08-01-2014 18:25 I think the most interesting thing that's happened today was hearing a parent talk to their child whom they named "Ernie." There are still Ernies in the world and that makes me smile.
On to the next thought. I've noticed that's how I roll these days when it comes to my writing. Here's a thought, then another unrelated thought, and so on and so on and so on. What's an antonym of disciplined? Well I am that, in all areas of my life, and yes if you look back at a lot of my earlier writings I have always been undisciplined. There's only one way to fix this, but I lack the discipline to see it through right now.
No, remember WHY you do it. For one reason it's fun as unprotected fucking. Plus, there is a synergetic effect that comes with the discipline in writing where I am able to retain discipline in working out and mind building. And a by product of these things is all the wild sex that comes from it. Some might not see the correlation between those things, but anyone who has been known to party and dwell deep in thought knows it to be true. Fucking is a part of living, and I am ready to live again but I have to be prepared for it. You cant just jump waist deep into a river of ass and hope to stay afloat without knowing how to swim. Yes that sentence was perfect. Here's another perfect sentence: I fisted Petunia last Thursday. God damn English is a beautiful language.
So I feel the physical weakness creeping up on me as I try to maintain proper posture. The desire to slouch is strong but I am on my way to becoming a better being and part of that involves good to decent posture. It helps you live longer or something. At the very least it just looks better, and if I'm ever going to have late night living sessions again I'm going to need to use sweeter bait than I'm putting out now. An appropriate illustration of this would be… a pot of honey laced with ecstasy there, where I want ot be, and a leaking burlap sack filled with rancid chum, which is here, where I am. Though maybe I should give myself some credit. Yeah, I think I will. Good job on the not dying so far old man. You've safely navigated the treacherous waters of sitting on your ass and paying probation fines. I deserve a medal.
This is the part that gets tricky. I wan't to write something personal but since I'm going to post this to the online word depository there is a chance that people I want to keep the words from will see it. Then again nobody reads this, so fuck you grandma. Also, if you can ever help it, don't let yourself fall in love. It's like being hooked on hard drugs, it's so wonderful that it will ruin your fucking life. Irrational thoughts and inclinations, several highs and many many lows. One of the interesting things love has done to me recently is make me fucking hate another human being for no other reason than they like the same person that I do. The person I hate, from what the things I hear that aren't my own piercing howl of heart hatred, is a pretty good person. But I hate them. If i had the chance to destroy them in every way I would, and if I had the chance to repeat this destruction I would spam whatever button I had to push to make it so. I would completely devestate this human being over and over and over and over again from now till the heat death of the universe without hesitation… but if they suddenly said they didn't like the same person I did, I'd probably like the person. Hell maybe I'd befriend them. But they like the wrong person therefore I am perfectly capable of the most insane cruelty toward this fucking sack of shit oh my god I want him to die.
Maybe I should write some jealousy letters. They're like love letters, but full of desperate agony and vengeance. There's only one person I could write them to anyhow and I doubt that she'd want to read them. She's more of an "adult" than I am. Fucking adults. Fucking children. Where is the middle ground? Teenagers? Fuck them especially. I wonder what Beyonce would do about this. We share the same birthday, maybe we have some sort of psychic connection that I can exploit. "Beyonce… come in Beyonce… yonce… Queen Bee do you read?" She's probably busy, I'll try again never.
So I've got a problem ahead of me. I need to create a schedule and keep it. Floating down a river of benadryl is no longer an acceptable course of action. Let's see… mornings: Drink. No, no drink, cant afford drink…
Fuck this is hard, I need a drink. Can't spare the money for it though, and I can't afford the only kinds that I'd want. I've retired rotgut from my menu on account of I want to live past my 40's now. There will always be a place for cheap, untamed whiskey in my heart, but for the sake of my future I must move on to stronger and higher quality spirits. Speaking of spirits, I really love women's breasts.
My brain is responsible for all of this. You relentless bastard. Is this revenge for all the poison I've pumped through you? You? Why you, you are me?
What? Wait… who's talking to who here?
I'm talking to me. Me and brain are synonyms. We're the same entity.
Prove it.
Entity… titty.
Oh my god it's true. Then why do I feel like I've got a new sibling rather than a new dimension of my own being? I don't know. Wait, I'm not talking to anyone, only myself. This seems to happen way too fucking much.
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