Selected journal entries from my crazy life


7. 7

April 15, 2015, Los Angeles CA

It must be around five in the morning for the faint and hopeless light from the morning sun pierces the east facing window of my upstairs bedroom in the waspy part of this god forsaken lifeless siliconic town. I have been trying to everyday, I try, I sit and think and stare, the lines of college rule mocking me, how must you attempt me, I college rule, you a high school nothing, did you even graduate? I put the pad away and turn to the computer, open up microsoft word, the page blank except for the black line blinking, blinking, blinking. Give up it says you know I will blink for eternity. I glance out the window, head in palm, the light to east brighter now, the Hollywood sign on the hill now visible, write me a movie script, the hill whispers. Fuck you, I reply. No one remembers a fucking script writer, some fucking washed up Hollywood hack with a fake tan and highlights in there hair and botox when there faces sags with weathering from that fake smile you give people. No one remembers a fucking script writer.

There seems to be a void in me. In days past I could sit and at least get a paragraph out, shit it may be, a paragraph none the less. I have a vision, a story to tell, a structure in which to tell it, yet the pen dose not move. Yesterday I sat and said okay, a sentence, nothing else matters just a sentence. The college rule began its usual mocking and I gave up. A void in me. Its been many moon since I have felt passionately for a woman. I am a hopeless romantic you see and when I am passionate about a woman I can manage to get through each day for the promise of tomorrow might bring me to her. I am an obsessor, rather I should say. No, an addict. I am sober now except for the occasional whisky or bowl of weed. My quality of life is better than it has ever been. I have a new car. ( the jeep committed suicide about a month ago ) I have more money saved up than previously I ever have in this bleak existence that is my life. Yet, a void. She used to consume me day in and day out. A promising future if nothing else. I used to remember her the way she was that day in the park when the faint autumn sunlight stenciled through the trees and played on her face. That smile. It has left me. Her image grows more distorted by the day like an old man going blind. I find my life to be almost meaningless when I have no women or at least no passion for a woman or a girl. Time dose kill all and its killing me. Time may not take love away but it can destroy the passion of it all. Nothing is fun if I don’t have a muse to obsess over. My favorite music is just sounds to me now. Movies move me not. My favorite works of art, just colors thrown on canvas, I don’t even believe in art any more. The passion of it all is gone. Drifted away like a feather in the current. I have a real problem. They say that one must love ones self before they can love another. I have never truly loved or at least been thrilled with myself yet god knows I have loved others and when I am loving others life is manageable. I have to travel to New York City in two weeks and will be alone there in that metropolis, the never ending skyline, for about three days.​ I am scared I have nothing to find but a remake of The Catcher In The Rye.​ -"If a body catch a body running through the rye"

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