I am The Tube.

 

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The fuck is wrong with me? Bad chemicals acting up again. I never should have strayed from the Prozac. Three days of feeling down and empty and like I don’t exist. Then, suddenly today I now am full of rage that I’ve just been screaming into a pillow like some animal. I feel like I don’t know who I am. I have no identity. I have no direction. All I want to do is scream and destroy my room. Can this all just be chemicals? Where was the sunny me a few days ago, enjoying his coffee and listening to music. Watching the Harry Palmer movies. Having a mellow good time with myself. How can I just abruptly become so despondent. Maybe I should forcefully change my life. Look for someone who needs a roommate in New York. Be forced out. No. I would be isolated somewhere else. I FEEL LIKE A MARIONETTE PUPPET!!! LIKE I HAVE NO STRINGS. NOTHING ABOVE KEEPING ME UP. JUST TIME AND GRAVITY KEEPING ME IN THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL. I don’t believe in time anyway. Just a construct to measure Space. What do I want to be. A man who has a good woman. A man who makes money. Now, I am nothing. Just another demolished man buried under sand dunes. No one sees. No one cares. No one will understand. I will never understand myself. I have no self. I’m a blank space. I’m not here. You’re not reading this. I am not typing now. This is not helping me. I am not here and neither are you. I’m the tube. I take in and put out. I take in and I put out. I am not human. I am a bug blinded by the taillight it’s attached to.

 

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I am The Tube.

Dead Now.

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I feel nothing but a bit down. Empty. Depression that is very light. Feeling like time is slipping away and I don’t know what to do. I need a direction, but I will not find one as usual. What do I do about the hollowness. I could think the same thoughts and blog the same blogs I have already blogged before. My emptiness, something in me is dead and no longer responds the way it has before. The nerve is dead. My pain is gone but I can feel it’s impression pressured inside me. I think I am dead now. Dead to all things. Yes. Now I’m dead. Knowing that is a bit wonderful, I think. I give up. It has me. No control. Down and down and down and deep down.

Dead Now.

Hitched.

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Enough with this bullshit. Time to find a wife. That is my mission now. Wish me luck. Fortunately, I have reached the point where I’m beyond embarrassment and I shall go forward and flirt mercilessly. Bars and clubs and the streets, I will be a man flirt. I will get this shit done. I ain’t dying alone ya’ll. No way mothafuckas! This is my mission. I will go out into the world and Mack out on all the fly honies. I will not be restrained by my bullshit. Period. Bam. It’s done. And if you want to be my wife, send a profile and deets.

Hitched.

How do I get “The Sex?”

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I’ve been thinking that there should be a place to have sex. I’m not talking prostitution, but places you can go and ask each other if you want to have sex. I can’t bother flirting. It’s been awhile since I’ve been with a woman sexually and I would like to have an orgasm soon. I don’t like touching myself. There really should be places for people like me. Maybe a key party. Some place, any place to go and have The Sex. Flirtation is so tedious. It’s like small talk except we know why the small talk is being made and I’m forced to engage in boring pointless blather to form some bond that isn’t going to happen. If I’m going to like a woman I have to have sex with her first. Spend some more time together. Have more sex and see what happens. If anybody has any tips about where to go to meet people who just want to have sex. Drop me a message.

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How do I get “The Sex?”

This Day in Emotional Flatness.

 

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Since back on medication I am calmer and more adverse to anxiety and stresses. Pretty damned resilient. However, I’ve been flat emotionally for most of it all too. Aside from mild aggravation at the thought of Trump winning I find myself like some somnambulist  going around without no serious or interesting purpose. Can’t say it’s been a bad day. I find myself suddenly preferring this zen’d out version of me. I can’t live any other way. I would pull my hair out. Still, it makes it hard to proceed with haste while in this state. Haste to what, though? I’ve lived in haste. Melted down multiple times because of it. I guess I’m learning to let Life happen to me. I can’t seem to control any of it. There is nothing to be done. Nothing I haven’t tried before. A lady is what I need. Too incompetent and restrained by my defects [High Functioning Autism] to do anything about it. I got a yen for travel. Maybe I should spend the next decade saving my chump change for a trip. A job is still not forth coming. I am not visible to The Masses. I’m a stealth creature. I fog minds. No one can recollect me. I guess I’m done with this meandering blog. I will probably be up late watching the walls. No thoughts will enter my mind. I’ve already thought of everything there is for me to think of.

Andre The Android, out!

 

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This Day in Emotional Flatness.

The Masses.

 

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People. . . when I see you I might as well be looking at apes.Harmless and shaved apes. Every bar I go to. Every Meetup. Every sidewalk, I see all the same people. I see the sameness in their faces. How they carry themselves. Imagine you’re in the TV show The Walking Dead, you see various zombies stumbling along, all with different deformities but you know inside there is no real difference. You know that you’re dealing with maurading eating machines going one place to another. That’s what people are aren’t they? Move here and there, consuming via food or goods and on and on. I at least live in a world where I don’t have to be chased by flesh eaters. Still, being in my condition the herd can be a horrifying experience. I have family that are voting for TRUMP! Half this nation! I can’t wait for a midwestern tornado to rack up the death toll. Or another Hurricane Andrew wiping out Florida. A new monkey virus. Or just give me zombies. I would love to run loose in the streets a la’ Last of Us beating away the horde. Molotoving them and raking them down with shotgun fire. Oh, what a world that would be. I’d have a sense of purpose, and the masses can be their genuine self.

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The Masses.