There’s the worlds inside and out, and ever since I can remember I’ve tried to master the inner while neglecting the latter, because it never seemed real to me, not as real as the world that I felt.
I wouldn't start from here
11/10/2024
09/10/2024
07/10/2024
You think it'll be OK, and then remember all the stories of madness, suicide, ruin and despair that happened to real people, like yourself, and there's no reason not to imagine a terrible end of your own, no reason for it not to really happen.
And at the same time, over the same years, I become bitter, celebrating the losses of others as some great leveller, while still nurturing a fantasy that something will change for the better in my own life, that in the end it turns out well for us all.
02/10/2024
30/09/2024
There's a terrible night, after an uneasy evening of ruminating on the sting of poverty and the mockery of the rich, the not even rich, the middle class, the working class who actually worked, unlike me, and then a real storm, with the fear of a ruined roof, more damage to the wood, the dripping into buckets, and nightmares, in and out of sleep, of floods and loss and shame, knowing in the waking hours between the sleeps that the next day will be broken, tired and performing badly, falling into bad habits, making it all worse.
But then I wake up and nothing is broken, I perform well, and the misery gives up to mystery and then the sun starts to set and I'm outside with a beer, some music, my favorite pen, and a bunch of index cards, and I'm breathing deeply, breathing well, as the planet turns and my town rolls away from the sun in a spectacular show, and I forget it all and tap into something sacred yet literally quotidian.
I'm alive, and the real magic, now as ever, takes place inside my head. There's nothing to me beyond me. My world is my world, it lives and dies with me.
I drink more beer, write on the cards, enjoy the hunger and the fire.
Today has been another exceptional day for an insignificant man who lives on the edge of collapse.
25/09/2024
23/09/2024
This is boring. This isn't the best use of life. And all I can think of to make it better is self-harm, as in food, drink, sloth, and so on, because any concrete steps towards making things better seem far out of reach, even if obvious: improve my mental, physical and financial health, make friends and get better hobbies. Start doing things I'm proud of, stop obsessing over poverty, madness and death.