Closed Curtains Confessions

Hey dream boy, what are you dreaming of this time? The horrors or the pleasures? Or my sick and twisted machinations as your God?

I can't decide whether god has chosen to smite me or show me mercy.

If I give in to the pleas in my head, begging for a break, where will that leave me?

I love doing nothing, but at the same time, doing nothing makes me want to scream. This unremitting contradiction ruins all rare moments of peace I can have.

The Often In Diaries: In an autobiography it is unavoidable that quite frequently in the place where "once" should truthfully be written, "often" is written. For one always remains conscious that memory draws out of the darkness, which the word "once" blows to pieces, the word "often" admittedly does not fully spare either but preserves at least in the opinion of the writer, carrying him over parts that might not have been found in his life at all but give him a substitute for those he no longer even faintly touches in his memory. -Franz Kafka; January 1912.

I love Franz Kafka. He is such a beautiful and honest writer. The number of times my heart has ached because of the experiences he's described is mind-boggling. I value nothing more than his passion for documenting his very human experience. I'm also so interested in the fact that I relate so much to a man born in 1883. He describes things that I genuinely didn't think people from over a century ago would've experienced. I've never rooted for a narrator as much as I've rooted for Kafka; he's dead, his fate is set in history.

Grrrrrrrr

I'm not sure when. A few years ago, I stopped thinking of the future. I can't recall the last time I seriously considered where I might end up. I'm grateful for it. Thinking about it now, I know. If I put too much thought into it, I'll have to process the fact that I don't see myself with a future. At the very least, not a distant future. I'm grateful for it. I'm tired, I want it to be over. My life has been an exhausting mess of disgusting emotions and mind-numbing conformity. I'm tired. No amount of rest can make up for the lifetime of exhaustion. I'm tired and I think I'll never be energized again. I have no energy to reach for a future I don't see myself having. I'm at a standstill. I'm grateful for it.

Nobody will ever see this account, probably. If they do, they'll be sex bots for sure. I'm probably just gonna write senseless shit and forget about this account for months at a time until I've spiraled far enough. I'm crashing out. My mental stability is going further and further down the drain. So here I am Tumblr, take it all in.