August 9th, 2016

Last night was my last night working as a food runner. I really enjoy earning money. There is nothing better than having a part of your day being filled up and having a reward to follow. I find that with my writing, which although I haven’t been doing a lot on here, there has been plenty of prose work and poetry being done. I just don’t feel like it’s enough for what I want to be doing or have done with my work at my age. I’ve decided to stop smoking pot and I think this will help me be a better self.

I’ve done this before and to be honest things go pretty fast for me and I do need the respective ability to slow down with a little bit of weed, but usually when I try a little bit, I roller coaster into using a lot. I don’t know what the future will hold for me but I do hope that you will hear from me a bit more often.

Sincerely,
Ben

I think it just got to that point in the year where I’m like, it’s still 2016?

July 29th 2016
Well Lollapalooza came to town. I snuck in like I have for the past two years.

June 12th 2016

Today I watched the life of a friend of mine who died in pictures. I personally would call it a shame, but others called it a celebration and rejoicing in his life. I can’t view a person’s life only being pictures of their youth and find it rejoicing. I find it tragic. This was a kid who had a family and died. Hell, I have a family but honestly, I sometimes wish or believe I’d be better off dead. Things around here are just very fucked. They have been ever since my mom died, even before that and they probably will be for a long time. The world just always wants to change right when you want to get comfortable.

I don’t know, does a person’s upbringing determine who they are and become/are destined to do? You’d think all the rich marry each other and become disgustingly wealthy while trash marries trash. Maybe I just don’t feel like I’m worth enough since so many people who surround me either have something so much better going for them or just have so much more. I’m just a conglomeration which doesn’t fit into anything that should make sense. I used to find solace with that through god. I used to think it all made me unique, but now it’s just awful to be so apparently obsolete in a world where normality is desired.

I think that’s what I always admired about Jared though; He was an outsider. Similar to Ponyboy and the gang he had his brothers and he was tuff. He smoked, he fought, he didn’t finish high school but he was a good son and had a better heart than I will ever have. He was the only person who didn’t think that where you came from defined who you will become. He didn’t cheer when this phony spoke at my graduation saying that being from Evanston is a golden ticket, while everyone else just ate it up like the future is this astonishing path to glory and greatness.

Although it’s a shame this world has lost a goddamn punk like Jared, the afterlife is a lucky place and I dare to believe that I’ll see him there. I don’t know where you are but it’s got to be better than here.  

It’s interesting how time passes. I thought it was Sunday and it was only Friday this week, but then again I do too many life altering drugs to be aware of my surroundings. I haven’t written on my blog in awhile, there are plenty of reasons (first and foremost is I’m a piece of shit), I’ve been really busy with work, life took some casual left and right turns yadi yadi yada.

I write to you not because I have some brilliant news or a revelation, but simply because I enjoy the act of writing. I used to laugh and feel bad for my favorite author J.D Salinger who said by the end of his life he didn’t write for anyone. He wrote simply for his own pleasure. I thought the idea of an old man sitting alone writing page after page was depressing but nay, it’s inspiring. When one writes they are allow the true intimacy of an art which knows no bounds. It’s like curling up into bed and finding the sweetest coolest crevices along your blanket and having a crooked smile awaiting your rest, and then to dream where only your psyche can control your utmost fears and desires.

I don’t know if I want to write and just share my life story with people who don’t care, but I am assured that my life will consist of many pages and revising of what it means to be an author. I’ve admittedly gone crazy…on two accounts now which have landed me naked in public and in the hospital. I think art is meant to be taken out of a page, out of your mind, and acted out through the world. You are only as good of a writer as you are a poet, or hell, a dancer! Since it is what melds the world together that makes people understand your words and feel them as though they are theirs. If I solely spent my time typing, there’d be nothing to write about.