Alack
The default font changed. Neat.
I have to preface this by mentioning that I've become an alcoholic. I wake up late in the day, get up, shower for 20-60 minutes, yell something pertinent over the balcony, and go downstairs at around 11-4 to have a couple cups of coffee. I then log into an online game and piss away time trying to amass an artificial fortune. In the past couple of weeks that's been intersected by actually talking to people that have taken it on themselves to talk to me! It's been wonderfully refreshing. I've decided to abandon pretenses and talk with these individuals as pleasantly and openly as possible, and it's been met with mostly positive results. Still, I'm on an online game. I'm doing nothing.
My thoughts often turn to a company I'd quit after graduating college two years ago. I've done nothing between now and then. My existence is effectively nothing if not for honesty, so I must admit it was due to panicked fear driven by adderall, cigarettes, and alcohol. The pot doesn't even factor into it. Certainly, it's the least of all my concerns. I feel I've aged tremendously as a result of my abuses, especially in the physical sense. The cigarettes are gone. I had to quit them, because I dislike feeling pain. Everything else has stayed, because oblivion is preferable to the admission of a world I've failed profoundly in. Can I say for certain I've failed? No. That's why there's still something magical, and perhaps beautiful, about this plane.
Is there hope? There's always hope. You can find it in whatever interests you and foments passion within your corporeal husk. Am I writing like a pretentious dickhead? Most certainly. Unfortunately, it's one of the few subjects I happen to excel at (Thanks for catching that it's not spelled "excell", spellcheck!)
Reserving this paragraph to say fuck Twitter.
Fuck Twitter.
Anyway, there's a reason to get up in the morning. I get I'm inebriated when I say that you can always find a new fount of inspiration, but it's true. If you haven't, something has critically gone wrong. The sad fact is, I never had wont for passion. It had always been there, all along. There was just a constant acknowledgement within me that what I was passionate for was false, or otherwise artificial. Man-made. Pretentious. To make matters more hilarious, I can't even ascribe pretension without being pretentious. The very nature of video games is pretension. I gotta do a 180 here, because my further assessment has got to be from a wholly different point of view.
When I was very little, I played video games. It's what I did! My house wasn't exactly happy, and my childhood, if my mother is to be believed, was unpleasant. Twice I escaped death, and only to live through an existence filled with shouting, substance abuse, confused roleplay, filial misery, extreme misguidance, and a whole host of other shit my feeble human brain can't possibly fit into one excessive string of thought without short circuiting. Still, I played video games. I played the fuck out of video games. I had like, 55-60 NES cartridges set up in front of the best TV my dad could provide me. He was extremely fucking doting, and still is. The point is, if I got tired of Donkey Kong Jr.'s bullshit of not being able to fall from a vine, I could pop in Mario's third incarnation and watch that fat bastard fly with a fucking raccoon tail. If I got tired of beating it, I could pop in 2, declare it bullshit, and pop in some horsehit game like Deadly Towers or Double Dribble. My entire early childhood was fed by video games.
I had escapism up my sleeve, all the time. If I didn't like what I heard, I had TV. If I didn't like what I was thinking, I had a video game. If I didn't get what the other kids were so hung up about over football because I had a frame built for breaking, I had the VHS tape of Tiny Toons. I mean, this sounds bleak, but I've actually had a surprisingly full life! I've gotten the privilege many people never had, like college, good sex, rent-free life for years, great close friends, a county that knows no legitimate strife, and unforeseen although obnoxious technological developments. I guess my regret is that I've simply been here to watch stuff. I made a posting a while back about not enjoying sex, hating the people I"m around, constant self-doubt, list, list, list, list, list. I just don't feel like I've contributed to making this happen. I feel like I'm on a fucking ride. If there were ever a descriptor for privilege, it ought to be that. That isn't to say there's white male privilege, or that I support the notion that it's the most pervasive form out there, because it fucking isn't. Fuckloads of people experience privilege! I mean, holy shit. I don't feel like I have a hometown, because ALMOST LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT IT FUCKING CHANGED. I don't feel like I have a culture, because ALMOST EVERYONE LIVING AROUND ME IS FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE, AND I DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT LIVING HERE WITHIN THIS TYPE OF PARADIGM EVEN MEANS. I mean, fuck. I don't even know what my culture IS. It sure as fuck isn't slinging a confederate flag on the back of my car, and I REALLY hope it doesn't have anything to do with incessant consumption of shitty fast food.
I have to be up for a renaissance faire in 5 hours. 4 and a half. I may not want to die, but I just don't like watching a new day begin.
