a blogpost about nothing much

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Current events. I don't feel interested in talking about current events. There's already enough of that going around. They assail the brain like asynchronously distributed warfare. Turn on the television and you have live footage of war in the middle east or police shootings over here, broadcast directly into your living room. These take precedence over interpersonal communication that could have occurred if the machine was turned off. The problem is the machine is more interesting than most people. 

Instead I will talk about the street. There is a pothole on 70% of streets (I made this statistic up). It's annoying if you're trying to go from spot a to b, let alone c. I could go on a rodomontade about these things: how I hate my car, how I hate the fact that I have to own a car, something else about cars that I hate... I will refrain.

The street aside, I will attempt to write about things I like. I basically only like depressing novels and poems. Call this a personal defect, it's your choice. But nothing in the world of jobs/social media etc. gets me really jazzed. I'd rather listen to Texas is the Reason or some old emo band I haven't heard for a decade. When you think about how swiftly time passes, it's sort of fucked. One day you are wrapped in the insane fervor of your early twenties, high on emotions and ideals, the next you're barely able to recall the sensations of those feelings. You're stuck browsing the web for pointless jobs and hyperventilating at the thought of writing a cover letter. You're stuck in a relationship where you gradually chip away what's left of yourself, and bury the remainder in some deep cavity of the chest and eventually you don't even let it entertain thoughts. In short you transform yourself into your doppleganger. It's no real stretch to see how depressing books and novels could provide some outlet for the publicly distraught, or existentially doomed. As far as I'm concerned they're the only thing that keeps me going. 

Ok, perhaps next time I will go further in my prosaic exploration of the depressive aspects of existence. 


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