My journal is the most loyal friend I ever had. He listens to me late at night when just won’t shut up about feeling hurt from a lost friendship from childhood, when I want to tell him all about my dreams for the future and these pure love societies where all humans see the divinity… Read More My journal is my psychoanalyst
I got into bed Saturday night at 3 am, exhausted from a night of exerting the effort of facial expressions required to match the synthetic enthusiasm of drunk people. The night concluded with an Uber ride that was 1.6x the normal fare because of the increased demand, as all the drunks migrated home, some with… Read More Little Deaths, Masks, and the Existential Joke (Halloween Party)
“You say you would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen, in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing oneself to excess, that utmost of self-revelation and surrender… that is why one can never be alone enough when one writes…why even night is not enough.”… Read More Solitude for an introvert: A Love Story
I have an easier time writing late at night. All of my diversion tactics and modes of procrastination to avoid writing have been exhausted by this point in the night. Over the course of the day, all the non-essential ideas and abstract stressors have been siphoned out of my head through one medium or another. I begin the… Read More On the Shortness of Ego
My relationship with negativity is one delineated by boundaries. If given ample time and space, the negativity will accumulate like clouds saturating with dense water content before a storm. The negativity inserts itself in my head like a growing tumor, that will continue growing and endangering the host’s health until equal and opposite action is… Read More Depression and Writing
The Sober Hombre 