I can't punch up what's already been perfectly stated. Anything I add will be a fist through drywall, not productive. I'm down, so I'm gonna punch down, though there's nothing to punch here. I'm due for a breakthrough.
When I didn't care, it didn't help either. That conventional wisdom is bunk, that I just have to stop caring. All this magic, all these secrets, I've had enough.
The anger is at this place I've gotten to that makes me react despairingly to minor things. It's not personal. I wish there was a person I could focus it on, but there isn't one, it's spread even and vast, it's somewhere between chunky and smooth peanut butter.
"At least I'm sober", sarcastic obeisance to the benign cult. I'm not a pedant about sobriety, I don't care if I meet the definition in the Queen's English. Oh good, there's at least one thing I don't care about.
Still care too much about all the rest of it. I'm due for a breakthrough.
Maybe I can make a breakthrough by quitting trying, it's the first step towards failure, as homer said, but actually, it's been thousands of steps of rejection. I won't hold myself hostage, that's not my intention, if I'm a psychic vampire then get your neck out of my mouth, it's not like I have any power.
I'm due for a breakthrough, but it's like the Big Quake that's supposed to hit sometime, it might be after I'm dead. So what if I'm due?
So fucking bleak, too bleak for poetry. Oh it could get much bleaker, I know. So what? So what if I'm due for a level of bleak that makes this look weak, I'm still gonna say what I'm gonna say.
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