It’s been a while since any inspiration hit. I can’t force myself to write; I can’t force myself read; I can’t force much any more. All I can do is make beats, but without words it’s all filth and no fury. I’m getting pissed off. I can’t draw well… I don’t get ideas. I feel utterly disconnected. I’m losing the fight against nothingness, against meaninglessness: the world would be laughing in my face, but I am only one out of billions, a brick in the wall; nature cannot spare the time.
Oh, poor Tantalus! poor Sisyphus! To strive for aces in a stacked deck, the constant snake-eyes of a back alley, and the harrowing echo of a 7-10 split. Tis a cruel world we inhabit indeed. Or perhaps worse… an amoral world. For if murder is evil for it’s randomness, without intention or purpose, then cruelty is simple amorality; the bag of shit left on the neighbor’s lawn. But why? Nature herself but watches and laughs as the methods, management and madness of man and women are put center stage, with no reason or purpose other than to fumble and fret and fear at that very moment when it’s all on you, and the line forgotten, and the sound of a pin dropping. “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Sorry, ended in a rant. I’m frustrated, but at least my frustration finally allowed me to write that… My Shakespeare class is going well, accept for the cunt up front.
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sunpoisoned reblogged this from brandittttt and added:
nothing.’” I love Brandt.
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brandittttt posted this
