davekills' Journal

MY FIRST ENTRY YEAY
What a life.
You mean the one you’re not living? (SAID TO ME BY ANOTHER)
If not that…then what is this? What is staying here later than any human being should have to just to run some godforsaken bristles over a little bit of sand and rock, that, when mixed with adhesive, turns into the modern miracle of concrete. Concrete. It is funny to think how such simple, well-meaning inventions can conspire against us…their makers, their masters, to slowly kill us. Without concrete we wouldn’t have numerous warehouses filled with shit to make our lives “easier.” We wouldn’t have the Olympics…no concrete….no stadiums. No concrete, no place for large numbers of people and things to gather and cheer other who do what they can not. Or to gather and collect dust, as is the fate of the parts on the shelves that surround me. No pencils….no lead…no thoughts written down…no teachers asking day after day: “Why couldn’t you remember your pencil.” You….forlornly asking the good student next to you, who in her infinite genius has MULTIPLE pencils, to borrow one of hers. No learning to write these ridiculous run-on sentences that are rapidly filling my screen. You kind of just want it all to stop, or do you want it to continue? You can’t make up your mind….ever. About anything. Is it good? Is it bad? That depends on the moment you’re in.
“Gawd…we’re just so lucky to be gainfully employed…I mean …do you realize
the number of people without jobs who can’t have what we have?” We have it so good….this house….the water…our cars…life is great and I love you. I love you.”
OR
“I fucking hate this. My job sucks, no one appreciates me. I’m going nowhere. I hate this place…the cars are a wreck. Who gives a shit about a car anyway? This thing…rotting in my garage…taking up space doing nothing because I don’t make enough money. Wait…..not because I don’t make enough money. Because I can’t manage it. I want to die….but not. I don’t have the guts…its not really that bad…..stop pitying yourself.

Who can you share it with…..you feel different everyday. Love and hate….tattooed on the preacher’s hands….wrestling with each other. Day after fucking day. Love for your wife- remembering how she looks because you just don’t see her as often as you want….hate for the green underlining your sentences saying “Hey…your grammar sucks you stupid shit. Should’ve finished school you moron. Then you wouldn’t be writing so poorly.” I can hear it telling me that….the walls…the floors…the shelves all condemning my efforts. “Look at us…we’re a mess! You can’t make it better. You can try and try and try….but we’ll still be a mess. You’re efforts are worthless! Worthless!” No matter how long you (I) work at it….no matter how many minutes of this life we’re told is precious I waste. It will still be poor. It will always be worthless and there Will Be Nothing To Show. Who can you tell? You don’t want to be a burden….but who could you even begin to think about burdening? Not any of them. They just want to know you in passing…just like anyone else. Really knowing someone takes too much effort…you might actually have to expend something. To know someone means you have to give something away, go on a quest, find them. Any you have to let them find you. Most would prefer not to be found. Most would prefer to hide…at work, in front of the computer, in front of the tv, in front of a bottle, in front of a cigarette. They’re all equally worthless hiding places because they’re see through. I can see you hiding and how much you hate yourself. I know….because I’m the same. Stop hiding and get out there. Do something worthwhile…

So what is worthwhile?!?

Lets find out. Together.

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