Freewrite Thread

Just feel misplaced now all the time. And not like I'm going to do those things I said I was going to at the beginning of the year. Watched Greg and his brother make money doing something I should have gone and done two years ago. Read another book with a story I thought I could have put together. Always behind. Dumb. Just dumb. Say to everyone I'm doing better. Not doing good enough. Watch these years roll by. Everytime saying going to do soomething more than I did the last time. Watch a dog running around Joe's shed. Think about how I want to trade places with the dog. Just want to run around a shed and feel like I don't have anything on my plate. Hate this feeling. Always feeling like I can do something else. Restless always. Snoring and waking up whoever I'm near when I sleep. Feeling like I can't sleep all the time. Can't do anything about it. Want to live in a log cabin sometimes. Don't even now why. Just want to live in the middle of nowhere and nobody will knock on your door and ask for money or anything. Don't want to be in the middle of nowhere though. Want a big town with a big bar where I can go and get drunk and talk with the stranges. I dont have to be me. I can be anybody I want.

Keep lying all the time and saaying I'm going to do things or that I'm doing thing but I'm not. Going off to this place. Saying I'm going for myself but I'm just going for deliveries. Going to this place or that place. Never just for fun. Just watching everything pass by. Just driving a car for no reason at all. Listening to all this stuff until I'm so sick of it I'm just listening to the road. Just looking at the same car accidents and watching to make sure I'm not going too fast. Don't have nough time to do anything. Everybody is a stranger. Dig out all the shit in my front yard and don't even get to look at it. Rains all the time. Have to cut the grass in the rain. All the time driving on nice days. Rather be out thowing a dog I don't have a frisbee. Have no life.

Drinking too much. Haven't seen a doctor in years. Can't afford to. Have to buy stupid fucking patio shit. Going to die and not able to bring my stupid fucking patio shit. Drinking whenever I feel like I have nothing better to do. Used to feel good. Want to be a dog now. Not healthy. Shower twice a day.

Heaping ridicule and praise god. Someone's got it in for me. I plan for things to go exactly so, and when they don't I can't remember how to act. I always end up wandering off, by myself. I soothe myself by thinking I'm just too good for everyone. The truth is not that. The truth is that other people make me uncomfortable, because I am a jealous man. I harbor spite for everyone, never bringing up what bothers me. The resentment grows and shows itself on my face. Just yesterday I went to a show at a cafe. Expecting to make new friends. Seeing all the crossdressers and degenerate cretins I walked out back. With hatred disgust and contempt. I stepped outside. Beefheart was playing and gave me a second of joy. I sat down and tried to write something, but it was horrible. I felt like the underground man, and it always feels like this. It always feels the same, and I go into reclusion. I walked to the park and saw an old homeless man. He said he knew me from when we were kids. He was out of his mind. I watched them smoke meth as I smoked a camel blue. They counted pocketfuls of pennies as I had 40bukcs in my pocket. They finally communed enough change to get some crystal and one of them was sent off to pick it up. There was arguement of why they couldn't all go, but trust eventually won out, and the young homeless guy was off. I told them to have a good smoke and left. As I was crossing University drive a young girl approached me and gave me a drawing. We walked towards a different cafe and realized it was closed. I started to feel stupid talking to them and left. I won't read any other post in this thread, and nobody will read mine. I'm an awful faggot and hate myself. And I hate everyone. I'm not only like this, but self aware and that just makes it worse. My writing is awful. Cue the anon that actually reads this greentexting that and saying yes, yes it is.

you ondt even know the kind of debt you have gotten up to now do you? you cant go on just getting to a kind of feeling where youre ok and forgetting that when you wake up youre going to still have all the same problems. Im not goin g to do it anymore you have to wake up.

every tim e you do something its like you add a little more to the amount you owe somebody else. you're not going to get away with it eventually. im not going to be there when the shit hits the fan. I dont have anything to saw to you i have my own problems.

you just want to use everybody. i have to keep telling myself every time you call me. i don't know why i even pick up anymore why i have to keep teloing you all the stupd things i always say. whats the poinit anymore we

I am turtle. Turtle is soft. Don't turn into anything soft. Now is turtles birthday and for presents It received turtles and gritts. Turtle is soft. Pretend!

You don't have to be perfect

>>9606163
I don't think I'm cut out for this. My life, I mean. I try to live up to the expectations of my family and my friends, to be the life of the party and a productive member of society. But it never really works out that way. One suffers for the sake of the other and I always end up feeling like I need to retreat to something I know. A book. A game. Maybe an image board notorious for shitposting. And then it's just a matter of resting, resetting and failing again. A predictable cycle.

I've always wondered about the rest of you. Do you come here for the reasons I do? To fall back on something you know? Or is there something I'm missing here? I've heard people on certain boards talk about community. But how can we have a community when the very notion of identity is reviled and used as a weakness? Do you talk about your life as it is? Or are you making up an identity to fit in more? Do you really care if someone thinks your taste in books is shit? Or if someone beats you in an argument of moving goalposts? That, I think, I'll never understand.

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>>9606207
>Watch a dog running around Joe's shed. Think about how I want to trade places with the dog

i know that feel bro

Why do stupid people feel the need to be loud? It's always the guy in a trackie with a Northsider accent that decides he needs to bang his foot off the floor or whistle intermittently. Always the dumbest guy on the train that starts talking to (or rather, shouting at) anybody and everybody. Where does that come from? I think it could stem from some sort of need to be noticed. Some sort of need to be taken seriously. I don't know, maybe I'm just being an asshole for the sake of being an asshole. Probably that, actually.

I sit in the hotel parlour sipping on my hot chocolate, munching away those lukewarm blueberry muffins. Outside, the garden takes a tropical aspect beneath the downpour of rain. The hedges shine and are gorged with water, the luxuriant plants lining up the main alley drip with silver droplets, the emerald grass has never seemed so plush. Inside, the yellow light and muffled sounds offer satisfying contrast to the the aquatic havoc outside. I am the last customer to remain in this vast, many-tabled room, and while usually this would be a cause for twitching and unease, today this is surpassed thanks to this vision of the storm encircling the cozy hotel, and I am the fortunate survivor. Chopin now plays on the small speakers cornered in the topmost angles of the wall, Nocturne no.8. Perhaps this how he composed it, modelled it, in the warm light of his house while eternal rain came down beyond the piano and the walls. The nostalgia takes over and I know at this precise moment that this is a moment I will remember for a long time, whose every detail - the smell, the position of the waitresses, the succulence of the muffins, the stained beige napkin - will always be rendered with perfect precision.

>>9607914
That's some pornographic description. If you write a book I'll probably buy it.

Far too often the bronze arms of the grandfather clock in the corner of my living room teased and taunted. I'm positive if I got close enough to the lustre-d half-orbs smashing about I could see my own face, bulbous and screaming as I'm distorted in the jaundiced bronze.

What African woods collated to make the gargoyle? Swirls of Bubinga, Wenge, Sapele poisoned my thoughts with sickly brown wood-stain. My father's breath was brought back to my consciousness with the scent of old wood- spices, wine and open-fire rocked on my thoughts as I thought about him. The intellectual, pondering my every action was the clock, the count of seconds nothing to him.

Disappointed, dissatisfied as much as the face that would look at me in the reflection of the steel baubles my father glared. It was only with the passage of another second and another second more, another taunt by the construed and demented face in the old metal that I saw my father again.

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>>9606362
I-I read it anon... I hope you start feeling better