If I can type this right.  If I can spell things right.  Hey! Auto-Correct! If I could only…  Stop.  That’s not possible.  The world is what it is and you cannot “correct” it.

Fuck.  Music vs. Silence.  I think music better.  Silence only reinforces everything–and nothing–at the same time.

What to pick? Okay.  “Spleen And Ideal” by Dead Can Dance.   Maybe my favourite except for another.  But I like the haunting sounds of this one.

I’m turning it up.  LOUD.  LOUDER.

Wait.  I have to listen to the first track before I continue.  Probably the second too.  And have a cigarette.  Out of one pack when I bought two.  The other “disappeared.”

That’s what happens when you’re a “Motherfucking Asshole.”

And after I listen to my music and hopefully write in a lucid manner, NO PITY.  If you pity me, I am all the more worthless.

Triggers.  They’re “Motherfucking Assholes” too.  Even more so when you realize that they shouldn’t be.  Something happens, you know the deal, so why should it send you into a downward spiral?

Well, I have no goddamn clue.  Not to mention “so much stress” in my life.

Call it what you will, but I’m too stubborn to call it anything.  That probably makes me a bigger “Motherfucking Asshole” than I already am.

I’ve been trying to quit drinking for a while now.  Somehow, I can’t get past two weeks.  It’s almost like a cruel joke.  Any relationship I’ve had has never lasted past two and a half years.  That’s been the cut off point.  Today was 11 days.


I’m a “Motherfucking Asshole” for that issue alone.  And more.

I’m sitting on my bed with baby MacBook, fully dressed and my shoes still on.  I’ll probably not even bother to alter my clothing as such, to go to sleep.

If I can.

But I have a good drug arsenal.  I’ll keep pushing to close my eyes for at least a bit.  Even though I don’t want to see tomorrow.  Or a lot of tomorrows right now.

They all just seem to be empty.

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