I was thinking fuck, what do I have to say to these motherfuckers anyway. I’m fucking played out old and low. i got no time to read anybody else’s blog. I got nothing to give Rarasaur and them. I got nothing to say to anybody anyway and fuck it. Fuck it I’m going to go write on some paper and fuck this blogging shit. Can’t fucking live out here.

Then I stopped and said fuck it, why get paper, I’ll just write shit on here and fuck it. That’s the whole point right? Well somewhere along the way my personality came through. Ya’ll made demands on my attention by being decent people, by being interesting and engaging and making me like you. And I couldn’t just say fuck it any more for the same reason I don’t go off on stupid rants in my real life. Because I care about you fuckers.

Well, fuck. Anyway shit. I ain’t blaming ya’ll in any way, you know, for my lack of personal maturity and intellectual and metaphysical what have you, what’s-it.

But yeah a mother fucker had a hard time making some egg salad today I’ll tell you that. Wasted three eggs on a mayonnaise that wouldn’t set up for shit and an hour of time but you know at the same time didn’t give a fuck about the time, cared more about the actual Dijon mustard I wasted from actual Dijon which I went and got that shit my damn self. But fuck I’d dump that shit in a garbage disposal for a laugh but can’t be doing that shit round these parts.

So shit I read this thing today that was talking about how story tellers got to believe in God or at least pretend to because without karma, retribution, meaning, the interconnectedness of it all, without repercussions for personal actions what do you have to make a story out of? And that’s probably my problem from a fictional point of view. Some old nihilistic ass story ain’t a story at all, that’s just a bunch of dumb shit. That’s some Kafka shit minus the clever witticisms and the name Kafka in front of it. Anyway I’ll grow out of that like I did the Care Bears. But not the Smurfs.

You know what, what the fuck am I doing with this button on my blog? Trying to act like I…nah you know what I’m doing I’m fucking peacocking out this bitch trying to look like I give a shit about shit. Well I’ll tell you what, I do give a shit but that’s about all I give. Fuck man. Can’t even be a proper virtual friend. Trying to act like I’m doing something to alleviate the plight of a woman who was kind to me and ain’t really done shit but make my blog look ugly and steal an image from Matticus Kingdom.

Fuck it, I’ma change this bitch back. Least I can be halfway honest about the good I do in the world.

Hey you know what man fuck it anyway like I said…shit ain’t nothing. I’m drinking and I’m thinking and I’m on some old petticoat covered alligator of a train of thought. So don’t worry ya’ll…what the fuck am I talking about.

Yo never mind. But hey. The funny part is I had a really productive day. A day I did things I meant to do and I thought while I was doing I thought to myself, hell yeah, fuck it, I’m getting shit done and that’s what the fuck life is about anyway right. I ain’t content with this cheap ass spray bottle from Target, I’m going to get a mean ass spray bottle from Home Depot. And I got my non content ass out there and bought that shit. Then I went right back in that bitch to buy a toilet bowl scrubber. Hell yeah, but first I came all the way back to my apartment. Fuck it that’s how I do shit. And I got to stop doing that dumb shit.

I’m trying to plan shit better, I really am. I think I gave up on myself in Europe. It became painfully obvious that I was chemically imbalanced and unable to do shit with my life during the two months I was there, and then it became painfully obvious that I have been…what’s the o-word…fuck I don’t know but I been abstaining from giving a fuck about anything from “what the hell are we going to eat today” to “what fucked up old ass building are we going to see now” and I been abdicating my authority in my own goddamn mind just being like fuck it que sera sera out this motherfucker and that shit has creeped into some kind of left brain shit where I really can’t control what the fuck I do on any given day.

So yeah my plans are shit because what the fuck am I even trying to do with my plans? Not a god damn thing as far as I can tell, but at the same time that’s not true. I try to do some shit and then it falls apart and only then do I realize I wasn’t even trying to get anything accomplished, I was just making a plan because I was supposed to anyway.

I once had this idea that many people have had, that someone put into words this way: inch by inch it’s a cinch. And I thought shit, that’s the real shit right there. Why get stressed about anything? Does nature hurry? Nope. You know where that shit was reinforced was the Tao-Te-Ching. Used to be whenever I got stressed I’d read that shit. Now, let’s be clear America, when the fuck I got stressed was like twice a year. Anyway I’d be like hoo damn why don’t I read this shit every day! Nature never hurries, but everything is accomplished!

I used to think to myself, in a form of rebuttal to myself, myself being a construct of my brain that was influenced by this Tao Te Ching, the rebuttal I would try to use was “Nature never worked in a restaurant.”

But anyway, fuck man, I’m so fucking laid back and shit, trying to lay down in my own shit. While at the same time filled with self loathing and feel like I should always be doing something. Well today i said fuck all that. And you know what I did was I did a bunch of shit! I got so much done and the whole time I was like this sucks and then I answered myself, life sucks mother fucker. Misery’s the river of the world, so suck a dick. And now I feel great.