I couldn’t write much in the last two days. I was reading Bukowski and listening to some shit music. My legs are better now. Atleast I won’t die from their aching. Yesterday night, I realised that I am not writing as much as I need to write every day. I need to be disciplined, otherwise I am not going to make it. There’s no way. There’s no alternative to it. My mind wanders to places, and there’s a story running in my head since a week. I need to write it down today. I need to write it down otherwise it will die a lonely death inside my head. I want to give it a better death. But before anything else, I need to take a walk in the sunlight. The damned virus has made me weak to some extent. I need to get back in the game. I need my horsespeed back. And I need some way to ward off this recurring feeling of hunger. Can I be left to starve for half a day? I loathe my wellwishers because they are going to kill me by keeping me alive in the most dead of the ways. If I leave everything on them and I do as they say, then it’s better I drink the toilet cleaner now and overdose on it. A comatose of 5 years wouldn’t be that bad Total blankness. And after that, I rise like a bad jesus, with an ache in my head and the baton of unemployment stuck deep in my asshole. I will scream and I will go mad and that life will be far more interesting than this one.
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