Coffee thoughts

make you wonder if there’s anything in my head worth wringing out… Because thought drops are shit enough without the proper things.

I’m sitting here in my underwear wondering why cheetahs and the name of the snack is so fucking hard to spell. Maybe I’m lazy? I could be lazy.

Either that or I just don’t want to pay attention to what I’m saying anymore. i’m seeing a therapist because recently, I tried to hang myself. I know, shocking, right? Actually, it is in a way.

I’m too bored at the moment to go through the whole process of reliving that shit, so I’ll just link the tweet thread at the end of the post. I drank a cup of coffee at the moment, so nothing I’m saying actually makes much sense. But i don’t think it’s supposed to, maybe i’m trying to be more than I want to be at the moment, but i really need to get back into the whole blogging thing. I love the stats of seeing how many people read my stuff, all across the country and all that, but I gave up trying to keep up with the times or what’s trending, because than I just lose the point of writing the blog.

which is to just keep my thoughts out of my head, and into your heart. or some strange fucking bullshit like that. I dunno, recently i’ve just been at a loss for words because of what I put myself though that it just seems pointless trying to find the right audience. Maybe there isn’t one? Maybe I just don’t know how to run a blog? Or maybe I’ve found the right audience, but at the same time, my skills at marketing it are kind of shit?
I really don’t know. the most important question I have at this point is why the moldy fat bridge troll Rudy Fuckedhisaunty thinks that the Truth isn’t the Truth, when in fact, the Truth, is the Truth. I’d like to punch him.

I don’t care if he’s a lawyer, or former 9/11 superhero, guys a fucknut, and I challenge him to a fist fight. i’d kick his ass. He knows it, I knows it, and now i’m speaking like Popeye, because fuck proper spelling at this point. Do you know how many hamster i’d like to fire out of a minigun?
Me neither, because I don’t have a gun license, a minigun, or a bullet belt with tiny enough hamsters to find out the answer to that very disturbing question.

I could be looking at a mirror, but then how would I write on the keyboard? this blog is a mystery. Some points are constant, others are just fuckled mysteries that need more explaining than people are will to put forth. though I don’t dare claim to be a great blogger, I’m just putting my thoughts out there, a Gonzo blogger if you will. there’s no hard hitting truth, no mystery of the universe 3, just one asshole, a cup of coffee and a wifi connection that’d make you wonder if there’s anything in my head worth wringing out… Because thought drops are shit enough without the proper things.

Maybe I just wanted to write something, I’ve been out of the loop, and as much as I want to rag on Trump for this or that, I just don’t have it in me anymore. Yeah, I could put more energy into my posts, add a picture or two, but really? i’m a lazy blogger, my entries are what they are, and despite all my efforts to try and cultivate an audience, my thoughts are kind of flat and boring. Do I let you into my life and get yelled at for it by my controlling parents or do I just dance around the topics that are long bothering me and leave you more disappointed than a hooker hired by a club of ED sufferers?

Okay, that one was pretty good. Sometimes I don’t get it, I try to make myself interesting in some fashion, it works out for a while, and then I get bored with it. Why? What’s the point?  Is there some greater purpose i’m supposed to be serving? Do I just go slowly insane talking to myself for weeks on end, gibbering in a strange language that only I and the shadows in a well lit room understand? Or am I just getting older with the knowledge that no matter what I try? My own futile attempts at some form of relevancy or just enough to make someone laugh for half a second before turning to something more interesting?

Maybe i need to get drunk off my ass again and write from that standpoint. I’ve been a bit angry at nothing for a while. Powder room with no lit fuse or something. Something to focus my energies on, something to grasp at straws. I’m good at being despondent, annoyed by things out of my mental grasp, and just in general, being a massive asshole to people on twitter, or maybe I’m not a massive asshole on twitter… maybe I’m just me, not fully grasping the nuances of comedy as as write this in the voice of a fucking noncy wine consumer.

Don’t know. Don’t care. Bored. I need to do something with my life….

My ear feels weird…

Last night I had a weird dream, and in the dream, I was trying to figure something out. It was like I was lost in the woods, trying not to focus on what was right in front of me, even though that was the important part, and focus on everything else that was happening in the area. It seems stupid, I know, but that’s how I am now a days ever since coming home from being Separated from the Navy for catching pnuemonia andfalling behind in training.

They did something to me, something that I’m not able to account for, they broke me, and in turn, broke a little bit of who I was away. I can’t find that peice, I’m easily distracted if over stimulated, and more prone to getting angry than I was before. Normally, I’m a pretty calm person, but lately, I dunno, it’s almost like I’m not my old self anymore. Like I’m trying to fight my way through a smokeyroom, but I’m the only one there, left to my own paranoia about who else might be in there with me.

It doesn’t make any sense to continually dwell on this, but at the same time, it feels perfectly normal for me to want to talk about this kind of thing. And while I know for a #realnews fact that my Lady Love, friends and family will be there to talk to, there’s always been this more visceral, more thorough satisfaction in writing out whatever’s bother me!

Lately it’s trying to get past that initial wall of surface level thoughts, but that’s like diving into wet cement trying to get through to the other side, there’s always so much resistance, that I can only write or say what’s on my mind, whats ACTUALLY on my mind, after repeated attempts to breach the subject. Sometimes they are depressing, other times enraging, and other times there’s nothing there.

I’ve been blogging nearly my whole adult life, and in some instances, way before then. So I’ve got a lot of pages under my belt… I still need to get everything organized… But I’ll get it done, and published. I just need to stay focused…. My ear feels weird.

