Have you ever just succumbed to self-loathing so much that you could see yourself driving your car off the edge of a cliff on Mulholland Drive, letting it careen and float in the air, dead and weightless, until it comes crashing down, incinerating you and its contents within seconds of impact?
Have you ever stopped and thought about how pointless the whole game is, how meaningless every day becomes if you haven't done at least one thing to reclaim the day for yourself?
Have you ever thought about how senseless it is to be in love and not know it, to not give in for fear of being hurt? Isn't it more painful to not give in to the feelings that claw at you from inside, the emotions of desire and lust and wish fulfillment? Is it better to be disappointed and correct, or satisfied and incorrect?
Why do we fight the feelings? Why do we fight with the ones we care about?
Why can't we all just realize that this world is short on allies and filled to the brim with enemies who would love to see us fall? And why can't we see that our friends are not our enemies, and that without our friends our real enemies will trip us up and devour us?
Why?
I am in a funk. My mood fell. Elation led to inertia, and I am ready to get out of here and breathe some air, smoke some dope, say "Fuck all" to convention and normalcy and tradition and all that confining jazz, and I want to go out tonight and make an beast of myself, to dull the pain of being a man...
That's easy to accomplish-- I do it all the time.
Tomorrow, I will be in a better mood, I promise...
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