Life Be Not Proud

I'm tired. Bone tired. I could sleep for a thousand years. I'm hurt. I'm angry. I'm disgusted with both myself and the world around me. Life is a constant battle with me torn between God yelling at me and the world yelling at me. There just ain't no place for me.

And I'm terminally bored.

I sooo desperately want to live. Not just survive, but to LIVE. To think about things other than food and shelter and dodging the daily bullets. And it's funny because I've been able to garner some cash here lately and I've been able to string together a few days of living like a normal person. That's when I found out once the oppression of the daily struggle is removed there's nothing out there for me.

Many homeless had actual lives before they got here and I feel vastly inferior to them. Some are too fucked up to have those lives now, but at least at some point in their life they had one and had some sort of identity. I never had that. Maybe that's why I drifted down to the absolute bottom. I refused my life. Now I don't know how to say yes. And my eyes are failing – which is driving me out of my mind.


There's a show I've been able to catch lately called "Nash Bridges" (yeah, I know, I'm like ten years behind). It is amazing. It just reeks of life. I'm so jealous of a world where people live and breathe and think. While watching, I savor every second of this vicarious life. I even looked up the show's creator, Carlton Cuse, to read about this huge force of energy. I'm beginning to think the most horrible prison of all is to have nothing to offer. But what can one do about something like that?

My only friend is the bullet. Only it can stop the horror of my existence. I wish I could die right now and spare myself further torment. And I feel there's no way I can avoid coming to that point. But I really, really don't want to do that. Not without finding out who the fuck I am first. Goddam, I hate to die this way.