Stupid thought of the day.

I have too many places to write…. I feel somewhat trapped by the number of corners or interruptions that prevent me from accomplishing my goals. I don’t give a fuck about what others have to say in regards to what I post, as I’m pretty used to getting ignored on one level or another. Seems pretty sad when you think about it, but, hey, there it is. I’m like a silent voice, no one really cares what I have to say, and the only way they are able to relate to me is if someone else says something horrid first. I guess that’s what I anted to get out of the way, nothing particularly exciting, just another paste in the wind so to speak. It might sound like pure dumbassery, but that’s reality.
It’s not fun, it’s not great. It kinda sucks, and it’s filled to the brim with people who would see you torn down because of some unforeseen sadness in their own life, or because they think its funny.. Always stay strong, no matter what the odds are. don’t pay too much attention to the outside world, because once you do, you end up figuring out that it’s mostly just bullshit and lies. I’m not trying to be an idiot here, just putting my thoughts out into the void. It’s a strange bit of love here and there that makes sense most days.
But, then again, who the hell am I to say what to do with your life? go out, make mistakes, bad choices, and live life like no tomorrow. Easier said than done.

I feel invisible…

I can’t seem to tell if it’s just the way I’m aging, or if I’m actually kinda losing my mind. I’m staring a cup of coffee, black, no creamer, and I’m instantly snapped to focus on something else. As if the urge is telling me that I’m out of focus, out of energy, that I need to get back to the basics of who I was before the internet came along and shrouded me in the never ending parade of stupidity, videos, and various little obsessions that never amount to much more than a bad headache and lost time.

I can’t really put a finger on it, or maybe I can. I’m trying to search for something, anything to write about that isn’t main stream, that makes me invisible for the time being. Almost like I’m forgetting something. Something near and dear to me, something that’s always at the edge of of my thoughts, just past where the light of creativity touches, something forbidden. I don’t know what that is though, like a writers block almost? you know that feeling where you take a hard look at your life in the moment, and you think, just where the fuck am I right now?

I’m at that point, and whether I like it or not, I have a following, a slightly small one, but a following none the less.
Maybe I’m just too serious?
Too ridiculous?
Too… Me?
But I look at the posts I’ve made in the past, and wonder at what I was aiming for when I wrote those. And half the time, I’m too terrified to go through them to edit, because maybe I already know what’s lurking in the darkness of my memory of that time? An indirect trauma, a lashing of forgotten nightmares, so pent up inside a few trigger words that I might scream for help for nothing more than a few digitized words?

I don’t know if I’m being overtly dramatic or what not, but that’s honestly the way I feel when I look at a blank post, a clean slate for that precious few minutes wherein the only thing I need to worry about isn’t making a video, or starting a live stream, or even dealing with the dramas and annoyances of the discord server. It’s just a visceral feeling, like your mind finally feeling free, released, relaxed and in its own way, creative at long last.

It’s a kind of zen in a way, a way to unwind, letting your thoughts melt away into the ridiculous depths of your own psychosis, your own psychological instability directing the way you travel. Eventually you’ll get to the heart of the matte,r and no matter how much you trumpet your intentions, there’s always one thing or another to deal with. I don’t mean to be vague, but the fog of my mind will eventually clear up and we’ll get to the heart of the matter rather quicker.
I guess I’ve always been this way, meandering thoughts, loosely connected by little tidbits here and there of faceted reality that might not otherwise be known to the outside observer. But wander away we must. Not that I’m trying to figure out a deep meaningful story, or waste your time. I’m just traveling my own path, and if for some reason you seem to be aligned with me, for whatever length of time, then I guess we’ll be travelling together.

I don’t usually get into the habit of deep intellectualism, or intelligent discourse, or something more than the garden variety idiocy that I’ve come to accept as part of of my everyday life. I just like writing, the way the click of the keyboard matches up in an awkward way with the music eventually. I know that I’m going to run out of things to talk about, or write about, or I might simply get distracted yet again.
It’s a worrisome habit of mine. And I do rather like taking the scenic route to reach the heart of the matter. But I like it, there’s no rush, no demand on my time, nothing of the sort. In fact, regarding the discord and Youtube and twitter weirdness, the fervor of the fan bases, the dumbed down regency of the varying users that tend to try and make my life a living hell… You don’t notice it here, on this blank slate of a blog post, you are truly in your own head.
Truly without a companion in the writing sense, and yet, sometime in the future, after I’ve posted and forgotten about this, a random person will read this, and I won’t even get a chance to thank them. But such is the way of things, and such as they will forever remain.

I don’t get many commenters on my posts, never have. I don’t know why that is, I guess I’ve always been a bit bad at getting a following going, despite what the numbers say on twitter, or vine, or live.me, or Youtube, audience interaction is always low. I don’t really have access to engaging topics, or even entertaining stuff. I just have to make do with my own quick witted mind and hope that’s enough…

In the end, I am alone, on my own. And while it does on occasion depress me, I never that I’ve got friends that are just a phone call away, or even fans that I can tweet at for a quick conversation. Although they only want a fan sign, or a video, or something of that meaning, they are kids, so I shouldn’t judge them too harshly. All I know is that I’m far stronger than I was when I first started writing. though I’m mostly just flailing in the darkness, I know that eventually something or someone will latch onto me.

After all, we bloggers are a lonely bunch.

Aren’t we?

 

 

 

 

 

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