When nothing really matters

I see you knowing me on the inside, on the outside, deterred

By the understanding of both distances from and between one another

Standing typically at place and in stead of wondrous things

No nonsense just a lust for the wild

And thoughts of deeper places, unknown to us

I think of them

We go there

The distance is measured

But it’s all a waste

Because nothing really matters

Heathen Undertow

They take crows from the grave to make toenail clippings into magazines

No one’s telling twice whether we mean for reading or shooting

The camera is the gun

We mean we do we run

And go on

The heathens in between carry twice the load to the mountaintop

We breathe their air and steal their time

Because they have too much to give

Without knowing why it ever took them astray

I line up in my mind

Ready for the firing squad

It will never come

Time will kill me first

And the molecular clock

Keeps on ticking…

The Usual Caveats of My Life

What’s the point

I won’t like it

Why waste the time trying

It could happen any time

Any one of these times could be a success

Pastries in the kitchen

I’m running away from the point

I’m changing topics

No one likes me

But that’s not what bothers me

What bothers me is my anxiety


And restlessness

And anhedonia

I can’t be entertained by anything

I can’t read

I can’t appreciate art

Very much

I can’t learn computer languages

Because I don’t see the point

I don’t see any future in it

Just learning for the sake of it

Is lost on me

I don’t study math

There’s a math book open on my floor

I don’t read it

I am not a good person

And it makes sense that I should be unhappy

Because bad people don’t deserve to be happy

And those who can’t tolerate hard work despite the pain

Don’t deserve anything

Or, much at all

You have to enjoy or at least push through the pain of

Hard work that has no meaning

You have to give it meaning

For yourself

For your family

You have to improve yourself as a person

To help others

Just push through it

Like a Nike commercial

What else is there to say…

A Thought, After Christmas

I wake up with restlessness nowadays. Bed is no longer comfortable in the morning, it’s uncomfortable, so I can’t sleep in. I can hardly stay in bed. It’s basically a form of pain.

I walked outside and looked at my mother’s garden, or at least the third of it to the right side, in the post-Christmas cold, and thought immediately not much of it. But then it struck me, given who she is, the garden was monstrously difficult to erect, AND it wasn’t a success. That’s like that for almost all things for her. Simple pleasant things, things that are supposed to be simple and pleasant, are difficult and unsuccessful for her. There are forces in her way, either my dad getting in the way, or she is just too (unstatedly) depressed or unmotivated or sleepy from working the night shift all the time. That’s her whole life. And I feel this relates to my restlessness in the morning, where simple pleasures are snatched from us as a family, and that this is how we live, and that there’s nothing we can do about it.

So she should get much more credit than she does. I don’t know about myself.

The seoncd greatest thing that happened to me in grad school


sitting at my desk

and falling brain dead

face down

smashed against the surface of the desk

for eight hours

in shallow, life-engulfing pain

struggling weakly

to raise head above the surface

and beginning to draw

on the tape covering the hole on my desk that my father put there, out of love

(the hole from when I smashed it in with my heel, standing on the desk, in a rage)

with a green sharpie

lying nearby

to live

then the sun rose

I don’t know what to do. I’m so antsy. I can’t relax. I can’t enjoy anything. Anhedonia sucks. I wish I could read books or listen to music or watch youtube videos at least. But I can’t do any of that. I actively dislike everything. And I feel miserable. There is no medical cure for my condition.

I never thought I would be the one with the disease. I always just assumed I would do great things all my life with my health strong. Now my fight is just to be alive.

How am I supposed to work.

I don’t know if writing actually helps me. It’s the only thing I can do easily. I guess I should at least be thanksfulfs for dat.

I wish I knew more magick.

Watching some shit on Twitch. Everything on Twitch is shit. The streamers are all so defensive and telepathically harassey. Towards me. I don’t like them. They’re not good people.

The games all suck these days. I outgrew games. I don’t like anything. Or maybe it’s just my disease. I wish I liked rote video/computer games, the story, the atmosphere, the mechanics. Appreciation for all of it.

I don’t know what to do. I’m having more kt today and it seems to be helping. I only have enough for today and not much for tomorrow so my new shipment better fucking arrive Monday.

My life is pointless. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know why DansGaming is telepathically invading my privacy. I don’t know why people feel it is okay to do that. Most people are not good people.

So I guess symptoms starting already. Mid-afternoon. It’s gonna be a long evening.