Few sensations rival waking with a god-like erection.

Sharing it, of course, is one of those few.

Society has created a world of inaction. Who else has been paralyzed by the question?

“Where do you see yourself in x years?”

My answer? “Hopefully, dead.”

Am I truly that dark? Perhaps. Yet the answer may run deeper than that.

I don’t know that I can say I’ve ever really had what you would call a PLAN. Interviewers, counselors, advisors, life coaches, &c, ask us, in one way or another, to envision your future.

Some of the advice is sound. What you envision will manifest itself. I have seen this work for many people, and I am eager to see how this goes—even if I’ll have to fake it at first.

Whenever I think of the future, my mind goes totally black.

No, not blank. Black.

I don’t see anything there. Why would I?

In some ways, I have been spoiled. Outside of the land of women, I have a knack of finding/obtaining whatever my mind obsesses that it needs.

I enjoy reading, that much is certain. Yet, my obsessive mind latches on to each good read, and I have to have it. Yes. Even though my stack of “books to read” is tall enough it is unrealistic to think I’ll read them all. Even at the rate of fifty (or sixty) in a year.

I have always surrounded myself with things. Things that don’t really matter...

This. This is what I have to keep asking myself at this point in my life.

“Does it really matter?”

So far, it is proving to be a great metric on whether I am heading in the right direction.

However, over the weekend, a terrifying feeling came over me. I am looking to escape the comfort of all I have. Once the cash from that is gone, what will I do? I have nothing left at this point. A negative net worth. What if I venture out into the void—and fail?

After all, the argument is strong that I am a failure already. What makes me think this will be any different?

Does cutting what few possessions I have, hopping on a schooner, and sailing for the unknown make any sense at all?

Does it really matter?

The void really is terrifying. That blackness that I imagine when I think of my life in the future.

Some imagine what it’s like to live on an island beach, with a beautiful woman by his side.

Some imagine a life of exhilaration, driving a Ferrari at top speed through the countryside of Monaco, with a beautiful woman by his side.

Some imagine life in a glass house, a view, and the amazing smell of food cooking, with a beautiful woman by his side.

Some imagine that beautiful woman, being inside her, finding great pleasure in bringing her intense pleasure, knowing that spot on her body where I’ll bite her—and she’ll be mine. Forever... and ever.

And these things (and women) manifest themselves. Instead of simple blackness.

What if I fail? Does it really matter?

Just today, I stumbled upon a quote by Alan Watts:

A person who thinks all the time has nothing to think about except thoughts, so he loses touch with reality and lives in a world of illusions.

With a comment below:

Fuck being a philosopher. Me and all my homies hate thinking.

If this isn’t a wake-up call, what is? No wonder someone who’s stuck inside his own head loses touch with the fun and beautiful girls out there... no matter how amazing of a beginning we have.

Thinking. It leads to inaction. Where will you be in x years? Hopefully dead?

Why think about it? Stop thinking about it and step off into the void. If you ultimately fail, life will become infinitely more interesting.

What i'm listening to:

me and ur ghost
blackbear
everything means nothing