Appendix = Out

Well, since all I can really do is take gentle walks and read novels that's what I've been doing. Finished Absalom, Absalom! by Faulkner a while ago. Same with The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Absalom, Absalom! is a masterpiece and The Road isn't far off. I just finished Light in August by Faulkner. That is pretty good too. A fine novelly novel by Faulkner. Now, I'm on to No Country For Old Men by McCarthy. I've got Saga Vol. 10 sitting on the table downstairs, and I've got a hold on Berserk down at the local library. Pretty good place to be I guess. There is still time for white tea and LP.

I got the rotation moving along although I finished No Country For Old Men. Decent book. Well, better than decent. I'm almost finished with Saga Vol. 10 as well. Still have plenty to go in Berserk 4 Deluxe Edition. I just slotted in Outer Dark by Cormac McCarthy. Not sure about it yet. The writing is quite different to his later years. I'm only like 25 pages in.

In other news, I am cleared for all activity. Probably, going back to work next week.

glad you are better rikd grats

It feels like I'm about all used up with this novelette I've been workin' on. I don't feel like paying for beta readers on fiverr either. So, it sits in the drawer. I'm ok with that.

The next creative writing project has not seemed to materialize yet. That is ok too. To be honest, I haven't spent much time with the blank page. I've been busy readin'. I've got half of a novel sittin'. It's too messed up for wantin' to bother with it. I'm sure it's got some bright spots but for now and forever probably just gonna sit there at 33,000 words.

Someone suggested getting an MfA in Creative Writing. I don't think I want to go down that path. Someone suggested getting a PhD in English. I really have no idea if that is a good idea.

I guess I am processing stuff with these blogs. Allegedly processing stuff with these blogs. I look at the life of Cormac McCarthy. He had nothing to do with TV, the Internet, or technology and had countless hobbies he was excellent at, read approximately 16,000 books, wrote 12 probably great novels, fellow at the Sante Fe Institute, etc. He never had a blog. He never ran to the internet. I strive for that. It's why I am posting less. It's why I got the hell off of x.com. Writing on here or running to the internet is a surrogate for writing or reading for real. But it's not like I can just read Blood Meridian for 12 hours a day. I'm out of my writing practice. It's not like it's realistic to write 2,000 words a day at the moment or maybe ever. I'm not Brandon Sanderson or Steven King.

The more I post. The more I check. The more I check. The more I post. Runnin' off to the internet more and more. Runnin' off my mouth more and more.

On September 06 2026 03:48 PuertoRican wrote: I had some tenderness on my lower left abdomen area for a week or so, but it recently went away. I have been monitoring it lately. Were you recommended to do or not do something by your doctor? Like, don't eat certain foods, or don't stay on your feet for extended periods of time?

Yeah, appendicitis lower right abdomen and its not slow either.
Lower left abdomen is the most common place for pain as its where your intestine gets the smallest, more fibre, exercise, sleep, water and less stress are the best cures

On September 16 2026 23:27 KeyleK_uk wrote: Show nested quote + On September 06 2026 03:48 PuertoRican wrote: I had some tenderness on my lower left abdomen area for a week or so, but it recently went away. I have been monitoring it lately. Were you recommended to do or not do something by your doctor? Like, don't eat certain foods, or don't stay on your feet for extended periods of time? Yeah, appendicitis lower right abdomen and its not slow either. Lower left abdomen is the most common place for pain as its where your intestine gets the smallest, more fibre, exercise, sleep, water and less stress are the best cures

It feels like I haven't written one of these in a while. I'm kind of caught between waiting for someone to call me back and waiting to go to sleep (and waiting to die). I feel fragile. I'm back at work. I guess this blog has come full circle.

I am still sloggin' through Blood Meridian. Jesus, this thing is violent and disturbing. That has basically been my life: go to work, get through Blood Meridian, watch some YouTube videos on writing, never write. I still feel used up on the novelette. That is fine. There are so many books I want to read right now. I feel like I need a better education in writing from these things. The bonus is they are enjoyable to read as well. It really feels like my next project has to be a novel. I just need to figure out when to get the writing in and I also need to have some concept of what I'm writing. Ok. I'll shut up about writing. I could be writing right now but instead I'm on here...

But, I'll indulge here for a moment. There isn't much to indulge in. I already said most of it. I feel fragile. I am getting older and I feel fragile.

The anxiety is real. I'm all gunked up. Over simple shit too. Like work which should be routine at this point. I read somewhere recently that some authors will just shit out journal entries to de-gunk the system so they can write without ambition. It might work but that sounds kind of gay. Like this journal entry is gay. Some will yell at me to "man up," or "stop being a pussy," but that is just how I am wired. I'm sensitive. I'm full of anxiety. I doubt Faulkner or McCarthy or Fucking Thomas Pynchon ever did shit like write pages of journals before they wrote.

I finished Blood Meridian. I am kind of shook by it. That is a helluva novel. Violent and disturbing as all hell but damn that prose and the total package is a beast. I think I am feeling fragile in part of the fact I had my appendix out about a month ago but also that damn novel. It's actually kind of difficult to refute judge Holden and if you did he may just kill you both proving his point and also ending your life. We are a lot more fragile than we like to admit. Even an expert mixed martial artist and an expert gunsman carrying weapons where ever they go is still fragile. If you live by the sword you die by the sword. If you turn the other cheek you may die too. The meek supposedly inherit the Earth. Maybe they inherit the Kingdom of God if you believe in that sort of thing. The Kingdom of God is within you if you believe in that sort of thing.

