yeh

I ain’t necessarily making the claim that there’s a correlation between the two, but I have found that people, men and women both, who claim to be “obsessed with sex” are often sort of scary in other ways that have nothing to do with sex.

well, uh: i walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror and i had dried blood running down the side of my face that i suppose came from a wound that as of yet i have not been able to readily identify

or maybe it was a hallucination

sure as hell ain’t ruling that out just yet!!!!

i try not to, but the truth is that i get very sad and confused when i see that someone’s truly awful twitter / instagram account has thousands / tens of thousands / millions of followers. i don’t understand what people want, what they find funny or interesting, what they see in someone that makes them worth idolizing. i mean i do, in some sense, but it is so so far removed from my own thoughts and feelings, which i could nauseatingly define for the rest of my life, that it makes me feel like there’s no point in ever trying to be a part of anything at all.

something you should know about me is that i have been to multiple adult birthday parties at chuck e. cheese

nice

Well: I guess I should just go ahead and be honest with the world and myself and admit that I talk to my grandmother’s plants as I water them. I mean I know there’s a lot of data showing that it helps plants when you play music for them or talk to them but I don’t think that’s why I’m doing it. . . . It’s mostly for me (so lonely). Haaaaah.

There’s probably nothing to worry about until the plants start talking back to me~

Sometimes the first gasping thought I have upon being ejected from the demon’s playground of my dreams is something like: “Man, I don’t know why I liked [some album] so much. It’s actually pretty mediocre.”

. . . because I am a blackguard, because I am the nastiest, stupidest, absurdest and most envious of all the worms on earth, who are not a bit better than I am, but, the devil knows why, are never put to confusion; while I shall always be insulted by every louse, that is my doom!

And, indeed, I will ask on my own account here an idle question: which is better— cheap happiness or exalted sufferings? Well, which is better?

. . . for we are all divorced from life, we are all cripples, every one of us, more or less. We are so divorced from it that we feel at once a sort of loathing for real life, and so we cannot be reminded of it. Why, we have come almost to looking upon real life as an effort, almost as hard work, and we are all privately agreed that it is better in books.

i guess it’s kind of sad that the four characters i identify with most are the underground man from ‘notes from underground,’ ishmael from ‘moby-dick,’ ignatius from ‘a confederacy of dunces,’ and antoine from ‘nausea’

kilgore trout too, if i’m being honest

“We must keep in mind this tendency of the Underground Man to exaggerate or misinterpret events through his own bitterness and insecurity. Whenever he makes a judgment about a person or a place, we must take his skewed perspective into account.”