silverrevolver

Productivity, production, product,

I am such a lazy motherfucker, I bitch about my boredom, my lack of money all the time, but never do anything about it. No more, I'm angry at myself in much the same way one gets angry at their parents when they do something that is undeniably fucked up, but they are in no position to do anything about it. The trouble is I'm fickle, I'd like to think of myself as an artist, an original thinker but I know I'm not and I also know that there is no such thing. There's only human beings and shitty human beings, I think he best one can do is to try to be the former. The short of it, I'm sick of having life take me by the hand, endless strolls in the park, endless cafes, endless solitude. Frankly I'm sick of it. It's not living, It's hard to believe that I ever thought that it was, so I try something else. . . but what?

I do know this much, no more letting life carry me, it's time I carried myself.



I'm going to write again. A story based on a Mark Twain quote "Keep Your Hat On, We May End Up Miles From Here"