![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
From the Archives...
Feb. 22nd, 2005 07:38 amWhile searching my old, backed-up archives for that Thompson piece, I also found another obviously-Thompson-tainted rant written on November 30, 1998. I hereby present it for your edification:
Such a strange direction this trip had gone… I never would have guessed this is where I would be. Sifting through faded memories and withered remorse. The past seems like some bad student film and everyone laughs when it’s supposed to be serious. At least in the movies, you have a distinct beginning, middle, and end.
Where is this going to end?
Where am I headed?
Some nursing home in the middle of nowhere, quilting a fucking blanket, waiting for someone to visit, some damn relative I won’t even remember the name of?
No thank you, very kindly.
I never want to be able to ask myself, “Where did it all go?” I know where it all went.
This monster, known as Time, gobbles years in a frenzy, with little regard for our plans. No remorse. We can’t hold him accountable, he’s only doing his job, let’s not invade on his trip. We have our own to tend to. Strange hum of the computer, and a slow ticking clock. Click of keys, and we keep on going. Maybe document everything you can. But who would care to read it? I like Jim Morrison. Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on? What to do if everyone lived that way? Anarchy I tell you, nothing would get done. Six billion people all hell-bent on living the Great Dream. The Best-Selling Autobiography.
No.
We need the stable people. They’re the ones that make the crazy people exciting. They’re the ones that make this all possible. It’s all basis of comparison. Relativity. Tick tock tick tock…Another sleepless night, rambling into the keyboard when I should be sleeping or seriously working on something that will deliver me from this rat hole. Sometimes I wish was religious, that I believed in some Great All Seeing All Powerful God. Then I would have someone to blame for this jumbled mess. Can’t blame Fate, because Fate will kick you in the ass with a vengeance. No more excuses. The Bullshit is getting old.
Such a strange direction this trip had gone… I never would have guessed this is where I would be. Sifting through faded memories and withered remorse. The past seems like some bad student film and everyone laughs when it’s supposed to be serious. At least in the movies, you have a distinct beginning, middle, and end.
Where is this going to end?
Where am I headed?
Some nursing home in the middle of nowhere, quilting a fucking blanket, waiting for someone to visit, some damn relative I won’t even remember the name of?
No thank you, very kindly.
I never want to be able to ask myself, “Where did it all go?” I know where it all went.
This monster, known as Time, gobbles years in a frenzy, with little regard for our plans. No remorse. We can’t hold him accountable, he’s only doing his job, let’s not invade on his trip. We have our own to tend to. Strange hum of the computer, and a slow ticking clock. Click of keys, and we keep on going. Maybe document everything you can. But who would care to read it? I like Jim Morrison. Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on? What to do if everyone lived that way? Anarchy I tell you, nothing would get done. Six billion people all hell-bent on living the Great Dream. The Best-Selling Autobiography.
No.
We need the stable people. They’re the ones that make the crazy people exciting. They’re the ones that make this all possible. It’s all basis of comparison. Relativity. Tick tock tick tock…Another sleepless night, rambling into the keyboard when I should be sleeping or seriously working on something that will deliver me from this rat hole. Sometimes I wish was religious, that I believed in some Great All Seeing All Powerful God. Then I would have someone to blame for this jumbled mess. Can’t blame Fate, because Fate will kick you in the ass with a vengeance. No more excuses. The Bullshit is getting old.
