didn't even get enough done to feel burnt out
Date: Apr 11th, 2008 11:01:41 pm - Subscribe
I've got a "syntax error" in one of my "FROM" clauses that I can't see a way to fix. Meanwhile, I've only been awake for 12 and a half hours won't be sleeping anytime soon. I wrote something earlier today that I thought would make a good blog entry:
When the idle musings of my mind cannot find solace in playful thoughts, when darkness blankets all that I perceive and little can be wrung from it but surety that I will one day die, when the collapsed vein on my cock precludes my escaping into libidinous fantasies, when all that is wrong with life transmogrifies that life into a life in which all is wrong, do I still rise from bed, place one foot in front of the other, and trudge into the unknown future? No, I wallow. I wallow in misery and grief and bankrupt fantasies of what might have been. There is always tomorrow for pursuing the future and, conveniently enough, tomorrow, there will still be tomorrow. I want a shot at redemption. I want a loaded shotgun.
For the record, the collapsed vein is healing. Anyway . . .
fuck SQL (angst)
Date: Apr 11th, 2008 4:49:12 pm - Subscribe
music: Pearl Jam - "Corduroy"
I'm sitting down, getting ready to finish up my end of a school project, feeling pissy that half of what's left is going to have to be written in SQL. I want a photo opportunity. I want a shot at redemption. What I have is this fucking program I have to write. Text parsing and SQL queries. And my mind's about as limber as the Maginot Line. The sun'll come out tomorrow, tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar . . . FUCK. All this medicine is making me feel like the kid from Deliverance, with about the same prospects for life. Except I don't play the banjo.
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Date: Apr 9th, 2008 9:32:06 pm - Subscribe
music: The Beatles - "While My Guitar Gently Weeps"
This process of growing up, growing old, whatever . . . no, Christ, why would I arrogate myself to thinking I have any thoughts on that which are worthwhile? I just want to comment that the vain dreams of youth . . . well, Chris Farley put it best: "You think you're going to go out there and take the world by the tail, swing it round, and put it in your pocket . . . but then you wind up living in a van down by the river." It's not that bad and some people's dreams do come true. I've just never met any of them. What's my point? There's no light at the end of the tunnel. There's not even a tunnel. There's just me, holding a candle in the dark, a candle whose flame obscures my foresight.
Thus spake Zarathustra . . .
Date: Apr 8th, 2008 7:05:26 pm - Subscribe
Mood: like I've got no soul to sell
music: The Rolling Stones - "Shattered"
If you're going to shag a sheep, take it up to the edge of a cliff so that it pushes back better.
I've been trying to kill myself in my sleep. Three times in the last two months, I've woken up gasping for air, strangling myself with the quilt. I remember when I was young enough to think I could figure the world out, I quipped that death is a means of consolidating one's problems, that, when you're dead, you only have the problem of being dead. Things are getting better, whether I want to acknowledge it or not. Instead, I want to take a bottle of pills that will kill me in a rather nasty fashion followed by another bottle of pills that will ensure I'll sleep through it.
My shrink says that my brain is in a state of flux, that it's healing, that the medication can be changed to match the symptoms. That doesn't change the fact that I put the wrong weight oil in my car and have been obsessing ever since about having a breakdown. "I could conceivably have a breakdown." I've always wanted to get, "If you don't expect too much from me, you might not get let down," discreetly tattooed somewhere on my body. Anyway . . .
Date: Apr 6th, 2008 7:45:43 pm - Subscribe
music: Andres Segovia - "Greensleeves"
I remember a time when nothing seemed without meaning, a life a bereft of even the stimulation that a golf tournament provides, but still a time when . . . no, what I wanted to write about was clarity. I remember a time when . . . okay, I'm being silly. Christ, I don't know what to write. I feel like I'm trapped in my own private hell. I had a dream in which I died many years ago and always thought it mildly interesting after the Nightmare on Elmstreet movies. I was wondering about that earlier today because at or about that time, my life turned into a rather dull version of Jacob's Ladder. Nothing I do or say can make any difference in the short term. That's what's killing me. I mean, if I were to threaten the president's life, Secret Service people would track me down but, other than that, nothing I write tonight could possibly make a difference. So, why am I doing this? It's not an outlet. It's not a forum. It's not even a soap crate with an overturned hat beneath it. But still, I've been writing these things for six months now and I feel like Dana Carvey doing his Robin Leech impression: "I don't know why."
People write blogs to bitch about things or to share the details of their day to day experiences but absolutely the most interesting thing that happened to me today is that Windows Media Player randomly generated a playlist while I was gone this afternoon. I started to write a blog entry about that but, Jesus, it would have turned into a bigger wrist-slitter than The Brothers Karomazov. Nihilism in action, people. And don't think it's not dangerous. Nihilists are worse than Nazis. I mean, say what you will about the tenants of National Socialism. At least it is an ethos. Great, I'm plagiarizing. I feel like I'm on the verge of turning into that guy from the movie Network who winds up giving a speech on television every night about how we're not even people anymore, just cogs on wheels, and gets shot for his bad ratings. I seriously do tend to suspect that autism is nature's Final Solution. Unless they do find out it's caused by mercury in breast milk from contaminated fish or something, I can't help but think that the diathesis for autism has survival value. We're social creatures, but we've lost track of the pack mentality of our ancestors. That beautiful, unique snowflake crap? The only time you get the feeling that the group is more important than the individual anymore is if you're participating in a riot or if you're on the right drugs. Christ, I'm starting to sound like I have a point. No more coffee for me . . .
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