A little lesson to anyone who reads this blog after my death

I love this blog because I’m just yelling into the void which means you can kinda be honest with it because the void doesn’t care.

Just another day into the void, thinking about her while I clean up the mess of the condo.

Cleaned up the scar from my chest where I cut myself with a dart when I realized she wouldn’t stay loyal to me. Feels good to finally clean it away because there is a thought of a new project that is on the horizon and those bloody cuts are not a good look unless she is into that.

They usually are not.

But…what i need is a good defense, because i’m feeling like a criminal. I don’t need to be redeemed anymore, I was never a criminal.

Okay, let’s finish the wine and try to sleep. You’re not as awful as you want to be, just shut the fuck up.

Tell me your secrets, I’ll tell you mine

And tell all your girlfriends, your “been around the world” friends
That talk is for losers and fools.

Fucking finished with this shit. I know I need to sleep, maybe a unisom situation since it’s 5am on a monday. Naw, let’s power through until sunset.

I’m a victim of love, hey, i should be happy I can still even feel that anymore, not my fault it was for what is basically was…I’m not going to say it. I hope she finds what she is looking for but it gets tricky for women above 30, especially with covid weight we all have put on, whatever, I’m not a catch anymore so I shouldn’t cast any stones.

Ugh okay no more eagles…well, i woke up this morning and I grabbed myself a beer. Keep your eyes on the road and your fucking hands upon the wheel. Yeah we’re going to the office and we’re going to have a real good time. Naw, probably going to sleep.

I’ve never been a advocate of suicide, things can always get better but it seems like I’m living in this simulation that only exists to punish me. I want to find the person running it and stab him and I can’t even decide what knife I want to use. Absolutely want to use a knife, if you have been hurting me this long I want you to feel it.

Let it roll baby roll…let it roll, all night long.


I’m wondering if I’m hitting that line where I am so fucking angry and depressed that change happens. I was talking with someone today randomly about how I moved to New Orleans for a job and what’s happened since. It’s obviously just a memory now, feels like a completely different thing obviously but like wtf happened to me.

Trying to reboot…it’s almost 3am on a friday morning, thank god I have some good help to run my meetings tomorrow..or today but it’s really hit me how fucking pointless it all is. Like unless you have someone to love you then you are just making license plates and you die of cancer of eventually.

Just gotta be happy I had some fun but it’s hard to put on the rose colored glasses so early after having your heart torn out. Been thinking about it a lot obviously and almost have gone into the “she missed out” realm. I don’t have a lot to offer but I have a little bit and it’s more then most will even give anymore. I wear my heart on my sleeve because I just don’t want to not to.

I doubt i’ll sleep before work but going to try to power through it and start a taper over the weekend. I’m scared of the next 90 days. Trump is either going to get elected again and then we are going to enter a new year zero or he’s not and he won’t leave the office and a civil war starts. It’s probably best to not physically addicted to anything during a civil war, at least from what Ken Burns has told me. The pills are in the main bathroom, just gotta start taking them.

In the first 48-72 hours I’ll not sleep. Just endless minutes and hours of anxiety. Rethinking every mistake, what the fuck have you done with what could have been a great life. I’ve been looking over old photos while redesigning my site to find some “pictures of me with a computer when I was young” and all it’s done is make me realize I probably should have just stayed with Kendra. Or Valerie or Caryn, probably not Jess but like as a pirate looks at 40 you gotta kinda wonder if you fucked up. Whatever, burned bridges are just that.

It’s 3:24am, sitting on the balcony finishing this gin and orange juice that is fucking disgusting. I’m actively trying not to throw it up because I know I need it but it’s basically time to start a taper. Don’t think about sleeping because it’ll keep you from sleeping, just enjoy being alive, maybe do some situps. Always probably do some situps, maybe a walk or something. Bring ID, a knife and your keys. Walking through the park alone in early morning wearing the camo pants and the tattered hoody makes you a target but honestly it’s fucking new orleans, aint no cops round here anyway, we’re all alone.

Let’s do it tho. I need to message the team and say “look, if i’m short with you it’s because i need to smoke more weed because i’m going through withdrawals and it’s going to make me a asshole but i love you and i’m sorry”. Make a week, make it 48 hours. After about 2-3 days I’ll get something called the pink cloud and for me it’s more intense because I’m not really limited by anything. Just spiral out in a sense, do it. Charge one chromebook while you work with the other. Drive to the fucking office and crank out shit at the workstation while you wait for your team to wake up.

Just ignore those emotions, the only emotion you need is art. Create, create, create. Picture it, describe it them and let it happen and invoice for it. There will be time for dating in 2021 but for now, no. It’s time to load the guns and prepare for what’s going to happen in November, not the time for love anyway.

I just need to remember that I kinda got it out of my system temporarily which was the point but I really liked her. I guess I wasn’t good enough. Doesn’t matter tho, she’s going to end on the wrong end of 30 in a few months and that covid weight doesn’t lose itself. I shouldn’t talk shit because it’s time to start shedding this. Can’t fight in a civil war with a beer belly.

Let’s talk this out, I think there are a few beers at the office in the fridge there…the gin left over from…her, is almost gone. I kinda want to leave the whiskey in the decanters, just more as as visual appeal and it’s kinda nice to it there as “if i snap” kinda thing. Also if you are going to snap then whiskey is the way to go anyway, just look at as a parachute if the rage builds up. But just stop it tho, whiskey and women and drugs are not the answer. There actually isn’t a answer, I just don’t want to feel like shit constantly.

This is some next level sadness but Fioanna Apple had it right when she said she has to cleanse herself to be with someone. It’s time to do that. I hate the incel community, I don’t deserve someone, you have to earn it. Money, situps and pushups, it’s really not that complicated.

Something someone said today, not even knowing where I am mentally, is that I’m just fucking being way too emotional. But like it’s easier said then done…oh well. I think isolation is the answer, it’s tough but I think that’s the answer is to really just stop, just stop. You’re too old to get anyone you’re attracted to, too poor to get anyone you want, just focus on the tasks at hand and chew at it until you get to where you are actually a attractable person instead of this fat fucking shit you are now. At least I’m tan…

I just need to keep the guns loaded and ready for the violence. It might be soft here in New Orleans but it is until it isn’t.

I’ve literally got no where else to rant so I’m going to start posting again even tho it’s not really being read but that isn’t the point of crackhore, huh.