12:35am.

Nope, I do give a fuck. I might reflect often, and it might cause problems, but I’d definitely rather care. Caring less would be like castration, which would be like dying.

The thing that keeps me from people is that my inner peace is discontentment. Not with them, but with every problem I see. I’m not a good ignorer. Our whole consumer culture is so fucked up it’s like, if I ignore it and fake a smile about its inherent, obvious fuckedness, I’d be the most inauthentic, lying motherfucker every waking moment. If I were just peaceful and content and not caring about the fuckedness of the way things are, where people spend 8 hours a day moving numbers from one column into another column and in that year get 10,000 times what the woman who makes incredible art on a beach in India needs for 5 years of food, if I didn’t care about that, I’d be dead.

My balanced state is intense commitment to something. I’m at my best when biting down and when chances of success are low. It makes life exhausting and difficult, and if it weren’t that way, I’d cease to exist. Every job I’ve had where I bled on a regular basis was when I was happiest.

It might be nice to just not care about anything. But for me that’s the same as non-existence. I have way too many fights to consider non-existence. My day of non-existence will come by way of explosive, purposeful rage. There are times when I can’t wait.