Down and out upon a mountain

I probably wouldn’t be the ideal anything; yeah I’m there for the people I care about- little reciprocation in that area though.

The amount of meaningless relationships I have cultivated based only on mutual attraction and mutual animosity for each other, guess the label was their ticket in and the casualness was mine.

Now a meaningful relationship comes about, and I feel like someone has just placed me in front of the juror of my life; dreamily reminding me of past transgressions and whatnot.

Yet here I sit upon a non-existent mountain with no true duties as of yet to perform. Apart from the writing but that’s pleasurable. I feel unlike many no need to pick up alcohol or consume drugs to feel at one with myself- if you think you’re doing it for fun or recreationally you’re sorely deluded. I just simply figure fuck ups can be changed, hiding them from yourself is just slowly killing yourself.

Now the days pass, guess I’m a little aimless, in love yes, aimless still though. Avoiding the diatribe of people who are so self-obsessed they neglect to live with any humanity only faux dustbowl chique style, that went out of style long before Darwin realised we came from monkeys.

You expect any motivation from these posts, I really do hope not. You want that go read some shitty tabloid. Motivation never helped anyone in reality, just made them feel better for not doing anything with their life. Me I feel none of that. You, well you I’m not so sure about you.

Sure this non-existent mountain got rather questionable, but it’s better than incessant social media posts about how good Marks and Spencer’s is, or how your exes jacket was bought in some non-descript shithole. So for now I’m out.

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