It’s All Wrong. All Wrong. Or maybe that’s just me. I don’t know.
I thought about killing myself, seeing as how I clearly totally suck at life, etc. But for better or worse, I like it too much. Life, I mean. It’s too full of beauty and illusions. I’d miss it.
Does anyone want to give me a job? I already have two, but they don’t pay me enough and neither of them are really utilizing my core skills to their optimal potential.
Here is a list of some of my skills:
– Disumbration and applied discombobulation
– Blogging in words, pictures and sound
– Writing kickass manifestos for secret organizations dedicated to altering the perceptions of their participants
– Creating imaginary bands
– Smoking cigarettes & drinking coffee
– Talking & writing copious amounts of shit
– Reclusive otherworldliness
– Insufferable arrogance & narcissism
– Getting disproportionately stressed out under pressure, then having big cathartic meltdowns; general flakiness & dysfunctionality etc
– Very persistently not killing self despite patently sucking at life
– Morbid self-pity
– Making lists
– Can tie own shoelaces, more or less
– I change a mean lightbulb
In addition to the above, I possess Artistic Vision ™ and a GSOH. I have seen through the illusion of the world. But I believe in love. Most of the time. I also hold a valid learner driver’s permit.
In summary: I am good. I would definitely give me creative, stimulating and lucrative employment if I were you.
UPDATE: But maybe I shouldn’t. ~ thinks I should stick with it. I just DO NOT FUCKING KNOW AT ALL.
Thing is, see, I was going to do Creative Arts. Despite the presence of subjects like Creative Writing (as in “we will teach you how to do Creative Writing”) it seemed a better and more purposeful bet than just plain vanilla Arts. But the School of Creative Arts is, it transpired, being phased out. No more Creative Arts.
I do not fucking know.
capercale, lamergeyer, cassowary etc
UPDATE II: If only the world would play ball and recognise my genius, none of this angst would be necessary. I blame the world. There seems to be something wrong with it; maybe it’s broken.
(Actually, just between you and me, it isn’t even real anyway. Trust me, I’m a disumbrationist. I know what I’m talking about.)