The Reason for..... It.

Isolation. Loneliness. Alienation. Loser. Fraud. Phony. Jerk. Irresponsible. Mean. Cruel. Uncaring. Unfeeling. Useless. Stupid. Circle. Square. A*s. Pig. Squealer. Peon. Nothing. Chimp. Neanderthal. Continues. Continues. Never ends. Never ends. Here. Alone. Not a soul. Not a body. Not a thought. Not a sensation. Emptiness. All been heard before. Will be heard again. Finished? No. Will continue. Will pretend. Will leap. Hold it. No. Yes. No. Yes. Resolved. Will continue. Will give a hang. Eat. Drink. Read. Study. Learn. Something. Empty. Confused. Dazed. Memory loss. No vision. Invisible. Deformity. B***h. Hate her. Hate him. Hate all of them. But mostly hate myself. Confused. Stop. Now.


Walking around, not feeling much of anything. I have felt this way for many years. Most of my life, actually. One will realize very quickly I am not one of witty phrases or purpose. I don’t believe in anything or I believe in everything without having any amount of evidence or knowledge to back it up. I’m a bit of failure. I’m a little pessimistic. I don’t care to explain all the details. I once wanted to go into the seminary but I didn’t want to learn all the prayers, the creeds, and to care about and for people 24/7. I have enough trouble caring about myself.

As far as friends are concerned, I don’t have them. After I graduated from high school I lost contact with any of the people I thought cared about me, maybe I even believed I cared about them. I was a fool. They were fools. We’re all fools. But now it’s time to take this back a little bit. It’s time we go to my other side that truly doesn’t care about offending others. As this is being written I am reading a book, a story about an alcoholic who enjoys performing show tunes and country-western songs while dressed as a cocaine-addicted mime. I wrote the story after seeing a play my friend, Rob, had written. Rob and I don’t talk much these days. He went into the seminary and three weeks after enterting decided to become a pimp instead. He likes women much more than he likes God or whatever his concept of a higher being happens to be.

Can’t say I much care for existentialism and amorality or any of its antecedents or offspring. I don’t much care for what any word or phrase means. I will make any word, any phrase make sense. I need to be laid. No, I don’t, but I need to talk to someone. I need to eat something other than cereal. I love frosted… love? I don’t know what love is. There I go throwing around words, useless semantics. Being silly, goofy, and love-starved. Why do I even want to be loved? I need to write a story about the end to the seemingly endless quest. Here we go.

I am out the door. I’m downtown. I walked there. I hate driving and all of my bikes get stolen. Here comes a female. She believes I’m a rapist, a pedophile or an underemployed derelict. Maybe she’s right, I don’t care for her already. Pretentious p***y. I’ll wipe that smile off her smug, pretty face. She’s not even pretty. I can see the darkness and hypocrisy that resides within her vacant heart. I say hi, she flips me the bird. She believes she has come out the winner, but both of us know deep down that I am the better, more congenial human being, and I am hoping to hear of this poor young woman’s demise tomorrow morning in the paper. Of course, I don’t much care for reading the paper. I say hi to the hardware store owner, he tells me to blow off, you dick. I take it in stride and only shed a few tears. Next I run into a man who wants to be a woman because he doesn’t feel right as a man but he doesn’t want to have the operation because it costs so much and he can be whatever he truly is without spending any amount of money, and remaining unemployed, broken, addicted, sick, empty, and almost as full of nothingness and hopelessness as men, but I think I might be exaggerating because I hardly know this man but I envy him his self-awareness and understanding or at least his seeming understanding of how he should have come out.

I see a delightful young lady by the name of Norma. I love her in a creepy, stalkerish sort of way. Well, that’s how people will see it anyway, but I really do love her or think I do so I might as well.