I've been sitting on this blogging situation for a while. For fear of
having nothing to say or the possibility of confronting what I will
say, I've chosen to say nothing for weeks.
Or rather type nothing, cause, let's be clear, I say things all the
time. My inability to create a single public sentence has been
tormenting me. I made it symbolic of my failure to get a job/lover/bike
lock/convincing narrative and keep it at the forefront of my thoughts
at all times with my other pointless preoccupations. But after lying so
many times when asked "what I do," including my absentee ballot
application, I've decided to bite the bullet, imbibe a pint of Carlo
Rossi, and type my truths at 32 wpm.
Truth one: I was really good at school. That means nothing when you're not at school anymore.
Truth two: Poverty is as fun as you make it. Buy liquor in bulk
and drink to get drunk but only at house parties, alone, or with other
people. Free food always tastes better. Body odor is a state of mind.
Truth three: It's not what you can do but how well you can do it. It's
not that your ends don't meet but that they never meet. It's not that
you've become boring and uninspired but that your capacity for inane
self-observation is boundless. It's not that you feel frightened, ugly,
and alone but that if masturbation had a championship, you would be a
champion. Yes, I feel uncomfortable with that truth, but I'm sure it's
true.
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