June Thirty: My Therapist Says to Write Things I’m Thankful For

Continuing in the theme of withdrawal-induced negativity from the last two days, let me tell you how much I hate the TVs and music at the gym. I can always find a way to complain about AV. First: what the fuck do we need to watch TV while doing cardio for? And why can’t I look away? These things are hypnotic. I’m focusing on becoming more atomized and isolated and weird by putting podcast voices directly into my brain while meditating on the LED track showing the miles I’m simulating riding for some reason. There aren’t any TVs near the weights because men need to focus because they actually work out there. This is a chick thing. It’s just the fat chicks on the bikes who are trying to pretend like they’re out-training their shitty diets by keeping their heart rate at ninety BPM for an episode of Real Housewives or two. They’d be better off not exercising so at least they wouldn’t be able to pretend like they’re in the process of becoming less of an eye sore. Keep climbing those Random Hills, Missyphus. The music is fucking terrible. These auto-tuned, guttural ejaculations of sound sitting so high in the mix that they literally fuck your eardrum. UGH UGH UGH UGH in the chromatic scale. That bass noise that sounds like a digital fart. Music so bad, it’s practically avant-garde. Who writes this shit? I read on the internet it was old Jews who are trying to keep us demoralized. I used to think that was crazy but no longer – there’s no other logical explanation.

The endorphins from working out have quelled my anger. I’m glad art is dead and architecture sucks. Plato said ugly buildings and public art would turn people into assholes but look how normal I turned out. He didn’t know we would have electronic facsimiles of African bards screaming their exploits into our ears everywhere we went as well. I’m thankful for Chopin, the AR-15, thin women, Safeway/Vons supermarket, chess, the ocean, girls who don’t shave their cunts, and Marcus Aurelius.

Fuck Sir Walter Raleigh. Or native Americans. Whatever.

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