Sunday, July 17, 2005     « Balmoral Tavern II »


If I were a better person I wouldn't feel the kind of rage and hatefulness I'm currently experiencing, but I'm not a better person. As I sat around tonight stewing I thought, "Self, do not go onto the internet and start spewing off a list of everything that comes to mind." Anger is isolating and alienating. I suppose sometimes it can be liberating and inspire a call to action but this is not that kind of anger. This is useless, debilitating anger.

I hate all those fuckers out there who slide through life without a moments suffering. I know they're a fiction who don't actually exist and in my finer moments I understand that everyone has pain, but I fucking hate them anyways.

So much spam in my inbox. I don't need your shit. Stop wasting my time. The fact that I'm angry enough to even be writing this is comical. I'm not laughing.

Strangers who couldn't be bothered to read the text yesterday and wrote to ask me to do them a favour. Or maybe they read the text but they have no soul. Would those without a soul kindly fuck off?

John Cassavettes films. I tried but now I'm just fucking sick of them. No more slow tortures watching substance abusers almost as immature and fucked up as my parents treat each other like shit. I've had enough for one lifetime. I don't need to see it fictionalized. I'm pointing in your direction "Faces."

People who write to tell me that I'm condescending to my audience. Fuck you too.

276 items in my inbox. I'm buried alive in unanswered communication.

I feel really sorry for myself. It's pathetic. Maybe if I were a better person I would take each sorrow and heartbreak with fancy words like stoicism (hating this word more and more with each passing day) and imperturbation, but I'm not a better person.

« Balmoral Tavern II »