It can be quite a shock to see yourself. Not a casual glance in a mirror, more extensive. I just took a video of myself, rambling imcoherently. It’s very early and I should be sleeping, but I’m not because my cat smells funny and it’s making me anxious. So I figured I’d make a video of some random thoughts that noone will ever see, although my intention was that this video, as well as others I will make, might serve as a diary of a bad time, of sorts. I watched the video, and it’s so depressing. What have I become? Where did I go? Who is that angry sad old man? What the fuck? I hurt, and I read these posts and see we all do. I suppose we’re supposed to hurt. I suppose I can beat my head against the wall trying to figure it all out and at best come up with a halfwit idea that satisfies me for a few minutes or years, but the reality of it is simple. Noone escapes pain. Noone. Pain is manageable, at best. We hurt because we’re supposed to.
I’m not a “fan” of jazz. I like the stereotypes of late nights and early mornings in the big city, a lonely night owl drinking coffee in an all night diner on the corner with the hookers…soft jazz playing, a long drawn out note on a sax…all that.
I’m lying in bed, a low wattage lamp on the nightstand is on, soft jazz playing on the radio, a christmas tune…have yourself a merry little christmas, it encourages me. Jesus fuck. Just jesus fuck, man, screw christmas. The world outside is slowly waking to clouds and wet streets. I’m warm, comfortable in bed. I’m entertaining very dark thoughts lately, while struggling to find positivity. What fools we are. What dreams we chase. What shadows of ghosts of dreams we fight for.
What if I die today? All those dreams, all those plans, all the activity of my life…all the activity…all the wasted time. What will any of it matter?
Why does tomorrow matter to a person with no real plans? I don’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I think this world needs me. It doesnt. I want it to need me. My silly little ego, listen to it in there, screaming for attention with this drivel.
No. I’m a bag of fluid and flesh, dreaming of importance and attention. That’s about how I see it.
“You Matter” signs are common recently, in people’s yards, on their fences. I’d like to start a sign campaign too.
“Get over yourself. You only WANT to matter.”