Wasted-life-musings - Musings Of A Wasted Life

Here’s a song I posted awhile ago, these are random people doing it, but this is probably CLOSER to the original 1800s version of the song.  Little Pretty Anna...

Clay, did you ever love me?" I'm studying a billboard and say that I didn't hear what she said. "I asked if you ever loved me?" On the terrace the sun bursts into my eyes and for one blinding moment I see myself clearly. I remember the first time we made love, in the house in Palm Springs, her body tan and wet, lying against cool, white sheets. "Don't do this, Blair," I tell her. "Just tell me." I don't say anything. "Is it such a hard question to answer?" I look at her straight on. "Yes or no?" "Why?" "Damnit, Clay," she sighs. "Yeah, sure, I guess." "Don't lie to me." "What in the fuck do you want to hear?" "Just tell me," she says, her voice rising. "No," I almost shout. "I never did." I almost start to laugh. She draws in a breath and says, "Thank you. That's all I wanted to know." She sips her wine. "Did you ever love me?" I ask her back, though by now I can't even care. She pauses. "I thought about it and yeah, I did once. I mean I really did. Everything was all right for a while. You were kind." She looks down and then goes on. "But it was like you weren't there. Oh shit, this isn't going to make any sense." She stops. I look at her, waiting for her to go on, looking up at the billboard. Disappear Here. "I don't know if any other person I've been with has been really there, either ... but at least they tried." I finger the menu; put the cigarette out. "You never did. Other people made an effort and you just ... It was just beyond you." She takes another sip of her wine. "You were never there. I felt sorry for you for a little while, but then I found it hard to. You're a beautiful boy, Clay, but that's about it." I watch the cars pass by on Sunset. "It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't care." "Yeah?" I ask. "What do you care about? What makes you happy?" "Nothing. Nothing makes me happy. I like nothing," I tell her. "Did you ever care about me, Clay?" I don't say anything, look back at the menu. "Did you ever care about me?" she asks again. "I don't want to care. If I care about things, it'll just be worse, it'll just be another thing to worry about. It's less painful if I don't care." "I cared about you for a little while." I don't say anything. She takes off her sunglasses and finally says, "I'll see you later, Clay." She gets up. "Where are you going?" I suddenly don't want to leave Blair here. I almost want to take her back with me. "Have to meet someone for lunch." "But what about us?" "What about us?" She stands there for a moment, waiting. I keep staring at the billboard until it begins to blur and when my vision becomes clearer I watch as Blair's car glides out of the parking lot and becomes lost in the haze of traffic on Sunset. The waiter comes over and asks, "Is everything okay, sir?" I look up and put my sunglasses on and try to smile. "Yeah.

Bret Easton Ellis, Less Than Zero

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Disingenuousness

I hate fake enthusiasm, I hate overly friendly/touchy people, disingenuous things in general, dont sell me anything, let me shop around, and maybe I’ll buy.  Young girls are the worst, like age 15-25, “ omg HAI IM BECKY!  It’s SO good to meet you!!! “ Literally no one gives a shit becky, calm the fuck down.

The Russians have this sort of unspoken cultural thing, they never smile at people on the street, rarely do they smile in public period, because when a stranger smiles at you, he’s deceiving you, he wants something from you, there’s no reason to be smiling right now, we dont know eachother.  Smiles are for friends and family only, no smiles for you, asshole.

I think tumblr proves you dont need substance, but tits, even tits you’re never gonna touch, sell super, super well...how, cartoony.

Your Addiction is Bullshit

I’ve quit more drugs than most of you have done, It’s all in your weak little mind.  Now dont get confused, I’m not belittling addicts, it’s a hard thing to deal with, but you can do it, and you can do it without other sad addicts and meetings and bullshit.  These are crutches that still keep whatever substance near and dear to your heart, sure you dont do it, but you talk about it each and every week, and then when you go back to it you wonder why.

Believe all the fairy tales you want, theres no such thing as a successful 12 step program, stop being a fuckin rube about it, I go days, weeks without this or that drug, sometimes its physical symptoms, thats just like having the flu, man up.  You’re stronger than any drug, or you’re not and it will kill you, you decide which its all within your mind, but stop, STOP being an annoying cunt about it, if everytime you open ya mouth you mention your recovery or whatever, just spike up, atleast youll shut the fuck up about it.

The first time I smoked crack I was like 14,we were doin it ALL weekend, none of us slept, and then I went to school monday.  I felt like shit for days, but I got over it, without any external influence what so ever, i could do it as a child, you can do it as a sentient adult, stop this nonesense. 

I know I sound mean, and i sound like all the ignorant people that havent been there, but I’m not mean, and i HAVE been there, half your addiction problem was people enabling and coddling you, you cant recover with more coddling, youre responsible, YOU, and only YOU can change it, collect all the dumb sobriety coins you want, theyre a nice little token of how youre wasting your life now instead of booze or heroin or, what the fuck ever.

Jesus doesnt love you, love yourself.  Hell if Jesus IS real he’s the one that let you get all fuckin smacked up in the first place, he was a bit of a wine drinker I’m sure he was just passed out.

Don’t ever cry for those who want to be cried for, for those who cry for themselves, only cry for those who are unable to do so.  You can apply this to any social situation of your choosing.

I never could think of prostitutes as human beings or even as women. They seemed more like imbeciles or lunatics. But in their arms I felt absolute security. I could sleep soundly. It was pathetic how utterly devoid of greed they really were. And perhaps because they felt for me something like an affinity for their kind, these prostitutes always showed me a natural friendliness which never became oppressive. Friendliness with no ulterior motive, friendliness stripped of high pressure salesmanship, for someone who might never come again. Some nights I saw these imbecile, lunatic prostitutes with the halo of Mary. I went to them to escape from my dread of human beings, to seek a mere night of repose, but in the process of diverting myself with these 'kindred' prostitutes, I seem to have acquired before I was aware of it a certain offensive atmosphere which clung inseparably to me... I had, quite objectively speaking, passed through an apprenticeship in women at the hands of prostitutes, and I had of late become quite adept. The odor of ' lady killer ' had come to permeate me...I remembered now clumsily written letters from bar girls...with all of them I had been extremely negative and it had gone no further. But it was an undeniable fact, and not just some foolish delusion on my part, that there lingered about me an atmosphere which could send women into sentimental reveries. It caused me a bitterness akin to shame to have this pointed out by someone like Horiki; at the same time, I lost all interest in prostitutes

Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human