What else is there left to do but to lie naked on the rooftop and to jerk off to the warm summer breeze in the moonless hours of the night?
The mind gets dumber every day, sitting in front of the colorful screens for hours on end.
There is this constant worry over numbers and figures, over projects, over deadlines, over the trivialities of the ordinary mind.
The newspapers, the radio, the TV screens scream violence and stupidity that I must not associate myself with.
The cliched advertisements, the overwhelmingly bland content, the need to buy, sell, invest so that I can surround myself with even more materials.
These materials, that are needless, meaningless, joyless.
These materials have me worrying about numbers, figures, projects, deadlines, and the trivialities of the ordinary mind.
I forget names, I zone out and skip moments. Most of the time I’m empty and blank.
There’s just this mind left to lose, and slowly but surely, I’m on the track.
To all the stubborn brain cells that survived the nightly onslaughts of beer, whiskey, and cigarettes, congratulations, ya dumb fucks! A shameful death by sober boredom awaits.
Should have drowned when you could. But it’s too late now.
…..
It rains heaven outside.
But I stay in.
The wind has a crisp fierceness about it, strong enough to galvanize, revolutionize, and forcefully blow over the foggy thoughts in a worn-out head.
But I stay in.
I promised myself during my fits of boredom, that next time, I’ll be a witness to it all.
But tonight, I stay in.
My misery is making me lose the point of it all.
You might not think of it much, but it’s a dangerous thing. Possibly, the most dangerous thing there is.
The way I see it, you can be the most fucked up person in the world, the Van Morrison of anxiety and depression.
But, until you can ‘live’ a few rare moments here and there, it still makes sense.
Until you can steal a few ‘satori’ from the jaws of everyday misery, it still makes sense.
Until you can manage those survivor brain cells a few scant doses of dopamine, it still makes sense.
Until you have something to look forward to, that bitch called hope keeps you up and running, just enough for it to still make sense.
The ‘point of it all’ is still not lost on you. Something stays. Something keeps you going to satisfy the trivialities of the ordinary mind.
There are enough distractions in the world to keep you going for one more day.
But, once you lose the point of it all…I don’t know. I’ve never been to that place, not yet. But I’m starting to get the sense of how it feels, and that’s not a good thing.
The wind has picked up and changed direction. The black clouds have demoted the full bright moon into a sliver of the third letter of the English alphabet.
The change is coming. For better or for worse.
Until then, what else is there left to do but to jerk off?
Yet another distraction, my favorite one, to keep me going for one more day.
Until then, there is nothing else left to do but to jerk off…
The kind of writing that shows up uninvited, barefoot, at 3 a.m.
