The rumors of my death... oh fuck it, you heard it all before
Hey, livejournal, what's up? How long's it been? About a year? More or less? Holdin' up well? Still sittin' around here with all my classic writings that represent a person who doesn't exist anymore and to whom I have no real emotional attachment and doubt if I ever did? Yeah, looks like. More things change, more they stay the same I guess... yeah, I know it's a cliche. You were never really all that original. Anyway, I think that's probably enough pleasantries. Wanna start the post now?
---
I'm bored.
I'm the chairman of the bored.
I'm sitting at my computer and I'm listening to Bill Hicks and I'm considering my boredom.
I'm sober.
I'm bored and sober.
I'm sitting at my computer, bored, sober, and currently unemployed and couldn't be happier about the new sense of freedom and lack of responsibility given to me all due to the fact that I remained as the band on the Titanic playing on and on, despite witnessing this finely accomplished and well-manicured establishment smash headlong into a goddamn iceberg all while those in charge and responsible would not acknowlege the white elephant in the middle of the room... even if he fucking caught on fire.
Wow... this has suddenly become quite difficult.
Am I spent? Could it be that all those words and phrases, witticisms and analogies, they've all been bled out of me as my alcohol level became lower and lower.
Theoretically I should have hit a runner's high, an epiphany, a moment of clarity... but no...
Nothing.
I'm bored. I'm happy. I have the opportunity to fulfill any and every dream I have ever dreamt but I'm coming to realize that those dreams don't even exist anymore.
Pronto Roma crushed my dreams. Why am I not more pissed off? And now that it's finally gone why do I feel so disappointed? It's as if my house was robbed, completely cleaned out, and as I try to list off all the possessions that were stolen I come to realize that not only did I not own anything worthwhile in the first place but I don't even really want any of it back. Tyler Durden blew the shit out of my fucking condo and I can't even muster enough emotion to even utter a general statement of indifference in the form of a flat out "meh." I suppose, if they really wanted to hurt me they shoulda gotten to me about 7 years ago. Back then I cared. I think I cared. I at least cared about caring. I think I usedta love as well. Love and share and care and love and share. But no... no references, even if it is to the Simpsons. No, Chris, keep that comment about the musical version of Planet of the Apes in the back-burner of your head for a bit.
Well, alright fine, but just this once.
*Sings* "I hate every ape I see, from chimpan-A to chimpan-Z. No, you'll never make a monkey out of me."
*Apes all point to Statue of Liberty that was just lowered on stage deus ex machina style* "Whoops, I was wrong. It was Earth all along. Oh you've finally made a monkey..."
*More apes come out dancing and high-kicking on stage* "Yes, we've finally made a monkey!"
*Phil Hartman as Troy McClure as Charlton Heston * "Yes, you've Finally made a monkey!"
*Everyone starts singing together as one for the finale chorus* Yes, you've/we've Finally... Made... A Monkey... Out of Meeeee!"
*Everyone cheers and dances. Phil/Troy/Chuck hugs the red ape with his own theme song* "I love you, Dr. Zaius!"
Well, now that that's out of the way and it would appear we're all on the same page here maybe we can address the actual issue here.
I can't fucking write.
I have nothing to write about.
I have nothing to bitch/whine/complain about.
I have nothing but hope and opportunity in my future.
I feel absolutely no amount of the hopeless melancholy that permeates our society at the moment.
Life is, and tragically I can not even put any kind of qualifier or stipulation on it... well, maybe, I mean, jeez I guess that whole problem with being perpetually horny is still there... of course that's still my fault being that I don't really like people anyway and often gain just enough satisfaction through masturbation... goddammit...
LIfe is... good.
Hah! Classic Hicks!
"Y'know it takes more energy to frown than it does to smile."
"Yeah, y'know it takes more energy to tell me that shit than it does to shut the fuck up."
That's how I feel, I think.
I both want to write in this journal... but I just can't get past how crazy depressing and ultimately lame it all seems.
