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I do this for my east coast early risers™️. I offer you a real time vision into authentic west coast desperation. Rejoice! You will never know me. I am too far away, and too far lost for my words to reach the best of you. The Sun rises over your ocean & sets over mine. That which shines & sings on you will, within the hour, spite me & spit upon me. And I will sleep sweetly through it, soaked in the excrement of Amun Ra. His holy semen will glue my eyelids shut & grant me safe passage through the underworld.
Aug 17, 2024
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imagine crafting with your bare hands the perfect life, or maybe even an imperfect one full of flaws and fuckups, but it's yours, and it's okay because you're full of love. imagine that you filled yourself with that love though, that you're overflowing with it and, cup running over, imagine sharing a taste of your beautiful messy life with somebody else, and whether they end up drunk on you, or needing you like water, or poisoned, know your cup won't empty as long as you keep refilling it with yourself. its 3:30 am and im sleep-deprived so this is one of those, maybe better in the drafts posts. stay thirsty, my friends.
Feb 26, 2025
I am a liquor & wine salesman. Theoretically, it is my job to go to grocery stores in the dark hours of the morning, schmooze with the lazy eyed manager, & convince him/her to purchase X many cases of alcohol to be displayed at Y location in the store's floor plan. I make the sale by doing free labor around the store for them. Those big displays with dozens of wine cases, the ones where you can just pick up a bottle on a whim, it's a large part of my job to set those up. For every one of those cases on the floor, I make somewhere in the ballpark of 5 dollars/case; this may sound pathetic (it's not not pathetic [not nothing either {50 cases at a single store can net me enough money to buy groceries for a two week period}]), but I’m paid a decent hourly rate & can ostensibly make a good living if I show up consistently, lend a helping hand to the usually decent staff of one of my many stores, etc..
lmao
I don't do any of this, that's the thing. I drive to the first store on my route, I clock in on my work phone & the phone takes a real-time snapshot of the location & time of my clock in. I drive back home. I crawl into bed & I fall asleep. I've been doing this for the better part of a year now. Honestly, for the majority of the time that I've worked at this job I haven't done a single thing. I guess that's not entirely true. I've slept in, gone grocery shopping, gone to the gym, laid in my girlfriend’s arms: watched movies, tv, pornography, birds outside my window while my cat would nap in my lap. Cooking, cleaning, it's all so much sweeter, so much healthier when it's on company time. Right now I'm thinking of really tackling Shakespeare. Why not?
I know that one day the jig will be up. Either they'll find me out & demand that I change my ways (something I would never, could never do) or fire me. I hope they fire me. God, how I want my fat milksmelling boss to waddle toward me, his pig face full of condescension, relishing the opportunity to finally cut me down to size. Me, leaning against my convertible— sunglasses on, cowboy faced, a real Johnny California ready for a full day of surfing. I’d take a long drag & blow cigarette smoke in his face or spit chewing tobacco/ zyn spit in his eye or attack him with a boxcutter & try to take one or both of his eyelids for myself. Maybe all of the above. I'm really not a sadist or a sicko in the head or an edgelord or anything, but the idea of crucifying him on a steel cross, sticking a spear hooked up to a liposuction machine in his side, and draining him of about 450 lbs is hilarious to me. The lard trickling down into a pit beneath him. When he asks for water give him vinegar. & when he's had enough & I've made him beautiful forever, I’d pull the lever & lower him into the boiling vat of his own fat. This makes me laugh a lot.
One of these days it’ll end. I’ll start law school or get a real job or get hit by a car & in my post-concussed state somehow be recalbirated to enjoy work. But for now, I’m going back to sleep. It’s 10:53 in the morning for crying out loud
Apr 25, 2024
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Ladadeeedadadeeedaaa
Feb 1, 2024
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sometimes you just need to read some real shit straight from the realest person you know .
Feb 24, 2025
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I've been Hitlering myself, Stalining myself, Musollining myself, Maoing myself for the past 7 months. I do this because I am a coward, and totalitarian regimes are conducted by and inflicted upon cowards. Something interesting about me is that I am 5'10.225" in the morning. As the day goes on, my spine compresses and I am shorter by about a quarter inch to a half inch come evening. I generally refuse to acknowledge to myself that at midnight I'm 5'9" because, as stated above, I am a coward, and a vain one. This past September I weighed in at 210 lbs, putting me undoubtedly in the "overweight" segment of the population and just on the border of mildly obese. That's funny to me, that last summer I could have been 5'9" and obese or 5'10" and just bog standard overweight-american depending on the time of day, really. But you have to understand that if I were not a coward, this would not matter. The non-cowards among us, the brave and the beautiful, they pay no mind to these things, they can drink milk without spoiling it.
