terminals

So today is my dad’s birthday. We’ve all had our birthdays since he passed but at least ours we could mask with some semblance of celebration. This is so much more up front. My family decided tonight we’ll stay home, drink his favourite beer and eat his favourite pizza and I’m proud we’re at the point where we can celebrate his life more than we mourn his death. April 28. I used to always think my dad’s birthday was April 23rd and would surprise him five days early with happy birthday proclamations, only to be as confused as he was. He used to always want simple things for his birthday, even when it got to the point where we were old enough to be buying him presents with our own money. Last year I got him a Spanish soccer shirt with his name on the back and I don’t think I’d ever seen him happier. I’m crying now and I don’t want to. I just miss him hey.

god, manufactured by mortals in their own quintessential image, exists only to make daily life bearable despite the path that every one of us treads towards extinction. as long as men are obliged to die, some of them, unable to endure the prospect, will concoct fond illusions. we cannot assassinate or kill an illusion. in fact, illusion is more likely to kill us – for god puts to death everything that stands up to him, beginning with reason, intelligence, and the critical mind. all the rest follows in a chain reaction. the last god will expire with the last man, and with him fear, terror, anguish, those devices designed to create divinities. they include horror of death’s void, the inability to integrate death as a natural process with which we must come to terms, in whose presence intelligence alone can have any effect. and there is denial, the absence of any meaning beyond what we ourselves have to offer, with absurdity as a starting point. these are the genetic bloodlines of the divine. a dead god would imply a vanquished void. we are light years away from such ontological progress.

why do i keep doing this. downward spiral every time you somehow enter my life. this is easier without you.
but there’s something strange about how we work.

I’ve been reading a lot recently, right now I’m reading Gonzo, The Athiest Manifesto, My Booky Wook, Scorcese By Ebert and a huge Springsteen tour coffee table book.

Uni is doing really good, almost too good, I’m thinking I’m about due for a panic relapse. My written work has grown leaps and bounds from last year, I’m starting to remember the reason why I love writing so much. Losing all hope was freedom. My film work has grown a lot too, I always doubt myself when we shoot but I fucking love editing and everything just comes together perfect. I’m toying with the idea of writing a new short script. I want to envoke the emotions that run through peoples lives on a daily level. Think about it, Mondays you hate the world, Friday you feel free. Everything in between sort of shifts into monotone. Thats the idea and it’s still forming, I like it.

Mums pulling me away from here to do some shopping, here’s shit I’m jocking recently.

book: the athiest manifesto
music: architects-hollow crown
film: my name is bruce
comic: walking dead vol3.

There’s a few important people in my life I feel I’m losing. This is me venting. Sorry.

You don’t care about anyone other than yourself. You exclude the people closest to you and when their well of patience dries up you move along to the next one, use the next one. We’ve gone in circles for far too long and I guess the straw broke the camels back. You talk so much of ‘yeah we’re bros’ but I hardly ever get the feeling you even fucking care anymore. You ditch and burn bridges, you ridicule and are ever the opportunist. It’s odd because you know I’m the only one who really cares, and oddly enough I’m still here. I really am, but I can’t wait around for you any more, you either want to know me or I’m moving on.

I don’t even know where to start with this next one other than, you’re spineless. You used to be the one person I liked hanging out with in the world, but ever since, you’ve become nothing more than a hopeless subservient. When I was at my most vulnerable I gave you another chance, you said you were going to try, but it was all fucking bullshit, you weren’t even there when I needed friends most. You are a sycophantic, brainwashed fuck and I am fucking glad I didn’t waste more than one breathe on you two nights ago. I learned the lesson I was meant to from you, and in time you’ll learn an even harder one when it’s over. I sincerely hope she breaks you’re heart more than the last one. It will serve you fucking right. I’ll be more than happy to light this bridge up, no one has crossed it in a while.