Going to Prison

After a dreamlike night shift at the fast food restaurant that occupies 30 hours of summer weeks and pays for rent during a struggling time, dancehall is created. Writing keeps the juices flowing. Writing loves solitude, and solitude is abundant. It’s hard to step into a room without naturally drowning in solitude. W for writing. In prison, writing sounds like a good way to keep sane. Being in prison and devoting yourself towards working on a Henry Darger-like project and losing yourself in an alternate reality sounds like it would be a life well spent, not that there is any need to be in prison to do it or any personal rush or motive to be in prison except that there aren’t taxes to pay and subsistence is mostly streamlined. After looking it up, just now, actually you do have to pay taxes in prison. It’s probably complicated, socially, as to whether or not that is a good thing even though it sounds reprehensible. Maybe prisoners get big refunds and they put it towards their own bail. Curious whether or not its a symptom of a systemic ill, probably, most things having to do with prison are probably like that. It’s 2 a.m. During the daytime, there’s not a lot of true solitude like there is at 2 a.m. Some idea or somebody or some task or guilt or hunger or needing to piss is always on the brain, and being in prison would almost certainly also be like that too until after some time… or maybe before some time. When in prison, you might have to share a cell with somebody. If not in prison you can buy a big room in an apartment and stay in it all day instead and nobody will come in. Dedicating oneself to a religious practice while in prison seems like a cool idea. In media we never hear about people practicing Buddhism in prison but a lot of those guys probably inadvertently practice it in some roundabout way. Watching more romance movies would probably help get somebody out of whatever this is, thinking about creating an artistic capstone in prison. There had to have been some Italian guy who did something like this from a long time ago, maybe one of my friends will tell me about them in the next couple of days like “oh there was this guy who went to– “– trying really hard not to type in an italian accent right now, going to let that line end the way it does. After watching a romance movie, particularly one where it’s easy to project yourself all over, which is a lot of them (past lives), the film can flavour melancholy but only in the same way that whatever movie you saw last at the movie theatre when you were 9 immediately became your favourite movie. It is important to watch a lot of them so that shit doesn’t get too sweet. It is equally as important to go through the stuff that was mentioned earlier, about losing yourself in melancholy after projecting on a movie because it is satisfying to be stupid. So much of living well feels like letting yourself be a fucking blind idiot constantly, which isn’t a problem. Time isn’t running out, it feels like it is of course but time isn’t running out.