Everything is Going to be Alright

"Make money online" she says. But then how will I avoid the impending doom of fat. Which is really the only reason why I would want a job, it has become very easy to just, not do anything. And then drink, when I decide to do something. I still don't eat very much, but then, it's never been a strong talking point amongst the other attendees.

"Make money online" she says. Like it's that easy (and it isn't). I always thought that we were doing something that we loved, but, apparently that is impossible, unless you have like, heaps of money, which we don't. Dir.

"Make money online" she says. And this is where it begins? Making money online, so I have a little bit of extra pocket money. I'm not a freaking dinosaur, or a kid. I don't have kids of my own (or dinosaurs). Although I wish I did. I could sell them on ebay, and make money online. Dammit.

We say that we study and work and practice to make the kind of money we need to buy a house and have kids. Oh lordy lord, if I believed in religion I would say "Jesus Christ Holy Moses MY GOD" that is possibly bullshit. And so, so very boring. I just want to GO. I want to study and work and practice so that I can GO. How many times have I swapped lives with you? Too, too many. It is no longer fun, it's now just reality tv, and it's kind of pathetic.

I spend more time looking through dictionaries than I do looking through job search sites, and that's not to say that I don't spend a lot of time on job search sites. Enough to want to smash your computer time and time again is enough time in my inattentive mind. I spend more time looking for music I might like than I do listening to it. I spend so much more time looking at art I might like than I do making it, and that is supposed to be why I am here, Jesus Christ Holy Moses MY GOD. No.

No. No. No. No.

I like words a whole lot more than I do pictures. I don't look at the tv when it is on. I certainly don't look at you when you are talking (although I spend a great deal of time wishing I could remember what the hell you looked like). I cry to music and scrutinize spelling and fall in love with dialogue, but I have never cried about art and I have never thought about the social implications of it's existence and I have certainly never fallen in love with art, or an artist. (However I have fallen in love with someone you might call a musician or a writer.)

I have to remind myself sometimes that this work exists, and that I am doing this shit for a reason, and that what it says is most certainly true, and that the man that made it, if not for truth, is happy. A happy, happy man.