Attention Whoring, comedy, My favorites, Selfish

I Am Archetype

There’s a reason I want to be on TV.

My favorite game is to play is what fictional character in a specific fictional world are my friends. Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, and Winnie the Pooh are the best three stories to play this game with.

The reason I want to be on TV is so that people can compare themselves to me. They can say: “I’m the Nisse of this group” or “You’re the Nisse of this group of friends.” That would be awesome!

I’ve been working on a webseries. Finally people will be able to say “I’m the Nisse of this group.” But they’ll just be explaining why their life is an utter failure.

I’m okay with that.

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Attention Whoring, Lazy

Need Want

I don’t know how I feel about the latest episode of Parks and Recreation. It’s my favorite show on television-online right now, but the latest episode felt stale. The important thing to note about me saying this is that hulu is running turbotax ads, meaning I have a constant reminder that I’m not doing things I need to do. I’ve been filming a webseries all week that I am a co-writer/director/producer/actor in and it has taken up a lot of my time. It has eaten into my time to accomplish other goals – goals that involve writing stuff and making money.

These goals are less important to me than garnering fame.

Less important, but still more necessary. I’ve been to three job interviews in the last two weeks. Two were food service jobs that I killed at and received invitations to participate in their restaurant serving agreement during the interview. One job demanded I work my first day on Super Bowl Sunday so for the first time in all years of my life, I missed the super bowl. While I like sports, it is not the sport of football that I missed seeing. I like the Super Bowl because it involves hanging out with people and drinking and eating and not moving. Most importantly, no one can say “Let’s go do something!” because you are supposedly doing something just by watching TV and shushing each other when possibly good commercials come on.

I missed it out of fear that my rent would be hard to pay and I needed any opportunity to gain money.

I made a dollar that day.

$1.

They sent me on a delivery and I received a dollar tip. I was never paid for my day of work because I ended up getting a better job the next day. My better job involves a less full schedule and … I’m sure there are other pros too. I just like the less full schedule.

It’s necessary.

In this last week I’ve got nothing done out of obligation – only out of desire. Filming a webseries is what I want to do, but it cuts into what I need to do. Mostly it cuts into what I need to do because I no longer think I should do things out of necessity, but rather only out of want. I haven’t done my taxes yet. I haven’t done my laundry yet.

I started a new website that I think is good.

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Attention Whoring, comedy, Lazy

Self Promotion

I’m really sore. Like I hurt a lot. In my thighs and my arms and my back and my neck. The thighs and arms are because I went rock climbing two days ago. The back and neck are because since then I’ve found it too difficult to put on clothes and therefore don’t feel quite comfortable lounging in the public space of our apartment and therefore spend all my time in my bed and therefore prop my neck and back in weird positions against the wall and my bed in order to view my computer screen.

Remember that song “My Neck, My Back?” I also want all those things licked, if the tongue is laced in icy hot. Yes, I want my pussy and asshole laced in Methyl Salicylate. Yes, for the purposes of this joke I have a pussy. Yes, for the purposes of this joke I have an asshole.

This is why I don’t work out.

Working out is the act of competing to see who can be in more pain tomorrow. I have no desire for future pain. It’s a waste of time

In an attempt to illustrate how aware I am of my hypocrisy I’m putting a colon before this next sentence: I was surprised by how everyone at the rock climbing gym was very attractive. I’m not very attractive.

Let’s list the things that I think are important to note now:

1. Some male friends of mine wanted to start working out when we were in college. I was sitting in the back of the minivan on the way to McDonalds drawing penises in the fog of the back window. “Nisse, do you want to work out with us?” To which I responded: “No, getting buff would ruin my image.”

2. In one of my writing books I have a list entitled: “Disparaging Ways to Insult My Body.” There are sections on skinniness, chest hair, eyebrows, and facial hair.

We all make sacrifices for our art, and fortunately my art demands me to look like a holocaust victim who got leprous squirrels stapled to his body. Comedy is my art, but more importantly my life is my art. I write, talk, and perform mostly about me which means that I have to create a me that I appreciate writing, talking, and performing about.

I had half a beard for 4 months. During that time I created a blog specifically dedicated to jokes that a person with half a beard would write. I abandoned the blog when I abandoned the facial hair on the right side of my face. I’ve come back to that blog because I realized that I didn’t need to have half a face of pubic looking strands of gross to act like a person with half a face of pubic looking strands of gross. This one‘s my favorite.

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Attention Whoring, Death

Please Don’t Defend Me

It makes sense that death has been on my mind. I haven’t seen sunlight for more than 2 hours at a time in over a week and two of the people I hang out with most are over 90. God, their lives seem depressing to me.

They can barely see, can barely hear, can barely walk, and need to take naps all the time. PLUS they don’t have the internet! What kind of hell do they live in?

Death is the most frightening concept to me because I will stop being able to control the attention I’m getting. Death is like publishing something that you have no ability to defend or discuss afterward. People are going to interpret your life however they want without you getting to say: “No wait, you didn’t get it! That was supposed to be that way!”

What being around death has taught me though is that old age is gonna suck too. My grandmother died when I was 12 after a long battle with the most hilarious disease in the world – Alzheimer’s. It was the grandma that I am with now who told me she was dead. She comforted me. Now she is forgetting the thing she just told me and asking me to read pictures that she thinks are words, and once again, it is very funny.

In Swedish the word for fun and funny are the same so sometimes someone well ask me: “Well, is it funny being in New York?”

