"Invoking posterity is like giving speeches to worms." -Ferdinand Celine, one of the most miserable humans to ever walk the earth, and my hero.

SUCCESS, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Dude, laughter is the best and only revenge.

OH, YEAH, WELL

That's just the sweetest thing ever… When someone actually thinks they're onto something.

POOR TEXAS

"Poor Texas, carved into like all the rest." -Sam Shepard, San Marcos, Texas. 3/1979

WALMART, THE AMERICAN DREAM

Here's a story which shines a light on the disgust I have with rogue capitalism which, in my opinion, is the seed of most of the depravity in this country: This took place in Durango, Colorado. Walmart wanted in but the town wasn't having it. They tried I think 4 times and got shut down. So one of the Waltons moved in. I forget which one. He bought the largest portion of private land in the area. He got into local politics, got to know the people, gave to all their charities, got himself on the city council and championed their causes. Then, of course, he applied again. And, of course, this time, they allowed the new Walmart. He immediately sold all of his land he owned and moved. Here's the worst part: the land he bought had some sort of stipulation attached where it was pre-set to be bought by outside investors at an agreed upon price with the condition that the Walmart would come to fruition. Another sick thing I recently learned from this old man who lives out there from time to time, who just bought one of my paintings is this: Walmart will build two Walmarts in a particular area, in two different towns, squeezing out all competition, then they will close one Walmart to cut costs, knowing that the people of the one town will drive to the other Walmart. The cherry on the top is the gas station that they will put in only at the new Walmart. Haha. And I'm sure Donald Trump would see nothing wrong with this sort of behavior. My point of all of this is that our entire way of life, outside of a few pockets of intelligent municipalities, is dictated only by big money making more and more money. Drive across America you will see nothing but replica after replica. The same repeating of everything owned by an ever thickening reduction sauce of corporate greed. Each and every one of the restaurants in most of America is replenished by the same silver Sysco truck. Most of those restaurants are owned by the same company and are staged within the same carefully considered proximity from one another. It's hilarious to me how the right is so fearful of "evil" socialism which is so against their American dream that they will blindly support an ever more unfettered hybrid of cancerous capitalism which enslaves them to an extent that at this rate will one day look from the outside like fucking communism. It's all done in defense of a freedom that they're unwittingly tossing right into the diseased mouth of that beast. We are not an intelligent society. Trump is not intelligent. Most Republicans are not intelligent. Power does not equal intelligence. As a matter of fact, it's the more simple, uncomplicated, unimaginative mind in this blighted environment which mixed with access to money tends to get things "done". Progress is seldom progressive and I think we are all waking up from the idiotic stupor called "The American Dream".

TRUE ENCOUNTER

"I love your work! So who's your favorite artist?" "Fuck, I don't know… Jeffrey Dahmer?"

ONE MAN'S DISGUSTING, HARRY ASSHOLE IS ANOTHER MAN'S CHURCH

Fuck it all. I'm moving the family back to Oklahoma. I found a place on Zillow out in the middle of nowhere with a pool. It's a trailer but it's got a fuckin' pool! And a detached little shed type structure I could use for a studio. It's 20 miles from the nearest town which has a Dairy Queen, an Allsup's, and a tiny United Supermarket. I looked it all up on Google Earth. I don't need any of it anymore. I've eaten enough sushi, I've drunk enough good wine and beer. I've had plenty of interesting conversations. The hell with it all. Music, plays, museums, parties, art openings, I don't need any of that shit anymore. Just give me a Bud and that $5 Buck Lunch. Can I get the Crispy Chicken Sandwich with that? No matter where I go, no matter what I do, it's all just nonsense anymore. You can't escape that sickly brain up there, floating around in your skull. I've been all over this crumbling world. I've seen all sorts of shit. I've hung out with Michael Jackson, I almost got murdered once on the side of a road in Venezuela. And then there's the time I wandered into a room at a party in some mansion in Miami Beach and found myself among characters not even David Lynch could cast. They were standing in a circle with cocktails and wine in their hands, looking down at two enormous, muscle-bound, beautiful black men who were fucking each other, mercilessly. You see, I used to think experiences like this were beneficial. I thought they added layers to my story, to my scope of understanding. But now it all just gets in the way. There's just been too much. I had a meeting last night with a successful writer/producer/filmmaker. The meeting went well. It was just a preliminary, feeling each other out sort of thing. But as usual, most of my attention was focused on the pile of dead bugs at the bottom of the light fixture above us. It's one of the few things in life I've always found comforting. No matter where you go, there's always gonna be piles of dead bugs in light fixtures, upon window sills and panes. I would be in casting rooms or on sets, desperately not wanting to be there. But without fail, I could always look up towards the light and see that beautiful, dark mass of collected death, perhaps even some futile fluttering. It was something, something meaningful in my senseless world. GO BERNIE!

