So after recently writing about how much risotto (a common italian dish) sucks and how superior to it the dish commonly referred to as merely “spanish rice” (I have no idea if its origin is truly spain) is, I did indeed make some. Frankly the way I make spanish rice is to just saute some onions and garlic in margarine and then add rice, peeled and diced tomatoes (OK I use canned ones), and lower sodium vegetable broth, heat to a boil, cover, and toss it in the oven for 25 minutes. You can probably find whatever recipe you want for it. I used just paprika and pepper in it. And having tried a new variety of paprika I have this to say: spanish rice may be great but spanish paprika sucks. Spain is a much better country than Hungary but whatever those Hungarians do to their (sweet) paprika it is indeed the best in the world taste wise.
Now I could end this entry here, I bashed risotto and two or three nations. A fine day’s work right? But you know, I have more to say today. I don’t like to talk about myself. But today I will paint you an incomplete picture of my life.
I am sitting here the past few days philosophizing and speculating on food and pop-culture and penile torture while listening to music from the 1980s with a dislocated, or something, shoulder, a broken nose, twitching eyes, and a migraine. And I honestly could not tell you how I got any of them. That’s my life. If you ever wondered why I say crap, if you ever wondered why you don’t see me talking about what’s going on in my life, the work I do, that’s why. I have no life. I do no work. I have no independence. My continued existence is entirely dependent on the guilt-borne pity that others feel towards me.
My most honest wish might be that someday I’ll just wake up and everything will be alright somehow. Or that it’ll be 20 years ago, maybe even 10 years ago, and this will all have been a dream. A slightly more dishonest wish is that I’ll go to sleep and never wake up again. Whether that means dream or death or coma or what I have no idea. But I don’t say the first two to others, I only say the last one. So that’s the picture that the people actually in my life have of me. A person just waiting around to die. They try and pretend like that’s not the situation so I try and pretend like I actually care about anything, instead of merely passing the time and trying to stay amused enough to ignore other things. Like my shoulder that I can’t move properly and the pain in my nose and the throbbing in my skull and the fact that if I ever took a particularly strong shock to my head I’d probably tear a retina and go blind. Yeah it’s a great life. I can’t even get on my bicycle like this.
Alright well this has turned into a pity party. People don’t feel as sorry for me on the internet as they do in real life. I kind of like that actually. There are some people who really hate me and will tell me so online. In fact there have even been a couple of occasions where I have found out what people really think of me but would have never told me directly. Like how I’m really weird, how I don’t have it that bad, or about all the people that are worse off than me. And they’re right. It could be worse. Regardless of how well or poorly they work or how much anything might be damaged and in pain I do still have almost everything I was born with, certainly all the parts I need. And people provide for me. Not only am I not living on the street, I’m living on the internet.
I still find things to laugh and smile about. Some days it’s not much but it’s there. I think that if you can’t find anything to laugh about anymore then your life probably isn’t worth living. So stockpile some material if you get the chance. You never know when a memory might save your life.
At the end of last year I was going to kill myself. I didn’t eat anything for two weeks, and frankly I thought about never eating anything again and just dying with nothing but Coca-Cola and anti-depressants in my system. I planned on jumping into the river. But I didn’t do it. Probably I didn’t do it mostly because I’m a coward and everything else was secondary. But that’s how things worked out and here I am getting 30 people to glance at my opinions on sex acts. It could be worse. That doesn’t make things any better, but still it could be worse.
I’m actually just saying these things because I’m in a lousy fucking mood. There is no other reason. This isn’t a cry for help, this isn’t a bid for sympathy, this isn’t an attempt at communication. This is just griping plain and simple. Maybe a bit of boredom thrown in. What else was I going to say? Was I going to give advice about writing? Well hell I might as well.
Some people say they have no inspiration, that they are stumped, that they have “writer’s block”. That is bullshit. In reality they just don’t have any discipline or talent. You need one or the other to get anywhere with a project. Or maybe you need to be pitiful enough to get someone else to do it for you (talking someone into doing things for you could in fact require both discipline and talent, it usually takes more time and effort than just doing it yourself). Whatever. But let’s say for a moment that you really do have “no idea” at any particular time about any particular thing. Sometimes you really just don’t know what the best thing is, or even what any thing is. This never happens to me by the way, I could say something to anyone about anything when I want to. I usually don’t but I have and I can and I could.
So there you are all by your lonesome trying to come up with something and you’re thinking how you’re fucking stuck. Well go outside, or if you’re already outside change location. Just go out there. And look around. If a person can’t see this advice wouldn’t do them any good, but then again if they can’t see at all then they can’t see this either so too bad for them, go listen to some Elton John music and grope something, I don’t know. So you’re outside and you’re looking around. You’re seeing billions of things right now. Just pick one and start writing. Or pick them all and write about them. A person in their life could not write down all the things that they see in one glance under the sun. It doesn’t matter what you’re trying to create. A story, a dissertation, a math problem, if you look around for long enough then you’ll come up with something. If you don’t you have no talent and I can’t help you. Actually if you asked me I probably COULD help you but you know what I mean, get someone else to help you, you can probably find someone on the internet even if it’s just a bored little bitch like me who is just looking to kill time. Whether you could find the right person at the right time who can get things done quickly enough is another matter, but that’s your problem, figure it out or not I don’t care.
Personally, I never look for ideas. I just live my life and every single moment inspires me. That might be profound precisely because I feel miserable. If I look at the moon for 5 minutes I can come up with an entire novel. So I’ve never written one. I just write crap like this. I can’t tell you why that is for sure. Maybe I’m scared or insecure or simply lacking motivation. I don’t even think about it, I just don’t do it and I talk about that sometimes and people say things like that to me. “just do it”, “you’re a great writer when you try so just be confident”, “if only you had the right motivator”. It’s really easy for people to say anything. It doesn’t matter what it is, people can say it. They might not say it at the right time or place. But even though talking is an action too it’s so much simpler for people than anything else.
A mother fucker would be more willing to stand in a crowded plaza and shout obscenities than jog for their health. I don’t know why. I don’t care either. That’s just how I see it. Maybe you see it differently. If so then go here and get to work.
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