#donkey-boy

I put my faith in re-blogs

Way out west, where the dry winds sweep across the desert landscape, where the rocks are crimson and the hills rise fantastically, there is a town where people go to die among the barren dunes. And in that town there is a man, in his forties, who still lives with his parents. His mother has fallen ill and is riddled with dementia, and his father, a wealthy, retired man, is indifferent to him. He used to have dreams of becoming a writer, but he always had trouble articulating himself; the words never falling into place quite as he would have liked. It took effort—too much of it—and he wasn’t willing to put the work in, and he doesn’t have those dreams anymore, spending most of his days, having retreated to the comfortable safety of his begrimed, cockroach-infested bedroom, obliterating the thoughts of unease and dissatisfaction with marijuana and alcohol. That is the one small joy left in his life; the euphoria from it, however, is fleeting, and the shame and the discomfort always return. He has become disheartened, led astray by the ones around him: the unresponsive father, the mother who coddled him, and the authority figures in his life growing up who were supposed to guide and help motivate him but didn’t, instead discouraging him, and this has left him empty, dispirited. The flame within him—his creative spark, his soul—no longer burns bright, nor does it lick up toward the heavens as it once did. It has grown dull, a faint flicker, gloaming at the center of the endless tenebrosity consuming him, his hopes threshed and his dreams stamped out by the harsh realities of this world. So now, instead, he watches as people pass through his life, seeing him as just another bizarre character guest-starring in their own, much more glamorous narratives, and discarding him once they’ve grown bored or tired of him.

A winner doesn't shiver.

Julien Donkey-Boy By Harmony Korine