All my words

I will never understand why men commment “beautiful” “sexy” “heart eyes emoji” etc. on a random girl’s picture online. what do you think you’re accomplishing. how is this the greatest expression of your masculinity you’re able to muster.   you are feeding this poor girl’s narcissism and positioning yourself no closer to her photoshopped body. go get some skills. make some money. improve yourself you fucking loser. get off instagram. i personally hate you.

in like 6th grade my class went on a field trip into the forest to do some outside learning — i don’t remember anything we did out there besides wear shorts and walk around in complexly organized groups and get stung by bugs and maybe learn about trees or something, but the main thing i remember about this trip is that on the long ride back home, back to our middle school in westerly, rhode island, i sat on the bus and thought intensely of Clara the whole time.   she sat a few rows ahead of me, fast asleep alone in a leather bus seat and for some reason my 6th-grade-year-old self decided that now was the perfect time to fantasize about walking a few rows up there and sitting next to her and maybe holding her hand or laying my head on hers or telling her that I liked her or something. these thoughts consumed me and they didn’t feel good and they didn’t result in any action and they have haunted me throughout my teenage life.   something about being far from home made the urge t...

on Saturdays i failed to plan for, i will go downtown alone and walk around and look at people and listen to music. it’s easier to think outside. there is no one with me for me to entertain, wonder if they’re bored with or annoyed by me, restrict my diet for, make occasional uncomfortable eye contact with, or stand at an empty stop light with because they aren’t a habitual jaywalker like myself. I hate to impose. My sanity is nourished by small doses of being outside and alone, where no one knows where i am or who i am. i have no past, no name, no job, no expectations. i’m just a young man in a tight t shirt.  

i fear that my future self will hate who i am right now, the way i choose to spend my time.   he will have no sympathy for me. he will long to go back to this age, at 23, when you really still had your whole life ahead of you and you could be anything, and you chose, every day, to be nothing instead.  

i got a taste of the kind of psychic pain it would take to make me want to kill myself on my 19th birthday and a few times in my freshman and sophomore years in college.   i would eat edibles with unknown quantities of weed in them. after a few bouts of mind-splitting fear coupled with intense physical paralysis, i learned not to do that. i like to think that it made me stronger  

Crossing the street before the walk light flashes to show all the surrounding females how smart and brave i am  

i dont tip i dont recycle i dont vote i dont text back i dont happy birthday i dont mask i dont donate   i dont help   i dont share i dont cry i dont care i have not learned how to love anyone but myself. i try to help my friends, sometimes, but probably only so they can become better side characters in the Story of My Life. you are the average of your five best friends. one day i will have no one and only myself to blame.

The most unfortunate yet ubiquitous reality of dealing with females is that they don’t want to make any decisions. They don’t want to be in charge of anything. Ever. They just ask questions. They want you to detail every aspect of your time together and have it all just happen to them, like a movie. They are allergic to making solid plans. I'm always hoping she’ll have some personal conviction and she doesn’t. She just wants to feed off my endless supply of creativity and will. It’s not her fault. It’s just how girls are.

I have grown tired of elaborate 1-3 hour long interviews after which I am approximately half the time rewarded with sex, which is only good about half the time anyway. I have accepted that there is no logical place in my current life for a girl who doesn’t play smash or do stand up, and it is not worth my time to force interactions in other domains.   I have not given up, but I have stopped trying. For now. I need to get good at the things that I do before I can establish an honest relationship with a halfway decent girl anyway.

Las Vegas at 3 am, I walked up to a Black Jack table and bet $150 on a single hand. Nobody was with me to dissuade me because I had been failing to meet with friends all night and had finally given up. The other players at the table looked at me like I was stupid. I was. I was also tired and bored and sad. The dealer said nothing. They see this type of capitulation every 20 minutes.   The hands are dealt. I think: Oh boy, I hope I win this hand. I’ll be so happy if I win this hand. I get a Jack and an Ace: 21. I win and I feel nothing. I actually feel worse because I have no one to share the victory with. I cash out $300 and head home.  

