number fourteen

It’s been a while. As always. I never had anything to write about really, nothing that is like, outside of work at all. My life is one big secret bore of a TV commercial.

There’s this one creative advice that I got online, I have it currently as my wallpaper at work. It says that you must write the book that you want to read. I don;t think I’m that big of a fan of reading anymore, I fear. I suppose there would be days that I wish I had been able to read more, finish reading most of the books that I have started, or started reading most of the books that I had within my reach. As I grew older, I kinda succumbed to the glamour and the sparkle of both TV and film, which, as it turns out, I don’t even have enough time for, since I have a lot of so-called work to do.

I wish I had time. I wish I had a lot more thing, aside from time. I wish I had those things that made me forget how much I wish I had time. I wish I had those things that made time.

This is all useless. Again, it’s a good idea altogether, but I have yet to see it actually work on me. If anything this will hopefully somehow help me with my typing skills. Well not really.

* * * * *

I think I should go back to writing amateur poetry. Just like a drunken man’s vomit. Strings of words that somehow make sense to you but then to those victims who unwillingly get hit by it, they’re just lost in all that stinky, disorganized, uncleverly thought of mess. Once in a while you see a carrot or some resemblance of solid food, but no one will actually have the guts to pick it up, unless they’re like your really really close friends, always there to clean up after you. You get inebriated with all those ideas and the thought of creating something great. Something worth anything at all but then you lash out all your guts to the floor, and those who don’t know any better would call it good. They’d call it good just because it took a lot of guts to actually throw them up in the first place, a lot of guts to actually drink up that much emotion, that much vocabulary but too little actual solid food; way too much guts that they who call you good don’t really have or can even imagine themselves needing that much guts and throwing too much all in one time.

I don’t have a clue anymore where this is going. I better get some sleep soon or else I’ll end up sleep in too much again and waste half of the day like the whole week of almost the last.

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