I want to write it on facebook. Am I heard?
So I write it on facebook. Am I heard?
People respond on facebook. Am I heard?
I read their responses. Am I heard?
Their responses are ways for them to seem clever. Am I heard?
I delete the post. Am I heard?
I write it here instead, adding to a deserted pile of meaningless complaint. Am I heard?
My future self browses, sympathizes, shakes his head. Am I heard?
I don’t really have friends right now. I mean, there are people who are my friends, but I never get the chance to see them or talk to them. Instead, I spend time with people who want things from me, chiefly affirmation. Is that all that friends are?
M has people. Friends, adoring fans, colleagues, artists. They seek her out. I have M. That should be enough, right?
When I find my people, they get tired of me fast, because my eagerness kills any value in my company. It was supposed to be that this one project would open me, but I’m closed more than ever. I worked my body to new limits, and now I think the body should just die. What possible point can there be to longevity, if quality is impossible? Why do people judge the junkie? Life is no different than chasing the dragon.