Just a mild case of Existential-Depressionism

Hey! I’m back, I know I know I know, you missed me…don’ lie…ya, it’s ok, I didn’t miss you either.
That’s a lie. Actually, no, it’s not a lie, it’s just not relevant, I don’t get any attention on here anyway, the words on this page are solely for your purpose. If no one ‘comments’ or ‘likes’ my words that’s ok, I’m sure some of you beautiful mutherfuckers are reading it anyway and aren’t telling me. CONVERSELY you’re telling everyone else….making me…

your dirty little secret. HA! you’re twisted.

I’m into it…weird.
But seriously, the truth is I was trying to do some complicated computer stuff using directions from the internet…cuz THAT whole situation isn’t BEGGING for something to go horribly wrong…long story short, I deleted some stuff and had to get a computer geek friend to help me. Executed a successful factory restart and here. we. are.

Back to square one. Fuck. My. Life.
eh…but I don’t wanna make it about me. Cuz there are a lot of people on this planet. Like. a LOT. and when I think about all my bullshit issues that I deal with, it’s like, I’m just a speck…a tiny little particle within a (probably) insignificant amount of time. and…it’s not that this thought depresses me. It’s just that, I start asking myself “What THEFUCK is the point?”
I know it’s not a new question, and maybe (probably) I think too much, but this is a thing that paralyzes me. It might be my twenty-something angst but I contemplate my purpose all. the fucking. time. Twenty-something angst is totally a thing, by the way. DON”T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME. I’m Super Serious. or whatever.

Alright, I’m gonna keep the rest of this badmutherfucker short and sweet, because between the time I actually started writing it and, you know, like, now…I mean…now as in the exact moment when I’m typing these words on my little blue laptop…(thefuck is time anyway?)
I’m feel exponentially better. which is like…three “much(es)” to the layman. I’m feeling better and it might be the complete indulgement (not a word, is now, come at me) in my anxiety…such-that-to-the-point-where… (I’m aware that transition makes zero sense, stay with me, you’re doin’ great)

I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I’m trying my best not to let the things stress me out that I have no control over. Cuz that’s really what it’s all about, innit? just not letting things get to you too much.


elections, power, money, deforestation, illuminati, banks, the fact that we may or may not be utterly alone in the universe. Or the fact that humans are slowly killing the planet they live on because they, as a species, place value in the wrong shit. (I mean, if I were an alien race, I wouldn’t wanna hang out with us, pft, fuck that shit.)

All that shit (or the idea of it or whathefuckever)^^^ bums me out. But I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not gonna let the fact that it bums me out get me down. The fact that shit sucks is why we have music, and art, and stories, and alcohol, and fuckin’ pictures of you when you were thirteen and MORE pale that you are now. These are the things that make life tolerable. Ain’t about money. Nope.

Maybe I’ll never figure it out…oh well.

Upshot is, I just scored a gig ¬†ghostwriting some erotica. The next post will be sexier. That’s a promise.
Till then,

Cheers, beautiful people,



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