in like 6th grade my class went on a field trip into the forest to do some outside learning — i don’t remember anything we did out there besides wear shorts and walk around in complexly organized groups and get stung by mosquitos and maybe learn about trees or something -- the main thing i remember about this trip is that on the long ride back home, back to our middle school in westerly, rhode island, i sat on the bus thinking intensely of Sarah the whole time.   she sat a few rows ahead of me, fast asleep alone in a leather bus seat and for some reason my 6th-grade-year-old self decided that now was the perfect time to fantasize about walking a few rows up there and sitting next to her and maybe holding her hand or laying my head on hers or telling her that I liked her or something. these thoughts assaulted me then, they didn’t feel good and they didn’t result in any action and they have haunted me throughout my entire life.   something about being far from home made the urge...

Me, watching, horrified, as my date CLICKS on a clothing ad intentionally on MOBILE! People are actually clicking on these fucking things?

Doctor: Your fatigue is due to poor sleeping, which is due to your snoring, which is due to mouth breathing, which is due to poor facial structure So basically I’m tired because I’m ugly. Simply, truly epic.  

No one is thinking of you You are loved These are not contradictions Money is not real You are only limited by health and wealth When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose

How much more of my life must I give you before you accept that I love you do you want me to cut my arm off because that’s what a guy would do if he was like totally really into you? you would say “he only cut one of his arms off! I’m so ugly”

Here’s how I would advertise my blog if I didn’t have far too much shame to ever post on a public social media account: Hey, have you ever interacted with me and thought: I want to know what that guy thinks about literally everything ? Boy have I got the website for you!   I’m aware that you are very few people, you are maybe even no one at all. Did you even make it to this point? Why would you? Stop reading! I don’t want anyone to see me! But for some reason I must continue to expose myself in this way, so if you must: [link to blog]

Today, I no longer feel the urge to get on tinder and try to fuck cute 20 year olds in the most time-efficient way possible I just want someone to go to yoga with, or someone to hold as we watch a good movie, or someone to accompany me on a frugal vacation to a far away place. someone who i dont need to spend a lot of money with to have a good time. Someone smart and funny and challenging, even interesting. And interested in learning about people and things like I am. Someone who’s always asking questions.   Unfortunately, realistically, she has to be hot. And do hot girls like this actually exist? I haven’t encountered many. And even rarer is a hot girl who is anything like this who would want anything to do with ME.   So I go on alone, mostly, for now.

Why should I have to put my laptop away for our descent. I want to keep typing, god damn it. I was finally in the zone. let me keep thought dumping. Would you stop Da Vinci while he was painting the Mona Lisa because the fucking plane’s going down? FUCK OFF AND LET ME COMPOSE! Sir, the plane is actually going down. We’re going to die. So does that mean I can finish “Isn’t Weed Awesome” #987?   ... Thank you very much.

I get to know so many girls and I wonder: how does their life work? how is this self sustaining? how can any young person’s bank account endure so many frivolous lifestyle choices?   the resounding, loud, obvious explanation: Daddy’s Got Money.   Daddy went to college back when not just anybody was going to college, and he chose a lucrative career path to spend his youth on, and he made a series of correct investments, so Daddy’s Got Money.   I can’t tell if I feel some sort of inferiority complex about not being a part of this club or just smug for having so frequently penetrated it.   I often worry that people who know the real value of money will look down on me as soon as they realize I wasn’t born and raised in a big tub of it.  

it’s one of those days where i hide in the bathroom and cant face myself in the mirror because i know i would be absolutely disgusted by what i see.   i feel physically sick. and it’s not like the flu. it’s a stomach sickness i inflicted upon myself by eating a third bag of swedish fish. candy. literal poisonous candy. i never do that. what the fuck is wrong with me right now. i can feel the acne festering under my skin. my stupid prize. i’ve been eating candy all weekend. this whole trip is candy: no nutritional value. nothing about this is improving me. this girl is candy. this place is candy. i want to vomit but i can’t. but i know, 24 hours from now, i’ll be sitting in my little apartment feeling a different kind of emptiness. the lonely version i get when i fail to make plans for myself on a weekend afternoon. it hurts so bad. i gotta get back. i just drink water and i eat to survive.