Today was an uneventful day. All I did was curl up into an insignificant little ball and read "Slaughterhouse Five" by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. An interesting read, I highly recommend it. But that's aside the main point of this here writing that I'm probably going to spend a good twenty minutes typing away like a half-crazed Albert Camus bent over his typewriter.
Should've done my homework this morning. My phone read 6:15 AM when I woke up. Really should've gotten the hell up and made breakfast and ate it and brushed my teeth and carried out the ever-so banal morning routine that is prevalent in everyone's lives. Instead, I stayed in bed.
10 hrs and 30 minutes later, I am seated in front of a white computer. 10 hrs and 30 minutes later, I am here now, writing this note on facebook like a half-crazed Albert Camus bent over his typewriter. There's a stack of old newspapers to my right and a myriad books stacked like bricks behind me. This is my fortress, ladies and gents. This is my home, my happy place.
Didn't take a shower either. I should. I'm expecting visitors soon...well if you could call them visitors. More like my inner demons manifesting themselves through my frail body. And those demons were the same exact forces that incarcerated me in the comfort zone of my blanket. Damn them, I could have been productive today.
But if I blame those demons then I will be primarily blaming myself, because those demons are from within me, and if I blame my own attributes I will be placing the blame on myself. Sometimes I imagine that I'm a starving artist of some sort, living in a shithole of an apartment, my lungs riddled with holes from chain-smoking, my vision blurred from countless shots of scotch and vodka. Another Camus, another Yeats, another Orwell. My prose and imagination are inferior compared to these masters but at least I have my ambitions.
You may think I'm crazy. Well, aren't we all. It's futile to deny that no one in this world is a 100% mentally stable. You may ask yourself, "Why the hell am I reading this? All this guy's saying is some bottled-up shit!" Final verdict: I am full of shit. That's why I have to excrete it through words. That way I may be able to breathe more freely and regain my senses. Currently, my once trenchant mind is unable to fully perform to its potential, therefore I am expelling all gunk within my system that I've imbibed over the years.
I can't explain why but I'm having great trouble with refraining from implementing profanity to this note. These impulses come and go all the time for no apparent reason. Profanities are convenient. You express frustration, anger, jealousy, joy, hatred, sadness all with one or two words. In many ways, words are more powerful than atomic weapons.
No one knows why you act in a certain way except for yourself. You are the only one you can trust. I am the only one I can trust. God is the only one that he can trust. He cannot trust us humans to do things the way he created us to do so. It's irrational. That's why it is better that people do not believe in God. They only have to believe in themselves.
Believe in yourself. Trust yourself. Love yourself. No one else can emphasize those things besides you. You have to do everything for yourself. And so do I.
I'm going to leave you now. It is 4:45 pm and I am no longer a half-crazed Albert Camus bent over his typewriter. I am Minjeh Lee, 16 years-old, and this much I know is true.
No comments:
Post a Comment