I think the only thing that matters in life is that you’re able to make yourself laugh.

Religion

I am an atheist. I do not believe in God, Jesus, the Bible, or anything like that. As far as I’m concerned, Heaven doesn’t exist and Hell is right here on earth.

I am curious about church though. I like cathedrals: the ceilings that seem to go on forever, the organ’s melodic sounds in the background. I like sermons: the good advice, the beautiful words. And I like the idea of gathering in the morning to sing and recite poetry.

I’ve never been religious but I do believe in Mother Nature, the Sun and moon and stars. I don’t believe in karma. I believe beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and many things in life are subjective, including beauty.

I was put on earth to smash the patriarchy, break the rules, and defy the ordinary.

Abilify 💉

I saved myself but not everyone is able to. It took Jesse’s death, rock bottom, in order to do so which is sad, if you ask me. Human existence is weird though. I don’t blame myself. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing and it’s youth’s fault.

I didn’t work. Then I got a job at Best Buy and I got fired because I called in sick on Black Friday.

My new outlook includes always doing the right thing. I think Abilify affects my mood so much it’s impossible to think a negative thought. Just sitting here, glowing. Thinking of ideas. 

🌧️

It’s supposed to rain. I’ve resolved to write when it rains. It’s just a shower. It’s not a thunderstorm or a heavy downpour, just a sprinkle of water.

The rain is good for the earth so I like it. It’s the beginning of October but it was hot out yesterday. This month I see a chip off the full moon and think it’s a full moon, I love using that excuse for things. No wonder everything was weird at work yesterday. I like the moon, too, when it’s full or halved or hidden by clouds.

I am interested in searching for spooky clouds in the sky at dusk. I like the change in temperature, how cold things get. Winter mystifies me and it is up and coming.

Baker’s hours

I’m up at 5. I shoot out of bed like an arrow, wide awake. I don’t know how anyone sleeps in past 5 am. Sometimes I wake up at 4:30 am. I call this baker’s hours. I am up and studying the earth for signs of life. I am up, lifting weights and eating oats.

I like the mornings because more things happen at 5 am than they do after 8 pm at night. My thoughts are organized this early, I feel strong. I mean: nothing’s open, no one’s up, but I like the empty, dark street.

The sun rises at 7 am in October. While I wait for the world to wake, I look at the sky, think about the hours ahead of me and try to colour inside the lines.

Inspiration

I’m inspired by everything. My past, the homeless, the weather. I take inspo from photographs I see on the internet, from patterns in nature, from people in my life.

I listen carefully for jokes at work. I scribe my demons into poetry and stories and blocks of text that go no where. I write about desperation, depression, death.

Write what you know. It’s the first thing I learned about writing. I started with who I am. I started from the beginning. I had to cover my traumatic childhood, the drug years, the medication and diagnosis, the struggle towards sobriety.

Tackling that was easy. The hard part is coming up with what’s next.

$17.60

Everything is fuzzy white carpets and instrumental beats at home when I return triumphantly from another day at the restaurant. The gym is my sanctuary and I learn new things every day. Life gets simpler after I block a girl who takes, takes, takes.

I scarf back oats for breakfast. I write facts and I’m not making shit up. I guess I’ll never know what the point is but if I’m not applying pen to paper, I won’t be getting any closer to it. My time is valued at $17.60 per hour. This is fine because I have no control over it and I don’t get emotional over things I have no control over.