Tag Archives: Laziness

Public Service Announcement

Here is my response to the blog post below (I have a sneaking suspicion that the author of this post will delete my response. As someone who has done this myself, I think I am justified in this belief. The response is as follows).

“They are mere shells of life eaten out by years of existence in a mechanized society where their energies, from their youth, have been subjected to the wills of bosses, to the deadening prod of identical external stimuli, and been used up in serving ends quite outside themselves. Now they are tired. There is nothing that they want to do — nothing that reflects any thought, or will, or quest, or direction of their own. They seek only relief from their boredom. They want only to be entertained.” I can understand that argument from one point. Yes, work is monotonous, and it sucks the soul out of individuals. But, to put it bluntly, “that’s just how it is”. There is no other alternative because there are no other effective ways to get the needs and desires of humans met. Whether you use your hands, a shovel, or a tractor, food must still come out of the ground, and it will take a certain amount of time, and specific weather, to grow. Whining and complaining about it is a crucial tool to get through the grueling monotony of what is necessary to keep life alive. But I get the sense (perhaps unfairly) that you are a communist. Once again, that could be completely unfair of me to make that judgment. If you are suggesting that life sucks, and are complaining about it, I’m right there with you. But the reason I sense communist sympathy is talk of the “mechanized society”, “subjected to the wills of bosses”, etc. I’d be interested to hear what your alternative to this situation would be. I’m not trying to be rude, but I would guess communism.

Also, sure, maybe we, as hunter-gatherers, weren’t “bored”, as we had to constantly be vigilant of the predator that would kill us. But is that somehow more “noble” than sitting, being bored, and watching television? Why does digging with a shovel make one more “noble” than using a tractor? Why does having an “easier” life make one a worse person? I don’t agree with that argument whatsoever. I certainly agree that television is garbage, and I lament at the brainlessness of it all. Is there something to be said about the average television watcher? Absolutely. They are condemnable on many fronts. But using that to attack “mechanization” or “bosses” is quite silly. Blaming “mechanization” and “bosses” on taking away ambition from an individual is ridiculous. The individual is not “forced” by “mechanization” or “bosses” to be unambitious. It is the “fault” of the individual. Maybe the caveman that hunted for food with a spear was more “ambitious” than the average television watcher today, but that is of little importance to me. To make a comparison equating “labor exerted” to “nobility” is ludicrous. Today, we may seek only relief from our boredom, but our ancient ancestors only sought relief from a constant, imminent death that was around them in more forms than we will ever experience in our entire lifetimes.

“And everywhere it drives men’s own thoughts and judgments out of their heads, deprives them of the condition for getting any thoughts or judgments of their own”. There’s certainly some truth to that. However, many people are limited intellectually. It is a tragic reality. How to “educate” them? Are they “educable”? Perhaps not. If not, we must lament, with our “live and let live” philosophy. We can critique all we want, but what else can we do? We should not be allowed to capture them, against their wills, and read them the greatest philosophical works ever written. “Live and let live” seems to be the only solution, accompanied by a fierce critique to anyone who will listen, if the parties so desire.

Voluntarism and Capitalism.

On Laziness.

Television.

News.

Excerpts from “Breaking News: story 2 of the Apocalyptic series”.

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The product of dumb luck or a mastermind?

“Roller coaster” is such a fucking weird phrase.

It feels so goddamn lazy.

Perhaps it’s because it is so simplistic, plain, and effective that I resent the self-perceived lack of effort that went into naming it (when I often finding “the right word” so goddamned difficult…)

Grammar.

Envy.

On Boredom

I decided to write this article on a day when, no surprise, I was bored. To remedy this problem, I decided to drive to McDonald’s: my deadly way of typically dealing with boredom (not only is eating when you are bored deadly; but eating at McDonald’s? Premature death, here I come). I debated it briefly, as I know how unhealthy McDonald’s food is. And I had already eaten there the day prior. But, after a few minutes, I decided to, anyway, and left the house full of guilt.

On my way home, I contemplated my boredom. I remembered that, throughout most of my teenage years, I experienced extreme boredom, with little stimuli to remedy it. Boredom led me to start writing again after many years, back in 2012. But there are some complicated things that arose in me on that way home from McDonald’s, and I’m going to attempt to write them all out here.

After I remembered how bored I used to be, I thought of all of the different things that I am able to do today. Particularly, I enjoy writing, making Youtube videos, and writing jokes. That’s what I enjoy doing, and I dream of making money at all of these someday. But then I realized that, for some reason, I get bogged down with these things. Not bored, but just…unmotivated. Why is it that I’m not working on what I like to do? And the answer was the amount of work involved.

I come up with ideas, but rarely complete them. Coming up with a good idea is the easy part, but I’m always so unmotivated to complete them. And I don’t know why. It’s some kind of commitment issue. I realize that at the rate at which I come up with ideas, to complete them all, and as well as I would like to, would require a fulltime, life commitment to these projects. And I have always been terrified of spending too much time on one thing to the detriment of doing other things. I feel like that was taught to me at some point (and conservatism prevented me from dedicating my time to anything other than God, and that’s probably a huge part of it as well). But I’m in a constant state of boredom, and, typically, I have to rely on myself to get myself out if it. I am a consumer of the works of others, but no one can entertain me like me.

I already wrote an article about my laziness, but my laziness causes a conflict with my boredom. I said in that piece that I typically create things when I’m at my most bored. And I’ve stated that a main reason for my creativity is to entertain myself. But, I believe I’ve said before, something is missing. My work ethic and time commitment to my projects is lacking. Part of this is I like relaxing, having fun, and consuming the works of others (as long as they entertain me). But sometimes, the well runs dry, and I need to do something for myself. But I’m lazy about my work. My ideas require a lot of skills that I currently don’t have, and that’s what is most frustrating about this. I work on the simple things, which are fine. But the really good stuff is the stuff you put more work into. But that would require me knowing how to use my software editing program more than I do, which means I need to learn it, and it aggravates me to have to learn certain things that I don’t already know. I don’t know why that is. Maybe it pisses me off to be stupid, so I remain in ignorance to somehow pout? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m too lazy to learn how to do it to the level that I need to create what I want to create. But I think there’s something more to it as well.

