Yesterday I took a break from the repetitive Miyagi practice of writing, and it was pretty great. Mostly because I had nothing to say. When you have nothing to say, time on the keyboard is absolute poison. So fuck it. I drank until two a.m. and then slept till noon. I had a party later so I worked out and then jacked off to refill the endorphin/serotonin cocktail in my brain. Then I headed to Seoul for a farewell thing for these Canadians leaving Korea. It was in this dark bougie-ass bar. They’d shut it down so we could have a private party. We’re all a bunch of average fucking idiots but in Korea we act like Illuminati. I had a bottle of pomegranate soju. I was in a suit and the photographer took a candid picture of me that blew the fuck up on Facebook in a way that nothing I’ve ever written has. So that’s how you get attention. Accidentally. Just be standing somewhere like a douchebag. Don’t look for it, don’t even want it. If you’re a calculating cunt about it, it won’t work. If you look like you’re trying, they’ll kill you. People want sprezzatura, which is the Italian word for “studied carelessness,” or making difficult things look easy. *makes jackoff gesture*
Anyway, I’ll keep writing I guess. But for me success is going to have to be an accident. Success is going to come to me, have to leave me a voicemail and then break down my fucking door. I’ll be there, dick in hand.