Now play November Rain by Guns n’ Roses. No reason. Background music for reading.
|If they were still this young, a threesome would be great.|
Almost . Sleepless and it’s the second day of the November. And we’re almost there, almost at the end of 2016. Many things have happened regardless of how I totally abandoned my goals for this year.
Here I am after more than two months of not writing anything. I refuse to declare hiatus or apathy because that is not the case. I just gave up on life, that’s all. Lost all the drive. These days, only vendetta and rage motivate me but the results are always thwarted by the numbing effect of religion (truly the opium of the mass). How I wish I could have all the time and concentration to write and create worlds and people, give birth to all my delusional thoughts on paper, on my stack of leather-bound notebooks (I always believed that I’d be able to use them and write something in them), or in this blog.
In fact, I’ve been considering to close this one, and start a new one. I’ve been meaning to write not as Tripster Guy or T.G. Bagyo, but as the delusional lord and ruler of butandings, the Prince of Whales. But I am still undecided.
It feels like I am always held back from achieving a better life, a better me. My procrastination, my cynicism, my fucking job, my lack of education, class and sophistication, my laziness, my religion and the divine duties I must perform, my fear of being totally out and becoming a loud drag queen with huge D-size silicone boobies, my overweight body, goddamnit, I am blaming it on everything!
|Who else but the one and only true queen, Bianca del Rio|
Ok, pity party’s over.
So what’s next? I’ll be doing some silly one-man performance for a little girl’s birthday party. I hope next time I’ll be doing some burlesque dancing in front of a lust-filled gay crowd. LOL! Oh that would be a dream come true. And speaking of dreams, I might get the car of my dreams. I should be saving up to move out of home. It’s really embarrassing. But I just can’t leave them behind, for some reasons that are not really valid but seem quite serious and important for me to consider (i.e. helping out in taking care of our two octogenarian lolas). Cost of living is not really difficult. It’s simply super fucked up plus sonafabitch income tax and other taxes. Tangna this.
|Will you become a dream come true?|
If I really have to move out, I would only be able to afford a small apartment in some remote area where my navigator wouldn’t be able to register the location. I don’t mind a small apartment and the galaxy-wide distance from my work. But
has a history
of having one of the world’s most terrifying serial killers roaming the sub-urbs. Unless it’s a
Jeffrey Dahmer kind of serial killer who is really cute to fuck, then it would
be ok for me to be knocked out and be eaten. Florence
|Jeffrey Dahmer- the cutest man-eating human/demon/sonafabitch that roamed the earth|
Add to that the apocalyptic phenomenon of successive earthquakes that’s been rocking
. God can be so
confusing- sending messages of hope in life while sending out all the signs of
the world’s end and the futility of human aspirations. Sigh. Italy
Ah hello November!