does anyone read my tumblr? It’s pathetic I know. But I thought I’d ask. If you do, answer me. LOL.
I really wish I could travel right now. I don’t even have a valid passport. Damn. Nor the time nor the money. So fuck it. What am I going to do? I ain’t going anywhere.
I feel the passage of time now. Like really feel it. My little dog died a month ago. It’s been tough. Really tough. I think about him every day. Every day. It’s like where is he?
Anyways, I don’t feel like writing much. I just wanted to know if anybody ever reads my shit?
the longer i live the more i feel like the world is insane. like every single human being on this planet is insane. i hate the word. i think its overused — the word insanity. maybe evil is a better word? anyways, i have severe social anxiety. most people don’t know it. it manifests itself almost every waking minute of every waking day and there is nothing i can do.
i feel alone. so deeply alone. wounded like a deer that’s been shot. i’m so sick of feeling so sad. it’s all i know. i am struggling financially all the time. i’m so filled with anxiety about struggling. i’m extremely angry inside. i’m full of rage at the inequity and unfairness of the world. i’m in need of God. where is he or it? where is the force that is supposedly taking care of it all. i don’t feel it. i feel alone. i pray every day for something, someone, just anything to make the nervousness and the pain of feeling like this leave. but it doesn’t leave. it stays and it hangs over me like a dark cloud. it follows me wherever i go which is the exact same routine every single day. i wish i could do something that counted. ok. now that i feel like shit for even writing this down. i must go. i must just get on with it.
Joan Mitchell - Number 12, 1953-54
i really love this person… looks like philip guston was thinking along the same lines.
i wish i could run away to some place like new mexico and just paint and get paid decent money for it.
don’t you just ever wish you had the power to murder people? i think about that sometimes. I’m so sick of being mistreated that some people just deserve a single gun shot to the head and it be done. that would scare me and please me so i probably would never do it. its one of those things you fantasize about doing but would never really do as the guilt and the consequences having to live with causing another death is too high a price to pay.
last night i got food poisoning for left over turkey mashed potatoes and string beans and cranberry sauce that had been riding on the subway on its way to me. I ate it. 4 hours later I was spewing out of all orifices. It was so painful and scary. I was alone with my dogs. I still feel really weak.
I write because i believe in helps. I want to manifest right now new and exciting people into my life. I picture them as smart, developed, mature, respect me and love me for who I am. So where are they? I’ve gotta keep praying.
sick of it all
he was sick. sick of everything. seething inside of him. everything was not as it seemed and he knew it. he knew that in a split second he could eviscerate everything around him. he was scared and alone and afraid. he was lonely. a world that ignored him. and he in turn ignored the world. what other response was appropriate?
his name was john. ordinary. like his life. a perfect name for the life. he stumbled, he tried, but deep inside him was a knawing feeling that he was a failure and a complete fraud. he wanted out but didn’t have the courage to get out. he felt trapped. insolent. inconsolable. desperate. but very few knew if anyone at all. he hid his feelings well. deep inside.
he didn’t care anymore. he had resigned himself to this. whatever it is that it was. and it was horrible. a real horrible trajectory. how else do you begin to explain what this existence is? somewhere there has to be a rescue plan. he believed that. as long as he could. it was the only thing that kept him moving forward.