I am no longer as overweight or obese as I once was. The last time I weighed myself, I was at 187.8 lbs., meaning that I've lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 25-30 lbs of fat when you factor in muscle gains. I still have a long way to go, of course. But I have been lifting weights and counting calories and yes, this has unsurprisingly made my life less unbearable. But I'm still a coward. You can't lift away cowardice, cowardice is not something to be shaved off by a caloric deficit. I operate under the delusion that if I can reach a certain set of numbers it will be mathematically impossible for me to be a coward. Lately, I’ve been coming around to the conclusion that my cowardice is parabolic— diminishing itself quietly into infinity but fundamentally unable to arrive at y=(0).
Yeah I lift brah. You must understand that I do not lift to feel strong, but to make external my constant, gnawing, smothering internal weakness. I used to hope that I could draw it out and smash it away beneath the barbell. I'm beginning to understand that my condition is chronic-- it's cellular, in my cytoplasm. When the muscle fibers tear, it is the cowardice that rips itself apart, and when the muscle fibers rebuild themselves it is the cowardice that comes back all the more potent; I foam roll at my cowardice in hopes that my lower back will be less tight, my hips more mobile, the fear made flesh less aching and sore. But really it just looks like I’m having awkward missionary sex with an imaginary partner alone in my living room.
What is it that I’m so afraid of? Why am I saying all this? I don't know. There's a girl who I want to talk to and every time she texts me I feel sick. I apologize for how mundane the answer is, really I do. But every time I try to communicate with her I feel like I've said the exact wrong combination of words. She texted me happy birthday today and I somehow found a way to say the wrong thing. She thinks I’m funny, she likes to talk to me, and every time I make her laugh and I hear her laugh I'm reminded of the insect I truly am. Only a coward feels this way when he's around a beautiful woman. No other explanation. Every single woman I’ve ever loved has terrified me.
Apr 8, 2025
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This is a confession post, not a recommendation, not even much of an anti-recommendation. Tbh it reads like a humilation ritual. Honestly just keep scrolling; it's not worth reading. I'm just posting it because I think I had a point when I first started writing this, one which I lost pretty wuickly. But I spent a good couple of minutes typing this all out, so I'll post it anyway. Thank God I'm anon. If you do read it, please forgive me.
My friend Tyler brought a joint to the super bowl party last night. He handed it to me & told me about how it had weed diamonds in it while I smoked, he told me that it was some good shit and that I wouldn't have to smoke so much of it since I've got such a low tolerance & all, but I could also smoke as much as I liked, seeing as he had a bunch more & that it was the super bowl & we had a bunch of wings on the way anyway, so might as well smoke some more weed so you know what? yeah, i smoked some more weed since what's the harm anyway it's just weed after all.
I've been a mess all day. I've been slow & stupid & disgustingly horny since I woke up this morning; but really honestly since I smoked the weed. If you're one of those types that "actually becomes more functional when you're smoking weed" & that I should "just let people enjoy things" I don't know what to say to you. I'm going to be weird for 4 weeks now and it's all my fault. This happens every time.
Even when it doesn't turn me into a non-verbal paranoiac nutcase, even when it's enjoyable to me in that moment-- I become something lower than a beast. I stand over the platter of chicken wings & gorge until I am sick and then I gorge even more. My stomach becomes distended & my face and fingers are covered in thai curry buffalo chicken fat goo. I waddle around & fart & I find this very funny. I confuse the sound of my own voice with that of my younger sisters & this is incredibly disqueting to me. Do I really sound like that? I become a big confused overgrown fat baby.
I'm going to be be weird for four weeks now. Slow. I was supposed to meet up with my friends to watch Luka's debut for the Lakers. I'm stitting at my desk typing this up; procrastinating going to the gym (which I can NOT neglect [especially after my evening of spiritual obesity]) & the game starts in 5 minutes. Stupid. Typing out this confession right now is painfully difficult. Every word that I type has the appearance of a whitehead that can't be popped to me. This textbox full of blemishes so infuriatingly, stubbornly, immutably DISGUSTING. I feel sick just reading back what I'm writing here. Once again, if you've made it this far, forgive me. This is a confession, not a recommendation. Disgustingly horny. This one I won't elaborate on. Forgive me.
It's not because I smoked weed. The smoking of the weed was just the first movement in a sequence that had already begun before I'd even accepted the joint from Tyler. My own spiritual weakness is the mantle upon which all of these failings hang. I'm not this way because I smoked weed, I'm this way because I'm the type of guy that smokes weed even though I know what it will do to me. There are 999,999,999 other weeds in my life that I am all too willing to permit myself. I haven't eaten anything but bread & butter all day. The lakers game is starting soon. Off to the gym I go.
Feb 11, 2025