I know there’s no reason, rhyme or madness to make me feel this way. No, wrong, FUCKING WRONG, because there oh so obviously is. It’s just in my head. And not in my head.
There’s a difference between thinking the whole world conspires against you and knowing the whole world is conspiring against you. I learned this years ago. Thinking breeds hope, knowing breeds death.
But despite all this hope and promise and delusion and dejection, I feel as if I am slowly and surely going completely insane.
- and the enigma of the book is one based solely in its name, where it gives all the information you need but, no, wait, not quite enough it seems. Chapter after chapter, word after word it becomes more and more and more confusing and you think that there has to be a point to it, there has to be a point near the end that sums it all up in one glorious epiphany and the world will be a better place for it. And the ending comes and goes and all you can think about is how there was no point, how all you’re left is with the same confusing, sadly poetic lines. So you read it again, to try and see what you missed, and again, and again, and aga-
and you stop
because, you suddenly realise with a slap on the forehead and a goofy smile plastered onto that supermarket face of yours, that it’s not supposed to make sense!
so it’s read and it changed you, because things don’t make sense. things have never made sense, but there was some force in your brain alight with nuerons that convinced you there was a bigger purpose. but it’s not true
and the best part is tha
t rules don’t apply
to you
2 u
the rules don’t apply. because the rules make no sense.
so you refuse to use grammar, punctuation speling and u live ur life the way u wnt and fck whoever else decieds different until u decide to take all the power you have and condense it into a razor blade to tattoo your veins with shining silver strips that pulsate with every ocean of red and-
but it’s all ok. really.
because it just doesn’t
make
sense
Three bricks in tow, each one clutching a strip of paper in an elastic band grasp. The driver leans forward and lights his cigarette from my lighter before I snap it shut. He laughs maniacally and drums his fingers along the rim of the wheel. I smile at him through my glasses and buckle up as he speeds up, thundering down the midnight streets with youthful reckoning. The speed was fast enough to wrench our heads from our necks if we crashed somewhere, but something about the speed set us free. We slowed to a stop in front of a huge plate glass window. Behind the portal laid hundreds and hundreds of books, lined against walls and floors with each cover shining virginially in the light. The place was deserted so I stepped out the car and ground my cigarette. I could see all the books inside, I could see all the whore pages that would be read over and over for a penny a fuck and I could see their shallow shit encrusted little faces become lost in mediocrity and dying in memory. the window made a satisfying smash when I threw the brick into it. My carrier pigeon took my words and guided them safely to a solid crack on the floor, and I wondered what people would think when they read what I wrote. I stepped into the car, shuffling glass away with my feet and we drove off deeper into the city and deeper into the night. We still had two bricks by our feet and we still had so much to say.
We were starting a writing revolution.
The window had been painted shut, but we released it from its prison and it thanked us by carrying the swirls of smoke over the river. I lobbed the glass I was holding out into the brightening gloom and heard it tinkle on the ground below.
it’s a nice day my companion remarked as he sat perched on the ash ridden ledge.
lets go for a walk
yeah?
yeah the butt of the cigarette arced the same route as the glass.
He returned later with three guys, each smiling through the exhaustion and drink. We ran to the park, leaping over bollards and spinning on our heels everybody wake up (wake up) everybody everybody wake up it’s time to get down echoing from our throats. An abandoned play park was our first destination with frosted slides that catapulted us across the ground. A cordoned off slide tempted us with its serpentine coils and we dared the ice glazed and chilling ladders to throw ourselves down its black hole. The slipping and sliding led us to a deserted skate park with names emblazoned on the smooth concrete as we rolled and ran and flipped and laid with our backs in puddles watching yellow cigarette smoke framed by blue sky and laughing horsely with every utter of ladies. There was a fountain that sunk my ankles in water floating with cigarette butts and my friend’s legs dangled over nothingness as his fingers gripped an ornate cherub. The sun was rising as we pulled each other up to the upper most boughs of a solid oak tree. The sky grew a violent orange and we laid back in the branches and took silhouettes. serenity someone said from within the tree, beautiful another voice chorused, ladies the third one uttered and we all fell into laughter, my knuckles dirty with fear of falling dying from laughter i said, holding on for dear life is there a better way to go? and then someone said ladies and I would’ve died right then if it weren’t for them below me, holding my legs while I barreled off the trunk.
And we headed back. The sun beat across our faces as we walked in our line, in our troop. I checked my watch and announced that it was 7am on the dot, guys, 7am and we leaned on the bridge and talked with the sun in our laughs and the promise of Guitar Hero to keep us awake to last us across the road.
