"Without people, you're nothing."
-J. Strummer
Well, it's high time I fucked off. For the most part, I have people figured out. That's why I'm a solitary outsider. I've been too kind to ever be feared, and too hurt to ever be loved. I've always been a crazy person enjoyed only in micro-doses. Knowing when to walk away is a skill I've gotten really awesome at over the years. People used to tolerate me when I was younger. I was possibly prettier, and definitely more of a pussy back then. The truth may be that I should've offed myself long ago. Many who knew me would love it. Sometimes, even me. But...
I will never suicide.
Rather than destroy myself, I'll stay alive. Living only for spite, if need be. All the hate and rejection I've ever received has been a very empowering experience for me. As decades fall by, and my enemies die off, (either physically, mentally, or emotionally) I will get stronger and stronger. Despite what hippies and shrinks might tell you, vengeance can heal. I will live happy just knowing I've outlived my every enemy in freedom. Just knowing they're dead, (or dead inside) and I'm not, will be enough. My delicious soul food.
Every generation offers its youth much to be angry about. This may never change. Frustration and confusion will always plague the young. For many, those perpetually horny years of madness might have seemed like the best. The pitfalls of nostalgia can be as dangerous as they are dumbing. We must only learn from the past. Pining for it without a working time-portal is sad and futile. Despite the 20/20 cliche, hindsight is often important. As soon as you attach your heart to hindsight, it becomes nostalgia, and therefore, a hazard to your advancement. A shit slip.
There's no need to miss the old days, the only necessity is that we learn something from them. We all have people we miss, but, missing any space-time you aren't in guarantees frustration. Once you realize you're totally on your own in life, it all gets way easier. Learn to be cool with yourself, and own your loneliness, but know when to ask people for help. If you can do that, you may have a relaxed and rewarding life. It's a crazy balance, but no matter who we think we are, we are all always stuck with ourselves. Most die alone.
It matters less what you leave behind, than what you take away.
As for the blog? I mean, come on. Very few advanced beings ever read this thing anyway. How long was I supposed to go on needlessly opining on media and pop-culture from my vulgar, uneducated perspective? For all those of you who read, understood or otherwise enjoyed any of the Legends of Bloggy Creek, I thank you. You are as close to friends as I'll ever make, and I greatly appreciate your time and thought. I hope great things happen for you and your loved ones in the future. Live your dreams. Outlive your nightmares.
I am no one. It is doubtful anyone will ever be interested in the views of a single, childless, social misfit, media hobbyist/essayist living in some fictional, paranormal state park. People in general, just don't like me. No hair off my ass. I had a lot of fun writing this. Praising projects I respect, shitting on those I don't, and undoubtedly pissing off any nemeses from my past who were bitterly curious enough to Google my name. It allowed me to grow as a writer, which is all that matters. Fame means nothing. I grin like a fucking geek at the idea of dying an unread, unknown. I need no appreciation.
Whenever, however I meet my end doesn't matter. So far, my life has been an awesome adventure. Death could come anytime. I'll be ready, and most likely alone. Be assured, I will be smiling. I will laugh at my death. There are great things on my horizon. I look forward to the future. There's so much I have to do, but I am happy to do the work. In my mind there is harmony. In my heart, there are many beautiful secrets I'll be glad to die with. The future approaches like lightning. Even if malevolence becomes my only reason to live, I'll still die a happy man.
I'll still get laid and paid while I'm alive.
I chuckle at the thought that my continued existence may be bothersome or harmful to some. I get off on it. Let these and all the words I ever write form vicious, invincible tumors in all my enemies. Let every last syllable give them disease and despair. I shit on their graves. Piss on their memory. I laugh at their loved ones' tears. To me, love has been nothing but a form of temporary, shared mental illness. A symbiotic delusion. I've wasted the first third of my life caring and loving people so much that it almost killed me. Time's a-wastin'. Enough cliches. It is time to move on. For everything, at some point, enough is enough. Here we are.
"I give you me. I give you nothing."
-G. Graffin
-2014 Wielgorecki
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