I think a great deal of it goes back to my own personal history with religious conservatism. For some reason, I have always seen working towards a goal as something to be avoided. I think it has to do with being taught that I should focus more on Heavenly rewards, and not Earthly ones. I think I have trained myself, over the years, to hate “Earthly” rewards. And if working is what gets you those Earthly rewards, then I don’t need to work. It sounds stupid now, but I really believe that I have trained myself to do this over the years. And when I finally realized that I needed a job so that I could have money so that I could have a car, etc., I started studying economics to give myself a perspective about money that wasn’t the religious one that I had developed prior. Although I’m naturally a lazy person, religious conservatism taught me to hate working for goals (unless those goals were religiously-oriented). But now, I have so many different things that I want to do, and I need to find a way to get over this pious hump.

I realize to many people, all of this “religious conservatism” talk is gobbledy-gook. And, for your sake, that’s probably a good thing. You don’t want to be able to intimately relate to my words about religious conservatism, because all they do is stunt you, and make you feel like shit. So you aren’t fucking missing out on anything. Consider yourself blessed.

So I have this bias against completing goals. Like I said, if the goal wasn’t “God-oriented”, then it was sinful, worldly, and should be hated and condemned. I don’t believe that today, but the problem is that emotionally, I’m still stuck back in those old days. It’s similar to knowing that McDonald’s will kill me, but eating it anyway. And hating myself for it afterward. Something has to click for me to stop eating at McDonald’s. Maybe it’s a heart attack. Maybe it’s actually learning about how the body works, and ignoring my religious history with the body and medicine, which, for some stupid reason, was me repeating stupid phrases about God in an echo chamber within my head instead of intently paying attention to the body, how it works, and how to take care of it when I first learned about these things as a child. Seriously, anything “worldly” I ignored. I know that’s fucking stupid. And I know not everyone can relate to that. But fucking welcome to religious conservatism; welcome to the fear of God.

So now, I sit. Full of ideas. Videos that make me laugh, things to write. But I don’t fucking do them. Because it involves sitting and thinking; starting, elaborating, and completing. The biggest hurdle I have, in my opinion, is the religious conservative hurdle. Once again, I know not everyone can understand this. But the idea of putting so much time, energy, and passion into a project triggers my old “that’s a sin” reflex, and I have to train myself to stop doing that. Because nothing is getting done. It’s so fucking stupid. And disastrous. And I hate the conservatives that put those thoughts into my head. (Hell: maybe they were my own brand-spanking new shit ideas. I don’t know). But I have got to find a way to dedicate more time and energy into my works. I’ve got to find a way to organize all of this shit, ignore the previous religious fear, and dedicate all of the time that I want to into my works. It will typically occur when I am the most bored, but I’m tired of only skimming the surface with my work. I know I have the potential to create more work at a faster pace, and create more meaningful work. Better work. I know it’s in me. And it’s going to take a lot of work to get it out of me. But I fucking want it. And I need to find my own, healthy perspective about my work, so that I have goals in mind, and can work towards them. This is going to take some time, as unraveling prior shitty thoughts is always hard (I think of poor people raised in an Islamic world, and realize that they have, perhaps, a harder time than anyone unraveling the shit taught to them, as they are taught violence to a degree unlike anyone else in the world: absolutely senseless, deplorable violence). But I want to dedicate my life to writing, and comedy. I really do. Of course, 10 years from now, I could change my mind. But right now, all I want to do is write, and make myself laugh. That’s it. And I’m fucking tired of not doing it.

As I have always said, I need more practice sitting, thinking, organizing, and I need to find a way to dedicate myself to all of this full time, so I can get it all done, and so I can stop being so fucking bored and miserable all of the time, because this is the shit that makes me happy.

I don’t have anything to add about getting paid for all of this garbage at the moment. Although, I think there is a part of me that gets discouraged that my work is not as popular as is my goal to make it (only for financial purposes), and that prevents me from working as fast or as hard. But that’s a topic for another piece.

I’ve got a whole life of work ahead of me, and I need to figure out how to actually fucking do it……

Insightful.

McDonald’s?

More McDonald’s?

On Laziness

Laziness is often discouraged as a vice. But leisure is seen as desirable. The difference between “laziness” and “leisure” is that laziness comes before work is completed, while leisure comes after work is completed. At least, that would be how I would define it. Leisure is a reward for working, while laziness typically causes problems to occur. For instance, leisure is taking a beach trip after completing a task, while laziness is neglecting to do an important task, only to have that important task directly create other problems that are important to complete.

My ultimate desire in life is leisure. I think I share that with if not everyone, a large majority. At the time of this writing, it is (almost) all that I desire. For me, leisure and laziness overlap. Although maybe I’m not defining these terms “correctly”, writing isn’t really a “leisurely” activity for me. “Leisure” is sleeping, listening to music, and watching Youtube videos. “Laziness” is more of my overall demeanor and attitude towards life: the enacted plan to receive the life of leisure. Some people work really hard in an attempt to obtain tremendous leisure, but I suppose that I attempt to create it on a regular basis by…just being lazy. The anxiety that comes with work, stress, and money, is undesirable. Many people would choose to pursue careers that paid them better. But not I, for I am lazy. Extremely lazy. Incredibly lazy. I hear constantly how this will be a detriment in my future. And I understand that. But I want to explain a few things: not to justify my laziness, as I don’t really care what anyone thinks of it, but rather, simply because, as a human, I want to express my honest feelings, like many of us do, for whatever reason.

I have always been the type of person to avoid work at all costs. I would never do my chores. Wait until the last minute to do my homework (if I did it). Generally, if there is something that needs to be done, I either wait until the last minute to do it or wait until someone else does it for me (or wait until I finally realize I have a problem due to someone else bringing it to my attention). In my head, I can hear people saying “Oh my gosh, Cody! That’s probably not a good idea. Why don’t you just be a little bit more proactive? A little bit more on top of things? A little bit more cautious? Motivated?” I just don’t want to be. I don’t think it is in my nature to be so, and I’ll explain this a little bit further.

My first “experiences” with having things that needed to be done were in school. Reading assignments, and other types of homework on worksheets. And, of course, when I got home, I just didn’t want to do them. I would start to do them, but then, I’d watch television instead. And much of the time, I did finish them later. There were many times where I didn’t do them at all, but this was the minority of the time (as I got older, this increased). Actually, come to think of it, most of the time, I finished my homework at school (in elementary school). I was pretty smart, and the work was pretty easy, but I was motivated to get the work done at school because “home” was where all of the exciting things were: television, playing outside, going to a friend’s house, etc. So I tried to get all of the work done at school that I could, and I succeeded a lot. There were also many times that I, at least, could get the work finished quickly at home. (And it also depended on the subject: “reading” was always my least favorite subject).

