I will not find you interesting if you talk about covid. I’m not going to talk about it.
You don’t like my poetry. You trash are fucking retards.
My poetry is genius.
And by now you should’ve understood my style of humor.
It’s funny because none of it matters. Anger is funny.
We’re on vacation in Monterey. It’s… okay. We are doing things. I don’t have time to wallow in my existential depression. But going back today, after we visit the acquarium (something which I have no interest in doing, I don’t give a shit about fish, as long as they’re healthy in the oceans and not toppling ecosystems, wtf who gives a fucking shit they don’t look cool or anything everyone’s seen fish before), I’m starting to feel that regular depression I feel in the late morning. That, I’m useless I serve no purpose, kind of semblance.
And it’s true. I’m useless and I serve no purpose. My purpose is to be loved and celebrated. But if that’s all then I’m sort of a piece of dead meat. I exist only for my family to care for me / about me? That 100% makes me useless. If I created things, or were a successful poet, I would have a function. But as of now I don’t. I don’t see myself finishing the web design course any time soon. Then there’s the data science datacamp bullshit I payed up front for, $300. Fucked in the ass by marketing. IT’s a scam. All of it.
I just want to drink coffee. That’s all I want to do. Period. Forever.
Of course I miss kratom and opiates. Percocets were better than kratom, more pure. Pop a pill or two and walk around the park. So good, feel the soles of your feet in your shoes, gently caressed. The stride of your footfall. IT was idyllic. The best. The best it can be is idyllic.
I write so many blog posts and you know how much fucking money I make off of them? Zero dollars. So fuck you.
I have so much not-so-pent-up anger. Mom’s a waking moron. Brother thinks he’s a God blessing us with his presence when reall y he’s a nasty bitch who’s unpleasant to be around because of his fucking negative attitude. These people. My family. THey haven’t a clue. Dad’s out. That’s all I say.
We’re leaving today. Back home. I need to clean up my room. My sliding closet doors broke. They’re sort of dangling at an angle in their wheel tracks. Yeah.
We’re throwing away some restaurant leftovers. So expensive. Fucking raped up the ass expensive.
I have to go home. I have a home. A home that is not a home. I have to make it a home. I don’t know how to. How do you make someplace comfortbale? How do you get rid of expel negative energy which haunts a location?
I’m a scientist. I don’t know how to do these things.
And even at that, I wasn’t really trained well. So I’m not a very good scientist.
Our waitress at dinner last night was this hispanic girl who walked very quickly, only her hair was like almost chun li kinda so she looked asian. I was envisioning romance, what else. It didn’t happen, of course.
More cute girls at restaurants prior.
How to meet people.
THey don’t teach that in school. They literally let you run loose in the schoolyard and figure it out on your own. The education system is fucked.
I just want coffee.
I hate this, all of this. I don’t want to be here.
It’s my birthday. That’s why we’re in Monterey btw.
I guess even that can’t make me happy.
My friend Nick didn’t send me a happy birthday text. He probably forgot when it was.
He has ADHD and I think, it seems from afar, that it’s worse than it was before. Just a guess.
As usual, these blog posts are fucking useless. No one reads my shit. I guess there’s like a priest in the audience. Woohoo. Amazecakes. Thank you.
We are going to get breakfast and then head out. I don’t like being alive but death is a horrifying idea. So.
I won’t bother saying good luck or whatever even pontificating ideals about your life. Seems pointless