#147 May 27.

#147 May 27.

I still have angst over the pointless of my life, my lack of
motivation to work on all the projects I conceive, my inability
to write. I still have days where I don’t want to talk to anyone
and evenings when I wander around the house muttering to myself
and screaming at the world.

Sure, there’s times when my girlfriend and I perform perverted
sexual acts on each other until we’re raw, and then lie in
bed discussing the philosophy of science or the creative process
or something else interesting. And yes, i’m not feeling
angst then. But the angst is still there, it hasn’t gone away.
It’s just laying low for a bit while I’m too happy to let it
get to me. It’s waiting around, circling off in the distance
like a wolf. It knows where my weaknesses are; it knows I’ll
be around later and it’ll be able to catch me then because I’ll
be weaker and it will chase me down until I can’t stand and then
it will grab me by the neck in it’s powerful jaws and rip my throat
out and stand howling into the moonlight over my bleeding body
lying in the snow…

-Eric Murray

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