I have to preface this by mentioning that I've become an alcoholic. I wake up late in the day, get up, shower for 20-60 minutes, yell something pertinent over the balcony, and go downstairs at around 11-4 to have a couple cups of coffee. I then log into an online game and piss away time trying to amass an artificial fortune. In the past couple of weeks that's been intersected by actually talking to people that have taken it on themselves to talk to me! It's been wonderfully refreshing. I've decided to abandon pretenses and talk with these individuals as pleasantly and openly as possible, and it's been met with mostly positive results. Still, I'm on an online game. I'm doing nothing.
My thoughts often turn to a company I'd quit after graduating college two years ago. I've done nothing between now and then. My existence is effectively nothing if not for honesty, so I must admit it was due to panicked fear driven by adderall, cigarettes, and alcohol. The pot doesn't even factor into it. Certainly, it's the least of all my concerns. I feel I've aged tremendously as a result of my abuses, especially in the physical sense. The cigarettes are gone. I had to quit them, because I dislike feeling pain. Everything else has stayed, because oblivion is preferable to the admission of a world I've failed profoundly in. Can I say for certain I've failed? No. That's why there's still something magical, and perhaps beautiful, about this plane.
Is there hope? There's always hope. You can find it in whatever interests you and foments passion within your corporeal husk. Am I writing like a pretentious dickhead? Most certainly. Unfortunately, it's one of the few subjects I happen to excel at (Thanks for catching that it's not spelled "excell", spellcheck!)
Reserving this paragraph to say fuck Twitter.
Fuck Twitter.
Anyway, there's a reason to get up in the morning. I get I'm inebriated when I say that you can always find a new fount of inspiration, but it's true. If you haven't, something has critically gone wrong. The sad fact is, I never had wont for passion. It had always been there, all along. There was just a constant acknowledgement within me that what I was passionate for was false, or otherwise artificial. Man-made. Pretentious. To make matters more hilarious, I can't even ascribe pretension without being pretentious. The very nature of video games is pretension. I gotta do a 180 here, because my further assessment has got to be from a wholly different point of view.
When I was very little, I played video games. It's what I did! My house wasn't exactly happy, and my childhood, if my mother is to be believed, was unpleasant. Twice I escaped death, and only to live through an existence filled with shouting, substance abuse, confused roleplay, filial misery, extreme misguidance, and a whole host of other shit my feeble human brain can't possibly fit into one excessive string of thought without short circuiting. Still, I played video games. I played the fuck out of video games. I had like, 55-60 NES cartridges set up in front of the best TV my dad could provide me. He was extremely fucking doting, and still is. The point is, if I got tired of Donkey Kong Jr.'s bullshit of not being able to fall from a vine, I could pop in Mario's third incarnation and watch that fat bastard fly with a fucking raccoon tail. If I got tired of beating it, I could pop in 2, declare it bullshit, and pop in some horsehit game like Deadly Towers or Double Dribble. My entire early childhood was fed by video games.
I had escapism up my sleeve, all the time. If I didn't like what I heard, I had TV. If I didn't like what I was thinking, I had a video game. If I didn't get what the other kids were so hung up about over football because I had a frame built for breaking, I had the VHS tape of Tiny Toons. I mean, this sounds bleak, but I've actually had a surprisingly full life! I've gotten the privilege many people never had, like college, good sex, rent-free life for years, great close friends, a county that knows no legitimate strife, and unforeseen although obnoxious technological developments. I guess my regret is that I've simply been here to watch stuff. I made a posting a while back about not enjoying sex, hating the people I"m around, constant self-doubt, list, list, list, list, list. I just don't feel like I've contributed to making this happen. I feel like I'm on a fucking ride. If there were ever a descriptor for privilege, it ought to be that. That isn't to say there's white male privilege, or that I support the notion that it's the most pervasive form out there, because it fucking isn't. Fuckloads of people experience privilege! I mean, holy shit. I don't feel like I have a hometown, because ALMOST LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT IT FUCKING CHANGED. I don't feel like I have a culture, because ALMOST EVERYONE LIVING AROUND ME IS FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE, AND I DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT LIVING HERE WITHIN THIS TYPE OF PARADIGM EVEN MEANS. I mean, fuck. I don't even know what my culture IS. It sure as fuck isn't slinging a confederate flag on the back of my car, and I REALLY hope it doesn't have anything to do with incessant consumption of shitty fast food.
I have to be up for a renaissance faire in 5 hours. 4 and a half. I may not want to die, but I just don't like watching a new day begin.