none stop random writing exercise late at night Part 1:


To write a large book, feel it in my hands and glide my fingers across its
cover knowing that I am a success. That I am a writer.


To travel around China, learning obscure martial arts, and maybe if my
brother wants to document my journey and join in. To become sure in myself as a
fighter, to become fit and battle ready.


I dream about dying and not having to worry about anything, as much
fun as life is I do sometimes about its ending. What will happen? Where will I


It’s all just so confusing and paradoxical. You think one way but there is
a wall of evidence and arguments against whatever you think. Everything is
changing, nothing is certain and questions worry and tire my every day.
Questions never stop. They are my real nuisance. Fuck them. Why are they here?


O Rose, thou art sick!

The invisible worm

That flies in the night,

In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy,

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.


William Blake.


It’s all about the questions; it’s like some sort of hellish maze which
never ends. One leads to another, the other branches off to another and soon
you realize where you are. You’re lost. You are entangled in a mess. The more
you try and free yourself the farther your moved and disorientated.


If you think you understand something then you’re probably in the farthest
corner of delusion. The dunce with the big D on his white pointy hat.


I feel myself clawing at meanings and understandings, yet another part
sees that it’s all so absurd. Sometimes my emotions have nothing to do with my
thoughts. In fact I can often have the same thoughts but with opposite
emotions. Maybe it’s as simple as what I am eating, maybe it’s just blood sugar


Some days this thought makes me feel happy but most days it makes me feel
lost and sad.


No wonder we made up God,


I could really use one now. I suppose everyone could


Meaning is like a vine groping, clinging on to anything in its searching
path. Some things are more solid than others, some things will hold out for
longer, but in the end it does not matter, it’s all just blind groping in the
dark. None of us have real eyes. Our eyes are for show and they show us little.
We are blind.

Our ears are deafened by our own ceaseless jabbering and reject anything
else. Our mouths are for spewing out our own selfishness and for gorging
upon the fuel which fires it all. We are factories.


When I actually try and listen or see my questions rebel against it. Like
a malevolent dictatorship. What do my questions not want me to know? When I
switch the channel to nothingness why does the TV always automatically turn to
the most fucking trivial image, thought, or brain fart? Why can’t I just look
at the wall and that’s it? Why do I also have to listen to regurgitated monkey
FM as well? Is there no peace? Only in sleep, only in alcohol and I hope that
later and forever more in death. 


We talk and grown about the powers that be, the ones who control our countries
but do nothing about our own personal dictators. Which is worse?


The only question I care
about right now is why the fuck isn’t I always happy? Facts, figures and
philosophies can bring fleeting relief but I see no big connection between our
thoughts and our emotions. If it was that simple then all I would have to do to
be happy is just think about all the beautiful things in the world. But it’s
not like that. Right now I am imagining flying in a red sun set sky free as a
bird but I feel like a dark anvil in knotted cruelly to my heart.


5 thoughts on “part135

  1. Being here isn’t necessarily about being happy, it’s about being able to say ‘I didn’t waste as much of it as I could have done.’when you get to the end. – Holding a new born baby in your arms is a blissful moment and even though that you know that thisnew life will break your heart many times over it is still worth it for the moments of happiness.and, ofcourse, you can only measure happiness against the abscence of it.

  2. Sleepless In The Dark Night Of The Soul Is where you are , you mournful melancholy muppet .. Tis part of the human condition I.m afraid . As W. posits ,we cant enjoy the light unless we have the dark ..

  3. Conversations With God is the book that addresses ALL but all of these issues . You won’t be able to put it down . It’s on it’s way .Alcohol doesn’t help as the lugubrious W. Self will testify . Errant blood sugar levels doth induce the midnight miseries with unfailing precision .Try some Pg Wodehouse . Excellent antidote and guaranteed to quell the mordant metaphysical mutterings that seem to be furrowing your handsome brow .d

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