How to use email (for wannabe highschool dropouts)
I hate one word emails.
Sometimes you hear people talking bad about their exes and how they write these “novels”. Many pages of email although I never understood what that means because their is ever only one page in email.
People are insecure. They need love. And it’s never enough.
Especially artists. This includes musicians, comedians, writers, painters. Inventors. Everyone is driven by the need for more love.
That guy on stage alone telling jokes and killing it. Audience clapping and laughing and hooting and hollering. The best show of his life. They loved it. But he goes home lonely because it’s never enough.
All the big bands. Zeppelin. Floyd. Nirvana. They were all on drugs because even millions of fans and private jets and endless drugs is never enough.
You can’t get enough of love. No matter how much you want, you always want more and the more you get, the more you can handle and your previous I want more becomes even bigger.
The only way to get beyond is not what Buddha or Jesus said. Those are just second-hand methods. Not the real thing. Nobody knows who these people were. We don’t even know if space is real or if the earth is flat. Have you checked? We just rely on other people to do our thinking.
So put a little heart into it.
Otherwise it’s not worth the effort to click on your unread message in my inbox. That is like a bench press for my finger. I’ve been waiting all day for this. And then it’s just one line trying to be clever. 5 seond song, 10 min movie… not worth the time to get ready
I hate that.
I feel so powerless when I’m one lined.
I like it when I never reply to anyone and just hide in my apartment and don’t put more credit on my phone so I can’t call back.
I love emails but they dangerous for fuckups like me who love the written word. I get obsessed with words and sentences and my emails become these finely crafted works of art. Sometimes it’s anarchy, sometimes it’s clean like a hospital. Some mad poetry and dirty jokes to add the extra oomph.
I’m in love with my obsessions because I hate them and i get obsessed with the obsession like a cat mouse thing. Is this co-dependence or something?
I imagine how you feel when you read what I write. I know your buttons. I send an army of invisible fairies to swim in your soul and pull those triggers and get the laughs and the tears and the hate and the anger and the release.
I was born to perform. Even when nobody is here or everyone left or whatever. That’s why i dont know what christmas is or 1 week vacation in sunshine climates. I go on vacation forever or never. Float like a canonball in a sea of dead babies.
It’s all a game of who blinks first. Russian roulette where I’m the bullet and you are the smoke of the Lennon happiness gun on the white album that inspired MANSON who never actually killed anyone (like Adolf).
Email is not text. Please delete your email app. Don’t piss on my beautiful emails and make me email you again all bitter and ocd. And don’t make me join your social media sites so I can feel even more lonely with all your friends and pretty photos. I got no friends. All my pretty photos jumped off Tokyo balconies into a tsunami of supermodels.
I have issues. Can you tell?
And i wear them like masks at eyes wide shut orgies.