Tell me WTF is wrong with me!

Remember a few months back when I stopped reading? It was a truly horrible thing to experience. Then over the summer I completely stopped listening to music. My life was a painful, quiet experience, and I'm still coming out of it. During the early stages of my recovery, all I could stomach was vintage TOP. LP caused a sinking feeling and even pain. Sometimes tears. Nothing else appealed to me, even that music I was recently enamored with. So what does this say about my state of mind? I'm not certain, though I'm sure it isn't good. Whatever is going on, I'm determined to work through it. Sometimes.

Just yesterday, I noticed a disturbing trend in my recent blogs and drafts: they are all reviews. I'm trying to figure out why. I guess ... nothing organic has occurred to me in some time. So what is my fucking problem? Am I just not trying hard enough? Is it because I'm focused on other things ALL THE TIME???

I think much of it has to do with the frustration that is growing inside me. I'm extremely frustrated with my book. I'm frustrated with the slow progress of my business. I'm frustrated in my personal development and study. And I'm frustrated because it seems no matter how much effort I put in or how differently I approach my obstacles, nothing changes. Nothing. Fucking. Changes. I'm Sisyphus; I'm a goddamned hamster in a wheel. I'm trying to embrace impermanence and Buddhism and have a good attitude but most days it's impossible and it's all bullshit and I want to give up and watch Netflix for the rest of my life.

Sorry, people. As much as I'd like to write something meaningful and/or cohesive and/or in the least bit worthwhile, today I just can't. I'm going to go watch Korean dramas and eat tortillas and probably go to sleep early.

Peace.

J. L. Dodd

Given Up
by Linkin Park

Wake in a sweat again
Another day's been laid to waste
In my disgrace
Stuck in my head again
Feels like I'll never leave this place
There's no escape
I'm my own worst enemy

I've given up
I'm sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say?
Take this all away
I'm suffocating!
Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me!

I don't know what to take
Thought I was focused, but I'm scared
I'm not prepared
I hyperventilate
Looking for help somehow, somewhere
And no one cares
I'm my own worst enemy

I've given up
I'm sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say?
Take this all away
I'm suffocating!
Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me

God!

Put me out of my misery
Put me out of my misery
Put me out of my
Put me out of my fucking misery

I've given up
I'm sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say?
Take this all away
I'm suffocating!
Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me

Review XP False Memory by Dean Koontz

**This review contains minor spoilers, however, they are fairly vague and altogether predictable.**

Giving in to a sense of nostalgia (as well as being unable to find anything I liked better on that particular day), I purchased a copy of False Memory by Dean Koontz at a second-hand store. When I was younger, contrary and perhaps in response (if I'm being honest) to my upbringing, I harbored an interest in horror. I couldn't bring myself to indulge in Stephen King (that would, of course, mean I was a devil-worshiper or something) and so I read every Dean Koontz book I could get my hands on, which usually meant I borrowed them from the public library. Remember when we used to do that? The book I remember enjoying the most was Watchers, which I recently reread. I also watched the unimpressive film made in the 80's (I'd wager these words go together frequently) that of course, did the book little justice.

Once I started False Memory, it took me weeks to get into this story, which may or may not have to do with the fact that I was struggling to read anything at the time, though the first half of the book is especially slow. Another reason I put off reading was that the premise around absolute mind control was truly frightening to me; something I believe could happen or is already happening already. 

At first you think the antagonist is merely a psychiatrist on a power trip, but it is revealed throughout that he is a first-rate narcissist, psychopath, and serial murderer. His pastimes, or games, as he likes to think, are sanctioned by a secretive, evil institute in New Mexico (the horror!). Okay, not exactly sanctioned, but they allow his hobbies to continue, and clean up after him when necessary. 

As disturbing as it was, I think what I liked best about this book was the careful development and attention to detail of the Doctor (something Ahriman himself would approve of). Backstory touches on upbringing, genetics, motivation,  showcasing a complete lack of empathy and a reliable interspersing of fantasy in his reality. Of course, these types of things interest me, so it makes sense.

That being said, I didn’t find the other characters near as interesting, and my main motivation for continuing to read was I wanted to see Ahriman get his. This lead to a disappointing ending that came out of left field.The Doctor does meet his end, but under circumstances that were highly contrived and unsatisfactory given his multitudes of dark crimes against humanity.  

And seriously, the epilogue was trite, ridiculous, and unnecessary. Koontz could have written "And they all lived happily ever after" and skipped the last 10 pages. Skeet marries Jasmine? Really? It doesn't matter though. He does what he wants. Apparently he's earned that right.

Goodreads: 3/5 Stars

For the record, I no longer think reading Stephen King is akin to being a devil-worshiper. This belief is based in my own, high opinion of myself and of Mr. King, of course.

J. L. Dodd