IN RESPONSE TO BEING TAGGED ABOUT PSYCHOLOGISTS RECOMMENDING COLORING AS THE BEST ALTERNATIVE TO MEDITATION

I'm not sure when life's poison became my medicine, my only savior. The side affect is that beauty often becomes nothing more than Evil's dangling fruit, the true path to sorrow. I've always longed to be murdered by my sweet old mother. Why not crush your soul completely? I want to make sure I'm fully pulverized before I go on to the next level. I want to dissolve into it easily, instantly, completely, so that there's absolutely nothing left.

THE ADVENTURERS

Those are always the ones. The one's who get flipped around in the pan like a fucking flapjack. Me, you know, I was voted biggest "airhead" in high school. And I WAS. You wouldn't believe the amount of stupid shit I did just because I wasn't thinking. And sometimes you DO actually hurt people. I tried to please everyone, to make everyone happy. That was my ailment. There is simply no greater disaster in the waiting than that. I didn't posses the ability to think ahead, to realize people operated quite differently than I did. And I haven't gotten that much better at it; I've just learned to be more careful, to be extremely cautious when it comes to the consequences of dealing with people. My greatest desire in the past was to cultivate deep, lasting friendships. It meant everything to me. Not any more. I still love people just the same but I want very little to do with their lives and vice versa. I think this is why I love Facebook so much. I know it sounds crazy but it's true. It must be an entirely different experience for me than most people. I would much rather interact with people on here than in person, to have to look into each other's eyes, at their faces. I get stuck on their nose hairs, on their strings of spit, on their clogged pours like little strawberry seeds. It feels disrespectful, unholy. I find it no less repulsive than if we had to turn around, bend over, reach back, and spread our ass cheeks in order to communicate. And that goes for private messaging on here too. I DO NOT LIKE IT! Anyway, yes, those are the ones, the people I adore. The ones who've at least once, felt that big, flat spatula slip beneath them and flip them up in the air. Tragedy and loss, betrayal, these are the most important events in our lives. I know we're all different, of course, that it takes all kinds, but it's extremely difficult for me to comprehend the existence of anyone in their late 20s, 30s, or 40s who hasn't gone through horrendous bouts of suicidal depression. I had the strangest, most beautifully shaped piece of wood engraved in my first show. It was maybe 4 feet tall, rising up like a staff or a spear. It said, "Wisdom is the byproduct of adventure." It sat alongside a large rock I touched up to look like a kind, wise old Buddhistic looking man. I even gave him barely visible little hairs on his chin and on top of his head. I spent hours, maticulously gluing them on, one by one. I don't think anyone even noticed.

