Might seduce your dad type

I’ve been blogging so long, and I’m on twitter for a while, and no one finds me. I find no like-minded individuals. I don’t know why. Everyone’s a prick. Everyone’s soft. Everyone’s into pop and brainless. Everyone’s this or that, but no one contemplates and adores progress. No one is an engineer with a tough side, no one likes abstract poetry they barely understand because that’s the only way to get a challenge in.

I don’t like this scene. I don’t like my place in society.

My job is starting to get interesting. Data analysis is pretty fun.

Brb bathroom…

I listened to Linkin Park in middle school. I believe that was the first album I purchased, whatever their debut album was was the one I bought in a Warehouse record store. Remember that chain? By a card shop in Concord, California. Small town back then, sort of. I mean not that small, not Clayton (next door) small. Clayton is by Mt. Diablo, not sure, I think possibly the… East, North side? Don’t quote me on that. I know Danville and Clayton sandwich Mt. D. I think.

I feel like we’re still all figuring out this Government thing. My L key hits twice for some reason–or am I really typing it in like that?

Someone playing a modern R&B (what is that genre called for chrissake? the pop of black people–black people music… R&B?) smooth vocals melodic tune outside. From their car I think. It sounds nice. It’s a comforting tune.

Not the bathroom againnnn!!!…

Ugh.

I can hold it in.

What I mean is.

I never belonged anywhere. I had some friends for like… half a year, a year, but then it kind of dissipated, probably I contributed to that by bringing drugs to the table (just for myself, but still, once I got drunk and knocked over the bottle of Jack at the party and no one liked me drunk I’m guessing). I don’t know. It’s hard. I didn’t feel too good, I didn’t know it then but my psychosis was already starting up. Marijuana and booze and psychosis. Terrible combination. So paranoid. painfully, painfully achingly paranoid. Death in a bucket.

Now all I have is the internet. And I still have no idea how to find like-minded individuals on there. I made a few friends, or so I thought, for a while, but they kind of retreated once there was gossip that I was a racist. I’m not a racist, I just vent sometimes. And fuck you, black people! See? There. No one got hurt.

Well anyway.

I hear voices through my window. They’re real voices. They’re the neighbors. But they drive me crazy because they’re talking to me, with the blinds shut. That’s the psychotic part–that they know I’m in my room and they’re talking to me.

I like being a bad person. Kinda.

Mean.

Not really tough. Tough is diluted.

But I guess that is what it would be called.

Well anyway.

I don’t know. I need an artist in my life, or people who appreciate art. I don’t get it. How have I been alive for 32 years and not made any connections? This is so bizarre. Is modern society always like this? No one connects? Is it just me? Fuck you if you think it’s my fault. Either they should’ve adored my shyness while they had it, or they should’ve adored my putting out there on the internet now. Neither. Crumbs.

Mom’s watching some opera or something in her bedroom next door?

I don’t know. I’m glad I have her. She’s neat.

Watched the satire by that Swedish youtuber of Billie Eilish’s bad guy. It’s pretty hilarious and better than the song itself. Though the song is pretty rapacious as it were. As in, stylish. I like. Nasty good.

Well anyway. It’s pop and I shouldn’t like it. But it’s also depressing so there’s charm to that.

I said on twitter and I’ll repeat it here: I don’t trust popular people, and famous people are just really popular people. Even Elon Musk, a bomb engineer who I approve of, I don’t really trust just because he’s famous. I don’t necessarily think fame does things to people, I just don’t know, it’s hard to explain.

My psych meds just don’t fucking work. This is shit. Modern medicine is shit. They want me off the kratom… to what? To prove that I’m in the 35% of population for whom no psych meds work? They’re like so dead sure they work and it’s just the ktea. Fucking narrow minded doctors. Obscenely narrow minded.

Mind dead.

More or less.

Well I wrote this blog post and I haven’t made any friends during that time–so you conclude it was all a waste, right? I am so impatient. No, this is completely reasonable. Society’s just slow. Technology is behind. Social networking is just the start. If you can’t find who you need in the crowd, it’s still crap. And that’s what it is.

What is it? It’s crap. Whatever that saying was. I forget.

Well anyway.

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