Life and death are one in the same; most people just don’t know that. Once you realize that our conscious doesn’t walk the line between the two realms and they all exist in the same realm, you’re entirely ******. The mundane reality of our existence becomes shockingly clear and it makes you wonder; who gives a ****? For some reason or another we are expected to, just like we are expected to go to school, just like we are expected to get a job, just like we expected to work our lives away until we are old and gray, then we are expected to enjoy our golden years; die and go on to heaven or whatever. What happens when you reject these conceptions fundamentally and create your own. I don’t know… you don’t know… nobody knows. We could all just **** ourselves and maybe that would fix the world, well… no; that wouldn’t fix the world, but it might fix mine. That seems like a terrible idea doesn’t it? Self-destruction for self-preservation. What I mean by that is this, the world will either crush your soul and **** you, or **** you. So why take the risk, risk the disappointment? This was a wildly depression interpretation of existence. Maybe it's like this because I’m stuck in some dumpy ******* town… Where people drink to drown their boredom, which I find wildly depressing and somehow they soak it up. My entire life has been broken up into 14days on and 7days off. This means I spend 2 thirds of my life with this uninspired people how think binge drinking is the only way to have a good time. I suppose there was a time in my life when I could relate; however unfortunate that is. But now I’ve lost the desire to do so. Where are the other people in my life and in my writing? So focused on my own views on the world with know one else’s ideas or perception. Loneliness seems to be a theme of my life, and understanding myself is my great pilgrimage. The exploration of my body and soul can be achieved. It begun when I realized I was a conscience being, The first time I contemplated suicide was at the ripe all age of 13. Why I thought about this on a beautiful day at the lake I had visited in the summer with my family for years, puzzles me to this day. Which happens to be the origin of some of my fondest memories. On my bike in the green space that over looks the beach next to the lakeside community center. The sun was bright and the day was hot. Family and friends that I’d known for years surrounded me. Could have been the fear of rejection from the girls that I had little boy feelings for. Interesting how the fear of rejection on such a minor scale can lead to self-destructive thoughts when I should have been playing in with my friends and riding my bike. Trying to write a story… but instead I get a case study for a psych student. Idle hands are the devils playthings. I was thinking earlier; as I was trying to find an activity for the evening and being told time after time that the bar called the Detour was the best place in town to have fun because in this town that’s where people go to drink and here drinking is the thing to do. I thought writing with all that for inspiration would be very difficult. Turns out that it’s not really difficult but **** is it depressing. I want my mind and soul to be immersed in art, music, poetry, philosophy and love; not drenched in close-minded thinking and rye whisky. But here we are, writing in my surprisingly nice hotel room. It’s brand new and the beds are fancy, I thought two pillows was more than enough, but here… I have FOUR! **** shame I have no one to share it with, but that’s to be expected. I feel like Weyburn Saskatchewan isn’t the place where I’m going to find the love of my life and I sadly don’t have much interest in becoming intimate with some unsavory harlot with tattoos being the primary sense of identity. It doesn’t interest me in the slightest. There was a lovely girl at the restaurant today though, I was there earlier for dinner. She was from Victoria and seemed like a genuine person, but she had a boyfriend who dragged her out to this **** hole… yikes. I’m sorry beautiful, I hope he is a good man, because I would like to think that I could offer you more… but here I am... and what the **** do I know... Writing things that will probably never be read by another human being on earth, unless some catastrophic global event destroys everything on this planet expect my laptop and a few lucky survivors who repopulate and thirty thousand years from now they uncover this and recover my hard drive and finally read this. As unbelievable unlikely as that is, this one goes out to you future folks. Well done you guys really pulled through. If monkeys have taken over… I’m very sad that you’re reading my long dead words, I really feel like we would have really hit it off.
Ok ok, lets see if I can give you something worth reading. I want to write a novel, I real story. Something epic, heart felt and amazing. I don’t know if I can do it, but I have soooo much time to **** so **** it! I CAN DO IT!
Story ideas…
- Duel personally kleptomaniac
- Barbarian warlord tale… blood, guts, **** and battle.
- Exploration of the world.
- Create my own world….
- A ****** tale about a guy who works in the oil patch and writes garbage, gets stuck and gets a cheese burger.
Alright… well that’s what I'm working with…. I'm going to get a cheese burger.
Don't take this seriously... I don't