THE NIGHT I WENT OVER TO THE GREAT ARTIST'S HOUSE WITH THE OTHER GREAT ARTIST TO WATCH THE REPUBLICAN DEBATES

Well, what happened was, I went over to the great artist's house to watch the Republican debates. I went over there with the other great artist. There was a ton of people there which I didn't expect. You should've seen this place! He truly is a great artist. His art is brutal and impeccable, it faces death and futility head on just like I like, and he has built the most beautiful life and home around it with a calm confidence I know I will never achieve. My favorite piece was this headless little pig on its side by the door. You couldn't figure out which end was what. I laughed out loud when I saw it. I hadn't had much to drink. I ate a little. Then we watched the debates which were hilarious. But then I felt myself getting sick. I tried hard to keep it down, to ignore it. Beads of sweat kept running down my face and back. Finally, I slipped out and walked down the hill and climbed the tall fence guarding the unfinished bridge and I carefully walked across the roaring creek along a steel beam, hoping not to slip and fall and die, bleeding upon the rocks. I made it and began my long walk home through the darkness from the edge of town. I fought it off for a little while but then I surrendered. The puke shot out of me, splattering at my feet. I started walking again, but it kept coming. I puked maybe a dozen or so times. I think what had happened was that I realized nothing would ever save me from my self. The great artist possessed nothing useful for my debilitating condition. His art, his life, as amazing as it was, would be completely wasted on me. It was a terrible truth to swallow, to keep down. What the fuck have I done? I've turned my back on everything to follow this ghost, this hunch. I've put my kid's well being at risk. And now I knew even if I were to accomplish the things I wanted to accomplish, it would do me no good. There was no cure to be had. I would still wake up every morning just as I have now, frightened, weak, dumbfounded, exhausted, plagued with a brain so sickened with sadness that I doubt even the rats nor the worms would dare take a bite. GO BERNIE!

I sort of got briefly interviewed yesterday at work by a lady who remembered me from my modeling days, who used to hire me for some of my best, easiest fit work, and who's now the editor of one of those worthless parenting magazines nobody reads: "So you were living in the city, and then you and your wife moved up here when you got pregnant with your first child." "Yeah. But Sarah Bram had a broken leg too. She got run over by a car just before our wedding." "God. That's terrible! Poor thing." "Oh, it was fine. It made the wedding, her hobbling down the isle on crutches. We lived in a 5th floor apartment with stairs inside. There was just no way to do it. I kept getting flashes in my mind of her burning up in flames because she couldn't get out, my little unborn child boiling to death in her belly." "JESUS!… Um, okay, so you used to commute into the city but now you just work here. How do you like it? I mean, do you miss the city, the traveling?" "I don't know. I don't care what I do anymore or where I live as long as I'm able to write and make art." "So you're able to do all of that now from here?" "Fuck no, not at all. I can't do anything. I'm completely fucked. I have a new studio over in Newburgh and I've only been there twice in the past couple of months. I have commissions that I haven't been able to pull off. All I've got time to do is go on Facebook and make a total ass of myself and get in trouble. It's like death by a thousand cuts." "What's that?" "That's how the Chinese used to torture and kill people. They would tie you up to a stake and slice off little pieces of you over time." "Ewe… So your wife and kids are up in Canada right now. You must miss 'em." "Of course I do." "You think you guys will have any more?" "Absolutely not! No one should be bringing children into this world anymore. I will never forgive myself for having my two boys. What a terrible thing to do to somebody." "You really believe that?" "Absolutely. It's a pathetic, selfish act, having kids. But, you know, then I guess, what the hell else are you going to do? I just don't know how anyone does anything anymore. Like you work for this magazine about parenting… I mean, what's the point? I know everyone needs to make a living but… I don't know. I love my kids dearly, I love them TOO much! It's crippling. And that's what I mean. They're too good for this world, for what we've done to this world. All children are. And then what happens to them? They just become us, these flickering souls, staggering around through the fog of this horrible, horrible world we've created. It's atrocious… Hey, do you want another glass of wine? It's on me?"

THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN DO IT

Make it thin. Make it just barely there. Make it no more than a memory, a vapor already gone. Keep well out of their craw. Be gone before they ever knew you were ever there. That's how you do it. That's the only way you can do it.

