Friday, March 11, 2016


Dream: In My Room

-descending a long narrow staircase into my room
-it’s somehow supposed to be the bathroom, but it’s also my bedroom and TV sitcom characters are in there
-Frasier and Martin Crane are sleeping standing up against the wall, and they keep arguing with each other like nags
-Frasier keeps his sexuality in the freezer of an old fridge in my room
-on the floor, there’s a large canvas whereupon the sky is painted light blue. My synthetic cubist piece for art class is there too
-at some point, I have to write my art exam, but I can’t even remember my teacher’s name
-upstairs, mum has bought my brother slim Mexican cigarettes. You don’t buy a man slims

I’m not feeling. It’s a wonder that most people go through life like this when it’s causing me such distress. I’m not even conscious. Sometimes it amazes me that I even bother getting out of bed in the morning.

What do I do to make the world a better place? If I weren’t here, would anyone even know the difference? What’s the point in leaving the house, or waking up, for that matter? How do I help to alleviate the pain of those who are suffering? What impact do I make on the world?


If I ceased to exist, who would erect a monument in my honour? Some life.

What is wrong with me? How did I arrive at this place? I can’t believe that I’m such a wreck! And for what? It just doesn’t seem worth it. Life isn’t worth the trouble.


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