Having one of those days/weeks/months/years/decades where I feel like I have no right to be alive, like I am wasting everything and should just go and hang myself in the woods so as not to be a pointless waste of resources.
Obviously, I’m not going to do this but it is not a nice feeling. I’m thirty-one, I’m not teenaged enough to have the balls to actually die by choice. Mortality terrifies me.
I’m just taking up space, food, water and oxygen and contributing nothing of worth or value. I am that vile capitalist construct, the ‘consumer’. The rat in the grain silo of existence. The locust decimating the harvest of the universe.
I’d happily slaughter a billion like me if I had the opportunity.
This blog has no defined purpose other than to exist as a, mostly ignored, corner of the internet where things that I do can conjeal into a sticky mess and fester. I am twenty-eleven years old, single, I live in Nottingham, UK, I sit at a desk prodding data all day and in the evenings I study Art History, usually without any trousers on.
