i’m getting older, and it sucks. my back hurts, my hair’s gone, my joints creak and ache — c'est la vie — but what’s the point when your joie de vivre is categorically fake? fine, i’ll admit it, i’m jaded, and a bit of a skeptic. but can you blame me? just about everything i’ve been told has turned out to be demonstrably false and pedagogically septic. i reprimand myself for not seeing the truth — a blind yearning for chimera — oh the naïveté of youth! lately i’ve been feeling the languor, the lassitude of life. it’s been happening more and more, with short interludes for strife. fuck man. nothing’s really fun anymore. everything’s just a fucking snore. everyone’s a goddamn bore. our callow flounce into the future turned out to be a perpetual carousel of chore after perfunctory chore. what a crapshoot life has come to be.
oh come off it! fucking hell. stop complaining. life is good. sure, things can sometimes get hard, but no one said they never would. work is important, i’ll admit, but then again so is play. read a book, ride a bike, find balance in your day. get your shit together man, what did Miller say? that’s correct friend: once more into the fray! life is a crapshoot, yes, okay, fine, this i’ll concede as true. but the larger truth is that it’s full of splendour too. a stroll on a hill, a walk in a park, a light jog through the woods; seriously dude, i’m telling you, what a morning hike could do! i know it’s been lonely man, i know it’s been tough. but remember you’re not alone, everyone’s had it rough. a will to live, a resolve to love, it all comes down to a choice. you can choose the path of apathy, or you can choose to rejoice. i’ve heard you say it a hundred times, i’ve seen you teach and preach. take the Bard’s advice, dear friend, once more unto the breach!
yea yea yea; sure sure sure; i’m not exactly floored. stuff it, save it, spare me please, i’m way too fucking bored. three dozen countries, eight dozen lovers, and a myriad tales to tell. so why do i feel this gnawing boredom, what am i missing still? i’ve the world on a string, i’m dead-centre ring, i’ve got everything to heed. but sometimes i slice my arm open just to watch myself bleed. oh what a tortured, pilfered metaphor for when you’re really in need. dear lord it’s all so tedious, like a tawdry christmas tweed. the internet’s a fine place to spend a little while. until you’re mad, sad, writhing with envy, and long gone is your smile. so tell me: cherished, treasured friend, what’s the good word now? in lieu of everything i’ve said, what then say art thou?
jesus christ man, enough already, stop being such a troll. it’s not funny anymore, you’re spinning out of control. if all you want to do is brood then go right the fuck ahead. but heed my warning here and now: that path is a dead end. alright, wait, let’s calm down and do a diagnostic. there’s really no point in being so stubbornly agnostic. time and again i’ve heard you spew the same old shit. i really don’t understand why you insist on always being so goddamn caustic. it’s time for a cleanse. you’ve got your health, your family, your job, and a troop of loyal friends. go to the gym. learn how to swim. pick up a freaking pen. take a big, long, deep breath. better yet, make it ten. you say you’re bored? well so am i, of these garish rants. you’re not a child anymore, pull up your fucking pants.
uh-huh. yep. got it. thanks for the advice. it really makes a lot of sense were it not for this vice; with which i live, in which i’m stuck, through which i see the world. trapped in a cocoon of narcissism, all my potential furled. and every single place i go is different and yet the same. people, parties, shills and pills, a morning walk of shame. i know it sounds tenuous, perhaps even incredulous, but you have to believe me when i tell you, all my efforts truly have been sedulous. i just want to feel something, to stop being bored. bang my head against the wall, pull out every cord. but i suppose in a way, it’s just too much to ask. everything i need is right here but i’m not up to the task. i guess Burnham said it best in this simple rhyme: apathy is a tragedy and boredom is a crime.