. interact only when completely necessary. otherwise you become one of them. ignorant of your own flaws and obnoxious existence.

fill up with empty stupid thoughts.

something was missing; they took it. it was life. they're still taking it everywhere they go. nothing can be done. it's constantly leaving us at every turn.

the future of life depends on us: doom

as a child life didn't need meaning, just watching cartoons and playing video games was enough. friends weren't even entirely necessary. parents and school pretty much forced them on us, to avoid complete boredom and dissatisfaction with one's social standing. today i can't stand these routines. the ones i do, the ones i see others do around me, seemingly unaware.. everything we do is just sucking the life out of us and there's nothing we can do to stop it. we're doomed. space is our only chance at escape.

on the road

she got it, but never really finished it.

i finished it, but never really got it.

she did it with only the half finished idea.

when you're at your lowest, they will leave you.

when we finally get there all we want are those same old moments back, but they're gone. the future of life is reflecting and forgetting. when god is in your head, life's just more tolerable. closed off and vacant to the natural world.

the difference is this.

when people look uninterested in what you are saying, you keep talking. i stop. everyone says i'm quiet.

an alien world is just around the corner (good morning)

the drugs tasted better once we realized they would run out. even better after they were gone. the lies we tell ourselves these days don't measure up to the ones we told that morning. when the sun woke us up because we didn't bother closing the blinds. even if all the birds could see in, we didn't mind sharing what we were doing with the birds and other strangers. you even wanted to do it outside, on the balcony. you asked for it. i was more modest then. but only at that moment, i can't recall why exactly. those days seemed sluggish and warm, along with the lies we told each other. something about how it wouldn't change. now the days seem harsh and sharp and i can't remember who i was then. but it felt like something better.

thinking differently.

if life feels like a punishment, it's safe to assume you should be doing something differently. when you hesitate at dancing publicly for mere existence, then there is something holding you back. take notes on living from the people you think have done well. if you can't find them, perhaps you need to reevaluate your understanding of life. being successful and making a living is becoming a sort of functional robot that performs certain tasks repetitively and without err. anything can become a habit. i'd just rather have mine be making love and smelling flowers. sunsets surrounded by horizons of endless ocean might be nice, maybe it would get old. depends on the company. desperate for friends, we find ourselves reaching out to those we might not otherwise reach out to. everything is circumstantial. even our existence is based on the circumstances that caused our parents' coital embrace, all the emotional factors, all economical factors, all social ideas pressed on. things could have just as easily turned out different. somehow i feel it couldn't be all that different.

an unnecessarily intricate philosophy, resulting from an overabundance of idle time.

she was skinny, but her face was full. like there's a chubby girl inside she's trying hard to hold back.

"it was better when i was younger." people go for years without love. even decades. will you?

i wish i wasn't doomed to love every love forever.

i wish i could forget. i wish i didn't care. easily turned to suicidal thoughts. love would be easy if we didn't have to think about it afterwards.