Come to think of it, the main subject that I procrastinated on was reading. My reading experience in elementary school was horrible. Before I started school, I read constantly. Read books out loud to my father quite a bit, from what I’ve been told, and what little I can remember. And it was enjoyable. But when school came around, my desire to read pretty much completely disappeared. The problem was something called “Accelerated Reader”. The idea was that different books in the elementary school library were rated by grade, and given a certain number of “points” based on the difficulty of the book. The “points” were earned by taking reading tests on the computer about the books. Different percentages yielded you a certain amount of points, and you were required to obtain a certain number of points every week.

Fuck that shit.

That shit fucking killed my desire to read. How did it do that? Well, for one, many of the stories that I enjoyed were not worth that many “points”. So I would have to read a lot of really short books, take tests on them, and pass them to get the points. Well, that was atrocious. I hated it. And the bigger books that were worth more points obviously took longer to read. And, once again, I fucking hated it. I think the biggest reason was that many of the books just sucked to me. The problem is that you would check out a book on Monday, have a certain number of points to earn by Friday, but by Wednesday, you discovered that the book sucks, but you don’t have enough time to get a new book and read it to obtain your points. It was fucking stupid. So I “read” a lot of shitty books (most of the time, I “skimmed” or “scanned” (whichever one), then tried to bullshit my way through the test. And it was rarely pretty). It was an absolute trianwreck, and I hated reading. I read few books that I enjoyed. One of my favorite books was, surprise surprise!, a book that wasn’t even in the Accelerated Reader program. It was a book that my 4th grade teacher just had, and it was called “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing”. And I still have enjoyable memories of that book.

As far as my opinion of reading today, I typically read non-fiction. As a child, I could not understand fiction. My mind would think “This isn’t real, right? Then why am I reading this?” Of course, I enjoyed watching cartoons that weren’t real. But my problem was more of a philosophical one, as most of mine always were, and always are. I did not understand why people wrote. And because I couldn’t understand why, I didn’t care what. That’s how I’ve always been, and how I will probably always be.

Now that I have a desire to write fiction, I do understand fiction writers a little bit more. But not enough to read any significant number of them. I desire to do other things than read fiction. In fact, my desire to read fiction is very small. I suppose I’ll just have to live with myself about “missing out”.

Non-fiction is what I desire to read. I enjoy learning, and although fiction can teach you things, I prefer “reality”. (Save your breath by saying that fiction can be “real”: this isn’t an argument, it’s an opinion piece). With fiction, I need to suspend my disbelief, and use my imagination. But I don’t want to. My imagination is typically a creative endeavor, where I am the creator. And when I observe the “creative” work of someone else, I mostly care about how it was created. This was also true of me as a child. Watching movies, all I could think was “How did they do this?” I didn’t care about the story if it was a movie in which “real-life actors” were playing it. Even cartoons, I tried to figure out how they were created. But I couldn’t. And I was so fucking bored. Of course, there were some movies and cartoons that I enjoyed, for reasons such as story, etc. But the majority of my experiences with the mediums were to wonder how they were made (as opposed to the case with books, which was why they were made).

Non-fiction teaches me things. And I like to learn. I like to know things. Granted, some real things are boring. I hate the idea of being someone who mixes chemicals around in a beaker to achieve desired results. But watching someone else do it is interesting to me. I just enjoy observing: I don’t really care “what is going on underneath”. That isn’t really interesting to me, although I appreciate the fact that other people can do things with those facts. For instance, my interest in the physical sciences is very casual. I enjoyed learning about space during my teenage years, but now, I’ve accepted that it’s all dead (or, at least that the life is so far away as to be insignificant), and, seeing as how you know my opinions on fiction, “legitimate” science-fiction is an absolute joke. I currently have a vague interest in electricity, but for practical purposes, I’d rather just plug things in and have them work, and let someone else fix any electrical problems that I have to avoid the danger (and repetition and effort) needed to fix the problem. (And yes, I’m aware that if I’m too lazy to fix my own problems, and too lazy to do something that pays well, I will have tough decisions to make when I must pay someone to fix my things. I am well aware of this).

Come to think of it, I’ve always been lazy. Seeing as how I could finish my school work quickly, I procrastinated. And when the subjects started to be uninteresting, I stopped doing them altogether. My experience with laziness has been a mixed bag. Sometimes, I would be lazy and still get things done on time, but other times, it posed problems, such as missing important deadlines. But I suppose that with any “character trait”, there will be positives and negatives, and I’m not interested in becoming a “harder worker” than I already am. Because I do believe I’m a hard worker in certain respects. I work hard at being funny, and I work hard at being creative. And although few will see that as “real hard work” (meaning that somehow, some labor is more “real” than other labor, and not describing how hard the work really is), it is my work. I actually enjoy it. It reminds me of the subjects that I was uninterested in in school. Why read what is boring? Only in school are you “required” to do this. In “the real world”, it really doesn’t happen (unless you’re religious). Perhaps, deep down, I knew that. (Or perhaps I’m rationalizing). But I always worked hard to make people laugh. But let me go on a tangent about “hard work” here.

I believe that my childhood experiences with religion left a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to “hard work”. I was raised a free will baptist, which, to me, basically meant that I needed to work really hard to get into Heaven, and that so many “slip-ups” could prevent that. And I was fucking miserable during this time. The hard work truly felt futile most of the time. But I did it anyway because I was terrified. I truly didn’t know when I was going to die, and I wanted to make sure that I was going to go to Heaven when it happened. And that process was fucking exhausting. I don’t anticipate saying much more about religion in this piece, but that’s a large part of why I “became” so lazy.

I think another part of it is genetic, just based on observations of my father. I’m not going to say much more about him here out of respect, but it certainly is something to think about. Seeing his lifestyle, and observing my own, I can understand why I am how I am, whether it’s through uncontrollable genetics or learned behavior (I’m leaning towards “genetic” on this one).

In many ways, I haven’t needed to be hard-working. I’m not even talking about being a child and being reliant on parents, but I’ve always been able to do the mental work that I’ve needed to do quite easily (unless it was boring, or seemed pointless to me). Math was always easy to me (the teacher I had for pre-calculus didn’t suit me, but I’m sure I could learn calculus if I really wanted to; but I see no practical purpose for it other than “just to know it”, and I have to many other things that I wish to do instead). But I think another part of my laziness comes from my fierce, independent originality.

