Knock on Plastic

Bought many things today, things for maintaining and improving my quality of life, things for sleeping better, things for eating better, things for hearing music more clearly. A pile of more stress, more maintenance, more to lose. It gives me no comfort. Can’t muster the energy needed to keep my silly little life going. Can’t get into the materialism trip. So what am I working for? No one’s come to visit, not one person, since I moved in here. I feel potential meaning in people but they continually disappoint. I’ve tried to find purpose within myself, in my projects, but there’s nothing there. Just the same old patterns that stopped giving pleasure. No poetry today.

Was supposed to be a new paradigm but it solved nothing. An afternoon daydream of self-esteem for a terminal cancer patient. Variations on depression, in blog form, the minor algorithm in arpeggios, thank heavens it’s on permanent record. This is what I have to contribute. I have no one to take care of. No one who needs me. There are infinite degrees of circumstance worse than this. Doesn’t make me feel any better. Happiness is just a flaming moe away.