I live in a shitty apartment in shit ville.
I often wonder why I even bother to exist.
But something keeps me going.
I don’t know what that something is.
I guess I am searching for that something.
That something that keeps me going.
Most days I wake up feeling like death defecated on my soul.
I have these crazy dreams full of drunk relatives and unfulfilled love.
Sometimes I wake up and feel pressure in my bladder so I get my ass up to relieve myself.
I bounce around my apartment like a naked idiot and check the clock in the kitchen.
As if it matters.
It’s still to early to wake up.
Gotta follow my routine.
I have rules.
If I don’t have my routine I am lost in the world.
Like a lonely turd floating on a river trying to get away from itself.
So I go back to bed.
Shaken by my shitty dreams on my shitty mattress and fumbling around with my shitty pillow.
I’ll shit out all this shittiness later.
I need to get back to my shitty dreams.
Be The Light I remind myself.
I scribbled it with a black marker on the empty backsides of mail I get from the social loser office.
They give me money every month to pay rent and potatoes.
I do everything in my power to avoid having to work.
I make them all think I’m mad.
I suppose only a madman would do that.
They must be onto something.
Just gotta play my cards right so they don’t lock me up in the looney bin.
I save the paper so I can scribble spiritual stupidity on the back and tape them around my apartment.
Sometimes I have these revelations. Usually it’s after too much coffee which is my only drug.
And then later I am angry at myself because I know nothing will ever help the dark days.
I yell at these worthless pieces of paper and get annoyed that the tape gets stuck and I have to spend extra energy scratching it off with my uncut nails. I curse the gods as I tear them. Sometimes I catch myself and laugh at how evolution has come to this. To me. I tell myself I am a god and that I am in on the joke.
I know the dark days will go away.
They come every 10 days or so. Last for a few days.
I mark them on my kitchen calendar (with nature landscapes) as DD.
Oh fuck here we go again.
I want to disappear with pleasure.
But I don’t how.
I am secretly in love with my own miserable existence.
My misery gives me comfort.
It’s safe and cozy living like this.
It’s morning. My smartphone alarm is playing its classical etude.
Time to conquer the day handsome! Get those curtains open. Windows open to flood the apartment with fresh air.
I get up and do my morning stuff.
Music. Water. Pee. Brush teeth.
Get the coffee going. Read and have a good shit like we talked about.
Welcome to the life of a genius.
I am reborn!
I’m going through my music collection to get rid of the garbage.
This seems to be a neverending process.
Always all this shit seems to take over my collection.
I want to get rid of everything except the mad lone geniuses.
I want to really dive in deep with Tom Waits and understand his poetry better than he does.
One day I will surpass them all. Maybe I already have.
I read novels which agree with me that there is light trapped inside things.
I laugh proudly when I think yeah this author fucking gets it.
I masturbate to sex scenes in books and replace the faces with people I have seen or known.
Or followed.
It’s good to be alive. To think and remember and worry and complain.
I’m just a guy trying to survive. I wonder if other people are nothing more than this.
No matter what you invent, you will die and rot.
I wonder how other lone wolves live.
Do they feel lonely and sad that they are so pathetic?