Blah.

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
-Ernest Hemingway

I sit here and I write. I'm distracted, I waste time, but I write. I lay down and I dream, I think and I write. I make words but I can't write. There's no art without blood, without sweat and tears. There's no value without sacrifice, there's no meaning without pain.

The road of a doctor is glamorous, the road of an artist is treacherous. If you're an artist you'll die poor, if you can afford art you'll die rich. We all race on different tracks. If you're winning you're oblivious, if you're losing, you're ahead of the pack and if you're sitting on the sidelines watching them run, you've won. Soon they'll all die and be replaced by themselves.

You think you're winning when you see the finish line. You'll be struck down before figuring anything out.

You think you're losing when you see everyone pass you by. You're left alone and in that loneliness see yourself, what you need, who you are, putting you ahead of the crowd.

You sit on the sidelines when you've felt something wrong, it's not a track, it's a circle. You sit down and watch them run. By seeing what they do wrong you do what's right, you feel the grass on your ass and wait for what's coming to take all of you.

I've said nothing in the past paragraphs. What's their point? It means nothing, bullshit blabbering from a bullshit brain. Coping mechanism for your unparalleled laziness and lack of motivation. An excuse to be the way you are while justifying it, a way to sleep at night.

You believe the lie, making it true...but it's still a lie. What's right then? Certainly not using metaphors and an aggrandized vocabulary to show an idea that's been said before. Every thing is like some other thing. Every scene is like some other thing.

Whatever you think of has been thought of, whatever you write has been written. Frustration and lack of novelty seems to be our novelty. We don't walk forward, we just climb on top of everything that has been done before.

Well fuck you. Fuck trying, being is essentially what we're designed to do. What if everyone stopped trying so hard to be original and just existed? Who knows, it's never been done before.

Why are do big words make us feel important? Why does understanding something someone else doesn't make us feel superior? What if we looked deep inside ourselves? Looking for what we really wanted?

What if we found something we didn't want? What if we found something that scared us? Would you do it? Would I do it?

Bullshit blabbering from a bullshit mind and I still can't sleep at night. I need what I want, but I don't want what I need. I want a drink but I need tranquility. I want a joint but I need motivation. I want sex but I need stability..

Tomorrow will be bring me more of today. The day after that will be more of tomorrow. Life changes in a minute but every day seems just like the last one. Today is the only thing I have to worry about, tomorrow's problems will be waiting for me, they're not going anywhere.

No one cares about what I say but I say it. No one cares what I write but I write it. No one cares what you look like but you make yourself look so damn presentable every morning. No one cares about what you eat but you eat it. But that's different you idiot. You don't need to write or say what you have to say to live, I could go my whole life without either, moron.

Everything I write will go unheard, everything I think will never be known, it all builds to nothing, but nothing is all I have. Fuck these painfully inspirational thoughts, feelings and memories. They're not bad enough to be a tragic story, they're not interesting enough to be heard, they're just bad enough to fuck with my head and bum me out. Fuck'em all, but good thing I have them. I don't want them. They're all I got. I need them but I don't want them.