Ah. To begin again. Part of the same old story and yet, something new. All over and over and over again. Lies I tell myself. Or something yet and whatever. Give up. Fuck it. Fucked. Go on.
I am not drunk. I wish I were. It would be a release. Though I am doing alright now. I am more on top of things. Other people make me realize that I am miserable. When I am alone, my thoughts lost themselves. I remain oblivious. I can’t tell whether I like that or not. I would suppose I would rather know that I am miserable that be ignorant of the fact. Am I really miserable if I don’t realize it? That would depend. So, yes and no. I am not miserable in that I feel fine. I am miserable in that I am not achieving the things that would “truly” make me happy. So there you go. But where do I go from here? A question for somebody else.
I just wanna see.
I am on the cusp of something. Of something great grand glorious and magnificent. And yet. And yet I do not know (nor will I ever fully know until it has come to pass, or maybe later) what the fuck is going on. Or if anything truly will happen. Fuck. Worse things have come along in my day. Worse things indeed.
Mother Mary whispers words of wisdom: “let it be.” I get drunk and stop caring.
I am more comfortable with the disconsolate, the irritable, the irrational, the depressed, the repressed, those looking for one or any mother fucking way out of this bullshit cage we all fucking happily call life or some shit. I hate happy people. Especially happy couples. I hate people who are unhappy about bullshit things. I hate people in general. There is always something better. And I cannot respect anyone that isn’t looking for it. I don’t believe in contentment. At least not in the fucking now. it is a far and far away type thing. Contentment only exists on white sandy beaches and secluded mansions. Contentment isn’t something normal people have. And if they do, what the fuck is wrong with them? Don’t they have any hope, ambition, sense of timing? Life is. And it goes on. But fuck it. And whatever. There was something more, much more, written into the story for me. And I have yet to cash in. So maybe, just maybe, I had better wait a bit … that is losing the train. The point is that I hate most people. Most people are pathetic sad sack bastards. And I only like the outcasts, the outsiders, and those against the flow. Their rebellion, like mine, despite how pointless it will eventually become, is there, and from time to time it is even heartfelt. So there you go. You can’t get much better than that without actually paying the hooker.
Well good god, y’all, I went and mother fucking did it again. 3 cheers for me. 3 cheers for Tanqueray.