Posts Tagged ‘life’

Altogether, I think we ought to read only books that bite and sting us. If the book does not shake us awake like a blow to the skull, why bother reading it in the first place? So that it can make us happy, as you put it? Good God, we’d be just as happy if we had no books at all; books that make us happy we could, in a pinch, also write ourselves. What we need are books that hit us like a most painful misfortune, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, that make us feel as though we had been banished to the woods, far from any human presence, like a suicide. A book must be the ax for the frozen sea within us. That is what I believe.” – Franz Kafka

I went in an Apple store. They knew me by name and that I’d had my mac repaired by them.

Now I’m worried there was something dodgy on my laptop!

For the record, I mean along the lines of pirated software — not pictures of me in my underwear.

What could Apple possibly have seen on my mac that’s so weird they remembered my name?

100% pirated software except for Scrivener, which I bought, because priorities?

Apple’s hardware is expensive enough as it is.

Individual pictures of ALL of my personal possessions?

It’s a long story.

5000 ebooks, 700 audiobooks and hundreds of books on the occult?

Ok, I take your point.


Another day another pointless.

I’m thinking about the northern write club. There is clearly minor interest. And if it doesn’t pan out then fuck it I’m busy. And on that note I’ve got to do some stuff all next weeks starting tomorrow. And really should apply for some jobs.

Fifty words in and I’m already bored and restless. But what is there to say? And what is there to do. And why aren’t I dead yet?

It always comes back to this. But death comes to all of us in the end and soon so what’s the rush. But also what’s the use.

There is no grand meaning of life. It’s inherently meaningless, but that’s no bad thing. How could all life have one meaning when there’s so many of us? Did you expect one size fits all? Because, you know, that always helps.

And right now I’m suicidal. But also bored brainless and stupid. And I’m only doing this bit here to make the numbers up but feel bored fat tired and stupid and why the fuck am I here.

And I received a text message from someone which was kind, but I didn’t know how to respond as I’d already decided that I wasn’t going to get in touch.

I’m fucked at the moment. The realisation is that I’ve got to do something about my depression in any case otherwise I’ll be dead. Not that anyone should give a fuck about that. But yeah.

So near and yet so far. I hate living at the expense of others. I’ve made such a fucking mess of my life. That’s why I keep thinking of suicide. Either that or it’s an easy way out. But I don’t believe that as dying scares the shit out of me. Or at least used to do. But now I’m so fucking tired that it doesn’t matter any more.

I should hold Write Club this Thursday and if I don’t then I’m never going to do it. Oh shut the fuck up you boring asshole. HEY wait a minute, don’t talk to me like that. Why not? Because we’re better than that, that’s why.

We’ve achieved a lot. I just feel like the kid that never grew up and never wanted to and was always several years behind the other kids, still playing games, lost in my own little world, whilst others planned their careers.

Broken moments, another evening close to the end. Close the sleep and bored but at least trying. And now really fucking hungry so I really should go to bed. I’ve got jobs to apply for and someone just shoved a PHD in front of me again.

Fuck it, I’m old. Do you have any idea how old I am. Am I writing? Am I dead yet?

Got asked what the tablet was I was taking. Politely refused to answer, more because I think it’s none of their business than anything else. They probably know or suspect but frankly it’s nothing to do with them. And I’m not prepared to have ‘the discussion about anti-depressants’ over a decision I’ve made about my own fucking life.

With all due respect.

The dreams have been strong and constant which is odd as it only highlights just how much I’ve not been dreaming as much for years. Fuck it, I’m dead anyway. Let’s see what happens.

But goddess if you can use this to our advantage please do so. God, I wish you looked like a mermaid. Long story. Are you friends with sirens or something?

Feel a little dizzy and foggy but not dead just yet. Still me, but with more levity. Still grumpy, bitter and sarcastic but now I find this funny. Still have headaches but so what. Not well in every sense and noticeably exhausted, but I really hope this helps.

I don’t want chemical castration or lobotomy. But I don’t feel wrapped in cotton wool, just like I’m floating several inches out of my own body.

And I’m listening to music again. Lots of it. That’s where the blood is. We sat on the floor and listened to music like we used to do when we were children. The kids were just looking for a way home.

Who knows what happens to friends these days. Break open the head or destroy the heart. We didn’t burn the bodies, but the mind shines bright. Or something.

Who are you? What are you looking for? Why are you here? What do you really want?

So, fuck it.

I just took anti-anxiety meds.

I know I just set my alarms and the drugs are kicking in and I’ve a better chance of eating shit than getting a good nights sleep and but am now too drugged to care.

Holy shit.

Fuck it.

I had a nice restful day all told and tomorrow I shall get up and out and then the weekend is mine and I will spend it doing stupid shit that I enjoy.

And I enjoy writing, for what it’s worth.

And I enjoy a bunch of other shit too.

And isn’t it fascinating the way that the world outstrips technology in a few years and now only a few months.

Two years is considered the most people keep their phones for because why would you do anything else when the rest is round the corner, the newest latest not-so-greatest model.

Not all change is good.

New doesn’t necessarily mean better.

It means what the fuck.

New just means new.

Fuck these people and fuck this life.

I was born asleep but soon woke up.

Not true — I was born screaming.

And whilst in an incubator for the first few weeks of my life I screamed a lot.

Just to prove I was there.

We spend our whole lives wanting people to notice us or not notice us.

I was a Friday Job, born on a Wednesday.

6 to 8 weeks premature, depending on who you ask.

I nearly died.

Which doesn’t mean I should have died, just that like the runt of the litter I had to make up for lost time.

I’m lucky to be alive and I survived for a reason.

We have to believe shit like that or how else can we go on living?

We’re just here for the ride.

What’s your story?

Mark Manson doesn’t give a fuck. Nor should you.

When we say, “Damn, watch out, Mark Manson just don’t give a fuck,” we don’t mean that Mark Manson doesn’t care about anything; on the contrary, what we mean is that Mark Manson doesn’t care about adversity in the face of his goals, he doesn’t care about pissing some people off to do what he feels is right or important or noble.

via The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck.