THE WRITER MUST EAT -> patreon.com/trn1ty <- blah! ideas with no tangibility; ideas with irrelevant supports; ideas without value; ideas' witlessness; ideas' witnesses; ideas- <^> 2023-12-14 : Ruminations Published here under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial- NoDerivatives 4.0 International Public License. Written over the last two weeks or so. Do not read this if you know me personally and ideally do not read otherwise, either. Do not try to talk to me about this. I'm not gonna kill myself. I just was ruminating about the idea. - I've been thinking about killing myself; the coward's way out, sure, but a way out nevertheless. I really want to die. I want to feel it. I'd like to drown, to immolate, to bleed out. I crave the subtleties of the experiences that I cannot fathom. In my dreams I do; I am chopped with axes, - slain with swords, various means of blunt force. I am both executed and executioner, I experience all perspectives simultaneously as it is my subconscious that renders my potential fates, and in the moment I am cruel, and in the moment I am kind, and as the one - to die I feel relieved to go, to be able to let go of my stresses and fears for my longed-for certainty. I'm tired of the lucky escapes, the dei ex machinae. I feel like a character of fiction, the pulp protagonist that always improbably makes it out of the bind. Like my fate - is already written, predestined; sometimes I can even see the lines ahead, Kami knows sections by heart. I just got on the bus I wasn't sure I could afford and it was free. Maybe I'm an angel, compulsively accomplishing selfless miracles. If so, to be an - angel is to be in Hell. Condemned to goodness. I am so fucking stressed because it takes more and more work for everything to just work out. This morning I thought I was gonna break down, actually just break down. But that's not in the pages. - I want to be alive and without anaesthetic for my dissection. I want to see the scalpel approach my flesh, feel it carve me and see my own pink-dyed subcutaneous fat. The crimson viscera. I want to taste my own blood as I succumb to - mortality. Done by [...] or [...] or both. In my scripted demise will I know commfort, will I have known comfort? Or will I faint into a trench and have the cold work its way in from the extremeties. This morning I cried, now my sadness had hardened to a rich, - coffee-smooth bitterness, a numbness too. I can't keep friends because I never interact first, see myself a burden. The fuel that weighs down the ship. Spend me until you have nothing left, be free of me among the stars. I arrived at work an hour and a half early. It's - nothing, the time ticks on regardless. I hate Christmas music. I am so alone. [mi] [olin] [ala] [e] [mi]. [mi] [ike] [tawa] [mi]. I wish to be primitive, of the forest, to be solitary. I would be so lonely without [...]. I don't talk to the people close to me and to others I say less. I want to taste my blood. I want to - burn myself. I want to die. But I don't want to do it. My friends depend on me. And I have things to write. When I am done I will take my leave. I want the suffering to be over. I want Nirvana. Nirvana isn't heaven, it's simply the conclusion to a finite cycle of rebirth. The conclusion to one's - suffering. I'd like to see Chicago, California, the Bodhi tree, the sunrise from atop a mountain, a molten wall, the inside of a flame, mucky clotted blood. A chunk of clot in a pool of it. - It's not that I don't know how to ask for what I want but that I know I only get what is deserved, not what is desired. I am a parable; beware of excess. It's better that I don't control my own fate else I'd meet it. I believe I am have cancer because I don't want to believe - I will live 60, 70 more years, because the best of those I knew did not. When I hear the Underscores song I think, know it too; Everybody's dead and it's all my fault. I don't have the means to be vegan in a way that is healthy but I can't bring myself to eat dead animal; I've - caused enough harm. I feel too old and too young. I don't know how to afford rent. Not here, not anywhere. I'd like to become a Buddhist monk. Burger King coffee is bad but not terrible. [tomo] [pi] [soweli] [moli]. [mi] [olin] [e] [toki pona]. I am as much an animal as a cow and know beef as fallen brethren. - I wish to harm and not harm, to be caged and free, to be known and Anonymous, to love and to be forgotten. Pass on my memories. I am so tired all the time. Fatigued, weary, sleepy. I need to figure out how to get an apartment. I need a new social security - card. I want to die because this work is so hard and will get harder yet. I want to have a small apartment with one or two close friends full of pillows and blankets with a warm picture tube and modded Gamecube. How do I make friends? How do I afford an apartment ? - I do everything wrong. When I am praised it is without sincerity, when I am held it is without catharsis, when I am loved it is without reality. To fall asleep I think about cuddling my girlfriend. I miss my stuffed shark but a stuffed shark will not fit in a backpack. Nor will aspirations. - [mi] [tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [ante]. [tenpo] [suno] [ni] [li] [ike] [lili]. [ni] [li] [ante] [tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [pini]. [tenpo] [suno] [ni] [la] [mi] [wili] [e] [lape]. [mi] [jo] [e] [lape] [lili] [tan] [tenpo] [mun] [pini] [la] [mi] [lukin] [e] [jan] [moli]. [mi] [moli] [ala] [taso] [mi] [wili] [lukin] [e] [jan] [moli] [tan] [mi] [wile] [moli]. [mi] [wile] [ala] [moli]. [mi] [olin] [moli] [ala]. [mi] [pakala]. [mi] [kama] [sona] [e] [toki pona]. [mi] [toki ike] [e] [toki pona]. [o] [toki] [ala]. I got a new pen today. A Uniball Signo 207 with "archival quality ink", "used by professionals". It - and this is evident in the notebook in which I write this but probably won't be if I ever type it up - writes - shittily. Perhaps this is due to the paper or to the thin air where I now find myself. Now it's writing fine so who knows. I took the pen apart just now, idly, didn't have a good grip on the tip that holds the spring in, and the tension released and the tip flew to the other seat in the booth of this restaurant. I hate working here. - Today I'm less stressed because I don't have to catch a bus to my second shift. The thought of my finances still gnaws at me and the walls are closing in. The way I'm going isn't sustainable and one way or another, by homelessness or breakdown, I will crumble, inevitably. I'm not sure what to do. I'm thinking about getting a fake identity and moving to the Balkans - or perhaps Kazakhstan. My current location and situation is, however, the result of a similarly spontaneous and far move, and I'm still not established here. My skin is dry. I guess that wouldn't matter if I killed myself. Homeless people, with or without their senses, are treated like animals. If you treat people like animals they will become animals. The shelter here looks like a cage. - Perhaps that's what housing is, a kennel for a human. The decorations and dressing make us forget it. I'm scared of the future because I don't know if I will survive it and I don't want to die. I have always had a problem with biting my nails. I have an oral fixation. I chew half a pack of gum a day when I can afford it. Three packs and two Uniball Signo 207 pens cost $10.46. - I worked an hour for them. How many hours will I need to work to afford rent? No matter how many it never seems to be enough. I'm scared all the time since I started feeling emotions again. I miss being numb but I don't miss being in the situations that made me numb. Maybe I just need to sleep. I can't fall asleep without either weed or watching people die on my cell phone. - I saw someone decapitated by the wheels of a train. I wondered how bad it would be to die that way. They looked so happy on social media. I try so hard to be kind to everybody. It has been 2 days since last I hugged anybody. I feel so alone. I'm not, but the being is different from the feeling. I am sad. My girlfriend won't text me back. Its replies were sparse when I was sleeping outside - because it was worried I would die in the cold. The people I love most in the world don't believe I will ever be successful. I think I might. If I was infinitely powerful I would give the empty houses to those that need them and an I.D. to anyone that wanted one. I would feed the hungry and transport the travelers. I would find somebody who knows exactly how I now feel. - [tawa] [tenpo] [ante] [ni] [li] [tenpo] [pimeja]. [ni] [li] [tenpo] [ike]. [mi] [pakala]. [mi] [ike] [mute]. [mi] [pali] [moki] [e] [soweli] [moli]. [mi] [wile] [e] [ni]: [soweli] [moli] [ala] [taso] [jan ike] [moli] [e] [soweli] [suwi]. [mi] [pakala]. [tenpo] [suno] [ni] [la] [mi] [pali] [moku] [e] [soweli] [suwi] [moli]. [mi] [pakala]. [mi] [ike] [seme] [jan ike]. [mi] [pilin ike] [mute]. [mi] [pilin pakala]. [mi] [ike] [tawa] [mi]. [mi] [ike] [tawa] [soweli]. [mi] [ike] [tawa] [ma] [ali]. [mi] [ike]. [mi] [pakala]. [toki] [nimi Japanese] [la] [tu] [tu] [pi] [toki pona] [li] [moli]. [mi] [pakala]: [mi] [toki] [e] [ni]. [ni] [li] [tenpo] [nanpa] [tu] [tu]. [ni] [li] [tenpo] [pimeja]. [ni] [li] [tenpo] [mun] [ike]. [mi] [pilin ike] [mute]. [mi] [toki]. [mi] [pakala]. - I've done abhorrent, horrible things, and I don't know how to make up for them. Killing myself would be a start. I wonder what it's like to be dead. I wish there wasn't rebirth. - i took the bus to work i'm sorry car just didn't start the park the gas tank full the lighter sorry took the bus to work i'm sorry fifty year old man i'm sorry bandanna in a bottle bandanna in a bottle i drink til my tongue slips i'm sorry whatcha sorry for i'm sorry took the bus to work and i think tonight i'm gonna let it hit me he didn't see it coming and his pace remained the same eveloped in fire did you feel anything? i'm sorry for the slaughter but god does my job pay i bought myself a new car but can't bear to fill the tank - [moli] [li] [pimeja] [e] [mi] [pimeja] [soweli] [la] [mi] [len] [e] [mi] [e] [ni] [mi] [wile] [e] [lape] [mi] [wile] [mute] [e] [lape] [mi] [wile] [mute] [e] [ni]: [mi] [lape] [mi] [wile] [e] [lape] [mi] [wile] [e] [pali] [lape] [mi] [lape] [ala] [mi] [wile] [e] [lape] [mi] [pakala] [mi] [pakala] [mi] [pakala] [mi] [pakala] - [tawa] [tenpo] [suno] [ante] city square littered with corpses vendors fallen at their stalls bags spilled open, coins atwinkle reflecting moonlight. earthly stars if you cut one open the blood would be dark red no oxygen in their system, hypoxia, death instant civilians struck in a war of which they weren't aware died for a growing number on a screen children are among them, and in homes babies cribbed a bus driver reading a dog eared copy of the tao te ching four of a chosen family out of broken homes taken from a cold street to new apartment, optimists nobody mourns the losses. members of a town too small in life they all were lovers. now inanimate a flower sits in a cup, never to be watered again in the face of inevitability, what has it all meant city square declared a grave site by nobody; nobody cares a dog lays still on the cobblestone its last experience fitful sleep, a nightmare - I'm tired. - - i don't believe in a god and haven't since i saw a dog skinned alive a mess of dripping, florid blood and muscle and bone and it let out what screams can be screamed with what function its analog to our vocal chords had left and kept screaming shaking, it hanged suuspended by rope from an oak tree, perhaps maple the twine brown matching the sand and dirt and green leaves and not the unnatural red of the shivering animal unable to comprehend even its fate let alone what brought its aggressors to take a machete to the starving, matted thing. how could a merciful, good creator allow one of her children to experience such a thing, and not die upon removal of the face? who would want to survive such a thing? and especially, if not only a god is our creator but the arbiter of our fates, why did she let someone record it and put it on liveleak? why did she let me watch it when i was 14? - The mountain, eons old and wise for what it has weathered, knows not to abuse its unimaginable strength. The hornet, with a life cycle of days, is given an appropriately small amount of venom for its size and stings unprovoked. Blame neither. They reflect the kindness of their worlds. - hope you're doing okay i'm about to sleep, worked a lot today will we talk tomorrow? of course we will babe that was last month was I ghosted? I really can't say I might be single but I hold onto the hope that it'll message again what did I say what did I do I thought we had something was it as real to you how did I push my dearest dear away would you tell me if it was over? was I really so unsafe? - do you remember me i thought what we had was a lot i always think of you am i just someone you forgot we've been dating for a bit but goddammit, i sort of loved you when you curl up with [...], my old plushie, do you think of what you lost god, i miss you, and i'm so alone when i sleep i look at my phone and look at you, comfy, under the sheets. i hope the blankets don't make you too hot what did i do to justify a cold shoulder what did i say to bring famine to my soul will you return to explain your hiatus or will you leave me to rot whatever it was, i'm sorry and i hope you get back someday i keep thinking about the solace under the wheels of a train do you think i'll feel any pain - i'm at the bus stop and freezing do you get what i mean? it's been a week since you called am i still in your screen? i think of you daily or the bottomless pit i wanna throw myself into but that's just how i think you got tired of me as a loving girlfriend faded novelty and so much repetition but i liked the routine and you said it was your happy ending after every chapter there's another is a better life what i'll get no longer so trusting a lover my heart aches, i should have guarded it - It said it loved me but it hasn't responded to my text messages in two weeks. I suppose it's busy but I haven't even had a single- word update. It feels like I'm being avoided. It hurts. I really did love it. It's hard for me to love. If it called and apologized and made it up to me I don't think it would fix things. I feel disrespected as a partner. - We're poly and I know and have known it is seeing someone else, and am and have always been fine with it. Someone else more important to it. I was thankful, really, and still am that it received more than only I could provide, a 20 year old fast food worker. I can't compare to its college scholarships and leadership roles. I never wanted or needed to. - And I didn't ever call as much as we planned and I became more of a recluse than the person it started dating. But I've been to its apartment. I took it on dates, gave it its favorite stuffed animal, formerly mine. We don't have a long history but we do have a history. I don't even know if we're broken up. Tomorrow will be two weeks. - Nearly four months. I feel doomed to never keep a relationship longer than four months. I wish I had what it takes to commit suicide. - [...] & [,,,] -> [...] & [,,,] - 9.7km $D gas price ($G) - $/gal gas price $g/gal * 0.264 gal / 1 liter -> mi / liter mileage ($M) -> mi / gal mileage $m mi / gal * 0.264 gal / 1 liter -> mi / liter $m mi / liter * 1.6 km / 1 mi -> km / liter - - - - It messaged me back. It too has been having a rough go of things. I'm in a downward spiral. I hate this fucking Christmas music. I use gum to forget taste, gore to desensitize sight, music to ignore my ears, cleaning work to burn my nostrils, weed to feel nothing and forget the world of which I wish I wasn't a part. - In fleeting moments of peace I'm overcome by the beauty of this simple place. Then my head by the hair is dragged back into the dark mirror and I am once again submerged in my own misery. I want my face ripped off, to drown in my own blood as it's forced into my nose by the tubes under my eyes, to see in the mirror the muscles that scarcely do else but frown. - When people knock on the bathroom door I get nervous and leave and they always look mad at me. Why? I was doing what they wish to do. Why not be sympathetic to what we have in common -- a urinary tract, a digestive system. I never take very long. I agreed to start coming into work earlier. It felt like signing my death certificate. I'm so tired. - This job doesn't pay enough. I work 50 hour weeks to be able to afford basic necessities, many of which I still forgo. I charge a battery pack at work to avoid using electricity in the apartment. I take one short shower a week to avoid water usage and electricity for the water heater. I use my phone flashlight (charged at work too) to avoid the overhead lamps. - I spend a lot of time at work. 6 days a week, 8-10 hour days, some 6s around so I don't get too much overtime. I show up an hour early. I spend about half an hour on the bus, before that half an hour at the stop. Then another half hour at the stop after work. That's two and a half hours I spend either at work or commuting, plus the usual 8. 2.6 * 6 = 13hrs + 50hrs working = 63 hrs out of the apartment - Then I sleep 8hrs a night, or at least set aside that time for it. 56hrs a week. I have 49hrs a week past labor, transit, and sleep. It's time but I wish I had more. I and my loved ones are aging. I wanna spend the prime decades of my life playing, creating, socializing. All I do is labor, if not done by me then someone else. And I'm exhausted. - What makes matters worse is that I have some innate, compulsive need to labor if on the clock as I am paid to do. This while those around me use their cell phones to watch video and otherwise idle. I work and they do not and while I slowly clean the workplace I wonder, perhaps realize - though I had already realized, so moreso I just turn the thought around in my head - like a dead pig's sausage rotating on a warmer at a gas station - why this place is so dirty. I want to go somewhere clean, or to nowhere at all. I want to love in a shallow pool of water, in Lao-Tzu's moon. I want to cease living. I want to die. I want to be killed. I want to kill myself. Because then, at least, the work will be over. - The voices will quiet. I will calm and my heart will be still. I will be not too hot, not too cold, without aching muscles or aging joints. I want this finity not as a termination of my residence per se but as a respite from the Hell for which I constantly volunteer. Many lean on me; I lean on nothing. Many know me. I know nothing. I love many. And in my heart know I am alone. - I watch a lot of beheadings and it's kind of a bummer that they all focus on the head and not the body. The blood pouring out of the neck as if champagne uncorked seriously arouses me. I unironically want to behead someone and fuck their windpipe. I want to be covered in blood, someone else's or my own. - I don't know what to do with this notebook. Who would want to read this? What kind of person would identify with me? I took my clothes off and got in the shower naked. I feel defenseless when showering, especially without a knife beside me. I shampood my scalp and conditioned my hair - and I took the washcloth and scrubbed at my face but my face was stuck too well to my skull to be so easily removed. I scrubbed down my chest and arms and legs and neck and felt where I'd like someone to saw at me, disconnect my head from my heart. I was thirsty but it felt weird to drink the shower water. - I'm scared of using soap because it costs so much. Scared of shampoo and conditioner because they cost so much. The bathroom light and fan. The water. I scrubbed at my feet and the bottoms were gray, the soles padded with dead skin because I spend all my time walking. I scrubbed at them but not too much because I'll take any padding I can get. - I finished and dried myself with a towel and got out of the shower and felt lightheaded and I don't know why. And I put on clothes and came out to the living room. This is the last page of the notebook and my hair smells like lavendar and my arms like eucalyptus. And I'm sorry for being here. At least I'm finally clean. - The notebook on which this was written will be incinerated and I will move on from thinking about any of this. <^> No rights reserved, all rights exercised, rights turned to lefts, left in this corner of the web.