Dr. Manhattan felt lonely on earth so he chose to be alone on Mars

Sisyphus may be happy but he is exhausted and alone. But I hope he gets to eat okay and well and sleep as much as he wants.

Every second orange I peel is stale. It makes me wonder if I really did need a second one. The first one was stale too but I peeled it, opened it up. I could smell where on it was bad so I hoped the parts where it smelled okay was okay. But no. I could taste how it had spread. However, like I said, I had already peeled it. So I ate it. I hoped the second one was not stale. Now I remember, it is that hope. The second one may not be stale.

I just wrote in a text a while ago - I hate my liminal minimal existence. The between, that’s where I find myself. A world made of people that cannot seem to know what to do with me, a world I try my best to give everything but looks like I burden it nonetheless. Well, some of those people are fraudsters, others I seem to scare away and leave wordless so I retrace my steps. I have no means to go to Mars and sometimes these days, I feel like ‘fuck the rock man’ , not because it won’t stay up or that I have to do it again but like, can if I am to keep rolling the rock up for an eternity, may I have some passionate words to cradle me once every week at minimum. May I have the means to eat one pizza every month? May I once be devoured with love that trumps mine, one I can die into while I vehemently not allow for it.

The idea of a love and passion that trumps mine, for I am intense and deadly competitive; so if there is a love like that I think it would taste like a sweet ending. I am unsure if I would be scared of it or if I will take it upon myself to trump over that as well.

Like I think if someone was to release Sisyphus of the curse and be kind to him and let him stop, if he feels and accepts the safe space - he would just break apart, shatter into a million pieces or he would just sleep for an infinite time. But that is the thing. Sisyphus cannot be freed by just anyone. It had to be an all powerful being. If not, Sisyphus will have to take it upon himself to protect and love the being that freed him. That being will become his rock.

I look in the mirror a lot. But I don’t often see me. I see the thoughts and the contours of my sense of self fading. Sometimes I say, “Mirror, mirror, free that man in there and let him meet me, let me meet him, for I yearn for our sufferings to meet and feel accompanied.” But the mirror says - “Shut the fuck up, you you are nobody’s evil stepmom.”

Every second thought I have kills the first one. The first one was good, it was childlike. But the child had to work, to protect so it had to die. At the same time though, I had bitten into it already so I just had to cringe at it and birth it a second time. This time it was old and numb. Dead inside, dead outside. Perfect.

Ah fuck it.

Fuck this world.