I know everyone is original. But my originality is who I am. It has always been hard for me to be a part of a group because I can be a bit “crazy” at times. My intellectual ideas can be a bit “harebrained”, and my creative originality is often stifled when I’m around others. And I don’t want that. So I keep to myself, do the “crazy” things that make me happy, and do my best not to “justify” them (although selling them is pretty difficult). My natural desire to be humorous is much of the same way. I still need practice thinking and writing what I believe to be intelligent things, and I need more confidence to express myself humorously. These are what I care about from a “productive” sense. This is what I want to “work hard” at. The amount of money only matters to me to the extent that I feel that I can quit all other jobs except for those. That’s the “goal” with the creative endeavors. That, and actually enjoying the work, and not treating it as a “typical” job. I will try to discuss why I believe that in another piece, as I, believe it or not, actually wish to stay on topic (don’t laugh).

I’ve always been the class clown probably ever since 3rd or 4th grade. Before that, I was the extremly quiet kid. But, for some reason, my desire to be funny came out, and it opened a Pandora’s box. Ever since then, I just can’t help myself. I want to laugh. I try to make others laugh. But as long as I can make myself laugh, then I consider that a “comedic victory”. And, luckily, that isn’t very hard to do.

So the issue isn’t that I’m “lazy”: the issue is what I’m lazy about. And although it probably would benefit me to learn how to fix my own car, or plumbing problems, or whatever, I really don’t want to. I’d rather pay someone else to do it. I don’t get any satisfaction from fixing things. In fact, in my past, if I were to somehow “fix” something that I had no knowledge of, I would get a little freaked out, and never want to do it again. For instance, figuring out how to remove a virus from my computer without anti-virus software. It happened once, and when I successfully did it, it freaked me out. I have no idea why, other than maybe my religious view of success conditioned me to respond with fear, but all I can say for sure is that I don’t like accidentally fixing problems. And purposefully fixing problems takes a lot of time and effort that I’d rather spend either lying around (thinking) or trying to do something funny (or write something like this).

It isn’t as if my mind is lazy. My mind is constantly working. At some point, I’d like to explain what is in it (or, rather, the things that I do that haven’t made it into a piece yet: obviously everything I’ve written is something I’ve thought about). But I think that is the real “solution” to this laziness problem: I’d rather use my “mind” than my body. It is more fulfilling to me, and if I can be lazy with my body, I will do it. Because my mind will always be active: I simply can’t turn it off. (God forbid I experience any brain trauma, or develop Alzheimer’s). I think it’s simply a matter of individualistic nature: some people enjoy exercising (what is wrong with them? Lol), and some people don’t. Some enjoy reading, some don’t. Etc. etc.

But even with the work that I enjoy creating, I am lazy. But this is due to several factors. One, as I said before, there are other things that I desire to do more. I said I would talk about this in another piece, but I’ll actually do so now. I enjoy observing other people. I enjoy developing what I believe made a successful person “successful”, and I try to see if I have that in myself. I spend a lot of time observing, and listening, and seeing if I believe I have that same ability, or those same traits. I’ve spent a significant amount of my life doing this, actually. I’ve also spent a lot of my life saying “That looks easy: I can do that”, and, of course, I’ve tried, and discovered that many of these things are a lot fucking harder than they look (trying out for the high school basketball team may have been the first instance where I truly realized this. I also accepted my laziness in that moment…). But if someone is successful at something that I believe I would enjoy doing, and desire to be successful at, I will do it. That’s why I started my Youtube channel (and it has been very fun thus far).

I also have many things to read (mainly non-fiction, of course), and many things to write. The reading is, of course, about certain subjects that I enjoy (mainly economics, because I enjoy learning about it (because I believe it will help me make more money)). And the list of things to read is so long. Mainly pdfs on the laptop that I’m using to write this right now (see “time and physical object” constraints (it’s hard to write and read on the same laptop at the exact same time (see “impossible”))). And I’m “in the middle” of many different pieces of non-fiction (here’s all of the pieces of non-fiction that I am currently “in the middle” of (or, at least, have started reading)): The Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith, The Tree of Knowledge by Alvin Boyd Kuhn, The Virtue of Selfishness by Ayn Rand, The Antichrist by Friedrich Nietzsche, The Pure Theory of Capital by Friedrich Hayek, Human Action by Ludwig von Mises, Economic Controversies by Murray Rothbard, For a New Liberty: The Libertarian Manifesto by Rothbard, Man, Economy, and State; The Betrayal of the American Right; and The Case for a 100 Percent Gold Dollar (all by Rothbard); and On Light and Other High Frequency Phenomena by Nikola Tesla. So considering that I’m reading all of these “at once” so I don’t get bogged down with any one topic, it kind of makes sense to me why so many things remain “unread” on my part.

Also, as far as writing is concerned…I kind of fucking hate it. Just read this for everything that you need to know.

One more thing about the “religious” factor. I’ve written about this before, so I won’t describe it in much more detail here. But what I have written there explains what contributed to my overall lazy demeanor as well. I saw rich people as greedy, and saw money as evil. (If that sounds weird, just accept that I believed it, and maybe I’ll discuss it further later on in my life, but I’m honestly getting sick of talking about that). I kept money (that I obtained mainly through birthdays) and spent it every now and then (mainly on Yugioh cards…Jesus), but I still hated money. I recall being, maybe 15 or so, and, seemingly, having a wallet full of at least a couple hundred dollars (I think the most I ever had at one time was around $400. Maybe it was $800 after saving up for several years. I can’t remember.), and hating it. I felt so dirty having it. But I also loved it. And I hated myself for loving it, because “the love of money is the root of all evil”. It was a fucking trainwreck. So my envy of the rich, hearing that all rich people were “greedy” and “took advantage of poor people”, and feeling religious guilt about enjoying money all contributed to my dislike of money, and, therefore, my disinterest in working. I realize that will be really weird for many people to read. I just thank Ron Paul for getting me on the path towards desiring to make money.

I’ll throw one more short thought in here about an aspect of my laziness that I haven’t mentioned yet: my health. I do not enjoy “exercise”. I used to play basketball, but I haven’t in a while, as I’ve been working towards making my “dream career” a reality for the past four years (it’s pretty much a full-time job and then some, with tons of unpaid overtime (lmfao)). But typical exercise is too boring for me. I really enjoy swimming (although I don’t do that often), and, as I mentioned before, I enjoyed basketball (it’s been so long that I’m not sure I’d still like it, but I honestly think that I would), but lifting weights or running just to get into shape doesn’t appeal to me. My diet consists of Subway (pretty much every day), microwaved dinners, and sugary snacks. My thoughts drift everywhere from “I don’t want to die” to “let me test the waters to see what happens” to “one day I’m going to wake up with diabetes and be knocking on the door of a heart attack”; and, depending on the moment, I’m either ok with that or terrified by that. A large reason that I’m so “accepting” of being on death’s door goes back to my past religious thoughts. Not about getting into Heaven, but rather feeling that being healthy was somehow…unreligious? “God is in control” leads you to stop being proactive, and that pretty much happened to me. Being on the outside now and seeing other people do that is very depressing, and I’m embarrassed that I was like that at one point. I pray that others will be saved from that horrible helplessness one day.

