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For people who kill themselves

The reason I left uni last week is because I realised how stupid it is to actually pay for something I don’t want but have been convinced I do and is actually killing me. 

The reason I have come back to uni this week is because the excitement of wearing black and showing my forearms is more appealing than being strictly alive; looking out the window. The dreadful existence of being above it all. Must not be abstract must not be abstract. 

Even that’s an ideology though, letting go, giving up. I think we’re starting to get somewhere with, “give up giving up.” 

My friend recently asked me to write a monologue for one of his characters. It’s top secret but has to do with the meaning of life. He says, “You’re the only person I know who could write that.” I agree with him because I’ve seen it; most days too, right up until lunch time when the guilt of underachieving kicks in. 

I know how to get it. 

But I don’t want it.

Because I’m an excellent listener. All the shit you guys have filled my head with over the last 40 years. Even through all the chronic diagnoses and the bed sores, the lice, the footpaths and the I couldn’t possibly get any lowers. Must not be excessively sentimental must not be excessively sentimental. Still I listen and say just give them another chance.

Don’t take this personally unless you enjoy that sort of thing, a good way to measure this is how you react in online forums or watching the news. I think there’s about, actually no-one I know is beyond that. And if they are they’re judging the ones who aren’t. But I do have some associates who are above it, and they were my disabled clients while I did support work. 

I’m justifying the fire in my belly right now with Jesus’s rage in the market. But really the cause of rage is my own noseyness. I could also question that though given a story I heard from a class mate. It was during a printing studio and one of the other students was not listening to the instructions of how to use the press. The tutor flew into a quick fit of rage. My friend monitored the following moments very closely and observed a clear beginning and end to the anger. She carried on in a balanced manner without any further interruption to the cohesion of the group. He and I being both experienced in brawling were in awe of this. 

The reason I write this way is because I intend it to be read. If I were to write exclusively for my own benefit it would look like a stock take pro-forma, then again that could be interesting. 

During meditation I realised that there were people in Perth who’d made celebrated contributions to local music and had thousands of followers, were down right gorgeous and people thanked them when they were in public. The biggest factor was how many blonde haired friends they had, and how those people look stunning wearing a sleeping bag. I saw how frequently these sexy gifted people posted pictures of their heads or some ironic supermarket scene. I thought these mother fuckers have exactly what I want and behave in precisely the same manner which keeps me awake at night. What I mean is I have absolutely no evidence to suggest they are happier than me. It certainly seems that they’re getting their own way though. I know what I’m like when I get my own way. Higher than you. Way way way way lower.