This year unfinished.
Bowie. Prince. George Michael.
New Job. Old Job. Staying alive...I'm barely there.
The idea of re-igniting my creative side seems daunting. So much work...I am 'on' all the time. People who are hurting. People who are hateful. People who just won't fucking go away. Narcissistic people. Theatre people. Needy people. Unhealthy people. Dead people. I can't anymore. Can't quite make it, or fake it. All my heroes are dead or imaginary. Everyone else I want to punch in the face.
and I'm always tired.
Working for someone, for something, for nothing probably. Waiting for the pleasure bus...or day that is ever truly 'off'.
Not happening. Everything is happening. Everything at once. No time. All the time. Too busy waiting...for the malestrom or the hale storm, or the inane questions about the hatestorm...I'm so fucking tired. god am I so so so so so fucking tired.
No art, no music, barely hanging in there for someone to complain about something I have no control over. All my heroes are tabloid fodder. I want to spit acid on the TMZ-goons of this world. I want my 90 days. I want to sleep. I want it all to go away for 5 minutes. I wish I was 10,000 miles away with another name and face.
Its quiet here, except for george michael in the headphones muttering quietly on the living room floor, like hands clasped silently in space....celebrating sadness.
Life is so rough. Yeah? save your fucking super peevish white people problems. They're nothing. Superficial. Cosmetic. Surface. The suffering you experience is all in your head. Perceived. So many tired, angry, lazy people that deserve nothing more than to be punched repeatedly in the head until they are unconscious. I am one of them...waiting for that day. Waiting for me. Waiting for the quiet.
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