/lit/ - Literature

>>17727987
working is worse than being sucked off by vampires. at least vampires are vicious creatures and maybe female and not mindless flesh mills without vaginas. i hope i get hit by a car and my head flies off into a crowd of senior citizens eating spaghetti. in the evening you are dead tired and in the morning you have to throw up. there is no job that is bearable, except one where you can to do exactly what you want to do. everything else feels like burning time. i go home with a mouthful of ash every day. i want to write. i was told: go to the newspaper. i did. i wrote stuff i didn't want to write. before that, i was a secretary in a lawyer's office. i wrote every day. it felt just as pointless as not writing at all. i don't want to write articles or letters, but dada garbage. now i'm working towards a grandiose death. something wacky. there's no hope. either you can bear to be an ant, or you can be something else.