I can’t get through a single day without feeling a sense of absolute godlessness. A stirring restless emptiness. My stomach feels like a black hole. I should have eaten more food today. I imagine that a bit of nicotine would improve the way I feel, but if a bit of nicotine does improve the way I feel, then a bit more would be necessary a few minutes later to improve the way I feel a few minutes later, and so on and so forth. Joseph seems to think I am worthwhile. He called my work brilliant. To imagine. My wrists hurt and my brain is somewhat devoid of ideas or anything valuable. At least I’m saying something. I hate when I like my writing, because then I don’t want to write anymore, I just want to rest on my rotting laurels and not experiment anymore. I wish I felt the urge to stay awake past this time of night. I’m actually quite sleepy and even exhausted. But I wish there was something that made me really want to stay up. I’m sure I could create that for myself if I were to write something truly good. I’d like to paint soon. This Saturday I’ve got an online tutoring session. My first session with this student, and it’s online. This seems a rather difficult way to begin––the main issue of this is writing on the virtual whiteboard. I’ll have to have a set of examples all ready to go before I get on the Zoom call. My language here is coarse and graft. My hope is shambled and I’d willingly let cold water slide over me until I can’t notice it anymore. Any effects are point blank. All roads are egg. Whether you want to read me or not, I’ll write on your back. Good luck, then! Ha! A little syrup for your toast. Would you take me on a boat? If you had a boat? Would you take me on a jet plane? If you had one? He said he would, he said he would, he said he would. A ten minute interval is so very much when every second is an attentive one. I am a bit lonely in the sky. Glue laundress and the other find too. Well by the graft is an ultra rare once bitten fly board ball gourd. Won’t you sing with me? What do the bees say? Why are the forest flies open today? Is it Lent? I will lie down on my back, and if I lie down on my back, do you promise not to accompany me? Do you promise that I will find no rest? Six putty on my hand breath and you will never ever ever see the result. The result? Yes. Can you please put the placemats on the table? Yes. Can you scratch my back for forty-five minutes? No. I can not. I can not do that. A single left minute brings me here.
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