… ladies
There’s lots of things that get me depressed. Not depressed. Down. Lots of things get me down. Sometimes it’s only a little bit, but a little bit down is still down.
Like, for example, there’s this one person (person A) who used to know another person (person B). Now, A knew B before I knew B, and I knew A before I knew B too. And A seemed like a perfectly nice person (until I learned different) while B seemed like a perfectly fantastic person (and I still think the same). However, A had some nasty nasty things to say about B, really truly nasty things whose home should be in schoolyards, but I wasn’t deterred. B was awesome. So I stuck with B and soon lost A (a great move on my part), but now A is good friends with B, and they get along so magically that I find the hypocrisy hard to bear. So, as a result, I stay away from A and B. Which is a shame, because I really like B.
Another example would be another person (lets call this one C) who, many many moons ago, read a private and confidential notebook that was under my bed. Now, this wasn’t an accident mind you. C was in my room, all by herself, and C decided to search around for it. And when she found it she read it cover to cover (which didn’t take long, seeing how I had just started it) and claimed it was ‘bedtime reading’ which cracked me up something awful when she decided to tell everyone the horrible acts I had partaken in. Of course, C never really told anyone how she came across this information, she just told it and let everyone feel sorry for her and evils against me. Of course, I didn’t say anything. I rolled with the punches and stayed smug enough to shake it off, knowing what I know.
A fourth person (D) about a year ago tried to seduce me before exclaiming to the world what a bastard I was - a side effect of ‘just saying no’.
E thought she knew me and tried to use that information against me. But she didn’t know me, so I found myself wounded and lonely.
F used to tell me secrets that were for me and me alone, but he told everyone else them too.
G keeps me at an arms length (as does B, for that matter).
H and I are stale to me.
J is never there although she pretends to be.
K, I never see anymore.
L is losing herself in the worst possible way. Ah well.
M asked me every time I saw her if I was ok because once when I saw her I wasn’t smiling. I had good reason not to smile mind you, but she asked me why and I said it was nothing. And nothing continued until she stopped, and now I feel bad for not telling her.
I’ve said in a previous entry that I sound depressed because there was nothing good happening in my life worth reporting about. All the good things were too little to report, so nothing sounded good. But now I have many good things. Last night I wrote so much on my novel that I thought I was going to explode with happiness. In the morning of the afternoon I received a wake up call that has frankly made the rest of my day. Yesterday I saw a film that has made me change my definition of ‘noise’ into ’sound’. There are all these little happy things shining their way through, but at the same time there’s this half-alphabet, and then some, of things that are getting me down. And the result is a feeling of neutral emotions where happy and sad have combined to give nothing nothing at all and all you can do is sit and get by without any strong feelings until something really really good or really really bad comes along and skews your emotions enough for a happy drink or a sad drink and then soon things are right back where they were and the song and dance starts all over again.
Though, it occurs to me now that I could save so much grief and so much money if I just stuck to my life of solitude that I enjoy oh so much. But then there would be less happy to mingle with less sad.
It is indeed a horrible conundrum
Today is Monday. It is two days after Saturday and one day before Tuesday. On Mondays I have approximately three hours to kill between doing things. On Tuesdays I also have three. Wednesdays are mine until four in the afternoon. Thursdays I have five, Fridays I have another three (if I can care). Saturdays and Sundays are open ended horizons. Each day consists of roughly two hours traveling, of which I read books in, and thirty minutes eating, in which I also read books in. I work for five hours a day on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays at a job where I would write if it weren’t for the obsessively lonely girl sitting next to me.
All this accumulates to roughly fifty hours worth of free time per week in which I must;
write essays
read books
continue social activity
play videogames
write
do the washing up
clean my clothes
buy food
manage budget
phone people
keep up to date with the world
listen to music (and I mean really listen)
think
If I allocate roughly four hours to each task (fifty-two hours) per week then I can equally manage each task, with each task falling short of its required amount I will have about five hours per week to myself. This can be spent in any which way I want.
I want to learn to play saxophone, but that has the added expenditure of money which also is the case with learning to drive. Each of these tasks would be perfectly suited to fit my five free hours a week, but unfortunately my financial status is nothing to brag about.
