14th April 2020

Adam J Marsh
4 min readApr 18, 2020

Can’t sleep. Past few weeks have been brutal on the psyche. What is it about isolation that kills our hope and joy? How do we safeguard it, amongst the pleas of idle chat, high calorie foods and porn? We can’t. We stand alone in front of a dam, laughing at the trickling waters splashing at us, but we know the real waters will come, flooding in soon to really sweep us away.

That’s a harder rub than being pig ignorant. If you truly don’t know, you can’t live in hell, because hell is of the mind. No, when you REALLY know what is around the corner, that is what eats at you. Self loathing. Pity. Anguish. Pain.

I’ve been running around the same ol’ themes in my head lately. Of woman, the void in my heart, and which ones I want to fuck. Sounds like a lover’s nightmare, right?

I broke off a casual fling today. It was hurting the poor girl. She started getting feelings about me. I’m not a cruel man, who will leave it to nature to see how she’ll go about things. I despise libertarians and Ayn Randists. Instead, I gave her a firm push away. Even if the sex was dynamite, and the girl is hot, it’s the humane thing to do. I’m nothing but a dog on heat right now, and I’m honest about it, with myself and any girl, foolish enough to get it on with this person and the state he’s in.

I can’t seem to will myself to make art any more. I must be born of a feeble mind, which is what happens when you lack a strong father in your life. The past few weeks, make me feel like I should be working a 40 hour job in a warehouse, or something physical… because it’s as good as I feel it’ll get. I just don’t have the energy to write anything decent, or film, or act, or spray hypercolour paint on a canvas, and call it art.

Yet, and this is the rub; I know I’ll hate myself in a few years and wonder about all this “unfulfilled potential”. Bukowski said he took a few years off, and it was a blessing for him. I just don’t know if I have the brass to do such a thing… because really, I feel at my best when I’m acting or filming, or writing… I’m just vomit sick of having to suck cock to ply my trade and made a living from it.

If I’m not creating, I’m a selfish man. When I am creating, I’m a selfish man but with a generous vision.

If you’re born into wealth, life streams by you, without throwing you too many curve balls. Hell, your net worth might dip about 25% or whatever one year, but if you’re not a cunt, you can comfortably live off the compound interest from whatever your parents or rich uncle left for you.

I find it tougher still, to motivate myself to leave the bed, or go for long walks, or eat anything healthy. We only do those things, when there is a firm goal in sight… and right now, my goals don’t seem real any more, other than leave. Leaving is my only goal. Move away. Get out. Stop living in this country. It doesn’t like you, doesn’t want you, doesn’t accept you, doesn’t let you celebrate anything about yourself. It just wants you to shut the fuck up, pay taxes and survive. That’s just too easy.

I’m thinking about the girl I let go before. I’m sparing her from the nightmare that is my inability to conduct myself, in a well put together and adult way. My problems are my own, and I refuse to pass them onto the next woman to deal with. Because I sure as hell don’t want hers.

The highlight of today, was going down to Hungry Jacks, ordering a Rebel Whopper meal, then darting over to the supermarket and buying chocolate & coconut milk. What the hell did I really do all that for anyway? I knew the moment I left my house that it wouldn’t make me happier, right? What the hell are we all really doing in this world? What did the cute cashier think, when she left her house today? What was she thinking when I tapped my credit card on the eftpos machine? Did she even see me? Because I didn’t see her… but I remember her very clearly… or was it another girl, at the McDonalds? I don’t know any more. I’m caught up between fixing my life, and sticking my dick in any girl that I can, by any means necessary.

The last movie I watched that moved me… Blade Runner 2048. I could’ve cried watching that film. The colours were so vivid and rich. It makes you want to jump into that film set and live there forever.

Instead, I’m writing on the Mac at 2:48am. God damn us. God damn us all.