I am in a really dangerous place in my life right now. I wish someone, anyone, would care enough to stop and spend the time with me to show that I matter. I know that you’re supposed to cry out for help or pull yourself up by your bootstraps or whatever, but really, who wants to? What exactly is the motivation for saving your own self, what is there to look forward to or use as your purpose if you know deep down that the sincerity of each possible thing has been tested and each test has been failed?

Once failed once, the opportunity is missed, trust is broken; the tests can never truly be passed, they are merely henceforth objects of amusement, no matter how ardent are the claims to the otherwise.

Only things that make me feel worse

make me feel better.

Why?

Why all of this?

It wasn’t like this when I was small. Is it my parents fault for not preparing me? Is it the Howells’ fault for beating me shitless as a kid? Is it Forsyth’s fault for making me feel like I wanted to kill myself? Is it Holman’s fault for making me fear for my life? Is it the Cuban’s fault for being so self-assured? Is it Burns’ fault for cutting off my escape? WHO FUCKED UP and WHO FUCKED ME UP and WHERE CAN I CATCH YOU IN AN ALLEY?

I wish I still had my drugs.

I’ll kill you all.

People who refuse to sacrifice for other people aren’t worth anyone’s time. I don’t care if we’re good friends or if we’ve never met before: if you wouldn’t die for me, then I certainly won’t give the time of day to you.

Well I hate women.

And the fact that you’re going to sit here and bitch about the fact that I said that and how it’s not at all the same and how it’s much more hurtful when men hate women then when women hate men… well, you illustrate two things:

1) That you’re a hypocrite, and
2) Precisely why you’re hated in the first place

My priorities and fondest wishes are incompatible with the culture and society in which I live. Maybe it’s time for me to move to some backward place that all of the progressives are fighting to change, so that I don’t have to be alone. In our culture, you are always alone, either because:

1) You refused to go and have a life becuase having a life requires that the people, places, and things in your social life be interchangeable and you want deeper caring and deeper trust than that, but as a result nobody wants to be your friend anyway because you don’t have a life, or

2) You go and have a life, meaning that you do develop a thousand interchangeable, shallow relationships with other climbers and consumers, and as a result, you feel totally alone because none of them are real family or real friends, they’re all just cogs in your own ego-machine

We do not have relationships in our culture, outside of a few cults. Relationships are seen as fundamentally unhealthy things because they require some amount of ego-sublimation. The problem is that I am from outside this culture, at least in part, and I don’t share that prejudice. I grew up with real relationships, and I want to be able to trust somebody, and to have somebody trust me, that much again, no matter whether anyone thinks it’s unhealthy or not.

I don’t much care whether or not I end up with a really fat IRA and become the life of the party at the next rave, with twenty stoned guys and twenty horny girls climbing all over me. That’s not for me, I don’t want to live in a world where I care so little about the people around me that I could shoot every one of them just as much as laugh at their MTV jokes.

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Freedom is a horrible, horrible thing. There is no greater misery and no more hopeless state than the state of actually being free in a place where everyone else is free as well. Shared oppression is the only place where true contentment and satisfaction lie. Meaning exists only in shared sadness; happiness and joy are cheap, easy, and as shallow as Paris Hilton.

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I wish I had been born in the Soviet Union.

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Misery is having to justify your misery when everyone around you knows for sure that your misery is completely unjustified. Happiness is being told that your misery is well-placed and well-understood.

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I love it when Americans claim to “live in the moment” and “take risks,” as though there can really ever be any risk while you’re carrying around an American passport, a bankroll of hundreds of American dollars, and a post-secondary education. Somehow a lot of Americans have it into their heads that to fly to a major tourist city on a whim during a weekday and spend $100 on a beautiful stranger would be “taking a risk” and “living in the moment.” They don’t get that the very fact that such things are an option to them means that such things are relatively risk-free for them due to their citizenship and financial status.

Taking a risk would be throwing a US passport into the ocean, renouncing US citizenship in front of a notary, giving every last dollar in the checking and savings accounts to the poor, then joining a paramiltary terrorist group or a monastery in the wilds that is only exitable on pain of death.

If you don’t make a will and make peace with your memories before you do it, then it isn’t a risk.

Godalmighty, I feel like hell. Headaches, stomach aches, liver aches, lung aches, the inability to breathe or sleep. Plus, I’m lonely and I live by myself. No optimism for the weekend. I am not even looking forward to leaving. Who wants to come home to an empty house, and share with it an empty Friday, Saturday, and Sunday?

I gotta slow down, wake up, and clear my head. I haven’t been out from under the influence of one chemical or another for at least two weeks and it’s starting to really wear on me and on my body in a way that it didn’t when I was younger. To be succinct, I feel like hell.