kanji

08 March, 2004
haunted... when the minutes drag

in journalistic terms, this has been overdue for eons.

but, you know what? i'm getting to the point that i really don't give a shit.

this is unfortunate... like my creative seeds are dying.

in the past week, i'm worn the same kind of blinders that every other male my age seems to burden himself with... nose bent so close to work, that nothing else intrudes. like warm, sunny days. the return of life to the landscape. rebirth.

rather... i fret over accomplishments, and the obstacles that delay them. money. time. putting on armour to avoid the inevitable stab in the back from whoever tries to get over. learning new things, every day... but more concerned about not knowing enough, and looking the fool.

ahhhh... planning for a house.

and, this is supposed to be a positive thing.

no wonder i've rented, forever.

if money were no object, this wouldn't be so problematic. but, from where i stand now, every detail needs to be sweated out... in sequence... all like some huge, life-or-death, razor-edged 3-D puzzle. with the bank, my creditors (past and present), and ghosts of my ancestors watching the clock. disapprovingly.

responsibility... how i despise thee.

rattling around in my mind... skipping another Wednesday. taking a hiatus from the radio station. working from the time i awake, until the sun goes down... eating, and vegetating. just like every other boring motherfucker that has preceded me.

eagerly dreading proposals from the contractors i contacted, last week. wanting to get the ball rolling, slightly panicked over forking over huge sums of dosh... none of which is truly mine. needing more, seeing the very real possibility of crushing servitude to the end of my days, just to have a place to live. money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money-money.

i hated the word before, and i hate it no less, now.

damn, caves would be so much easier.

i believe i just may have spent too much time out in the woods.

that's as close as i get to a sense of humor, recently.

what better evidence that i may need to avoid this journal for a while?

this is for when you feel...

nothing.

.


hit me with your rhythm stick




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