new dawn fades
i haven't felt anything tender in years. something that speaks with the voice of love is driven by a nervous anger. i don't feel comfortable, i feel i've been robbed of every moment in which there's been a human connection past lust. i miss hearing music and feeling moths in my stomach when thinking of someone. there's this patriarchal, militaristic, [p e r h a p s a m e r i c a n ?] urge that doesn't feel sweet or kind or nice. i don't want to be bitter but, fucking hell, we have been taught hopelessness is the same as maturity. and the people that are currently living the dream, well, are busy living the dream. how can you not think of all of this as meritocracy, as neoliberalism trickling and permeating the core of human relationships? if you are not rich (because, let's face it, being rich and accomplished have little to do with each other: accomplished people are more prone to eat shit) then you have failed. if you don't intend on getting rich, then you're unambitious. if you don't have generational wealth, you're a few clicks away from getting all of your impasses revealed to the world. how can you feel at ease? you have to burn the house to kill the moths, you have to bury your heart by the highway and walk away into a night after a night after a night. i probably am part of a black list of people documenting how lousy of a partner i am. my appetites, the worst things i have said or done, my shortcomings: part of a spreadsheet of idiots. people have been warned to stay away from me. does this sound too paranoid? i am [c o n t e m p l a t i n g] the possibility because it's not too far-fetched. whether i [b e l i e v e] it or not, that's something between myself and the void i scream into. also, the fact that i don't have an active social life weighs in a ton. also, the fact that no one seems to care and that i should give up already is like background noise to my life. also,the fact that i really don't like the state of the art of social venues might explain why i hardly bother seeing other humans. and then this girl on a dating app seems like is ghosting me. i can't tell the difference between 'playful' and 'moronic', so i come off as unnervingly childish when i try to be cute and coy. i don't deserve to feel nice things. only mistrust and lust. because no one wants a cuddly middle-aged man. there's nothing cute in being a guy. there's nothing cute in being an old fuck with a case of puppy love. there's nothing nice in relationships at this age. you endure the one you have or resent the ones you had and carry your bitterness like the carcass of something you unwillingly killed. i feel hopeless, anhedonic and mildly [s u i c i d a l]. i feel too tired. nothing good awaits. i won't [h u r t] myself, but i can't provide myself with a kinder outcome other than fading away from my own life little by little. the fact that I can afford to be this morbid without ruining myself should be a twisted kind of comfort. it's not.