“People confuse rudeness with intellectual honesty and fail to notice that intellectual honesty is required only of intelligent people – others can go fuck themselves.”
The deception of memory makes it impossible to identify real. I am grasping at straws. I started writing this in February, when things were different. I don’t know why I bother to write things down. I am hopelessly incompetent with words. Recently, somebody I don’t know emailed me and said that they could relate to the crap on this blog “because you write in a very mundane, natural way” and I wanted to go hide in my overflowing closet. And perhaps never come out.
Can’t anyone see that I live in fear? I am overwhelmed with fear and confusion most of the time. Everything I thought was real was at best a temporary illusion. All the myths fall apart. What is left behind is something broken and empty. When they talk about the absence of presence and the presence of absence I want to cackle hysterically. I am absent.
I want to tell myself mundane shit about how this is a passing phase, but my gut tells me otherwise.
Don’t you see, I am a monster too.