I think that maybe I am getting the gunk out. That is good if I am getting de-gunked but maybe it is bad that I just keep coming back here for more and more. It is an ongoing thing for like 20 years now. It seems to be an addiction. If I give this up how does it effect everything else? I'm completely off of social media and most of the internet besides YouTube and here. I think sometimes existence will flare up and a blog post like this is bound to burst out at some point.

A funny thing about the novel I was working on is that all the characters were a facet of me which is totally normal but they all had the same voice which is laughably bad. It was an insanely ambitious effort that I didn't have the skill to back it up. I could fix it but it would more or less take a complete re-write. I would like to write about something other than addiction and recovery too. No one has done it better than David Foster Wallace so why even bother with it. He's already done it. Time to move on. It would be like attempting to write a book about wale hunting. Herman Mellville, Moby Dick, DUH! It is tricky to find something no one has written about. I think my novelette captures some authenticity which is its strength. It's hard to find topics and themes that have not been written about. I mean you'll never find me writing a Blood Meridian. Just disturbingly violent but man, oh, man is that style on point. I wish I could write prose on landscapes that strongly. Judge Holden is one of the strongest characters in literary fiction. So, everything has been written about or has it? Literary fiction is dead?

Mirtazapine and a wank has got me feelin' pretty calm. I realize I should probably start a new blog as my appendix was out like 5 weeks ago and I am mostly recovered but there is no one around to care. Remember when message boards were the fucking thing or at least a fucking thing?

I am still trying to figure out how to write transformative literature. I don't really want to write about addiction or recovery. I want to write about fascination. I don't want to just tell a great story. I want to write something transformative. I want to write an 800 page novel better than Moby Dick, better than the Brother's Karamazov, better than Infinite Jest. The problem is I don't have the skills to achieve that. That's fine. I'll eventually figure something out or I won't. Maybe like 50,000 words is more approachable. I could probably figure out how to write something that encompasses 50,000 words.

Remember when message boards were in?

What is even in these days?

I don't watch TV, I don't go on social media, I don't really use much in terms of the latest technology. What is even in these days?

My life is pretty thin. I go for walks and read books. Pretty thin indeed. I yearn for deeper connection with humans. I'm just not quite there yet.

Listening to Sia Breathe Me drinking like a thousand white teas. It's a vibe. Work was tough this weekend. It just doesn't fucking stop (until it does and I can go home). I think that might be my favorite part of the day. Walking out of that place and driving home. It doesn't quite hit me that I have barely anything to do when I get home. No human connection besides phone calls which isn't real human connection. Typing bull shit in here which isn't real human connection. I got so fed up with today I wanted to kick something. I should be reading Moby Dick. Actually, it doesn't fucking matter. Radiohead Reckoner is blasting in my expensive headphones. White tea is coursing through my veins. I hope this gets me to page 3. I've had about enough of page 2. I could post a bunch of images but I don't think I am going to do that.

I'm basking in a minute of freedom. And I choose to type here. I could type whatever I want. That is some form of freedom.

I'm free to post music!



White tea makes me feel safe and cozy.

The internet is always a surrogate for real life!

Boredom is not my enemy, nihilism is!



I had a thought tonight that I should stop at the liquor store and buy all the whiskey, buy all the cigars, and have myself a good night. Then, I thought that I should not drink whiskey even though I want to. Then, I thought I could probably get away with smoking some cigars on the patio. Just sit there enjoying a cigar having myself a think. Listening to the night sounds and staring off into the darkness. Maybe that could stave off the darkness.

Mirtazapine and a wank have got me even calmer. What am I going to do about this life? Sit outside with a cigar and contemplate?

We have no idea how to live this life and we never will.

A sweater and some jeans on an autumn evening.

Writing is hard. I wrote like 400 words after work last night and I've written about 1,000 today. Some of it is good. Some of it is not. When I am in discover mode I do basically 0 revisions and just get it down on the page. It's hard to have any sort of routine when I work but I have to work so that is the way it's going to be. I am not Steven King or Brandon Sanderson and actually I am not sure if I would want to be them anyways.

The scary thing is that I am flirting with veering off into pseudo-nihilism. I can feel the resentments building. The walks work, the reading works, the writing is probably working. I'm trying to build something transformative. Dostoevsky flirts with nihilism but he transcends. I want to transcend nihilism. I am glad I read all of those existentialist books but damn I don't want to linger there for too long but I don't know what I want. Maybe it's impossible to accurately predict what I want.

It's impossible to accurately predict what I want.

I don't know how to live life and I never will.

A hoodie at a bonfire.

I know how to live life when I am wearing a hoodie at a bonfire.

I think I am about done with creative writing for today. I put in a little over 1,000 words. Faulkner had a tip to stop writing when you are still feeling good so it's not as torturous and you have a good feeling to come back and write again. Once the Mirtazapine and white tea hit I should really be focusing on winding down for the night versus creative productivity. A blog post doesn't really matter yet it kind of settles me. I like this idea of de-gunking myself. A walk or a lift does a similar thing but it's night time. I haven't lifted in quite a while because I am nervous about the hernia I acquired. I don't know if it was from work or lifting or singing or something else.

The clear play now is to continue reading Moby Dick by Mellville.

But, not quite yet. I don't really have a whole lot to write about. I am still anxious about work and life. I am just an anxious guy. I don't know how to get through it except for just surviving through it.

Protomartyr, Emma Ruth Rundle, and Chelsea Wofle have new albums out. I am trying to play catch up with some listens.

I am trying to decide if I want to take electric bass lessons or piano lessons. Both have reasons for and against. It's kind of a close one actually. I have decided I want a musical facet in my life besides just listening to music.

Reading is going just fine. Writing is a little more difficult. The characters are great but there is no plot. I just keep writing these scenes hoping something will happen.

Simone Weil.