Sometimes I rest my forehead is a description of a fantasy of self-mutilation. Sometimes visions of stabbing myself in my face occurs to me. No I haven't done it yet. I never imagine the pain. But there is usually blood. I dunno why I think of it.
I suppose, sometimes, I don't know why I do things but I do.
I shall make it my latest thing to ask people why they do things. Why they write they they draw why they sing, why they take photos. WHY. email me if you know why you do things. that are not for the money. unless you wanna go into why you need the money for? that'll just be a mess of knotted snakes having sex.
I dust my keyboard
Packing my room has become my therapy, and writing about it is growing into an obsession.
Yesterday night, I was trying to reach rock bottom of a sadness that I feel that I should deny no longer. I don’t know why I feel sadness for, and that is probably why I have been rejecting its onset, and every few days, I feel miserable, but I wipe it away with joblessness and job hunting. I presume it comes from existential anxiety largely, about what I don’t want to do with my life and what I want to do with my life, but I truly don’t know. Well, to stop these random onsets of unhappiness, I figure that’s what I need to do. Mourn irrationally.
I don’t know why I want to stop these random onsets of unhappiness, but one of the reasons must be because I have visions of myself stabbing my temple with a katana. I envision that the katana will go in cleanly, and come out cleanly. That seems to be the property of katanas, neat and clean, and usually spurting blood, but in my vision there’s no spurting blood. I wish I have no blood sometimes. Anyhow, I suppose I want to stop these random vision onsets because I have lost control over them, and it is torturing me.
Last night, instead of going to bed when I had nothing to do, I was compelled to dust my keyboard. My computer keyboard that is, the one that I am typing with right now. Looking into my stationery supplies, I find some paint brushes and I had to use a pretty small one to get in between the keys. If you dust around in between the keys, I presume you too would find the dust to roll into dust balls that look like laundry lint, but grosser.
I was surprised by the amount of dust beneath the keys of my keyboard. The particularly dirty places where around the backspace and the enter keys. Either I am right, or I was just tired by the time I got to them. Anyways, it was really pretty dirty. If I laid out all the dust balls, I presume I can cover about six computer keys’ at least.
There was a point, when I was scooping out the dust balls, when I asked myself if I knew what I was doing. It must be pretty ridiculous, dusting my keyboard at 3 am in the morning, with a little paint brush. Then, as I was scooping out a little piece of potato chip, I knew that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
Is my keyboard perfectly clean right now? I doubt it. I bet I will at least need to turn it around and give it a few good pats on the back to knock out what’s left. Yet I don’t suppose that I will do that. It will be interesting to pour sand or soil into to the keyboard and some seeds to grow some grass or tiny flowers.
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