[441] Count Me In

So, lemme put it to you like this.

I think there’s a certain and special dignity to pretentiousness.

I get into moods. They allow me to “lighten up.” I’m not so cynical about talking to people. I make you like me. I beat into the ever-loving ground the idea that just because a book like “How To Make Friends and Influence People” has existed for 60 years, it doesn’t mean enough people have read it.

I was talking about drugs. I was talking about drugs with a person who was IMPOSSIBLY BORING AS FUCK!. But you know how you make a person like that like you? You adopt a dopey face. You allow them to fill in the blanks about why whatever drug you took and the circumstances under which you did so are suspect.

Dude’s got a hot girlfriend he doesn’t appreciate. Dude dressed nice enough. Dude is FUCKING NOTHING.

Guys, girls, if I do nothing else in my ass-spelunking escapades I hope beyond anything that you understand how FUCKING SUPERFICIAL and BULLSHIT AND BORING your “type” is. A runoff of watching every movie or tv show in existence is this capacity for imagining your “character” in the context of some scripted drama. The closer you adhere to the archetype, the more I wish you’d go fuck yourself.

What did I urge in my last blog? It was to slow down. Hatsam told me to not make this angry, so let me breathe and figure out what it is that’s really on my mind.

I think it speaks to fear. I’m legitimately afraid that I will know the people I do and live the life I have and get fucking nowhere. You know why people are cattle? Because nothing about what they desire, how they live, or how they phrase what’s happening in life excites or inspires you. They carry on matter-of-factly like shit is just set or understood and we’re not practically magical beings of inert bullshit capable of reflecting and reconstituting every second.

I hope you can never predict me. Even if I have rules or general “duh” things niggas should follow, I hope at a fundamental level you know I’m always trying to fuck with it.

I don’t really have much else, dude. I’m fucking lonely. I’m fucking bored. I can start a million fires. I can get bitch ass punk niggas endeared to me. But fuck dude. I really do expect more out of you. Adopt your predictable boring bullshit lives when you’re 40 or something. I’m uninspired. I’m unmotivated. And at least half of it has to do with reflecting on my company. Shit, yes, of course I’m just as much to blame, but come the fuck on dude, not like I read shit from you blaming yourselves about your comfort fuck nest you’ve created for your existence.