Last night I cried before going to sleep... I am just feeling despair and anger and I don't know why specifically. It's like, a feeling of impotence and frustration and the feeling I am slowly getting consumed by a feeling of undirected hate and I don't know what I hate...
"sighs" why to bother? Why to delude myself writing? it leads nothing, just to delusion and chimeras of worlds that does not exist outside of my head to poorly copy them on paper just to get it rejected and then, if is God's will, to get it published and got it read it by no one. With that, is better to try to win the lotery that pretending success can be made and finish in some crappy high school teaching literature, a wife that doesn't love me and using saturday nights to write two paragraphs of a never ending delusion...
I think that's why fantasy is so popular now, people just don't want to live in this world, in this reality, never compromise. not even in the face of armaggedon, the darn global village took off our sense of wonder and community. "we" and "then" it's always like that, thousand of voices shouting a million of diferent slogans and marching at the same drum to the abyss where there are no books nor arts nor religions nor ideas. Just a mare magnun of malicious mankind mating and murdering more mankind per secula seculorum, amen.
We are like cockroaches, ain't we? Not the regular kind, but the kafkiesque one living in our small rooms... sorry for speaking for all, I am so sorry! I have been such... such... such a fool, ain't I? Why does this foolish child dares to wear the smarty pants of his father and grandfather and great-grandfather whom where self-made men... I am just a spoiled child with an artistic hobby to not live his own life, since he is socially awkward and people in really life doesn't like him, except his relatives since they are meant to like everyone in the family that is not a complete shame and I haven't made anything that makes me a shame, I don't do anything... just read and write and watch old movies nobody cares about... Kind Hearts and Coronets is a good one, there aren't actors like him today... it's a deprorable world, are you there little blue world?
Could be that I am autistic... once told me that I may be autistic but was refuted by another doctor who told me I was too mature by my age. No way, José! why you write, José? to not feel lonely? are you lonely? am I lonely? can you feel the void?
Why bother?
Take my hand, you guys! I'll pull you out and give you hugs and love you up til you feel better. 