FRANK

Frank awoke at 3:00 A.M.. He only looked at the clock to verify what he already knew. It was always 3:00 A.M., exactly 3:00 A.M.. He reached down and felt his cock. He thought about masturbating but didn't. The light coming in through the window allowed him to see a few things: the dresser, the door which was slightly ajar, his towel hanging from the top, the heap of the blanket which had wound up at his feet. He thought about his two little girls, 9 and 6, who were sleeping at their mother's, the filthy fucking whore. He smiled, thinking about their sweet little eyes, closed, sleeping, dreaming. What were they dreaming about? He hoped it was something good. He hated them having to exist in this ever worsening world. Maybe he would one day get rich on his writing and be able to protect them somehow? Does that even happen anymore? No, it doesn't. And even if it did, it wouldn't be enough. Nothing would be, not anymore. He heard a car drive down the street. He thought about masturbating again. He reached down and felt his cock. It was sad and limp, cold and clammy. He played with it a bit and gave up. He then felt his balls. They were uncomfortably tight. It's so true, he thought, the state of a man's cock and balls is always in direct correlation with his mind, with his spirit. Just then, an image flashed through his mind: An elephant tumbling down a cliff. It was the saddest, most grotesque thing he had ever seen in his life. The elephant kept falling, contorting through the air. Frank winced as he fell back to sleep.

THE EPIDEMIC

I think there's just not enough self hating Muslims out there. That's always been the best course of treatment for these sorts of diseases. Look at the Jews, look at all the giants of comedy, art, theater, film, literature etc,. that's blossomed out of that prickly bush. But it's definitely the comedy that's been most effective, that has done the most good. It's the pre-emptive hysterectomy or mastectomy. What they need is a modern day Muslim Kafka. Yes, Kafka. I've always found that brave little butcher hilarious. But then again, the Jews never had the bright idea to discipline their own people by publicly cutting their heads off, which I'll admit, certainly raises the stakes. But I've always felt it can be far braver to hop on that empty stage than to storm a beach. You know, unless you were to storm that beach, naked, with a big raging hard on, that purple headed thing waving back and forth like a silly stick. I would've done it. I'm serious, I would've. I don't care if you don't believe me. I know some people reading this will. I once ran naked through the streets of New York and some border town in Mexico, hurdling large cactus plants. Two of my greatest accomplishments in life. I would've done it singing "Oklahoma" or some shit at the top of my lungs because FUCK IT! Fuck all this stupid shit we do and are as humans! I resent it. It's beneath us. And I will never forgive myself for being so stupid cruel as to bring two more beautiful souls into this monstrous world. Anyway, speaking of Oklahoma and getting back to the Muslims, I just got back from Oklahoma recently, and I must say, aside from the blowing themselves up and the beheadings and shit, from what I can tell, there's just not that much difference between your average, conservative, Fox News watching Okie and a radical Muslim. Both these creatures are immune to humor. GO SOONERS! Oh, and do any of you Beaconites happen to have a confederate flag I can borrow?

TIM

Tim looked at his toes as he laid on the couch. He looked at his right big toe in particular, the one that had been giving him so much trouble. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. The toenail didn't look ingrown. There was no redness or swelling or anything. "Hmmm," he thought. He then tried to think back to a time in his life when his mind wasn't completely preoccupied with the idea of killing himself. But those days were just so long ago. So much had happened that the effort became too frustrating. He heard a text come through on his phone. He thought about getting up to see who it was but he didn't. He knew soon enough, one way or another, he would. It wasn't the sadness anymore or the pain and confusion. He had gotten used to the absurdity of life and he was truly not the least bit interested in any answers. He was simply exhausted. He was tired of all the sounds. He was tired of having to wipe his ass every morning. He was tired of lusting after women, of masturbating. Even fucking was just animalistic and stupid. He felt ridiculous eating. He hated putting his shoes on only to eventually just take them off again. He hated brushing his teeth, finding clothes to wear, finding his car keys. "Why the hell can't someone just place a bomb in my car so I can blow up?" he thought, "like in the movies". Problem solved. No more anything. He was still on the couch when his girlfriend, Kara, walked in the door. "Why won't you answer your phone? I've been calling and texting." They stared at each other for a moment. "I can't believe you're still on the couch?!" she yelled. "I know," he said, and he let out a long fart. "You're disgusting!" She went into the kitchen. "You couldn't even clean the kitchen? Jesus, Tim! What have you done all day?" Tim thought about it as he looked at his toe again. "My toe really hurts," he said. Just then, he heard the mailman lift the metal lid to their mailbox, drop a bunch of mail inside, and slam the lid back down. He cranked his head around and through the window, watched the mailman walking away down the sidewalk. His legs were skinny and white and Tim really liked his socks.

