12.27.17

the more i care about something the more foolishly i muck it up. this accounts for both people and tasks, physical, meta–, inspirational, philosophical, artifacts from dreams, the shards of night fever and deep unconsciousness that remain with me until daylight. if i have to blame someone for my depravity i suppose i’ll blame the sun. its cycles disrupt what (i’m sure) would otherwise be a seamless and powerful work habit and the mental acuity to foresee hurtful things before i say them or deranged actions before i perform them. here and now i will make a request from the ancient forces of the universe. arrest the rhythms of time. let it progress, fine. but do not allow me to perceive its movements. keep the world eternally in either day or night. provide me with a room with large windows and a ceiling fan and ample drugs and books and a few good movies (there are only a few in existence) and maybe some records and, oh, yes, of course, the woman of my fantastical imagination, who is actually real, and so annoyingly perfect that i suspect she might be the algorithm of some simulation. this has gone on too long. i will retire to my bedroom now and die only to reemerge in a matter of hours, a rebirth into light and recalibration to sunshine. repeat, renounce, reactivate. god bless this wretched existence and the miracle of earthly gifts which we chew up and spit out like the ungrateful shoats we are.

Written at 10:52 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.