I fear I’m becoming institutionalised. The weeks pass, I have years to go but worry I’m waiting to die.
I get up early and clean the overnight rain from the ashtrays outside then return to bed. I do this to later harvest the butts that collect there. Otherwise they would be floating and useless to me. I make do with maintaining my last addiction this way. It’s intermittent and the supply waxes and wanes, a variable in an otherwise preset puddle, [too small to be a pond and an ocean is far to encompassing for my isolated soul.]
I drink coffee and work in various gardens at my own pace, killing and nurturing plants. I stare out to sea and wonder what is wrong with me. I’m often the only person left here. During the day other residents enter the wider world to participate in the flux. Am I girding my loins I wonder? Or am I now withered and loinless? Who can I help? I know that’s the key. I’ve been here nine months now and still have not devised a means to provide for myself or a role in the world.
“fake it til you make it” to me means wrapping yourself in indoctrination til it becomes your stable state.
I visited a friend last weekend, we see each other every few months and he suggested the most interesting things he reads of mine are my internal dialogues.
Everyone has them, they are unceasing. I try to grasp what could be interesting, admitting I have articulate skills, about mine?
I think in much the same way my clown profession reflected, the common themes are distraction and a wry dissection of the human condition. At best taking funny strange and somehow positioning it to reflect funny ha ha.
I let my mind wander and settle on the rest of the world changing somehow because that’s easier than examining whatever it is I have to do to ignite again.
I think if Glenn Beck somehow convinced his backend bellcurve balled fisted followers to adopt autoerotic asphyxiation and a million worthless Americans were found next morning blue in the face hanging from closet doorhandles with their gnarled fists around or in their room temperature genitals.... Then life would be different for me.
I need to find a street corner and work. I’m aiming for perhaps Italy next spring.
Someone bought a copy of my book today. I sell one a month.
I would eventually like to have had an audience that shared in my musings over twenty years that equaled the audiences performed to during that same time.
1000 people a day 6 days a week for 20 years vs 1 per month I hope the internet lasts that long.
[sigh] now I have to calculate
I drink coffee and work in various gardens at my own pace, killing and nurturing plants. I stare out to sea and wonder what is wrong with me. I’m often the only person left here. During the day other residents enter the wider world to participate in the flux. Am I girding my loins I wonder? Or am I now withered and loinless? Who can I help? I know that’s the key. I’ve been here nine months now and still have not devised a means to provide for myself or a role in the world.
“fake it til you make it” to me means wrapping yourself in indoctrination til it becomes your stable state.
I visited a friend last weekend, we see each other every few months and he suggested the most interesting things he reads of mine are my internal dialogues.
Everyone has them, they are unceasing. I try to grasp what could be interesting, admitting I have articulate skills, about mine?
I think in much the same way my clown profession reflected, the common themes are distraction and a wry dissection of the human condition. At best taking funny strange and somehow positioning it to reflect funny ha ha.
I let my mind wander and settle on the rest of the world changing somehow because that’s easier than examining whatever it is I have to do to ignite again.
I think if Glenn Beck somehow convinced his backend bellcurve balled fisted followers to adopt autoerotic asphyxiation and a million worthless Americans were found next morning blue in the face hanging from closet doorhandles with their gnarled fists around or in their room temperature genitals.... Then life would be different for me.
I need to find a street corner and work. I’m aiming for perhaps Italy next spring.
Someone bought a copy of my book today. I sell one a month.
I would eventually like to have had an audience that shared in my musings over twenty years that equaled the audiences performed to during that same time.
1000 people a day 6 days a week for 20 years vs 1 per month I hope the internet lasts that long.
[sigh] now I have to calculate
6 420 000 divided by 12
at the present rate my goal will be achieved in 520 000 years.
When highly intelligent millipedes and their exquisitely designed piano’s rule the earth.
at the present rate my goal will be achieved in 520 000 years.
When highly intelligent millipedes and their exquisitely designed piano’s rule the earth.
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