succumb

Fatalism in my genes. Writer's block. Cockblock. It's nice to laugh. I can count on a few when I visit Robyn. So I guess I'm going on the trip. A sense of unworthiness. Why should I worry about worth? Is anyone worthy of anything? The questioning animal. The domesticated cat in her natural habitat, the sun-warmed sofa. No Jonesy, you can't come with us, there are fewer monsters here, you'll be safe.

Coffee, black and sour. I've succumbed to many things. I will eventually succumb to everything. A soporiff on a platform. These aren't metaphors, folks, except for the one about the mandible. I should know. Long black veil in my head. Nihilism for dummies. The Ballad of Mr. Awesome. The very region for happiness. Ebb and flow of energy. Which few did you have in mind, sire?

No sense putting off looking at the clock. Otherwise I'll be playing the guessing game for an hour. How many hours still to work? Sometimes even the "conservative" estimate is optimistic. Fragments - I won't say sacred. And I shouldn't be writing cause it just makes me want to sleep, even though I've slept enough. What is enough? I won't say "no end in sight", cause I don't want to upset anyone, don't want my negativity to rub off, I need it more than you, don't want you to take it the wrong way, or the right way.

How soon until the wave of pharmaceutical goodwill catches up to the guy that bags my groceries? Maybe his depression is too far downstream - or too far upstream. Maybe the causation chain hasn't reached his mood yet.

Insoluble. Insoluble. That is my name. The place where possibility is torture. Does it really, cosmically speaking, matter? In the long run, we'll all be dead. Dignity is dollars, currency, how we buy fuel. I'm not sure what that means anymore.

I've solidified into my adult psychological patterns. I think I'll be like this for the rest of my life, there's nothing much else coming down the pike. It's been persisting. I'm too tired to be angry anymore, now resigned to the loss of dez. The name seems strange now, strange to think I was ever on a real name basis with her, did I dream all those years? Most likely. I will go off my anti-depressant medication when I meet a girl who loves me, romantically, thus I will likely be on the meds right through monastic destiny, I just hope they take effect soon, before I’m the abbe of dull purity, playing the piano with the missing D, with a virtuosic past but no juicy stories to tell in the tavern, but memories of picking fruit, actual cherries, wide experience in that, both organic and pesticide coated, and a conversation over coffee in caustin, during a rainstorm, with that german girl in the okanagan.

Spare some corn for your king?