Meh... I think to be inspired.
I need to travel or something... plan a vacation. Do something like that... then maybe get back to you at some point if I'm still interested. Yeah, and actually DO IT instead of just TALK ABOUT IT.
I'll keep you posted.
No pun intended.
---
I'm bored.
I'm the chairman of the bored.
I'm sitting at my computer and I'm listening to Bill Hicks and I'm considering my boredom.
I'm sober.
I'm bored and sober.
I'm sitting at my computer, bored, sober, and currently unemployed and couldn't be happier about the new sense of freedom and lack of responsibility given to me all due to the fact that I remained as the band on the Titanic playing on and on, despite witnessing this finely accomplished and well-manicured establishment smash headlong into a goddamn iceberg all while those in charge and responsible would not acknowlege the white elephant in the middle of the room... even if he fucking caught on fire.
Wow... this has suddenly become quite difficult.
Am I spent? Could it be that all those words and phrases, witticisms and analogies, they've all been bled out of me as my alcohol level became lower and lower.
Theoretically I should have hit a runner's high, an epiphany, a moment of clarity... but no...
Nothing.
I'm bored. I'm happy. I have the opportunity to fulfill any and every dream I have ever dreamt but I'm coming to realize that those dreams don't even exist anymore.
Pronto Roma crushed my dreams. Why am I not more pissed off? And now that it's finally gone why do I feel so disappointed? It's as if my house was robbed, completely cleaned out, and as I try to list off all the possessions that were stolen I come to realize that not only did I not own anything worthwhile in the first place but I don't even really want any of it back. Tyler Durden blew the shit out of my fucking condo and I can't even muster enough emotion to even utter a general statement of indifference in the form of a flat out "meh." I suppose, if they really wanted to hurt me they shoulda gotten to me about 7 years ago. Back then I cared. I think I cared. I at least cared about caring. I think I usedta love as well. Love and share and care and love and share. But no... no references, even if it is to the Simpsons. No, Chris, keep that comment about the musical version of Planet of the Apes in the back-burner of your head for a bit.
Well, alright fine, but just this once.
*Sings* "I hate every ape I see, from chimpan-A to chimpan-Z. No, you'll never make a monkey out of me."
*Apes all point to Statue of Liberty that was just lowered on stage deus ex machina style* "Whoops, I was wrong. It was Earth all along. Oh you've finally made a monkey..."
*More apes come out dancing and high-kicking on stage* "Yes, we've finally made a monkey!"
*Phil Hartman as Troy McClure as Charlton Heston * "Yes, you've Finally made a monkey!"
*Everyone starts singing together as one for the finale chorus* Yes, you've/we've Finally... Made... A Monkey... Out of Meeeee!"
*Everyone cheers and dances. Phil/Troy/Chuck hugs the red ape with his own theme song* "I love you, Dr. Zaius!"
Well, now that that's out of the way and it would appear we're all on the same page here maybe we can address the actual issue here.
I can't fucking write.
I have nothing to write about.
I have nothing to bitch/whine/complain about.
I have nothing but hope and opportunity in my future.
I feel absolutely no amount of the hopeless melancholy that permeates our society at the moment.
Life is, and tragically I can not even put any kind of qualifier or stipulation on it... well, maybe, I mean, jeez I guess that whole problem with being perpetually horny is still there... of course that's still my fault being that I don't really like people anyway and often gain just enough satisfaction through masturbation... goddammit...
LIfe is... good.
Hah! Classic Hicks!
"Y'know it takes more energy to frown than it does to smile."
"Yeah, y'know it takes more energy to tell me that shit than it does to shut the fuck up."
That's how I feel, I think.
I both want to write in this journal... but I just can't get past how crazy depressing and ultimately lame it all seems.
Meh... I think to be inspired.
I need to travel or something... plan a vacation. Do something like that... then maybe get back to you at some point if I'm still interested. Yeah, and actually DO IT instead of just TALK ABOUT IT.
I'll keep you posted.
No pun intended.