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.
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.