expletive, Non classé, nonsense, prose

Life’ll kill ya

“You look tired.”
“Well that’s probably because I am.”
“Oh …”
“Yes. I’m tired of hearing about deaths and massacres in the news, can’t they talk about something happy for a change ? I’m tired of having to listen to people’s BS stories about how their lives suck and how they hate their bosses and are unequivocally underpaid while they think they have the mental capacities of Albert Einstein and while they believe they are some character living in a world written by Ernest fucking Hemingway, when what they really have is a true gift, a rare talent for scrambling my brains and making my ears bleed. I’m tired of those days where people – and much to my chagrin, that includes myself now, seeing that I’m getting so fucking bothered by everyone and anyone and anyone and everyone around – bloody people only think about themselves, where the brightest moron spits on the ground and I’m walking right into it, pestering my 50$ shoe with it. I’m tired of having to wait for food and sex and money, and I’m constantly hungry and horny. So much so that we should probably create a new word to describe that perpetual state of mine; something like, horngry. But then again, I hear it’s only a generational thing, fucking millennials you know ? I’m tired of that too. Of apparently being a consistent part of a fucking generation that desperately wants to take part in nothing, and is interested in nothing unless it involves drugs, fucking, stupid social medias that really have no use aside from pleasing that narcissistic side that is becoming more fat and preposterous inside all of us, or, a combination of all three. I’m tired of being labeled and categorized and set into boxes and types and classes, because really, I am not a consistent part of a fucking generation. I try not to. If anything, I’m a consistent motherfucker. Some say it amounts to the same, I’m not sure. But sometimes here and there I buy all my stuff at EKIA and I sense a huge orgasm coming. But I have to restrain it and to restrain myself because I’m not a social animal, just social, period. And then my balls grow, and then ache, and then I’m hornier and I can’t sit properly, and I fear they’re going to explode and that I might stain everything. I’m tired of rules and laws and everything that lies around and in between. I want to live naked and eat organic and maybe fart in front of candles while singing seven nations army. I’m tired of stupid questions, dull exclamations and pointless assertions. There are too many words and not enough thoughts and the fact is really that I’m tired of being tired.”
“I’m sorry, did you say something ?”
“Nevermind.”
“You should go to bed, get some rest.”
“Okay.”

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