Michael McDonald
I’m posting old unpublished material to draw page views for my new book Finally, Some Good News. There is no point to this now. If you were gonna buy it you’ve bought it. If you’re not gonna buy it, fucking suck my dick. Seriously I hope you get hit by a truck–
(2014)
Not feeling like writing that story this morning. Took a shit reading Karl Ove Knausgaard. I want to write long streams of consciousness punctuated by Milan Kundera style philosophical sentences. Life goes by faster and faster because the meaning is drained from it. But all I can think about is pussy.
Have to get out of LA. I need a city of layabouts. Go where people have no ambition. Where the rent is cheap or God forbid you can buy a house in cash. I guess anywhere else in the fucking country. Anywhere but New York LA San Francisco. Montana or Texas or fucking Alabama would do it. Maine. I need a traditional life. I need an (REDACTED) year old girl to marry me and have my babies; she lives in a separate shack and take care of the fucking things. I can’t accept one more iota of responsibility.
Why do I start most days with this awful creeping feeling. Had a nightmare last night. The devil was coming for me. I woke up and the wind was knocking things around. I got twisted in the blanket, rolled over and over with the sheets over my head, getting cocooned. I still think if Satan breaks in a blanket will protect me. Can’t sleep with the wind and then the cat meowing, agitated to get out. His claws on the hollow bedroom door like a tympani. The bathroom fan loud enough to shatter all thought in the day but not loud enough at night to drown out a twig rustling. When I sleep I pray to God: strike me deaf like you, fuckstick.
**
Just keep doing it. If it’s good they’ll discover you after you’re dead. Focus on action not results. Thinking about writing, the enemy of writing. Talk to a girl about sex and you’ll never get pussy.
But you need long unbroken silences. Long unbroken periods of no work and before you write you have to get out your urge to socialize. Fly 18 hours each way to the jungle and fuck illiterate young whores. Or get on Tinder; semiliterate old whores. Needs must be sated. Plus fifteen and a half of sixteen waking hours are working or preparing for work. All day every day except a half hour after your long shit long shower eat granola make coffee smoke a cigarette dig through the laundry basket for an appropriate pair of socks… you have a half hour when you still have some mental energy, and maybe something will come. What drives me nuts is thinking about the socialist utopian future. Some other version of me has 19 hours a day to write. He cranks out 40 novels and is swimming in (REDACTED) year old girls. Moses never sees the promised land.
I’ll tell you, even though I want you to fail: never work. Never. Don’t give up your dream. Your girl will leave you anyway. The people who tell you do your homework do your job pay taxes, et cetera– they just want to steal from you. The rich people they look up to are lying cheating criminals.
If you need money, leech it from the government. No one in other countries works or pays taxes. They’re all happier than you. Move somewhere cheap and write or make your stupid folk songs or whatever. Make your dumb paintings and get enough pussy to be touched once a month. To have relief. I should have been more mentally ill. Enough to get disability. I need a living from the victim complex. Can’t live while employed. Anyone who tells you work hard needs to get shot.
delicioustacos 
Are you still counting pussies?
I’m buying a copy tonight. Its the least I can do. Not to kiss ass but….you’ll never know how much enjoyment your writing has given me. I’m a few years older than you and everything you write really resonates with me.
be born
then you’re told to:
work hard to get good grades
work hard to get into a good school
you need diploma from good school to get a good job
you need good job to get into good pussy
if you don’t get a good job to get good pussy then at least you should have a good body
that also requires work
work hard at the gym to get a good body
work hard at job to get promotion
you need good body good job good job title (status) to get good pussy
work hard at job to pay for rent/food/water/gym/car/bills/studentloans/etc.
work hard to write your first book
work hard to publish your book
work hard to market your book
work hard to make your boss richer
your boss made $10 million last year. next year he wants to make $20 million.
you’ll have to work harder
if you don’t, they can find someone else to replace you
and that someone else doesn’t have a sex addiction or chronic masturbation issues
if you marry and have kids then work hard to be a good husband and father
work harder to pay for the mortgage
work harder to pay for stupid shit your wife wants
work harder because we need a new car, a new van
work harder to save for your kids college and your retirement
shit’s fucked and i’ve chosen to opt out of this wagecuckery.
thanks for reminding me not to get a job
you’re a true friend
this guy gets it…he also reads bukowski:
think he references buk in another vid though