So, I think I want to work on accepting my laziness. Working with other “unskilled labor” provides you with all kinds of people that you wish you didn’t have to work with on a regular basis. But, in the area in which I live, the types of “skilled labor” available don’t interest me. Electrician? I’m not scrupulous and aware enough for that. I would probably kill myself on accident. Mechanic? I don’t really want to lift heavy pieces of metal regularly. Factory work? It remains to be seen, but I’d rather keep my near-minimum wage job simply because I’m just too lazy to try something different (although I believe I’d like the labor I’m currently doing more so than the labor I’d be doing at the plant. The extra money doesn’t really matter to me). I care more about enjoying the labor that I do than the pay. I don’t want to do something I hate for lots of money. I’m willing to make significantly less money to wake up every day and enjoy my labor. But, of course, there is a bare minimum (which I’m pretty much at right now). My time is very precious to me, and if I must do something for money, I want to enjoy it. I’m not that concerned with my standard of living as long as I’m not starving to death. I’m not very materialistic. I just want to enjoy a job that isn’t that difficult. And, preferably, one that limits boredom.

So that’s why I write fiction, non-fiction, and comedy on the internet. I value enjoying the work that I create, so I only try to create things that I enjoy. I decided upon this a long time ago, back in my “anti-business mentalityage. And I still believe it to this day, regardless of how my perspective about money has changed. I want to have fun. Material possessions do not mean that much to me. I care much more about my free time, and being lazy.

I genuinely believe that I can become a good enough writer, and good enough comedian, to become a “professional” in these artistic areas. I enjoy working towards that and learning everything I have learned while attempting this in the process.

At least for the time being, this is what I am going to do.

Education.

A Philosopher’s Mind.

Highly Sensitive Mind.

A Labor of Love

One of the greatest (if not the greatest) things about being human is the ability to love.

Full disclaimer: at the time of this writing, I am a happily single man.

So, I am not here to discuss romantic love, nor of friendship, nor of the still yet different type of love that comes with family.

Not sexual passion, but passion regarding occurrences that aren’t quite relationships.

Feeling is what it means to be alive; one that does not feel is not alive, but is merely living.

The difference between the two is as evidenced as the fucked-up nose on Michael Jackson’s face at the end of his life.

If it were not for happiness, life would not be worth living.

This is most evidenced by people who are depressed, or who have “completed” their depression by killing themselves, and who leave a note that says, in different ways, that “life isn’t worth living anymore.”

So “feeling good” is why we live; it may not be why humanity was created (or evolved; I mean this in no controversial “religion vs. science” debate), but it is why we don’t all go kill ourselves at any given moment: we don’t want to, and we don’t want to because of our feelings: because we’re happy enough not to.

Feelings are why we live, and why we do things. They are why we propose, why we kill, and, indeed, why we take any action at all. To be human is to act upon feelings. This doesn’t mean that one acts upon all feelings that one has, but rather that all actions (including an apparent lack of action) are determined by feelings. This does not mean that we do not take calculated risks. Humans are also capable of grasping reality (to differing degrees), and often, our desires conflict with realities. We wish for this, but reality says this. This does not mean that we do what we initially desired all of the time. But, our desires are still at play here behind our decisions, for at the root of every decision is a desired result. The ultimate desire may be to be able to eat whatever one wants without suffering health problems. But scientific reality will determine whether or not one is fortunate enough to do such. However, if the reality does not allow one to do such, then the individual may either continue believing that he can do such, and do it to the detriment of his health in what sane people refer to as “insanity” (obviously not because he is unhealthy, but because he believes it to not be doing what it is actually doing), or he can compromise. However, he will still be acting towards a desire. If he desires better health, he will have to compromise on his eating habits. If he desires to continue eating unhealthy, then he will more than likely have to compromise with the length of time that he lives, and either recognize that and accept it before he dies, or continue living believing that he can live for a “long” period of time (but, ultimately, this is less likely to be the case, so it is still, ultimately, a “compromise”). For better or worse, we are creatures of passion, and we are creatures capable of action, and we are creatures whose actions are determined by said passions (with the source of said passions, no doubt, being discussion of a good debate (free will vs. determinism, no doubt)).

With that being said, what is it that makes us feel? The best answer that I can come up with (and one that I think many other people can and have came up with as well) is that it is simply our nature. Nature is simply that which “is”, whether or not that “is” was created for this reason or for that reason (whether life exists because God wants it to be that way, or because it was all just a random, happy coincidence). Nature is simply all that life is; there is no existence which is opposite to nature. This doesn’t mean just trees and animals, but rather anything which can be objectively perceived by the human mind (fundamental laws of physical phenomena, etc.). The fact that humans feel is another one of these undeniable truths, such as the “laws” of motion, and that we all must die someday.

I hope that a day never goes by that I don’t stand back and marvel at the fact that we, as humans, have comprehension abilities. Indeed, it is our ability to comprehend that gives our lives meaning at all. It is “natural” that human beings are creatures capable of learning, and indeed, it is inconceivable to imagine a world where man was not able to understand anything. Even those widely regarded as fools understand something. It is the greatest gift that has been bestowed upon mankind, for I cannot imagine a world where no one was able to understand anything. The fact that man (even if a relatively small number of human beings) can understand things so seemingly random (but yet obviously patterned) as hydrodynamics (I’d love to be able to completely understand the beautiful patterns that water can create simply due to its nature and the natures of whatever force causes said water to move in the first place), and other technical fields of scientific inquiry is simply a marvel. But not only are some select humans capable of understanding the natural world: there are people who are able to take said knowledge and apply it practically to better “the common man”.

But, as I said before, humans are feeling creatures. Sometimes, those feelings are destructive. But, I would argue, most of the time, they aren’t. It’s just that the brief occurrences of destruction are so horrific that it feels like we are more destructive as a species than we are constructive. I don’t personally believe that, but I do concede there is a great amount of man-made horror in the world; traditionally unspeakable horror…

In addition to humans being feeling creatures, humans are also diverse from one another. What is it that categorizes one as being “human”? Typically, references to being able to feel love are given. To be able to “love thy fellow man.” That the ability to love is the shared bond between us all as humans, and that is what makes us human (at least according to one view). But, for one, animals can feel love. Anyone with a dog that isn’t an asshole can see this. Is it as deep as human love? I don’t think so. But you’d have to define what it is about human love that makes us human, and be able to distinguish that from animal love, and I’m currently unable to do that, so I prefer a different definition as to what makes one “human”. And secondly, what of the psychopath? Is he still not technically human, even if inhumane? I would argue: of course he is.