On her 90th birthday party I sat next to her best friend from middle school. This woman can’t hear anything and speaks no English. Our conversation consisted of her telling me something, me telling her my name, her telling me something, and me asking if she needed help, and her telling me something. I’m sure it was interesting, but at the time it was very dull. Old people have lots of stories, and I’m already very good at making stories out of my life, imagine how interesting I’m going to be when I’m old. By “interesting I’m going to be,” I mean “little I’m going to let others talk.”

I worry though that I won’t have that same fervor for speaking when I am that old, and that scares me. A flight of stairs may disable my grandmother for a day, and fervor takes energy. If I don’t have energy, will I be able to care that much about making people care about me?

I don’t want to get old. I don’t want to die. I wanna live forever with a lot of energy. Now I understand why people work out.

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Attention Whoring, Nostalgia, Pathetic

Recycley Unproductive IV (Random)

I was supposed to meet this guy to show him around the city. Big Mistake.

I forgot to give any indicators as to what my appearance would be, and he did as well. So, here I am, asking people if they are Daniel – the guy I’m supposed to meet.

I’ve past this guy thrice on my awkward trips to the water fountain attempting to make him initiate eye contact with me – this guy with the skinny jeans who looks 20 something and vaguely Swedish – this guy who fits the undescriptive description that I have of the person I’m supposed to meet.

Finally I ask.

“No, why do you ask?”

What the fuck kind of question is that? Who cares why I asked? What other option is there besides that I’m supposed to meet someone named Daniel here. “I just thought you looked like a Daniel.” “I’m doing a name survey.” “I’m going to murder the first person I meet with that name.” Asshole.

 

This woman is very self-conscious about her teeth. Laughing is such a chore. Too bad she’s talking to someone she finds so funny.

 

I realize why I want fame. I want people to have the same instant reverence and disgust for me that I have for them. I am constantly frightened, nay sure, that people hate me, and yet I hate them back. I strive for equality. I want people to look at me and assume they are not worthy, yet look at me and think: he isn’t worthy.

It is also how I see myself. I am not worthy of the barrage of compliments I silently give myself.

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Attention Whoring, Lazy

I’m Pajama Rich! A Story of Oscillation

My parents sent me pajamas.

I have to do my laundry and get toilet paper and garbage bags and sponges.

People in pajamas don’t do these things. People in pajamas lay down. I’ve essentially been wearing some element of my pajamas for the past 4 days, and it’s felt great. It feels like when you get up from your bed and there’s still an indentation where you had been, except somehow that indentation is still surrounding you – walking around with you – holding your shoulders and hips in its sweet embrace.

In other words, it feels terrible.

So often in my life the words terrible and great seem synonymous. I don’t know if I know what I want, but I do feel as though the knowledge would unhinge me. I’d rather oscillate like Sin(Tan(x)) at x=Pi/2 between love and disgust. I have no interest in x-axis emotions.

This is why I refuse to do my laundry because laundry is never as bad as I think it’s going to be. It’s always really easy, but it takes me 4 days to get up the energy to walk two doors down and empty one container into another container. It’s impossible. It’s impossible because it’s so boring. Nothing interesting happens in the two minutes that it takes for me to do my laundry, which is why I can’t get myself to do it. Boring is the x-axis emotion.

This is the second big reason that I like wearing pajamas constantly. If I wear them over my other clothes than they will not need to be washed. You only sweat into your first layer of clothing.

Last night I was at a party wearing my pajamas and everyone else was wearing clothes that had been organized and thought about. The hypocrisy of me criticizing someone for wearing clothes to present an image is not lost on me, but the difference in goals led to a difference in person. Was I wearing PJs mostly for attention? Absolutely. Other people were also wearing their clothes for attention, though the amount of attention that they wanted was a specific amount. Some perfect level of attention – some line that they could walk as thin as a tightrope where the right people would give them attention and the wrong people wouldn’t and all the attention would be the right kind of attention. BORING! If you’re going for things, go for them all out. Get all the attention you can get. PJs get a lot of good attention and bad attention, and I embrace it all – just as my PJs embrace me. The problem comes with that people are confused by a desire to achieve sadness, badness, and negative things. People are confused when I dive purposefully underneath the x-axis.

I can’t hang out too long on one line because even if that line is positive, that line becomes the default with which you measure all other emotions from. That line becomes the new x-axis. I want to keep my x-axis where it is and continue to oscillate around it.

So I left the party, jumped into bed and allowed my terrible greatness to surround my shoulders and hips.

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Attention Whoring

All Paragraphs Start With the Letter I (A Poem?)

I haven’t shaved because it is too cold and I haven’t eaten because it’s too far.

I have played jump on my bed. It’s a game where I run toward my bed and jump on to it while making an explosion sound. It’s a pretty cool game.

I believe in fun. Fun is the act of enjoying what you are doing. The key to that is the word: “you.” Self.

In order to have fun you need to understand what causes fun. To enjoy you need to understand what you enjoy.

I have often propagated the idea that self-awareness will save us all, but that is wrong. Self-awareness will save yourself. But it will.

It will cause you to doubt and hate and fear, but all of yourself and then at least you are the cause of whatever – which then gives you the ability alter that cause.

I keep using the word “you” inappropriately.

I hate a lot of this writing because it is masquerading as important by employing a very simple aesthetic trick.

Important is relative. This isn’t important because it’s the 400th post of me telling others how to live not because I think they would be happier, but because I want people to act like me so that I don’t look so weird. But in reality I want to look weird because if I didn’t look weird then I wouldn’t stand out and I wouldn’t be able to complain.

In reality I love where I am, but being where I am involves being unhappy where I am.

I don’t understand how to live. I constantly selfanalyzedoubtworry because I enjoy thinking about important things and I am important.

Nicki Minaj wrote a love song to herself. She’s more important than me.

 

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