randong 2: electric boogaloo
i've been doing a lot of writing but not a lot of publishing, my drafts list is getting longer than my actual published entries, perhaps because i got spoiled by the concept of this whole microblogging thing. i mean, twitter used to be called a "microblogging platform" - i don't know what the fuck happened there. hopefully another round of random small thoughts gets my engine going to actually finish a blog entry. i'm giving myself another hour...
halfway house
my writing is largely uninspired recently. primarily because there's nothing negative to draw from. which basically redounds to a net positive for me because a lack of new shit here is an indicator of a lack of shit in my mind. no demons to battle, no bottomless pits to overcome - just me meandering through middling mental mediocrity. ideally that's the life i ought to live - nothing too special, nothing too abhorrent. i find that while grand moments are great, the lows are pretty damn draining. there's a reason why sprints don't last a long as marathons, and why marathons aren't as intense as sprints.
gyud mourning
i will go as far as to say i've lived a full enough life. should i be included in the 27 club, i think i earned my keep. i may not have been as renowned as the other members, but i'm relevant enough in my field - like some sort of government underling rock star. i've really been around, been thrown to different ends of the country and the region, served so many different masters, touched a diverse set of lives that if my induction to the 27 club were to be publicized, i'd have more than a handful of visitors and meaningful messages delivered. hopefully not a lot of crying. i'd rather that my life be celebrated than my loss be mourned.
daily arborio
i'm a magnet for damaged people. 9 times out of 10, the people whom i will have more than one social interaction not bound by some sort of obligation are those who need their shit figured out... hopefully by me. sometimes i successfully do, but oftentimes, i simply spew a load of bullcrap that sound important... at least in my estimation. but to them it has value, so who am i to say that my effort to stay present with them is meaningless.
so really the best thing going on in my life are those relationships i keep that give me a semblance of normalcy, of which i can only count with one finger. because bloody hell i get pretty freaking inundated with my depressive narratives alone that doing it for others is me hopefully cultivating positive karma. i'm altruistic enough to lend a listening ear, but oftentimes all i want is some banter as lighthearted as souffle pancakes, company as comforting as noodle soup, and a chunky piece of cookie for good measure.
gearing up
i make oats with real cacao every morning at work. and it's one of the better parts of my day. the chemical compounds in that shit makes me feel so wired in that i feel like i'm wasting a lot of my chocolate high on work. i mean yeah sure, it's what pays the bills, and i ought to give the best of myself to my career, but what if i ride that high on an intense workout? though it's not something i necessarily need. i've been continuously physically active for more than a decade, i've gotten through it with mere willpower. and i also run the risk of being dependent on something exogenous to be the best version of me. ideally, as individuals we'll be self sufficient to a degree, especially with things that may be satisfactorily accomplished without any crutches. but y'know what, sometimes we have to spend a shitton of money on liquid vitamins that we spread on our face too.
intellectual impostor
i filled my office table with books... that i've barely read, except for the graphic novels that are easy on the eyes because it has more pictures than it does words. i honestly can't bring myself to read shit on paper. that's why i can't comprehensively engage intellectuals. i mean i can fake it by running my usual socratic method because let's face it, people who are full of themselves care more about talking than listening, so it works out swimmingly when i avoid looking like a dolt by opening my mouth, and the other person is gratified for flexing whatever they feel makes them better than me. which, for all intents and purposes, most people i feel are generally better than me. i really do. a lot of times i feel i get by with life with whatever a bullshit artist like me could do. yeah sure, i'm good at what i do, but fecal matter is never nutritious, unless you're a plant, and if you can read this, i'm sure you're not one.
halfway house
my writing is largely uninspired recently. primarily because there's nothing negative to draw from. which basically redounds to a net positive for me because a lack of new shit here is an indicator of a lack of shit in my mind. no demons to battle, no bottomless pits to overcome - just me meandering through middling mental mediocrity. ideally that's the life i ought to live - nothing too special, nothing too abhorrent. i find that while grand moments are great, the lows are pretty damn draining. there's a reason why sprints don't last a long as marathons, and why marathons aren't as intense as sprints.
gyud mourning
i will go as far as to say i've lived a full enough life. should i be included in the 27 club, i think i earned my keep. i may not have been as renowned as the other members, but i'm relevant enough in my field - like some sort of government underling rock star. i've really been around, been thrown to different ends of the country and the region, served so many different masters, touched a diverse set of lives that if my induction to the 27 club were to be publicized, i'd have more than a handful of visitors and meaningful messages delivered. hopefully not a lot of crying. i'd rather that my life be celebrated than my loss be mourned.
daily arborio
i'm a magnet for damaged people. 9 times out of 10, the people whom i will have more than one social interaction not bound by some sort of obligation are those who need their shit figured out... hopefully by me. sometimes i successfully do, but oftentimes, i simply spew a load of bullcrap that sound important... at least in my estimation. but to them it has value, so who am i to say that my effort to stay present with them is meaningless.
so really the best thing going on in my life are those relationships i keep that give me a semblance of normalcy, of which i can only count with one finger. because bloody hell i get pretty freaking inundated with my depressive narratives alone that doing it for others is me hopefully cultivating positive karma. i'm altruistic enough to lend a listening ear, but oftentimes all i want is some banter as lighthearted as souffle pancakes, company as comforting as noodle soup, and a chunky piece of cookie for good measure.
gearing up
i make oats with real cacao every morning at work. and it's one of the better parts of my day. the chemical compounds in that shit makes me feel so wired in that i feel like i'm wasting a lot of my chocolate high on work. i mean yeah sure, it's what pays the bills, and i ought to give the best of myself to my career, but what if i ride that high on an intense workout? though it's not something i necessarily need. i've been continuously physically active for more than a decade, i've gotten through it with mere willpower. and i also run the risk of being dependent on something exogenous to be the best version of me. ideally, as individuals we'll be self sufficient to a degree, especially with things that may be satisfactorily accomplished without any crutches. but y'know what, sometimes we have to spend a shitton of money on liquid vitamins that we spread on our face too.
intellectual impostor
i filled my office table with books... that i've barely read, except for the graphic novels that are easy on the eyes because it has more pictures than it does words. i honestly can't bring myself to read shit on paper. that's why i can't comprehensively engage intellectuals. i mean i can fake it by running my usual socratic method because let's face it, people who are full of themselves care more about talking than listening, so it works out swimmingly when i avoid looking like a dolt by opening my mouth, and the other person is gratified for flexing whatever they feel makes them better than me. which, for all intents and purposes, most people i feel are generally better than me. i really do. a lot of times i feel i get by with life with whatever a bullshit artist like me could do. yeah sure, i'm good at what i do, but fecal matter is never nutritious, unless you're a plant, and if you can read this, i'm sure you're not one.
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