Sucks that I am too lazy and intimidated to get a normal job, be a regular human. I dunno. I am a quarter century into this. How many did I try to charm? I just think about it, man, how much longer do I give a shit, honestly? I can’t be what anybody wants. And now writing like this, I just look like more of a weirdo.
To make a touch of an excuse for myself, just a touch, I traveled down to Virginia and people knocked me out chemically and shocked me into a seizure. Fuck it, man. I don’t want to be a turd. Maybe I can still make clothes, but still, why, this underlying feeling of wrongness always? My body of poetry, body of expression, to make others feel good and if possible return some of it.
Even if I still feel the pain, I’m old enough now to not have that angst-y teeny everyone’s evil attitude. So you’re still beautiful, I know, I won’t pretend to take that away. Gah, sometimes just gotta whine. The neverending weakness. That not even the most drastic stuff helps, but you do everything to preserve yourself for the supposed sake of your family and friends.
And really man, maybe it doesn’t sound like much. It is partly, at least, for the love of you guys. I hate to make it seem like you’re propping up a wreak but I try the best I can for you.