Jul. 12th, 2017


Jul. 12th, 2017 10:13 am
monk222: (Effulgent Days)
“I think I’m really from the first porn-saturated generation.”

-- Nicholson Baker

~ ~ ~

"Here is a good rule of thumb for dealing with Donald Trump: Everyone who gives him the benefit of the doubt eventually regrets it."

-- Ross Douthat at NYT

~ ~ ~

“The idea is to perceive your invention as a reality that can be understood as a dream.”

-- Philip Roth


Jul. 12th, 2017 09:29 pm
monk222: (Mori: by tiger_ace)
E-Friends do a lot for you. Those virtual conversations seem to provide a good deal of the nutrient values of real friends and real talks.

It's been a few months since I gave up on LiveJournal and the last remnants of a socially active e-life, and I think I am suffering withdrawal symptoms. I haven't had one comradely word since. Maybe I shouldn't have turned away old Pig Shit like I did, racist or not. At least he wanted to play the friend. He would pretend to be interested in my quotes and book excerpts, and I would pretend to be interested in his music videos, and we would gawk together at girlie pictures. Hardly much, but something, something more than this void I am stuck in now, stuck in again, presumably stuck in for good.

Over the past week, I have been playing harder on Twitter, hoping to find some friendly chatter back and forth, and I suppose that I am feeling all the more depressed because I am about as much of a hit as I was in high school and college. I think I am going to give up on 'retweeting' and 'liking' as well as commenting. What is the point of trying hard to be visible if nobody will see you?

I. Just. Don't. Got. It.

I tell myself that my books can give my mind enough to play with, but I am beginning to feel the lie in that. I can practically feel something shriveling up in me, maybe it's my brain, or an important part of it.

Funny. Maybe the main problem is that I have been trying to hang out with the smart set all my life when I should have been making friends on the short bus and with the retards. It's not just about ugliness, though it obviously doesn't help.

And maybe there is a God, and maybe it is a loving God, and maybe this is just God's way of helping me to accept the end, letting me see that life is not so great, not my life anyway. I shouldn't be scared about letting it go. "You won't be missing anything."


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