Wow. This is what you get at 1 am on a thursday night when you're bored and fucked.
I got a big head, both literally and figuratively; i figured I was set and ready to take on the world. Little did I know that the industry is one that takes the talent of individuals, sucks them dry, and then bails. It's fine, really, but I should have known when I got home that it was over and done with. Nevertheless, I'm picking myself back up piece by piece and remembering who I was while trying desperately to figure out who I am now. I'm trying to break away from 64 ounces of delicious release from social inhibition and instead reclaiming the dorky, day dreaming delinquent that I was when I was 16. Instead of that boy I’ve become a self destructive malcontent bent on world domination through touring and business deals that just don't exist (on a side note, I apologize to everyone who I've lured into this world; it just doesn't exist, and it never did outside my head).
I've let my relationship with my father deteriorate into something resembling a-phone-call-a-night-not-saying-anything relationship, and I'm sorry to him too. Though, don't get me wrong, guys. This note to self isn't meant to be self flagellating. I still like myself...Of course, I could still grow a swooped haircut, get a lip ring and listen to screamo music. I'm also not interested in shooting myself or cutting my wrists (though I did cut my wrist once, it was entirely accidental)
I don't want to do journalism. Yes, I'm a great writer. Yes, I know way more about information technology and global politics than most, but I'm not interested in watering my ideas down and distributing them to douche bags. Granted, I hate the idea of formal education, so I think i need a degree mostly for my ego.
The summer is great. It's one of beer, bithces and brodacious salaciousness. In lieu of that, I'm pretty down because I don't have much to do beyond writing shitty articles for a college newspaper with a limited summer run and engaging in my philanthropic quest to rid the world of booze (it's not going so well. I can't get rid of the stuff, no matter how many gallons I altruistically consume.)
Television has become my blanket, with cascading cathode rays of warmth wrapping around me every night but at the same time keeping me awake with mindless, worthless advertisements for fucking ridiculous items like the floor squeegee. No thanks, guys. Thanks, however, for making me an insomniac who functions on little more than 4 hours of sleep a day.
Sorry to everyone I’ve disappointed, including myself. Who would have figured I'd be 21 and realizing that my idols and heroes were worthless icons of a fictitious existence that can never be? Who would have figured that I'd be regretting things? I NEVER REGRET ANYTHING is what I kept telling myself, but I most certainly do, and anyone who says otherwise is either a foolish idealist or a complete fucking douche bag.
Weren't we all meant for greatness? That's what they told us, anyway. Even the people I assumed would be AMAZING are slowly fizzling out into cold burning stars that will soon be forgotten.
Let me revel in your greatness, please. I'm flailing, unsure of what the fuck to do.
Better days that you had
And you blame it on fate
You've got a bitter feeling in the back of your head
And concentration's asleep
How do you do the things you do
And go on living your life?
You beat your kids all the time
And you constantly yell at your wife
It's all right, you've got your pride
But if I were you I would rather die
It's all right, you've got your work
But if I were you I'd start going to church
How's THAT for emo? I'll leave this unedited and open for comments from all, mostly for my own ego's sake. Isn't that what comments are there for.. to make you feel like you matter to other people and that what you're doing is remotely interesting?
Cynicism? YES! Morbidly depressed? YES? Who's ready for a self deprecation party? How many rhetorical questions can you handle? Film at 11.
Has anyone got any drugs?
I've let my relationship with my father deteriorate into something resembling a-phone-call-a-night-not-saying-anything relationship, and I'm sorry to him too. Though, don't get me wrong, guys. This note to self isn't meant to be self flagellating. I still like myself...Of course, I could still grow a swooped haircut, get a lip ring and listen to screamo music. I'm also not interested in shooting myself or cutting my wrists (though I did cut my wrist once, it was entirely accidental)
I don't want to do journalism. Yes, I'm a great writer. Yes, I know way more about information technology and global politics than most, but I'm not interested in watering my ideas down and distributing them to douche bags. Granted, I hate the idea of formal education, so I think i need a degree mostly for my ego.
The summer is great. It's one of beer, bithces and brodacious salaciousness. In lieu of that, I'm pretty down because I don't have much to do beyond writing shitty articles for a college newspaper with a limited summer run and engaging in my philanthropic quest to rid the world of booze (it's not going so well. I can't get rid of the stuff, no matter how many gallons I altruistically consume.)
Television has become my blanket, with cascading cathode rays of warmth wrapping around me every night but at the same time keeping me awake with mindless, worthless advertisements for fucking ridiculous items like the floor squeegee. No thanks, guys. Thanks, however, for making me an insomniac who functions on little more than 4 hours of sleep a day.
Sorry to everyone I’ve disappointed, including myself. Who would have figured I'd be 21 and realizing that my idols and heroes were worthless icons of a fictitious existence that can never be? Who would have figured that I'd be regretting things? I NEVER REGRET ANYTHING is what I kept telling myself, but I most certainly do, and anyone who says otherwise is either a foolish idealist or a complete fucking douche bag.
Weren't we all meant for greatness? That's what they told us, anyway. Even the people I assumed would be AMAZING are slowly fizzling out into cold burning stars that will soon be forgotten.
Let me revel in your greatness, please. I'm flailing, unsure of what the fuck to do.
Better days that you had
And you blame it on fate
You've got a bitter feeling in the back of your head
And concentration's asleep
How do you do the things you do
And go on living your life?
You beat your kids all the time
And you constantly yell at your wife
It's all right, you've got your pride
But if I were you I would rather die
It's all right, you've got your work
But if I were you I'd start going to church
How's THAT for emo? I'll leave this unedited and open for comments from all, mostly for my own ego's sake. Isn't that what comments are there for.. to make you feel like you matter to other people and that what you're doing is remotely interesting?
Cynicism? YES! Morbidly depressed? YES? Who's ready for a self deprecation party? How many rhetorical questions can you handle? Film at 11.
Has anyone got any drugs?