I woke up. And then I went back to sleep. I did this about three or four times this morning, until noon. Then I got up. That was seven minutes ago. It’s Wednesday. This is supposed to be on Sunday. Whoops.
I had some very interesting dreams. They involved my past quite a bit. There was love and tears and fear and loathing and longing and a whole array of things. I don’t know if that’s why I kept going back to sleep, or if it had more to do with the pure laziness and lack of motivation that I have become. I am nothing. So are you. So is everything. Isn’t it so grand?
But from this week and three days, what has grabbed me and said “Hey, this is happening so your life is changing and whether you like it or not, you have to deal with it”? Well, it was quite a few things. In fact this month so far has been crazy. This year has been too, but I’m not going into details. There’s no need to. I know what happened and I don’t feel that anyone else needs to know.
I have stuff to do. So do you, I’m sure. Yet here I sit so hung up on nothing that taking a step forward would be impossible. I haven’t been quitting smoking. I have hardly been doing my job. I’m already doing a shit job at school work. Why am I even fucking here at all? Maybe I’m not right for this place either. Maybe the whole fucking planet’s fucked.
But that doesn’t get me off it. And that doesn’t stop today from coming and eventually ending, which as every great cynic knows, will eventually lead into a little things called tomorrow. Why am I so jaded? Because I’ve been spending a year writing this stuff and even if I think I found something nice that fell from my mind, its warmth faded.
I’d like to hope to find something in all of this, but it’s early afternoon and it’s three days late and I watched far too many beyond bizarre movies in my cult film class to have anything even close to a grip on reality. If you think you do, then you’re wrong. There is no reality. At least not anything that we can understand. And if you don’t understand what I’m saying, the point is only proved further.
What do you know as reality? How do you know it’s real? Why? Because you can touch it? Because you can see it, or hear it or smell it? Nonsense. It could all be lies and you would be none the wiser. You and I may be nothing at all besides imagination from some consciousness. We may not be these physical bodies we live in, and if we are it’s not for long. Our flesh will fade and then what? Fairy tales have told us if we’re good, we go to a nice place when we die. But do what I do and sit there and think about that. Think about the idea of a heaven. If you have any kind of mind, you will doubt such a thing. You won’t believe that it’s real forever.
And if you do, I’m envious. You have mastered the art of sculpting your reality while I sit here and am tossed around by mine. I would ask you to teach me, but too many people have tried to and it just won’t work. I’m too jaded. It’s my thing.