Humans are born as independent creatures, capable of exercising their wills. From a religiously existential point of view, I don’t think we have free will. I do not think that we have free will from a sovereign God, but that does pose some interesting questions about the Fall of Man that I am unable to answer. Nonetheless, I don’t think we really have it at all. I’ll also leave that opinion for another topic and leave you, the reader, to personally crucify it. But it is inarguable that humans do have wills, and each individual human will is free and separate from the human wills of others, unless a crime against humanity is being committed. Our will is not free to change the scientific laws of the universe, nor to create the nature of God. It exists within a limited scope, where we, as humans, are born with desires, and make decisions. This, in my opinion, is what it means to be human.

So how would I, personally, explain to you, the reader, my opinions on my own personal humanity? What is it that I love to do? What is it that my will desires? What actions do I take that lead me to believe I will achieve certain results? You must be curious, seeing as how you are reading this. And I will attempt to answer this, but it will necessitate me to be extremely honest with myself, and I think that will be incredibly difficult for me to do at this point in my life. But I shall attempt it nonetheless!

Why do I desire to write? Well, when do I want to write? Typically, it involves the idea. Although I do enjoy the physical act of typing from an aesthetic sense, writing involves ideas. So my ideas are why I desire to write. I have ideas that I believe are meaningful, or significant, on some existential sense; and, indeed, often I feel as if I exist on this planet to write. Writing can be an incredibly painful process to me, but it can also be as natural and flowing as the most pristine river.

Typically, writing occurs very slowly for me. I have gigantic ideas in my head that I would love to write down, but the mental exhaustion is, often, too much. “What, are you writing ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’?”, you may be asking yourself. Well…maybe. The ideas in my head surrounding the writing that I feel the most serious about are often, in my opinion, big ideas. And, quite often, just the mere act of beginning the task exhausts me. Even as I write this paragraph, which is months and months apart from the beginning paragraphs that you have read, exhausts me. Perhaps I am an idiot, and this meager exercise of thought producing such exhaustion from me proves that. I’ll just leave that up to you, the reader, to decide. And if you will be so kind, please don’t tell me what you conclude.

I really don’t know how to gauge myself as a writer. “Why would you want to do that?”, you may ask yourself. Well, I just don’t want to be a shitty writer. I desire to write well. I want to write profound things, do interesting, intelligent things with language. Indeed, I think this is a large part of any (if not, at least, many) writer’s desires. It’s who I am, and it makes me happy. My soul is involved in writing. It isn’t as if I’m writing “an important piece” of writing every single day, but I wait for those moments when I cannot contain myself any longer, and the words just have to flow out. Sitting at a computer screen, struggling for the right word, is not writing to me. That’s fucking torture. That’s horrific. That is not an enjoyable experience to me, and, at least for me, that is not writing.

Writing is that idea that has been sitting in your head for seven months, which has about 15 million things you want to include, but you have no idea how to begin the piece, for fear of not being “inclusive” enough: meaning, not starting in the right spot. Sure, you could start your piece with some bullshit. But what in the fuck are you trying to say? Where you start is a large part of where you end up, and, after it is all done, you have what you have said. And if you want to say something, it’s important that you know where to start. And that’s where I struggle: right at the fucking beginning…

I’m not (necessarily) in a hurry to write. I’m in a hurry to make money. I’m in a hurry to find a career that I enjoy. But I’m not in a hurry to write. It will come when it comes. And I accept this. I do not feel in control of my writing: it fucking controls me, for better or worse. It always has, and it always will. It’s a compulsion: it just fucking comes out, and if I don’t get it down, I feel sick. Nauseous. Something about not getting that “good idea” down on paper makes me nauseous. Something about not bringing that “good idea” to life just makes me sick. I don’t know why. It sounds stupid when I say it. But still yet, if there’s any possibility that I think something is a “good idea”, I will regret it if I don’t at least make note of it. Which is why I have many word documents started with only a title, and nothing else written…

I really hate the way that I write…

Sometimes, I wish that I wrote more often. But I know that if I tried to force myself to write more often, the quality would not be as good. I would lose interest, and then I would, eventually, stop writing anyway. And I’m ok with this. I accept this. It’s a slow process, and that’s frustrating. But I accept it. I know how I believe I get my best work, and I’m happy with that. And that’s good enough for me, even if no one else can stand my writing, for whatever reason(s).

I love the moments when the writing hits me like a lightning bolt. Indeed, those are the only times that the writing occurs. And I know how “professional” writers scoff at that. But I don’t care. My writing is the way that I want it to be, and this includes the process. If this makes me an “entitled brat” or “baby”, then at least I actually enjoy what I’m doing. And that’s all I care about.

I really do wish that I could finish everything that I have started. But I just feel listless, and uninspired, most of the time. Perhaps it’s just laziness, and if it is, I accept that as well. Once again, I don’t want to work hard if I’m not going to enjoy what I’m doing, and I don’t think that I would. But it is discouraging to know that, in the back of your mind, you have so many projects unfinished, and you know their potential, and how much happiness they would bring you if completed. But you still wait, because the time isn’t right. Something isn’t right, and you can’t quite put your finger on it…Once again, it’s probably just that you’re lazy. Accept that.

Now, I suppose I will talk about my dreaded reader (ugh). To be honest, I fucking hate readers of my work. That means I hate YOU. Why do I hate you? What did you ever to do me? Well, let me tell you. First off, you’re going to have an opinion about my work. And I don’t fucking care about that. Hate is enjoyable, and produces laughter, as I write for myself; and hate is inconsequential. But, even as I say that, hate produces self-doubt. How is that? you may ask. If I don’t care, why would you produce self-doubt on my part? That’s a good fucking question. And I don’t fucking know. Yet another reason why I hate you, the reader. And you know what else I hate about you? COMPLIMENTS. Just, don’t. Please don’t. What in the fuck am I supposed to do with it? “That’s good.” Uh…ok? You going to give me money or something? Like (my particular usage of the word “like” right here shows my youth (and my language retardation)), if I’m not getting paid, I don’t care. Because I don’t fucking know what to do with it. I don’t know what to do with it, I don’t know why I don’t know what to do with it, and I don’t care to know why I don’t know what to do with it. It’s just an annoying fucking mess, and I hate all of it. And all of you (lol).

