Post Black Pills: No Rewards.

"No more tomorrow, this is your last day,

On this . . .

FUCKING EARTH." (I always thought he said "HELL")

—Death, "Left to Die"

Chuck Schuldiner was not a particularly good guy. He though having a song that was ambiguous enough for me not to tell which way it struck did indeed advocate for the murder of children. (I know, Death. Still. Most metal bands are way more moral than the average person or musical artist, at least so it seems.)

But Chuck was a good singer. He sounded like he smoked about as many cigarettes as Xavier the Renegade Angel did to go back in time. And that rasp went right along with just the murder of the drums and the droning funeral dirge of the guitars. "Why don't you PULL THE PLUG?" he shouts in "Pull the Plug."

And his band was the best death metal band maybe ever. Perfect career.

Anyway, another line he says, in the top-quoted song, is "GOD WON'T MAKE THIS GO AWAY!" Which seems to be true. And so, what do you do? I'm sick of the positivity. It's all fucking fake. It's all lies. There is nothing good waiting for me before the end of my life. I've tried my hardest, as I said in a recent conversation that got saved in another post (not of mine), for . . . years? Almost multiple decades, at this point?

There are no rewards for me. Not here. I tried my hardest in college, got an editor-in-chief position (fell into it, like the guy at the gas station in No Country for Old Men, even though he wouldn't admit it), didn't read all the homework and stuff, but boy, did I fucking try. Got out of college, lowered myself for a job at Kmart because, guess what, men don't automatically get a great life, in this world? You know they actually get a bad one?

Well, the human shit, gets a good one. But not anyone else. I tried my hardest, got to become the editor of a pet books company. Literally started as a Publishing Assistant, or Associate, then got Associate Editor, then got Editor. I was the editor. For a small one, yes, but still.

I tried my hardest, and my inner compass was pulling me away from it, by the end of it. I went to California, for my next job, as a Project Manager for another publisher. Worked with fucking Disney. As one of their clients, and I was the guy responsible for it. Guess what? California wouldn't let me stay late at work without them being forced by gunpoint and threat of death to pay me more. Which I didn't want. They told me I was pushing against a brick wall. I didn't feel I had the time to properly learn the job. I Quit.

Wow, what fucking privilege! What privilege, I have! Then I fell through a series of jobs into the Death of my life, which was sending angry emails to a monster on TV. Can't tell you his name, or hers, probably still. Guess what?

Oh, what a fucking LOSER I am. I sent someone angry emails, and my whole life was destroyed. What a fucking loser I am! Right? What a fucking whiny pussy fucking loser asshole piece of shit.

The only thing I look forward to is death.

And everyone in my life I can't stand. And everyone I've worked with in the last few years I have been either somewhat friendly with but generally not matching up philosophically or just have been totally at odds with. Energetically, I mean. The world is just an energetic hellscape. And it will never get any better, and I might end up going to hell or just coming back here. If that's the case, then at least I'll be at the fucking bottom. Because there's nothing but smiling faces and agony here. And if I come back, to quote Philip Seymour Hoffman in The Master, then this place will be my sworn enemy.