Friday, February 10, 2017
Good Luck, Buddy
And he thought to himself, "Well, I can still accomplish a lot in 10 and 1/2 months."
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Words
"You fucking scumbag, I hope you get ravaging, untreatable cancer and suffer with it for three agonizing years before you lose all bodily control and die in a pool of your own excrement."
Anonymous
Anonymous
Life, Ad Infinitum
Holy shit, I've been looking for you, you've been looking for me and apparently we passed like two ships in the night.
Where have I been ? Where have you been?
Funny how it goes, no? You have plans and ideas, you get a rhythm then you lose it, you are in control and then you are out of control.
You don't even know how it happens and you don't necessarily mark the passing of time.
But suddenly there you are and a week has gone by or a day or a fucking year and there is a void in your brain. An uncomfortable sense that your life is not in your hands.
Which is odd because you recently made a commitment to wrestle control of your life back where it belongs - in your mind, in your hands, in your headlights and not in your rear view mirror.
It doesn't go that easy, does it?
Because you have so much petty, meaningless bullshit to deal with every day that you are left with 18 minutes available to you to try to save your own life.
Unless you want to devote every available free waking minute to saving your life; to pursuing your dream. Which, honestly is exactly what every worthwhile human should be doing.
Right?
After you brush your fucking teeth, and load the dishwasher and take a shit and attend to your bullshit, soul-sucking job; after you eat supper and settle in - shouldn't you attack, attack, attack until midnight or three a.m., until you fucking drop from exhaustion?
And when the morning light comes streaming in, you get up and do it again.
Don't work that way, do it? Especially if you fucking despise your life. Your compromised, boring, predictable, embarrassing life.
Which is odd because if you despise your compromised, boring, predictable, embarrassing life, that is precisely when you should shoot the moon. Right?
It takes major fucking effort to undo a life. And then to reinvent it.
That is the irony. You are forced to expend so much fucking energy, both physical and psychic, just dealing with the pitiful life you have crafted for yourself that you cannot, cannot, cannot summon up enough energy to push that fucking boulder up the hill.
Right, Sisyphus?
Especially if you have gotten along in years. The older you get the more hope dies.
An unbalanced equation if ever there was one.
You accumulate a lifetime of experience and "wisdom" (fucking joke), and at the very critical moment when you desperately need to take advantage of what you have "learned", you don't have the energy or the commitment or the support or the guidance or the inspiration to do anything about it.
You flounder about like a fish on the beach as people sadly shake their heads.
So, yeah, I guess that is what has been going on. With me? With you? With everybody?
What is this thing called life? What exactly are you supposed to do with it?
Crawl like a pig in dirt, eat shit and sacrifice dignity until your time is up?
Naw, can't be the plan. Can it?
Billions do. Billions crawl through life until somebody kicks them in the ribs and they roll over into a grave.
Then the whole thing gets repeated, ad infinitum.
This is the strangest life I've ever known.
Where have I been ? Where have you been?
Funny how it goes, no? You have plans and ideas, you get a rhythm then you lose it, you are in control and then you are out of control.
You don't even know how it happens and you don't necessarily mark the passing of time.
But suddenly there you are and a week has gone by or a day or a fucking year and there is a void in your brain. An uncomfortable sense that your life is not in your hands.
Which is odd because you recently made a commitment to wrestle control of your life back where it belongs - in your mind, in your hands, in your headlights and not in your rear view mirror.
It doesn't go that easy, does it?
Because you have so much petty, meaningless bullshit to deal with every day that you are left with 18 minutes available to you to try to save your own life.
Unless you want to devote every available free waking minute to saving your life; to pursuing your dream. Which, honestly is exactly what every worthwhile human should be doing.
Right?
After you brush your fucking teeth, and load the dishwasher and take a shit and attend to your bullshit, soul-sucking job; after you eat supper and settle in - shouldn't you attack, attack, attack until midnight or three a.m., until you fucking drop from exhaustion?
And when the morning light comes streaming in, you get up and do it again.
Don't work that way, do it? Especially if you fucking despise your life. Your compromised, boring, predictable, embarrassing life.
Which is odd because if you despise your compromised, boring, predictable, embarrassing life, that is precisely when you should shoot the moon. Right?
It takes major fucking effort to undo a life. And then to reinvent it.
That is the irony. You are forced to expend so much fucking energy, both physical and psychic, just dealing with the pitiful life you have crafted for yourself that you cannot, cannot, cannot summon up enough energy to push that fucking boulder up the hill.
Right, Sisyphus?
Especially if you have gotten along in years. The older you get the more hope dies.
An unbalanced equation if ever there was one.
You accumulate a lifetime of experience and "wisdom" (fucking joke), and at the very critical moment when you desperately need to take advantage of what you have "learned", you don't have the energy or the commitment or the support or the guidance or the inspiration to do anything about it.
You flounder about like a fish on the beach as people sadly shake their heads.
So, yeah, I guess that is what has been going on. With me? With you? With everybody?
What is this thing called life? What exactly are you supposed to do with it?
Crawl like a pig in dirt, eat shit and sacrifice dignity until your time is up?
Naw, can't be the plan. Can it?
Billions do. Billions crawl through life until somebody kicks them in the ribs and they roll over into a grave.
Then the whole thing gets repeated, ad infinitum.
This is the strangest life I've ever known.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
This Is Certainly One Way To Describe A Marriage
".................for the tone was all one needed in order to understand the sad rage this man and woman felt toward one another, like a pair of beasts caught side by side, each with a limb in the jaws of the same cruel trap, and then they begin to gnaw on the flesh and bone of their own trapped limbs."
From "The Visit", by Russell Banks
From "The Visit", by Russell Banks
And One Way To Describe A Man
".......................the drab, decaying farmhouse in the woods where a young man had stuck his unhappy wife and bewildered children while he drove into town to work every day and to drink every night and tried to invent a man he could never become."
From "The Visit", by Russell Banks
From "The Visit", by Russell Banks
Oh, Yeah - Now That You Mention it - You're Right
The benefit to punching an old woman in the face is that old woman are typically fat.
When your fist collides with their soft, doughy faces, there is little chance of damaging your hand.
When your fist collides with their soft, doughy faces, there is little chance of damaging your hand.
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