I’m just a writer, and that’s why I write. That’s it. I have stuff that I want to say, I say it, and that’s it. I don’t fucking get anything else about it, other than dreaming about becoming rich through it somehow. But that’s fucking it. That’s all I have about writing. I know that was incredibly enlightening, and this piece will be right up there with King’s “On Writing” as far as discussion of the craft is concerned, but, once again, if you will leave your praise to yourself, I would appreciate that very much.

…And if you can’t understand that I’m being sarcastic, please don’t fucking read anything else of mine ever again, you FUCKING RETARD.

Currently, most of my non-fiction is published here on this blog. And sometimes, I feel a bit crazy. I feel a bit repetitive. I feel like I write about the same things over and over and over. What I believe is the case is that similar ideas that I wish to discuss just overlap between articles: for instance, I’ve written multiple pieces simply about me writing, but I don’t believe that they are all exactly the same. The subject matter is similar, sure. But that is because I want to figure out why I write. The question remains the same in multiple pieces, so they feel similar to me. But I don’t believe they are the same. I believe that many of my pieces of non-fiction overlap. It would be a nightmare for me to organize them and combine them into one gigantic “piece”, chapter by chapter. But I definitely feel as if several pieces of my nonfiction are interconnected. I think the ideas are big, and are connected. (And if I truly am repetitive as a writer, once again, I do not care about you, as the reader. If I truly am insane, and am just rambling incoherent babble, then that is what my destiny as a writer is and I will continue to write. Once again, I don’t fucking care about what readers think about my work. I enjoy positive feedback, but only a little bit. My writing is all about me. I’m a fucking selfish writer, and that’s all I will ever be). Maybe I’m just a bad writer. And if I am: so be it.

Here, I would like to introduce some confusion that I currently feel as an “expressive” type. I have big ideas that I feel are intimately interconnected to one another. And it would feel good to have them all completed, have all of them connected, so that I could say “Wow, look at this. This is a beautiful piece of work.” But why do I want to say that? Who am I going to show that to? I don’t think that I have fully accepted the fact that my work is for me. Because the thing that confuses me is about readers. I can’t accept the fact that I only care about “readers” to the extent that it makes me money. “Making money” has been taboo to me for many, many years. And, much like sexuality, the desire to make money has been suppressed within me by religious fear. It’s hard to accept your sexuality when you’ve been told how sinful it is, and the same thing for a desire to make money. It’s really hard to undo things you have grown up believing. Which is one of life’s greatest tragedies…

In other words, I think that I was put on this earth to write and try to sell my writing. I’ve explained why I write: it’s just what I do. I can’t help myself. I just have to do it. And I don’t do it to make others feel good. I don’t do it for anyone else but me. But, I don’t write and then pile my writings in the corner of my room for them to never see the light of day. Expression is meant to be shared. Words are meant to be shared. I think it is just human nature. We all desire social activity: just along a spectrum, and of different kinds. But the “feedback loop” to me is money.

But why do I struggle with writing? And what is it that I want from it? I’ve talked about how I can become a better writer before, but I don’t know why I struggle with it. I think that my organizational abilities have been compromised over the years by social pressure. Being the “smart kid” leaves you up to a lot of bullying from those that are dumb, and my naturally passive nature just allowed them to walk all over me. So I started sounding just as dumb as them. But I’ve been miserable with my inability to write what I believe is “good”; to be able to speak intelligently in an organized manner. Also, there’s a problem that I have where I don’t feel like anyone understands what I’m saying. I have felt this way for a very long time, and it has been discouraging. Sometimes, it makes me wonder why I say anything at all. But it’s in my heart, and it has to come out, even if people don’t understand what I’m saying. It will just lead what I have to say towards a more depressing direction.

I may have just contradicted myself here. I earlier said that I don’t care what readers think. But then, I said that it is frustrating when people don’t understand what I’m saying. I think the caveat is that I don’t particularly care if a reader likes what I have to say. As long as they get it, I don’t care if they like it. I think that’s the answer to that apparent problem.

It is frustrating when other people don’t see your work as you do. Although this can change over time, I think that many creative types enjoy what they create. Some are driven mad by their perceived lack of ability to do what they wish to do, but I think that many are content with their work. And when someone doesn’t see the beauty of your work as you do, it is frustrating. Is it a natural occurrence that occurs by virtue of various aspects of human nature? Of course. It is an unchangeable reality that we all live in. But it’s precisely “unchangeable realities” that cause the most discomfort and suffering among us as humans.

Also, I’m terrified of being crazy. I’m terrified that my writings truly are, from an objective sense, incoherent babble. I don’t believe that they are. They make sense to me. But, frequently, I have found that they make sense to few others. And when they do make sense to others, I retract from those others, for fear that they will wish to develop a deeper emotional connection with me, and I do not desire that. I truly do have a tortuous personality type from time to time. The same characteristics that make me happy are the same that drive me mad. Actually, come to think of it, maybe it’s just other people that drive me mad…

The answer to me regarding the “crazy writing” problem is that if I am happy with it, and I think it is good, then it is good. I will characterize it as “good”. And I will choose how I wish to react to the reactions of my work. For some reason, it is almost taboo to say this type of thing nowadays. You mean you don’t want to hear any criticism of your work? What if it’s constructive? What if other people have good points? What if it makes you better? What if it makes you more money? My answer would be 1) tell someone who cares then 2) my writing is a very individualistic experience, whereby happiness is experienced on my part through what I write. And I have stated my opinions about the opinions of others about my work above.

“But don’t you want other people to like your work so that they give you money?” Yes. But I do not consider myself a “typical businessman” when it comes to my “art”. Am I going to be a door-to-door writer? “Yes, I’m conducting a survey on what type of writing you like. What genre do you like? How do you like the writing to go?” Of fucking course not. This is the type of attitude that non-writers give to people who dream of becoming professional writers. Honestly, I don’t think their opinion has any actual merit when it comes to the field. Does it have some fucking merit in an existential sense where everyone is entitled to their own opinion? Of course it does, you fucking idiot. But if by heeding their advice, is it going to give me more money? Maybe. But is it going to make me happy? No. Is it going to defeat the purpose of me writing? YES. Then I’m not going to fucking listen to it, and it has no merit for me. “But maybe it would if you would listen!” Fuck. You. I don’t fucking care what you have to say, please shut the fuck up, and tell someone who cares, you fucking good-for-nothing piece of human waste who can only bring others down because you’re too stupid to bring yourself up.

