Do not lose yourself in the struggle

Weird weird weird...the word has lost all meaning.

I woke up at eleven, then again at three. My life is like a quasi-surrealist documentary made by a Russian novelist who drank too much and is now circling the same sentence over and over. Everything smells like fried eggs. Marionettes are a lost art form. I started out writing a country story but everything I see is urban...city city city, country country country. I grew up in the suburbs so what the hell do I know about either of them?

I cannot list off the people I love. I don't even know who I'm angry with anymore. Why do I think too much? Am I actually a mega-introverted spazz attack or am I putting up the front because I don't know any other alternative? I sometimes wonder if I'm playing into the slot people have set up for me. I'm reading some Osho that Adele lent to me and so far it seems to be peddling in platitudes and unrealistic levels of transcendence. It's the philosophical self-help equivalent of 'Just chill. Be more chill.' Well, I am not a rainslicker. Shit doesn't slide off of me. I am a cotton hoodie, soaked to saturation and beyond. Why is that so bad? Does it make me intolerable?

I use too many metaphors. Whatever. I don't want to lose myself. I want to be authentic, real, 100% pure cotton, totally kosher, halal, Made In, Free Trade, Authorized etc. etc.

She said "Do not lose yourself in the struggle to be yourself. Go in. Go deeper. Do not be afraid."

What. The. Fuck?


-I


The whores on Jarvis are moving indoors so they can watch the rain fall and pretend to wait for someone who loves them.