My diary thing
Hello, don't know if im going to post here much but here it is: my diary. Anyone can comment or whatever, im just going to be spit-firing thoughts. I've just been thinking alot. Its like for the past few years I left my brain in the basement before I finally took it to the attic.
My brain has gone on hiatus. A listener told me a quote from this rabbi about broadening your shoulders instead of lightening your load. I think I just collapsed under the weight of my load and now my body lays, just a writhing corpse, sticky crimson pooling under me. But I shouldn’t think that way. Sometimes I look at other posts and their lengthy entries or responses. Don’t know how they do it. I can barely type a word now without having to look away and bury my face into the bed. Maybe it's the heater. Maybe my brain is being fried and turned into melted strawberry ice-cream drying on the asphalt. Forgotten. But I guess we all are going to be forgotten one day. It's just life, you live and then one day you don’t. Or night. Night is my favorite time of day. The day has too much sun and too many things to do. The night is when you’re supposed to sleep but it's hard. Sleeping is tiring. Ironic. Well not sleeping but more the process of sleeping. Who can sleep when all your thoughts are racing in your head, not that they have anywhere to run to. Sleep is just plain dumb. Basic needs are dumb, too. You can’t even call them basic needs because there is nothing basic about them. Everything is so complex. I bring this up a lot, but slithering around as a spineless, boneless, being seems much better. That is if you didn’t have “basic” needs. Im angry. Like a shade of anger. I'm the anger that is blurry and kept behind a curtain. The anger you have no idea where it came from but it's there so now you have to deal with it. Take care of it. Nurture it. Or suppress it. Conceal it behind the curtains. Let it grow and explode behind the scenes. I wish I had talent. A respectable talent. Like singing, dancing, art, whatever. That’d make things a lot easier. I'm not even good at being a human. It's like adulting but humaning. Humaning is strange. Everything is strange. We like to think we know so many things but there are only so many “becauses”. Oh well. I would say nothing I can do about that but that's a lie. Lying is not good. Lying is not “morally” right. Lying is trash. I'm tired again.