What makes me happiest is the saddest thing of all.

TOUGH MUDDER

We have literally reached a point where it's far healthier to be an absolutely disgusting, morbidly obese person than be someone who does one of those goddamn Tough Mudder races.

ASS WORSHIPER

Yeah, fuck 'em. I've always done that. Even modeling, they used to ask you your religion when you filled out the forms when you signed up with an agency. And that's what I would put: "Ass worshiper". It's true.

DOWN THERE

I feel like I can do almost anything. But up here, man, I don't even like to breathe in the air.

I DON'T KNOW, DOC

It's pretty deeply ingrained. It all comes from this part of me that's never been able to accept that any of this is actually happening, that I'm even here, that I'm even me.

BORING

Look, let me break it down for you, man. You're boring. You're fucking boring. You're boring everyone here. Hey, I'm sorry to be so harsh but you gotta hear this shit. You're fucking boring. At least from what I know of you, from what you've shown me. And, look, there's absolutely nothing wrong with being boring. I LOVE boring people. They're good for me to be around. I'm not sure why but they are. So that would be fine. But you're trying to not be boring. You're trying so hard to be the opposite of who you are. And that's what makes it even more boring. You're obvious. You're uncomfortable with yourself. Just let go, man, and be boring. Just listen. Pay attention. Surrender. And before you know it, you probably won't be boring anymore.

THE DOUBLE LIFE

I don't know, man. Isn't life already a double life?

GET USED TO IT.

Hey, man, it sucks to realize you are completely alone. And you always have been. There is not one possible thing any other human can do for you… I mean, you know, with what WE'RE talking about. It's been years since I've lived more than maybe a couple of minutes outside of sleep where I didn't feel like I was in one of those movies where all of a sudden the main character realizes pretty much everything he knows might be a lie. That's where I'm at. That's what I'm working on. Trying to get used to that.

WONDERFUL READING I DISCOVERED ON SOME DEPRESSED AND SUICIDAL ONLINE FORUM:

