Been a while. A giant monkey cap was the only indication. That and a Beats commercial. Yeezy season is here.
Like a true alpha, I pumped weights to make the melancholy fade. To all you normies out there, the only thing that stands between you and happiness is GAINZ. Pump dem irons until your XS shirt begs respite. You aren’t truly happy if you don’t drink a liter of protein and stan Pre-workout. Working out today actually helped. Maybe it’s the serotonin, or maybe, it’s the alpha in me. Whatever it was, I won’t/can’t complain. I honestly can’t explain why I felt,, off. A wave swept me off the shore, and now I feel like I’m on an island (forgive the corniness). It’s just weird, and I can’t explain it. I’m not supposed to be feeling this way; it just isn’t right or fair to the others. Maybe it’s because of that Jeet Thayil book I read, Low. Fuck, that was one depressing read. That book is a love child of death and sadness. Grief is its godmother. Man, every page, literally, every page, has the protagonist attempting to escape grief, and fail. That’s pretty much the book. It honestly feels like Jeet Thayil wrote one page, rearranged the words for the next 250, and occasionally peppered in some semblance of a plot. Not that the book is bad, mind you; I kinda liked most of it. The part I didn’t particularly care for was that weird rant against the country. It just felt so,,, bougie. Maybe it’s just me, but yeah, it felt hella pretentious.
You haven’t lived if you haven’t competitively coded. Capitalism, baby. It’s like getting swole. Except it’s at others’ expense. Capitalism, baby — serotonin with consequences. I’m just salty. I’m chasing the same thing. The island concept seems to get cornier with each passing sentence. Word docs really put things into perspective, huh. The fact that I have the privilege to sit in a sheltered, concrete, three BHK at 12 in the night and type shit out only hits when I see Document1 at the top of my screen. The goddamn audacity. Ngl tho, this feels a little nice. I’ve somehow stumbled into a Rory rabbit hole. I’ve listened to four of his albums this week, all without finding out that it was really him. I stan. Cp3, I feel for you.
Trepidation, need to power on my phone.
