I don't believe in Zimmerman
I've been watching movies lately. Movies that inspired and shaped who I am.
I used to love horror and comedy. So, I rewatched Return of the Living Dead I and II. I almost want the zombie invasion to come, but what if it really already has? Cheeky Romeroization aside (is it all right to confess I don't like the original Night of the Living Dead?), I do wonder about zombies. Perhaps a little too much, bordering on child-like naivette.
I also saw Winter Light again. Bergman, you magnificent bastard, you made me think about becoming a monk or a vegetarian or, at least, getting a hair cut. Then I realised I wanted to spit on myself. I'm a disgusting cog of a human being. I'm a liar of a human being. I am an empty man, devoid of everything reasonable and sensible. I'm not sure I believe in God; why dedicate my life to a concept (even if it is a concept "by which we measure all things...I'll say it again...")?
On becoming vegetarian again: it is a serious consideration. It would provide morality to my life and I would definitely lose weight because I'd stop eating nearly as much fast food. It would require a lifestyle change.
I started watching The Lives of Others. I didn't finish it and I'm not sure if I intend to. Nonetheless, it did remind me of the sad fact that there will probably be more hookers in my future. Also, from what I've seen, it made me miss the Cold War even more. How can we miss something we were never part of?
I'm particularly sick of the modern world. But, that is another story.
Tonight, I re-watched Election. I realised now that I do not want to and can not reasonably teach high school. Why would I want to revisit one of the darkest periods of my life? I think on high school, and how I wanted to kill myself nearly every waking day of those four years. In fact, I did try it during those very four years. Is it melodramatic? Yes, but have I ever been otherwise?
I haven't read in months. Since March, to be precise. Did I mention that in March and April I spent over 200 dollars on books? Last time I was in this rut I got out of it by reading Vonnegut. I tried Larry McMurtry and failed. What should I do?
Right now, I'm very garlicky, from the pizza I ate. I hate my life. Thoroughly. 23 years of mistakes and wrongdoings.
My nausea this past year can only be that existential nausea that Sartre wrote of. I worry, I worry immensely about the day I snap. Will I simply steal a candy bar? Or will I steal someone's life? Tomorrow, when I wake up, will I still be as overcome by grief as I am now?
The dream is over.
I calculated: I have one year and only one year before the shit starts hitting the fan. Any thoughts or suggestions?
I used to love horror and comedy. So, I rewatched Return of the Living Dead I and II. I almost want the zombie invasion to come, but what if it really already has? Cheeky Romeroization aside (is it all right to confess I don't like the original Night of the Living Dead?), I do wonder about zombies. Perhaps a little too much, bordering on child-like naivette.
I also saw Winter Light again. Bergman, you magnificent bastard, you made me think about becoming a monk or a vegetarian or, at least, getting a hair cut. Then I realised I wanted to spit on myself. I'm a disgusting cog of a human being. I'm a liar of a human being. I am an empty man, devoid of everything reasonable and sensible. I'm not sure I believe in God; why dedicate my life to a concept (even if it is a concept "by which we measure all things...I'll say it again...")?
On becoming vegetarian again: it is a serious consideration. It would provide morality to my life and I would definitely lose weight because I'd stop eating nearly as much fast food. It would require a lifestyle change.
I started watching The Lives of Others. I didn't finish it and I'm not sure if I intend to. Nonetheless, it did remind me of the sad fact that there will probably be more hookers in my future. Also, from what I've seen, it made me miss the Cold War even more. How can we miss something we were never part of?
I'm particularly sick of the modern world. But, that is another story.
Tonight, I re-watched Election. I realised now that I do not want to and can not reasonably teach high school. Why would I want to revisit one of the darkest periods of my life? I think on high school, and how I wanted to kill myself nearly every waking day of those four years. In fact, I did try it during those very four years. Is it melodramatic? Yes, but have I ever been otherwise?
I haven't read in months. Since March, to be precise. Did I mention that in March and April I spent over 200 dollars on books? Last time I was in this rut I got out of it by reading Vonnegut. I tried Larry McMurtry and failed. What should I do?
Right now, I'm very garlicky, from the pizza I ate. I hate my life. Thoroughly. 23 years of mistakes and wrongdoings.
My nausea this past year can only be that existential nausea that Sartre wrote of. I worry, I worry immensely about the day I snap. Will I simply steal a candy bar? Or will I steal someone's life? Tomorrow, when I wake up, will I still be as overcome by grief as I am now?
The dream is over.
I calculated: I have one year and only one year before the shit starts hitting the fan. Any thoughts or suggestions?