I'm going insane I think Postby fluke30 » Thu Mar 15, 2012 11:15 pm 95% of the time I'm just existing, relaxing, living inside my head. I'm completely at peace with everything and the universe around me. And then some days I get this intense urge to do something. I keep trying to find anything to associate this urge with. Anything, but I'm not doing anything. The schizoid part of me just has so much control and is so rational that it just solves all my problems. But I'm going to snap. I need something to do. Just Existing Is Driving Me Insane!!!!!!!!! Last week I saw this girl and I just instinctivley went up to her to ask her out, no thoughts, just was gonna do it, but then my friend said, leave that girl alone, so I just said I was going in the same direction towards the chocolate part of the store. I used to be like this before I was 12, just doing things, being a fun person, then a voice appeared in my head that said "Think about what you do before you do it". I can understand that it was a good voice and all. But a tiny part of me wants to break, go insane. We don't live in a world of reality, we live in a world of perceptions. ~ Gerald J. Simmons User avatar fluke30 Consumer 6 Consumer 6 Posts: 404 Joined: Thu Feb 02, 2012 10:55 pm Local time: Sat Jun 27, 2015 2:38 am Blog: View Blog (0) Top ADVERTISEMENT Top Re: I'm going insane I think Postby coldplayer » Thu Mar 15, 2012 11:23 pm Been there, done that, got the t shirt. Life is so mundane and boring for me. Just awfully repetitive and dull. A whole bunch of nothingness. Most of the time I am content and then once in a blue moon I have these moments where I get so ######6 tired and bored of being tired and bored!!! Its so frustrating! Did you really hear a voice though? :shock: coldplayer Consumer 6 Consumer 6 Posts: 259 Joined: Tue Jan 10, 2012 10:23 am Local time: Fri Jun 26, 2015 9:38 am Blog: View Blog (0) Top Re: I'm going insane I think Postby ALostAlien » Thu Mar 15, 2012 11:28 pm lol ''Leave that girl alone'' SILLY LITTLE PRICK :lol: , i feel like this too a lot, i feel depressed from it too :cry: DX- Bipolar disorder, Antisocial,Schizoid,Narc Traits. ALostAlien Consumer 6 Consumer 6 Posts: 278 Joined: Tue Mar 06, 2012 9:12 pm Local time: Fri Jun 26, 2015 2:38 pm Blog: View Blog (0) Top Re: I'm going insane I think Postby Solitarian » Thu Mar 15, 2012 11:43 pm Me too. All I wanna do is nothing, and it isn't any fun. I used to watch tv shows, but they're just too slow, predictable, repetitive, and lame. I find myself fast forwarding through the emotional scenes, and the slow parts. I'll even jump 5 seconds forward when someone is merely walking into a building and I'm too impatient to wait for them to get there. I skip through books as well, I just want to get to the point. I guess I feel like I just want to get to the point of life. I'm not sad or depressed, just stagnant. I'm most content when I simply ignore my situation. I sound more miserable then I am. Did your friend not want you to talk to the girl because he knows you'd be no good for her? That's kind of how I feel about myself. I don't want to be with anyone, but I know if I were, I couldn't give them what they need to be happy. They wouldn't make me happy either. I wish life had more meaning or at least more to do. Why don't I just run away? I could travel the world and see what's out there. I could explore and live off of what I find and the kindness of strangers. I could steal a ship, and just sail away, become a pirate and never apologize to anyone. Everyone's lives are so 2 dimensional these days. No variety, no excitement, no adventure. Criminals have all the fun. User avatar Solitarian Consumer 6 Consumer 6 Posts: 271 Joined: Wed Mar 14, 2012 3:12 am Local time: Fri Jun 26, 2015 2:38 pm Blog: View Blog (0) Top Re: I'm going insane I think Postby fluke30 » Thu Mar 15, 2012 11:49 pm I've never been able to make a single decision in my life. So I generally look at life from the perspective of so many different people and now I'm out of people. And I have to make decisions, and I don't know what to do. No one has ever told me what to do or who to be. Ever supported me or influenced me. I have such a head ache. Everyone around me seems real, they look sound and smell so real. But I'm just not there. I don't know where I am. I'm not anybody. I'm just existing and I need to be someone. Also I think I'm narcoleptic, I don't fall a sleep during the day but I really want to. Solitarian wrote: Me too. All I wanna do is nothing, and it isn't any fun. I used to watch tv shows, but they're just too slow, predictable, repetitive, and lame. I find myself fast forwarding through the emotional scenes, and the slow parts. I'll even jump 5 seconds forward when someone is merely walking into a building and I'm too impatient to wait for them to get there. I skip through books as well, I just want to get to the point. I guess I feel like I just want to get to the point of life. I'm not sad or depressed, just stagnant. I'm most content when I simply ignore my situation. I