Okay, so I admit my sleep schedule is anything but a schedule. I act like there are 26 to 30 hours in the day, and I go to bed later and later until finally I’m going to bed really early. I woke up this morning about 3:30 AM, and for some reason I thought it was a good idea to watch a trippy paradoxical movie called “Mr. Nobody” on Netflix. I’m not here to give you a movie review (although I did think it was excellent in the sort of way “Butterfly Effect” or “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” are excellent), but I am here to say it wasn’t my best idea. Now I am full of existential quandaries, full of loathing and self-doubt, and wracked with the pain and isolation of my pitiful meaningless existence (that’s a reference to “Albuquerque” by Weird Al).
So, how much am I joking, and how much am I serious? That’s a question best left to the philosophers… no, okay, I’ll give a real answer. I feel genuinely lonely, and I did have some honest-to-goodness detached existential ponderings. Perhaps that means the movie had its intended effect, although I may already be susceptible to that kind of thinking anyway.
Doubt, stretched over
too many ideologies
breakfast cereals, comic serials,
sans serif, sans sense and sensibility,
ten too many faiths
too many Ernest Hemingways and Franz Kafkas
too many Martin Heideggers and Friedrich Nietzsches
too many pains
failures, embarrassments, twinklings and twinges,
unmailed letters and unanswered feelings
too many years spent as a teenager
and too many as some kind of adult
desires, debasements, debauchery, details
even doubt has