drunk-talk

I'll take no quarter.
Kill me here.
If I am beaten,
Why wait a year?

This hanging on, scraping by and getting through is pissing me off. Maybe it's my own fault. Probably, because I drink and do drugs, I inevitably must be a fuck up. That's the only way I can make sense of shit sometimes. It's like, the drugs are an excuse for a shitty life. If I had a shitty life and no drugs to blame, it's like, fuck what do you do, pick up a habit? People are so unreliable, they leave you hanging and stranded and broke and alone, no worse than drugs. At least drugs don't claim to do otherwise. They tell you right off; we're an escape from your mundane existence, we will eventually kill you. Friends don't mention that on the playground in grade 3 when you meet them. Oh, by the way, I'll turn my back on you if you get too haggard.

What a fucking cry-baby. Shut-up and keep it to yourself. Which really works out to a double shut-up. What good did talking ever do a person? Not a nation, a lone wolf mother-fucker like you, what did you ever gain by making your presence and opinions known.

Fucking spell-check, I better be spot on I guess.

So, is there any use in blaming my misfortunes on those responsible? Unless it's me, not really. How will I grow, but to learn distrust. I think I have that lesson covered. We're all crooks, don't leve shit unattended, because someone will steal it. Don't turn your back on someone holding, well, anything. I don't know, I'm probably agoraphobic and paranoid and it's probably no one's fault but my own. But if that's the case, should I be left to my own devices? Or should I be lobatomized and used as a worker slave?

No clear right and no clear wrong.
But it all sounds good if it rhymes like a song.
And it's got a beat and you move your feet,
and bob your head, then your life's complete.

Maybe I want to blame others for my own mistakes.
Definetly I want to, but maybe I do.

Our world is filled with cinderella rags to riches stories of people getting saved from their crummy lives and well, being rich. They say money can't buy happiness, but I bet it makes you happy knowing you'll never have to worry about food, so long as the economy doesn't collapse and the world doesn't end. Knowing you'll always have a place to sleep, and lights and heat. Money to buy books or maybe even to travel. It's such a production to leave the city for a night, you need to make travel and sleeping arrangements, allocate extra finances as well as book the appropriate time off. You can't just go somewhere for no reason...

Or can you?

I'd like to do that. Travel, more like wander aimlessly, just taking in the sights. Looking for action, lending a hand(or more likely an insight) when I can. That sounds better than working the same shit job, struggling to curb your natural instincts to tell everyone to fuck off and quit, still barely getting by, drinking excessively to cope with you self-abaitment. At least when you are genuinely looking everyday for food and shelter, you are invested in what you are doing. You really care. Not like your shit job selling whatever crap or doing whatever shitty surveys over the phone. "It's not even done over the phone! We send it through the mail!" Shutup working-Me. Your dead until tomorrow morning. And I'm leaving you a present. It's called a hangover. Have fun.

God damn I'm a dick, but I'm awesome. Heh heh. I made myself smile. Alright, I'll get through tomorrow, and thus another week. Hopefully this weekend will bring some strange fortuitous experiences.