Our Last Night, You and I

An unfinished building at night with glare from street lights.

Did you imagine you knew, did you think for any amount of time, did you, in all likelihood you did, at this point I’m being extra dramatic out of disbelief. You couldn’t have possibly known what the night meant, but you walked around with that dreadful camera taking low resolution pictures of everything like you were at some kind of a zoo.

An unfinished building at night with glare from street lights.Who does that? You do, you fucking psychopathic.

Asberger’s.

Poster child.

What.

Is wrong with you?

You know what? It doesn’t even matter what’s wrong with you, it really doesn’t…it so doesn’t matter because we’re done here. Just stay away, keep your weird shit out of my space so I can try to forget you exist.

And they were all like you that night. Because that’s what you do, infect people.

I don’t even know why I have to…

I don’t have to. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck your camera, you know what. Give me that fucking camera you sick…

Nevermind. Fuck it. What’s done is fucking done I don’t give a fuck I don’t take any of it back and at the same time I’m never going back and thanks, by the way, for ruining the night.

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Fuck Flaubert, Fuck Socrates and Plato

Guy fixes his car behind a tree in Brooklyn

One of the effects of moving around all the time is that you’re never doing things for as long as you think you are. Even when you feel like you’ve been doing something too long, and that you’re becoming boring and stale, you have been doing things for less time than other people.

Well, that illustrates the problem, really, with comparing yourself to other people. Is the above paragraph supposed to reassure me? Am I actually supposed to feel less bad about doing the same things every week because I have been doing the same things every week for less time than other people I know have?

Guy fixes his car behind a tree in Brooklyn

Here is a wildlife

Nah fuck it, I can’t be doing the same thing every week. At the same time, I should focus and do the same thing every single day all the fucking time forever so that I can be really great at shit. Like Flaubert said, be boring in your life so you can be wild in your work, something like that.

You know what fuck Flaubert. Fuck listening to other people and quoting them and shit. People say that we have to listen to people that were here before us or else we have to build the universe from nothing and how far are we going to get from our birth to our death? How far is a human infant going to get in this world without instruction?

I don’t know the answer to that whole thing, but fuck it. I’ll tell you the thing is that I don’t really know shit about Flaubert. I read Madame Bovary, the English translation, and I read a couple of things about his life and I read that quote about being wild and original in your work and how it requires having a boring ass life schedule.

That’s all I know about Flaubert, but that’s enough for me to be like, oh I should change my life based on the teachings of Flaubert. You know what that is? That’s what Socrates was worried about when the first writing machine came out. People can go around pretending to know shit because they read it one time in a book. You can learn shit without effort, or at least appear to have learned shit without effort.

And the best part is I never read anything that Socrates wrote, first of all because he never wrote anything and second of all because I didn’t even read the shit that Plato said that he said, and yet I can talk about how he was scared of the danger inherent in book learning with the greatest of ease and pass it off as intimate knowledge based on some shit I’ve absorbed through cultural osmosis.

Boom!

At the very least, the Marijuana could not be blamed

The Manhattan Bridge and a discolored sky
The Manhattan Bridge and a discolored sky

This bridge goes to Manhattan

Yesterday I walked to work. I crossed the East River on the Manhattan Bridge. There was some funny graffiti, like a bear riding a bicycle and stuff like that. I like this picture because it feels like we’re imprisoned, kept away from the sun by our own creations.

I am so very sleepy, and so I have nothing else to say. Can someone please send me some time? I need so much more of it. I have all these great ideas.

Last night I smoked too much weed (which is easy for me to do) and ended up just standing at a rock concert knowing that the performers were doing a good job, but unable to feel any joy about that.

I thought for a second there that weed would be a better drug than alcohol. There are reasons to switch, but it’s going to take some commitment, apparently. It’s not just going to jump up and be fun all on it’s own.

So I will have to put that on the todo list like everything else and it will have to wait. Years, maybe. Ok, my eyes are closing and I cannot stop them.

It Doesn’t Matter 

This is a picture of some colorful graffiti on the Manhattan Bridge

Look at this shit

Yeah so anyways. At work now. On break. Supposed to be a reallll bitch tonight. Why doesn’t that sound new? Because it’s always supposed to be like that. Spent all morning making a birthday card for my friend and bought him coffee beans. Turns out he took the day off for his birthday. People called out and it’s a skeleton crew. Not interesting not interesting. Boring bullshit. People are going to have fun if they want to have fun and if they came to find something to complain about it’s about to be a fucking cornucopia for them bitches.

Follow this link to hijacked amygdala where people write interesting things.