|
|
|
|
Maybe I'm soliloquizing
|
|
|
|
I smoked a final cigarette (yeah I still smoke, so did my friend Dai, we didn't care what you thought about that) in the yard and said goodbye to a tree that needs to be cut down. I watched the chill and breathed in the cold. I thought of you, dear reader, and penned a verse, a missive, a devoutly messed up soliloquy just for you.
|
Tonight I both shelved a Palestinian/Israeli conversation and watched a funny YouTube video on how IKEA was invented. I pretended that I agreed a future is a given.
|
It's strange, you know, the number of masks I pull on throughout the day. This is a different place I come to. Here. This writing thing. I write to actual humans in a voice that is so intensely personal. You think you know me. It's just another, another mask. Or is the scatter what I am? Which one of me is real?
|
It's nearly perverse, the things I send to you. I wonder what the little voice in your head is saying right now. You know I'm not schizophrenic, right? Christ alive what might happen to me if I document it all like this. So loosely, so free, without context, a drifter of a newsletter. I guess you'll tell me, you funny, permanent internet you.
|
|
Do you guys remember that LoverBoy song "Everybody's working for the weekend"? Back in the day when I worked several blue-collar jobs at once, one of my bffs and I sang the chorus on a regular basis. Lately, I've been working for the weekend. There's been...too much. Not too much work, to be honest, but too much emotion, too much drama, too much uncertainty.
|
Burnout isn't just happening to me. It's happening to so, so many people. I talk to friends and colleagues and I hear "I'm so tired," "I have no idea what I'm doing," "I imagined something else," and all the variations of "What in the actual fuck is going on?"
|
It's the pandemic, isn't it? Our little mortal brains can't distract ourselves from our own mortality at the moment? Or am misreading? Is it just my own ability to cope that's in question here?
|
|
Maybe I'm bonkers
|
|
|
|
Click over to another spectacle and wonder aloud if the slick steel came from the heavens. Which bit of it is the belief in righteousness and which bit is the burnt drippings if melted cheese on the bottom of the oven. How black is my heart?
|
Do you all think I'm bonkers mad? Because ^^ that sounds bananas.
|
I'll sign off now, after I share this link about me blabbering away about work stuff on a panel next week. And this other link with jobs for folks who want to help me work on the climate emergency. Oh and this other one about how Nazis deserve to be punched in the head, and, a little aside about how I find it fascinating how weird and varied the world is. In cooking. In the Catskills. In Calcutta or Costa Rica. You see, folks, Hungarian design is great, so let's just sit back, relax and enjoy the absolute shitfuckery that is existence.
|
|
Maybe I need help?
|
|
I'm fine, really. Unfortunately, I'll live far past the moment I should have kicked the bucket and so, you poor dear, will you. Sometimes I'm afraid of my insides. They have a life of their own.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
