Posted: 2015-08-26 in Uncategorized


My silence and/or grunting has nothing to do with you – it’s just the best that I can manage.

Got nothing to say.

I hate wasting my voice. Assholes either can’t understand, or don’t want to. I smile first, involuntarily, then I despair. I hate wasting my efforts. I grow tired. I feel tired when speaking, sigh, my tone betrays it, I can’t control it, even towards my mother, and the girl I’d like to fuck.


I’m not gonna take it anymore.

Don’t waste my time – I can do that myself more than well enough. You think you’re the only thing that weighs upon me, millstone? Hah, sigh, sadly not! Don’t waste my time.


“I Hate My Life.”


“I Hate My Life: Residents Take Stock After Devastating Wildfires.”

The headline caught her eye, it was a sentiment she could relate to: devastation and a chance for some perspective; the realization that your life sucks and, even worse, it always has. A massive catastrophe, or a series of events – man-made or a freak of nature, it makes no difference – bringing you to a point of destruction, a negative, empty dénouement. And you realize that you hate your life.

For a while you try to fight it, you try to grasp for a shred of hope, you listen to preachers and their words, but it all is for nought. You *know* you hate your life and you hate other people and you’re too broken to give a shit, it’s all so hollow.

Betrayed high and low, left and right, by friend and foe, you are left gutted, decimated as only a wildfire can do. It is then that you can see things unclouded by alliances or possessions. Exposed, bare, down to the essential facts. And there is no hope.

But if there is one thing that sparks a flame of light and interest in your psyche it is the knowledge that other people hate their lives too and your wonder of how they approach their own existential misery.

So, she read the article but she didn’t see what she was looking for.

She re-read the headline and winced: “I Have My Life: Residents Take Stock After Devastating Wildfires.”

Fucking reactionary! Relativist history. Dyslexic progressivism.

Misery loves a friend.


Words, just words.


The fool uses the diminutive “just” and “words” together. Just words? They’re only words? They don’t really matter. Really?

Just words would be fair words, words that liberate, because words have power. Power. At the end of the day, words are all we have. Words are everything. Respect your words.

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