sound more miserable then I am. Did your friend not want you to talk to the girl because he knows you'd be no good for her? That's kind of how I feel about myself. I don't want to be with anyone, but I know if I were, I couldn't give them what they need to be happy. They wouldn't make me happy either. I wish life had more meaning or at least more to do. Why don't I just run away? I could travel the world and see what's out there. I could explore and live off of what I find and the kindness of strangers. I could steal a ship, and just sail away, become a pirate and never apologize to anyone. Everyone's lives are so 2 dimensional these days. No variety, no excitement, no adventure. Criminals have all the fun. I think my friend just wants me to himself, not in a homosexual fashion, but he wants me to be his... And being a pirate would be awesome!!! We don't live in a world of reality, we live in a world of perceptions. ~ Gerald J. Simmons User avatar fluke30 Consumer 6 Consumer 6 Posts: 404 Joined: Thu Feb 02, 2012 10:55 pm Local time: Sat Jun 27, 2015 2:38 am Blog: View Blog (0) Top Re: I'm going insane I think Postby coldplayer » Fri Mar 16, 2012 12:07 am fluke30 wrote: I've never been able to make a single decision in my life. So I generally look at life from the perspective of so many different people and now I'm out of people. And I have to make decisions, and I don't know what to do. No one has ever told me what to do or who to be. Ever supported me or influenced me. I have such a head ache. Everyone around me seems real, they look sound and smell so real. But I'm just not there. I don't know where I am. I'm not anybody. I'm just existing and I need to be someone. Also I think I'm narcoleptic, I don't fall a sleep during the day but I really want to. Your words really resonate with me. Im so indecisive about everything as well. Probably because I dont care about much and because I am so anhedonic, nothing really inspires me to do anything. Its like hmmm... what to do today? Blah or meh. :| I always say I "exist" vs. living as well. Im much more of a perceiver of life than a participant. I can only complain about it to an extent because it is not as if I feel a drive to do something. Life is so stagnant. Its like this world was created without a niche for me. -- Thu Mar 15, 2012 7:08 pm -- Solitarian wrote: I wish life had more meaning or at least more to do. Why don't I just run away? I could travel the world and see what's out there. I could explore and live off of what I find and the kindness of strangers. I could steal a ship, and just sail away, become a pirate and never apologize to anyone. Everyone's lives are so 2 dimensional these days. No variety, no excitement, no adventure. Criminals have all the fun. I wish life had more meaning too. I always fantasize about trekking the world, but its so costly and I really don't want to be forced to engage with strangers to survive. coldplayer Consumer 6 Consumer 6 Posts: 259 Joined: Tue Jan 10, 2012 10:23 am Local time: Fri Jun 26, 2015 9:38 am Blog: View Blog (0) Top Re: I'm going insane I think Postby Mr.Pokeylope » Fri Mar 16, 2012 12:45 am Yeah, life is a bore. I don't want to rush it, but if I'm dying I don't want any life prolonging procedure to be performed. I just want to be done. Two's A Crowd User avatar Mr.Pokeylope Consumer 3 Consumer 3 Posts: 76 Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2011 8:18 pm Local time: Fri Jun 26, 2015 2:38 pm Blog: View Blog (0) Top Re: I'm going insane I think Postby fluke30 » Fri Mar 16, 2012 1:48 am coldplayer wrote: fluke30 wrote: I've never been able to make a single decision in my life. So I generally look at life from the perspective of so many different people and now I'm out of people. And I have to make decisions, and I don't know what to do. No one has ever told me what to do or who to be. Ever supported me or influenced me. I have such a head ache. Everyone around me seems real, they look sound and smell so real. But I'm just not there. I don't know where I am. I'm not anybody. I'm just existing and I need to be someone. Also I think I'm narcoleptic, I don't fall a sleep during the day but I really want to. Your words really resonate with me. Im so indecisive about everything as well. Probably because I dont care about much and because I am so anhedonic, nothing really inspires me to do anything. Its like hmmm... what to do today? Blah or meh. :| I always say I "exist" vs. living as well. Im much more of a perceiver of life than a participant. I can only complain about it to an extent because it is not as if I feel a drive to do something. Life is so stagnant. Its like this world was created without a niche for me. Everything I'm doing is fading into the background, talking, eating, walking. It's becoming so easy and predictable. We don't live in a world of reality, we live in a world of perceptions. ~ Gerald J. Simmons User avatar fluke30 Consumer 6 Consumer 6 Posts: 404 Joined: Thu Feb 02, 2012 10:55 pm Local time: Sat Jun 27, 2015 2:38 am Blog: View Blog (0)