This is why I hate readers. I really fucking hate other people. I hate idiots. I hate people. I hate dumb readers that can’t understand what you’re saying. I hate liars. I won’t even begin to discuss them, for that’s worthy of its own piece. I wish that I was perfectly content being in my own head, where I only allowed people in at my own choosing. I’m too sensitive, and I try too hard to listen to multiple opinions equally and then make a decision. But when multiple opinions are stupid, you just can’t fucking make any sense of it. And you have to tell them it’s stupid. And then they get upset. And it’s just all a big fucking waste of goddamn time. But humans are, sometimes…

This is a bit of a tangent, but I want to discuss fear for a second. People are incredibly easily scared. When a tragedy happens, people become frightened. And when idiots become frightened, they ascribe the wrong diagnosis to what caused the tragedy in the first place. Even smart people can do this in times of stress (or, as I stated earlier, if they are malevolent), but idiots take this to a whole new level. Sadly, there are a large number of idiots in the world. Therefore, the human race is largely affected by said idiots. I don’t know why there are so many idiots in the world (what in the fuck was God thinking?), but there are. And they cause fucking problems. In the politically correct world in which we live, you can’t even discuss idiocy anymore. One more quick tangent: my theory about political correctness is that those who are PC are either stupid or evil. They are either as stupid as those that believe that music, video games, etc. cause violence, or they are as corrupt as those that proudly announce that they are protecting our freedoms by taking them away. They can only be one of the two types.

But idiots run the world. I’m not even talking about politicians. I’m just talking about the problems that idiots cause that affect everyone else around them, and the messes they create that people have to work hard to clean up. One fucking idiot who leans down to pick up their cell phone from the floorboard, completely dipping their head underneath the dash of their car, can cause untold damage to property, and can even fucking kill. Traffic is stopped for everybody (probably for an extended period of time), people are late to work, unsuspecting people hit other unsuspecting people, and, of course, somebody has to clean the fucking mess up. The idiots are a disgrace to humanity… One belligerent, wrong customer holds up the entire line for all of the innocent, unsuspecting, sane, functional members of society. Almost makes you want to be a eugenicist…

“How do you know you aren’t an idiot?” Because I’m fucking smart, that’s how. And I don’t care to explain how I know this to you, because all you’re looking to do is bring me down so you feel better about yourself, so fuck you, you self-conscious bastard. Get some fucking self-esteem. Please. And leave me the fuck alone.

And, of course, there will be some idiots that read this, and that consume other things that I create. I’m not assuming that you’re an idiot: indeed, there will be intelligent people that read this. Maybe some that even want to discuss it, or compliment it. And I’m sure there will be smart people that will have their constructive criticism, and will want to debate. But none of this will change the fact that I fucking hate the cancer known as humanity.

Right about now is the time where some fucking idiots will start comparing me to Eric Harris. Why? Because of the fear and idiocy that I just mentioned. Not to mention the PC bullshit that I just mentioned as well. I’m not saying that trying to prevent violent crime isn’t a noble goal. But for fuck’s sake, people are fucking retarded when it comes to this for reasons that I just mentioned. People can’t stay sane during a tragedy, and that compounds the problem. Mourning is one thing, but if you want to “create a change”, you need to be rational. No amount of tears are going to change this fact.

I’m not going to delve into this too much here (it will be a “subject for another piece” (interconnectedness among pieces. See? I’m not crazy…well…)), but crime prevention is a large topic that I wish to discuss eventually. I’ll simply leave a teaser and say that I’m a bit “Orwellian” in this regard (meaning leaning towards his thoughts: not the thoughts of “Big Brother”).

For some reason, there is just a relief when one expresses oneself. One can be on a deserted island, and let out a primal yell, and somehow, that will soothe their soul, if only for a little while. It is a bit strange to me. I don’t understand why we would desire to express ourselves, even no one else is around to hear it. But there is something about getting what is inside out. It’s not about other people consuming it, or feedback, but just getting it out. It’s like a relief. It just feels good. It’s like you can finally let go of what was in your head. It sits in your head, and stews, and stews, and stews, until it’s completed on paper. And sometimes, even that doesn’t end it.

Describing my writing is very difficult. It is important to me, because I want to understand it. I love to write, and I want to know why. I want to understand myself. Analyze myself. I want to do this, if for no other reason, so that I can move on. To move on to the next piece. But I have discovered something about myself (or, rather, finally admitted something to myself), and that is I am extremely lazy.

I have been afraid of being lazy for a long time. Others’ words about how I’ll be poor forever terrify me. But the thought of doing difficult work that I can’t stand does not appeal to me, either. The balance, for me, is a job that is easy, or something that I love to do (and, obviously, a combination of both preferred). I’ve always been lazy. Always loved taking the easiest way out. And although it has caused problems every now and then, I think that it has not been as bad as people made it out to be to me. Sure, people judged me. But who cares. I’ve been pretty happy about the whole thing. I do kind of worry about what I am actually going to do to make money, and how that is going to affect my happiness in life. But, I know that I am lazy. I have specific things that I enjoy doing, and I do them. There’s a reason I don’t do much else, and it’s because I don’t enjoy much else. I don’t want to try new things. I’m happy with what I’m doing. So, I’m going to do the few things that I enjoy, and do them repeatedly, and see if anyone ends up giving a fuck in the end. I’m not interested in killing myself for success. I am interested in being as lazy as possible, and developing my interests. So progress will be slow, and I can live with that; as long as I don’t fucking listen to anyone else.

When I decide a piece is good, and done, then it is good, and done. When I decide I want to write, I will write. I’ll write when and what I want to write about, and be happy with it when I am happy with it. I just care about being honest. And the monetary stresses that come along with it, I will just have to accept and deal with.

I just hope that I can keep the voices of others out of my head, and focus only on my own…

‘Twill be a long struggle, no doubt……

And I don’t know what to think about the financial aspect anymore (and, of course, I don’t want to be told what to think about it, either).

I think I’m going to end this piece right here.

That’s good……

One more thing…

Nah, I just wanted to fuck with you because I enjoy it.

I want you to be aggravated by thinking about how stupid and immature I am.

I want you to think there’s a lot more to this, when there really isn’t.

Ok, I’m done now.

The Rantings of a Crazed, Lunatic Writer.

Inspiration.

What is It That Makes Me Happy as A Writer?

A Declaration of Independence.

Analyzing My Decision-Making.

Insightful.

Murray Rothbard.

My work.

A Philosopher’s Mind.

Highly Sensitive Mind.

A Memorandum on Dreams.