hi, i'm a nihlist.

untitled, brett walker


i decided to write completely out of the blue. so i'm not ready. i don't know what to say. i have decided to use short sentences though. at first i wanted to use a picture of a woman's feet. because i find women's feet very attractive. (potentially). then i thought to use a picture of a woman. because i find whole-women very attractive (too). next i contemplated using something abstract. sometimes i do that because feelings are abstract and i am hoping to make some sort of visual connection to my writing. i admit it's probably lame. on the upside, i always think very highly of the images themselves. (even if i do not think too highly of the writing that follows). finally i settled on this portrait. like all of brett walker's portraits, it's not an image you can just walk away from. it has a gravitational pull. haunts you- even his happy images do. like staring at the sun, and then you close your eyes, and the image is burnt in. like that. that's what i mean.

also i wanted to write because i am avoiding Mon 10:43PM. there is just too much to read. it's not like i have anything better to do, it's just that, if i didn't have soo much to read, i'd probably have found something better to do. hey, by the way, hands up if you think you're in the cool-kids-group. i'm serious. like all the funky-hipster pics i put up- any of you guys actually look like that? do your lives live up to a sordid, debauched, acid-trip with large fries sort of thing? if so, send me a shout-out. i have things i'd like to ask you. (but then i notice Mon 10:47PM is still here).

i think when i grow-up i'd like to be an international cultural icon. if not that, then at least a black-pen connoissuer. every year we could have a black pen-off, and i could tell you which was the best. only black though, i think there's merit to specializing like that. (for the record pyjama pants that don't have pockets are useless. what do you do with tissues when you have a cold? exactly. or, when in the middle of the night you want to go get coffee, in your pyjamas, where do you put your keys and wallet? exactly pt 2. see what i'm saying. shame Calvin Klein, you are lame-o-saurus rex. biatch).

everyone is still mad at everyone. this is not a matter that worries me because i have chemical enhancing drugs that form a wall so that i am detached from the happenings of all around me and can therefore observe like a neutral bystander. people still get mad at me. i can't tell why, i don't really say much. i just sort of... read all the time. seems innocuous enough.

so, i thought we'd be getting jetpacks? no? oh. that's why i'm here, for the free-jetpack. are you telling me i wasted my time? right. can i have wings then? like an Archangel, that kind. big, real impressive ones. compensate for tha... ya know, other "thing". he he? no? ok. you suck. (we may be winged creatures, but those wings are tinsel). (that said i still die a little death of happiness everytime i see a little girl at the shopping mall wearing fairy wings). dear future babies: you can always wear your fairy wings, i don't mind.

oh gosh. are you guys waiting for me to make a point? no. not tonight. i'm a nihilist. yeah. true-story. i took it up about 90 minutes ago. decided it was just easier. that way i could renounce everything that's ever mattered to anyone who's ever lived and not really have to worry. sorry to waste your time. hey, check around the corner, i heard they're giving out free jet-packs. if you get one give them the finger cause they wouldn't give me one. am i being funny? like, is this some sort of joke? there's nothing to laugh at, nihlism is no laughing matter. in fact, i think i may have to never laugh again. hmm. that could take some practise. if you put your mind to it, anything's possible. (the woman in the picture... whatever happened to her, i'm trying to avoid that. sometimes i feel too close. no no. no big deal. but it's scary when you're overcome by just one pure emotion. most times you get them as a rattlebag of things. little bit of this, little bit of that. cocktail. 10% happiness, 20% guilt about feeling happy, 5% rebelliousness, 30% gratefulness, 5% reticence, and so on. those rare occasions, when you get 98% rage. or 93% love. that's an intense feeling. it's a drug. terrifies me). (also i'd like it to happen more often). (makes you feel like you exist- which is a matter that i question).

i'm doing pretty good about not being poetic. hurrah. it's in the nihlist code, i'm not allowed to use metaphors anymore. adjectives on the whole are dubious. i'm just going to speak in binary from now on.

Mon 11:02PM.
(dear god, it won't go away)