OH, IT'S PROBABLY NOT THAT HARD

All you gotta do is create what the Gods could only hope to create. Like the other day, I had this image of Philip Guston singing Johnny Cash to me: "Don't take your plums to town, son, leave your plums at home, Phil."

What would the combined volume of the collected daily ejaculate of all the men on earth be?

The following is from a forwarded email. This is what passes for comedy in the elevated world of right-winged American thought. I included my response afterwards:

Dear Abby, My husband is a liar and a cheat. He has cheated on me from the beginning, and, when I confront him, he denies everything. What's worse, everyone knows that he cheats on me. It is so humiliating. Also, since he lost his job 14 years ago, he hasn't even looked for a new one. All he does all day is smoke cigars, cruise around and shoot the bull with his buddies, while I have to work to pay the bills. Since our daughter went away to college he doesn't even pretend to like me, and even hints that I may be a lesbian. What should I do? Signed: Clueless Dear Clueless: Grow up and dump him. Good grief, woman! You don't need him anymore! You're running for President of the United States. Act like it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- "A prime example of the absolute failure of all right winged comedy. I mean, seriously, I'm game for something good, but it never arrives. And there was such great fodder in that concept too. Any half ass weekend comedian could've done nearly anything with that. The art/music/comedy gap is mindbogglingly absurd. Dylan, John Prine, Lucinda to who? Kenny Chesney? Foxworthy, Larry The Cable Guy, to Louis C.K. or Larry David! Bruce Nauman or Cindy Sherman to… well, hmmm… Actually, I don't think there are any solid artists in your world. I just don't think they exist. Which is most interesting. Yes, when it comes to elevated thought, the right winged mind is like a sad, old woman, trying to be sexy. There's just no getting around a nasty heap of pubic fat. Stick to football, BBQ, and landscaping. GO BERNIE! Phil."

SOMETIMES

The best thing you can possibly do is eat a goddamn hot dog.

HIGHER LEARNING

Life IS failure, honey. People say you learn more from your enemies. I say, fuck that. Having enemies is child's play. You learn MOST from your victims.

Fwd: Disturbing exhibit with profanity and a dildo in the gallery space, empty beer and wine bottles, exposed food

Got a wonderful email forward to me this morning. I am so thankful to be sharing studio space with such brave, powerful, "artists"! "Opened food"? I think I left 3 cookies and maybe a dozen cheese balls in a plastic bowl because I had to rush home with Gordy who was running a 104 fever with Coxsakie. I am the one who is offended! And I am certain that these children and parents and people she speaks of are the precise people that SHOULD see my art. GO COWARDS! Anyway, here it is! Enjoy!: "...Do you have Phil's email address and phone number? He set up an exhibit Saturday that he said would be up just for the weekend. I told him I teach children here and asked him if it would be down by Tuesday, which is when my first kids class is this week (I have a very conservative adult coming tonight for lessons ). He said yes. I am hopeful that he will take care of this within the next 24 hours, but I arrived today to no Phil, and empty beer cans and wine bottles, as well as opened food, left out in the gallery space, all art still up. We know there is a problem with mice. I teach children from ages 6 to 12 and know that many of them would be disturbed by this work. This is not a show their parents would choose to take them to. Some of the parents hang out in the gallery space to chat or get work done while their children have lessons with me. I am quite certain they will not be happy if this art, and the empty beer bottles, are still there come tomorrow. It is imperative that I get in touch with Phil to confirm that he cleans the space and also takes the offensive art down before my class tomorrow."