Well, what the fuck else is there?

Tired of the excuses. The shortcuts. The backhanded way of doing things. I need to be writing. I need a blog. I’m tired of trying/failing to start something new, something anonymous. Fuck it. I’ve already alienated everyone at least once, why should I be worried about doing it again? Why worry about what happens when a prospective job decides to google my name?

See, I was all wrong. I was getting obsessed with “growing up” and whatnot. Turning 30 is hard to do when you spend your whole life thinking you’d never make it past “twenty-something,” you know? HARD TIMES, DUDE. But. Fuck. Shit. I did it. I got old. Now what? Should I “grow up” and find a reasonable way to make an honest buck, so I can someday support a family and blah blah blah blah blah? Even just wondering about these issues puts me to fucking bed. So. Then. What now?

There’s a really good chance that I am too smart to ever be happy. I mean, my brain never stops. I have this job, which I kind of hate. I go in every day and wait for something terrible to happen. I wait for confrontation. Heroin addicts. Meth heads. Arrogant, entitled, homeless people. My manager, who is a total bitch, by the way. Just thinking about the way his mouth curls when he speaks…. it makes me want to take a shit and watch Urkle’s greatest hits and cut myself all at the same time. My last job wasn’t much better. Neither was the job before that, and the job before that, and so on. OKAY. IT’S STARTING TO ADD UP.

Working. The concept of doing something I don’t want to do, for several hours at a time, on a regular basis, in exchange for green papers which I have very little interest in anyway. Yep, that’s working. And I don’t wanna do it.

work
I found myself thinking the other night, smoking on my balcony and staring at the half-moon, I was thinking this: “If everything is so small here, so entirely inconsequential, then what the fuck is the point in living? To help make the world better than it was before you got here.” Don’t worry, I’m not going to become a politician anytime soon, I promise. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? We are probably fucking pointless, unless we find a way to make a larger impact.

For me, that’s not an easy idea to sit with. I am 31 years old. Weird looking. Broke. Never went to college. Not as good at art as I wish I was. Not as good at math or science or languages, either. I don’t even speak Klingon, for fuck’s sake! So, sadly, I have no idea what to do. To make the world better. Not yet, anyway.

And then tonight I watched an old movie, a favorite from my childhood. Pump Up The Volume. Maybe you’ve seen it, hopefully? Here’s a clip, to refresh your memory, or perhaps to inspire you:

Anyway, I’m feeling inspired again. I started a new blog (again), for the purpose of being able to write secretly, privately, never having to worry about friends and family and lovers finding my blog and executing me for being a huge dickbag. But that was weeks ago, and I made 2 posts there. And then, tonight after the movie, I realised something very important. I don’t want to have some anonymous blog, even though it might be easier in the long run. Truth is, I want… no. I NEEEEEEED some motherfucking Stir-Fried Dinosaur in my life. I love this blog. It’s a semi-permanent testament, proof that I once did something constantly and consistently, for a pretty long while, and I was even kind of good at it.

So, in the meantime, even though I’m working a shitty job and having social problems and all of the other shit I get to eat every day, I’m going to do at least one thing I love to do. Maybe it’s not an immediate solution to my own futility, but maybe someday it will be. And even if not, I know this for sure: If you do something you really love, and then you share it for free with anyone who’s interested, that can’t be too bad a thing.

Next level. Next level. Next level. Next level. Next level. Next level. Next level. Next level.

Of course it’s been a year since my last post. And it was a long time before that one, too. I have not stuck with this, even though I promised a few people I would. But, you know, fuck you. Consider yourself alienated. I don’t do anything for you. I’m here because I’m crazy as batshit, and I can’t afford (and/or don’t trust) a therapist. I trust myself almost as much as I touch myself. So. Believe what ye want, while sucking on my ass, even. Because this:

I’M BAAAAAAAACK, FUCKERS!! Let’s party!

ron

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About R. Spacely

Bastard.
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