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I guess I should write something. I don't know what, though. I've been very lazy, lately. Indescribably lazy. Homer Simpson lazy. I wish I wasn't quite so much of a night-owl.
Just recently... no, forget it. This stupid diary. What's the point of it if I can't trust it to stay secret?
If I'm not doing anything for anyone else then I feel as though there's no point in my being alive. Yet, I find that my... recently I said in conversation, "I want to be Santa Claus to everyone", and I realised both that it's true and seriously pathological. It's too much work, it's too hard, I can't deliver on the promises I want to make, but I can't... I feel as though I can't justify my existence to other people unless I have something to give them. Justify. Ooh, there's a world of traps in that word. Because if I can justify my existence, of course, it means I am entitled to lord it over those who existences are not justified. I need to find a way to live without the question of justification. I need... I need to share my enthusiasms with other people. It's no good if I'm just alone and... you know, lately I've been getting into The Who, in a big way, I've really been enjoying listening to them. But... more than anything I want to drag someone else in here and say, hey! Listen to this!! Doesn't it ROCK!!!!
But nobody wants to be that person. It's so fucking depressing going to gigs in this town. Four really talented musicians will get up and play amazing songs, really professional stuff, and the audience will be five people, and those will consist of two pairs of people who are having conversations and drinking and ignoring the gig, and me. It almost makes me cross at Bruce, who's written a mediocre album (well, it's got some good songs, but it's not Born To Run) and is going to fill stadiums with thousands on thousands of people around the world. This is the, thingamy, the fulcrum on the see-saw of fame. You walk up it and you have to work at getting anywhere, and then you're on the fulcrum, it's unstable and you could easily fall off... but then you're over the other side and it doesn't matter what you do, because you've made it. Hmm. Not much of a theory, is it. Are those things even called fulcrums?
"Tommy doesn't know what day it is
He doesn't know who Jesus was or what praying is" - The Who
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