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July 9th
Today's just one of those days where I can't handle any of it.
I have choreography and music to be tending to, most of my projects are gathering dust.
It's hard to go into the studio because things are the same there and I've changed. Everyone makes it difficult to quit smoking.
I love the production, I love the little world I belong to. Sculpting them into position, flipping up the lights and watching them all come to life.
The audience applauds no matter what I do. The check comes in the mail even for the shittiest of compositions that came from the most insincere place of heart. All of it could be absolutely perfect and no one would know.
I expected my girlfriend's apology would provide relief. But instead, it had no effect on me.
After all my anger I've grown apathetic.
Everything has just happened and I don't know what to do about any of it.
There are moments of her, that play over and over again. I remember those moments over and over, and over,..
She didn't do anything wrong. Nothing's right either.
This is just the way things go.
I thought about Lake Tahoe, passing the trees and stirring up the dust with the force of my tire. Passing through Martha's Vineyard in the sun, the murky ominous waters... I thought about Paris and eating lunch by the now heavily guarded Eiffel tower. The riots I witnessed in Rome, there was fire in the dark. I was in the back of a taxi observing it like a film. The riots in Mexico City, the desperation was in their faces, the anger in their fists. Lee Canyon in Las Vegas, the expansive, endless rock. Everyone was miles below, eating and dancing and laughing. In their Casinos like fish in a tank.
I don't think I would have it any other way.
There's comfort in chaos. Relief in pain.
sometimes there aren't words.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWIAYQoe6Vk&feature=youtu.be
Dear Diary,
I used to keep one of these, but then I realized I was writing for an audience instead of being honest. Like, somehow, someday I'd be fucking relevant and the diary would be found and it had to only be the very best light of even the worst situation. I do that. I pride myself on honesty but it's all a sham. I AM honest, but it's a handcrafted honesty.
I say that I'm quitting cigarettes, down to three a day from a pack. Completely leave off the fact that I've been at three a day for two years when it only took me six months to go from a pack a day to three.
Mistress? Yeah, I got a mistress, and she pays for EVERYTHING. Haha, kept man life, amirite? Except she's not a fucking heiress, she's the manager of a pizza joint and we're constantly broke.
Losing weight? Lost almost 100 lbs? Absolutely- just ignore the fact that I do it mostly from starving myself and that I can't keep a consistent exercise regimen to save my life.
I'm a fantastic liar, because I use honesty to do it. I've even fooled myself, up until I decided I wanted to be REALLY REALLY honest here, and fucked up all the lies I forgot I was telling myself. I was going to write about how I'm such a brilliant fucker, and if only life weren't soo unfair I'd be able to make the world a better place.
Yeah, well I might be fucking brilliant but that doesn't mean fuck since Im also completely useless. I don't know what the fuck my problem is but I have the worst motivation issues of anyone in the history of ever. Nike slogans don't work. Tough love doesn't work. Nothing. Im terrified of death, terrified that my life will have no fucking meaning whatsoever and I still can't get off my ass and DO ANYTHING about it, no matter how mad I am, no matter how sad, frustrated, desperate... I can't make anything change for good.
Want a brilliant idea? Want some life advice? ASK ME! Fuck if I can use any of it for myself, so someone might as well benefit.
I hate this. I hate this and I hate myself, but I can't overcome it and that just makes me hate myself even more.
Why can't self-loathing fuel change?