Rare saturday off. Freedom from brunch. I want to do nothing but lounge. Need to workout but I hate working out now. The only thing I hate more than working out is being soft and weak, so I force myself into the gym.
I use disgust as inspiration. One day I went to the gym because I watched a fat man order a vanilla latte and then waddle over to the condiment station to squirt an extra quart of syrup into his fatass adult baby formula.
Go to the gym to spite fat people. That’s my advice. Be fit and strong to make the mutant marshmallow people feel bad about themselves. Deep shame generates change for the better. Sometimes. It also provokes hostility and mental illness. But what are you going to do?
My brain is decaying, my mind is molasses. I wish I could describe my decline but that would require a functioning intellect. I’m dumb because I’m malnourished, idle, and isolated. I never have conversations with interesting people. None of my human contact is engaging, stimulating or worthwhile.
And I never read anymore. I’ve been reading the same Paul Johnson book for months now. Still on the chapter about Tolstoy being a raging asshole. Every chapter is about a revered, secular intellectual being a piece of shit who abused and mistreated his loved ones. They were all deadbeat fathers with neglected bastard children, love starved wives and estranged siblings.
They screwed people over financially. Ran up huge debts. They were unscrupulous, ruthless, manipulative monsters who happened to be prodigiously talented and intelligent.
The book is fun to read but it’s a cheap confirmation of my complacent suspicions. It’s another lesson on how the towering intellects behind large scale social movements are moral dwarves. Spineless weasels with rotten characters and offensive hygiene.
There’s an amusing consistency to their distrust and avoidance of dentists. Which I also share. I’m on my way to becoming an influential thinker, one abscessed gum pocket at a time. When all my teeth fall out and my jaw is pulsating with pain, I’ll write my masterpiece. And after I die, I expect all of you to impose my ideas on innocent people and twist my words into rationalizations for theft, betrayal and murder.
Otherwise no one will remember me, and my careless treatment of my family will have been for nothing.