Thursday, July 04, 2019

Saturday, January 26, 2019

Nothing changes if nothing changes.

Because love, and life, and everything we value or feel we should value is a terminal condition.

Because it is.


What's left when these things are done? What remains but these sweeping digital footprints? Curated versions of ourselves and everything we thought and thought that we thought and felt for a moment or maybe felt for a year. We leave these carefully groomed versions of ourselves that may or may not leave hints to what we withheld all that time.

Twelve-plus years of this and other things:
Chat Logs
Instant Messages
Screen Captures

Look at this face.

This is the face of a man who is tired of talking. He used to be afraid that if he didn't record something he would disappear altogether, so he jumped into the river with a zillion other people who all shared the very same fear.

Then they all disappeared together, indistinguishable from one another. No more singular voices, or faces or flesh or humanity.

White noise.

This is the face of a man who talked so much that he drowned himself out, and grew weary of speaking. He grew weary of waking up and even grew weary of breathing, but lest this read like an epitaph or a suicide note.

It's not.

This is the face of a man who was told that a man can restart his day at any point in the day, and had no choice but to take it to heart because all other options had been exhausted. Part Two of that adage is simply, "Nothing changes if nothing changes." It makes no sense to restart the day and repeat the same fucking thing you've done for the last twelve-plus years.

It makes no sense to talk just to hear one's own voice. That in mind, it's time to still this digital slipstream of narcissism which is illusory anyway. My dedication to being heard against all odds created its own gravity and there hasn't been forward or reverse motion in years.

It's time to put this to bed for good. I may re-surface in a different platform or medium at some point down the road. I'd like to, but not until I've found some focus, and that's unlikely to happen unless something changes.

Gravity, and all that.

Let's not discuss it. It's embarrassing.

Monday, January 21, 2019

Saturday night, Sunday morning?

So the headline is a bit deceiving, as the post is not about the old British New Wave film, but Bram Stoker. More so than even Bram Stoker, to whom the words can be attributed, than his ability to describe the horrors and joys of the transitions from one to the next.



I've known nights so long and sleepless that seeing the sun came up brought relief. One could say that facing the responsibilities of daytime on little to know sleep is the greatest horror, and there would be truth therein but it's incomplete. There is relief in surrendering the pretense... the folly... of even trying to get enough sleep to face the day. 

There are stretches of night so terribly long and lonely. Sure, bumbling through the day not quite connected to the world around you is a lonesome pastime, but those stretches of darkness! That's when you face all your fear and powerlessness. 

It's a prison. 

You could romanticize Count Dracula's power, of course. What did he really have though but an eternity of nights? What would you trade for immortality? 

Sunday, January 20, 2019


Shelley got real as fuck.

You'd be hard pressed to find a better description of the human condition, and by today's standards Mary Shelley was a child when she wrote Frankenstein. Of course there are detractors who said she didn't, but you want to know what I think? Fuck the detractors. Fuck the naysayers. 

I don't care. 

Like everything else, if I'm to be honest, this post is about me. Loneliness isn't new to me, and certainly that is the case with any people, but again this is about me. Loneliness isn't new. It's just peaked. My closest friends and my best counsel in the world is gone, fled to some other place or died. It was my choice to stay. Not dying was simply by chance. The word "luck" doesn't really apply. The jury is out on the luck factor. My continued presence on this side of the dirt is just chance.

It reminds me of the guy with 40 years of sobriety:

"A guy asked me, how do you get 40 years of sobriety? I told him just don't drink and don't die."

Jokes. The world still got jokes.

The last few months have been emotionally trying. One job ending and rushing to get another. Money. Et cetera. All the normal life woes really so what made it different? That's a hard call. Maybe it just comes down to a greater awareness that there was no one to turn to. A couple people asked what they could do to be supportive and that felt good, to have people ask. Indeed as the days wore on I did actually tell a couple people how they could be supportive, and it just came down to saying that I could use some emotional support. That's hard for me to ask for. It makes me feel needy and weak. 

There was no reason to fear the appearance of being needy though because no sooner had I voiced my needs these people went AWOL. 


It's funny in a really shit way. In the end, things got done the way they always get done. By myself with no support of any kind whatsoever. So you laugh and move on, right? 


The reason you don't laugh and move on because as soon as someone offers, and you let go of your pride enough to say yes, you have expectations. Then those expectations don't get met and you're standing there like a fucking asshole with empty palms facing upward toward the great nothing. And what happens then? You nod and accept and it's okay then I'll know better next time. I'll know better than to have expectations. Be grateful if help comes out of the blue, and there are truly many things to be grateful for. I'm even grateful for this lesson, but the lesson is to have zero expectations, because when what you expected to happen doesn't then you're left there feeling like an asshole. You're left with the realization of what was always true, but maybe you need a reminder.

You are on your own. And as long as I live in that knowledge then I'm perfectly fine. Not happy. Not sad. Just okay, and that's okay. I'm sitting on a giant rock with 8 billion people and spinning through space and right at this very minute most of them are either feeling what I'm feeling or they've willfully forgotten. We're all in good company. It's all good. Just avoid the bastard expectations and find your own fucking joy.

It's when your expectations die right in front of you like a favorite pet you've killed by overfeeding or over-nurturing that you will feel, perhaps as I feel right now, grotesque and frightening. 

And apologies in advance for anyone who comes across this woe-is-me rant. Had I anyone to confess to, I would spare you. 

Saturday, January 19, 2019

Friday, January 18, 2019


It's weird sometimes with so many unfinished projects... so many loose ends... that I  feel so done.

Tuesday, January 08, 2019