June 19, 2006

• fuck it.  that's the fourth time i've scratched every last word
  off the screen.  i've been sitting here, slightly brain-weary
  after work, trying to get something (anything!) to stick to this text
  field, but no matter how little i try to care, no matter how much i
  tell myself that it doesn't really matter what i write here, nothing
  will stick.  nope; nothing.  i type and type, and then the
  damn cursor comes and highlights everything, and poof!  it's all
  gone.  so...fuck it.  fuck it all with a gas-powered
  jackhammer.  fuck it raw.  fuck it until you're blue in the
  face, and then fuck it some more.  i'm not depressed or
  anything.  or am i?  fuck it.  fuck it till the cows
  come home, and then?  fuck them too.  fuck everything. 
  somewhere, deep down, there is a love that cannot be overcome, a love
  that we can all find within us.  dig down.  dig deep. 
  find that love.  find a way to wrench it from wherever it was
  hiding.  and fuck it.  fuck it, and fuck it, and fuck it
  again.  sometimes i wonder if there's any point.  to knowing
  the difference.  to striving.  why would god give us brains
  and opposable thumbs and all that if he didn't expect us to use
  them?  why does happiness exist?  is it a goal?  is it a
  whip?  if you can get some without having to sacrifice anything
  for it, is it even happiness in the first place?   fuck it. 
  fuck philosophical questions.  fuck philosophy, and not just a
  textbook, but the whole of the discipline.  fly a fuck at a
  rolling philosopher's donut.  hah.

  hah.  consider the preceding some verbal calisthenics.  i
  feel like i just got back from forcing myself to go to the gym, but i
  had a terrible workout.  don't get the wrong idea; i don't go to
  the gym to work out anymore.  you can see it as a slackening of my
  will if you want to, but to me, it's just about giving up on certain
  standards/intentions/motivations.  i like the idea of being
  physically fit and healthy, but that isn't why i went to the gym when i
  used to go.  then, it was all about vanity and living up to media
  reinforced standards of attractiveness.  the only people i
  feel sorrier for than trophy wives are the men that sacrifice their
  lives to be able to attain them.  hey, we're all sacrificing our
  lives to something (in that we're all dying); i just want my something
  to be more meaningful than an illusory social status.  what's the
  point of being rich/famous/beautiful aside from feeling entitled to
  some notion of superiority over those who are less?  and am i
  really any different, even after forsaking all these things?  all
  it seems to get me is the feeling of superiority over those who still
  want those things.  that, and i no longer have to contradict my
  own innermost beliefs or compromise myself.  of course, you can be
  born rich, famous or beautiful. i guess it's the aspiring to it, the
  making of the aspiring to it a priority, that bothers me
  sometimes.  bah.

  bah.  consider the preceding some total bullshit that i've been
  fashioning into a shirt to wear out into the world, heart on my sleeve
  for an accessory.  i'll need pants too, but i haven't decided yet
  which existential quandry i'll make those from.  maybe the
  question of the afterlife?  would be nice and airy, perfect for
  summer! 

  • 9:12 pm
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