A juxtaposition, Monday.

A juxtaposition, Monday.

I cannot understand how writers write with life happening all around them... Problems have been aptly, and might I add ironically, verbose in nature leading to an apathetic or just plain pathetic effort by my part.

Perhaps the drinking is the only way to escape dealing with everything when it comes to writing; though my money is still on the, the narcissistic rock-star-writer complex for the root of drinking-writing paradigm. I will consult Californication and report my results later.

It is indeed the lifeblood of any writer named by my name to get the zealous me-too itch after any encounter with faux genus. When confronted with the real world pragmatics that accompanies those in search for success and cliché, I rarely find such inspiration. Brutally, though, I cannot expect to find any drive without such a muse of disgustingly simple and suburban sentiment. There in lies the catch-22. Happiness is what I want- yet there who can be happy when there are ass holes doing genius in the most beautiful of forms of art and dreary jerks doing genius in the commonality of everyday life, leaving me bereaved of each in totality.

I can do simple acts of each, getting close but never committing everything to one and worse still is my desire to do both interferes with one another. Drugs, alcohol, waste, adventure, these things will lead to genius and art but ultimately will destroy my life. As much as I would love to have stories that conclude, “so that transsexual prostitute helped me get out of North Korea with my life and all it cost me was a bootleg DVD copy of Equilibrium starring Christian Bale…” ultimately those cannot foster the life where I wake up content next to a smiling girl who knows I will go fix breakfast for the rug rats because I feel guilty we watched my movie last night.

Perhaps instead it will come down to being more about spending the time comparing rather then spending the time working. I still place my money on the hours in the day. I start to think that one cannot have it all, and if they do they pay for it with their health or soul. I would rather just pay for it with a good deed and an IOU, but that rarely works. At least it didn’t for the Drugs, alcohol, waste, and adventure. I doubt it works for the mundane life either, otherwise would we have had a housing bubble collapse?