Two days ago I watched Mike solve a rubix cube within ten minutes. Two months ago I saw him pick up a keyboard and play it. A day ago I watched two guitarists jam to the Alton Towers theme and then become scared shitless by a videogame. Tomorrow I will watch a girl craft a story out of thin air then slide her feet on a polished dance floor. Twenty-one years ago a man was on board a naval ship in far and hostile waters. Five years later he married his mistress. Between now and then he learned to juggle, to excel in accounting, and to make the world his enemy. Two years ago a boy learned to juggle in two days. Four years ago I learned to see the world; two years ago I learned to see it differently.
I want to run in my five hours. Not to make myself fit or to increase my stamina, but just to have the sensation of running. There are locked doors that I want to kick open; there are strangers I want to talk to. Six months ago there was a stranger sitting on some steps crying her eyes out, and I talked to her. It was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life, watching her cry and putting a friendly arm round her shoulder as she bubbled incoherently into her chipped fingernails. Five months later I did the same thing, but this time there was no trail of mascara etching its way into their cheek.
In my five hours I want to make a difference. Not a save the world difference. I want to make someone see something. The world is human, I will tell them, you are not alone in your solitude. I want them to stop and take stock of everything they’ve ever known, or if I can’t do that then I just want to jar their thinking for ten minutes. Ten singular minutes in my five hours per week I want to stop someone in their tracks and show them.
I have all this free time to free the world. If I wasn’t such an arrogant son-of-a-bitch I might just do that.
Maybe I’ll just learn to play the saxophone instead.
Found this amongst other relics of a former life. Thought I’d give it a go again.
TRY THIS: Write 10 statements intended towards 10 different people. Write about something you would never say to his/her face or something that you wished you had said when you got the chance, but didn’t.
1. You’re not a bad person. You’re really not, you’re just a bit weird.
2. Is it strange that I’m sorry? I didn’t handle things well, and I didn’t do anything right, which doesn’t matter now I guess. I just want to say goodbye.
3. What I sometimes don’t like about you is that you’re a goddamn scaredy cat. Take a fucking risk once in a while and regret the outcomes.
4. I regret everything about you. Good. Now that you know it, stay the fuck away fromme and my friends.
5. You’re too far away now. I can’t keep up with everything.
6. When you say you made a new blog, go ahead and BLOG dammit.
7. The same thing goes for you too.
8. One day, when you least expect it, I’m going to creep up behind you and whisper i told you so into that blind little ear of yours.
9. Sorry I haven’t been around much but we’re not friends anymore and we haven’t been for a long time. I understand your need to keep a hold of things that made you happy in the past, and I understand the need for complete regression every once in a while,but it’s pointless to delude yourself when we’re in two worlds so different that we’re no longer similar minded people.
10. What can I say that’s not been said? Or things that haven’t been said but shouldn’t be said? I don’t know. I’m confident that everything will work out. There’s really no other alternative in my mind.
Have you ever had that feeling? You know the one- or maybe you don’t.
Ok. It’s like vertigo, but only in your stomach. You’re looking down into a deep precipice and only your stomach realises it. Your body reacts, sure, but your body disappears bit by bit and soon all that’s left is your stomach and feeling. This feeling is one that binds you together. It’s the only thing keeping your being together round your stomach that’s stretching to infinity. There’s a [broken] thought that seems to last to last forever if it just weren’t so-
It’s so weird. It’s terrifying and intriguing at the same time. You want to step forward and fall into this abyss, but you’re scared of what’s down there and what’s waiting. And, then again, there’s the feeling of deja vú, as if you know what awaits you down there, or you think you know. And there’s this horrible horrible feeling that what’s down there is evil, but there’s happiness linked to it. There’s the warm feeling of familiarity mingling with the cold feeling of sadness. It’s a contradiction of a precipice. It stretches down into the depths of the earth but I guess it also rises up to glorious wonders of space.
I don’t know. It’s there. It’s here right now. It’s in my memories and it’s in my future and I don’t know. Watching sad films makes me want to write. It makes me feel something. Some emotion that isn’t wanted, that isn’t lost, but takes the strangest thing to evoke it, you know? No. I forgot. Maybe you don’t. But you should. It’s unsettling. It’s nerve wracking. It makes you want to cry, not out of sadness but because you can’t remember the last time you cried. It’s beautifully empty.
I don’t know. I really don’t know. But- maybe you do.
Godfuckingdamnit it’s one of those things where I try and try and try my sorry little heart out and when ive got it right oh when i think ive got it oh so fucking right something comes along and the world tumbles from my fingers and shatters in the lonely dirt and BY FUCKING GOD AM I SICK AND TIRED OF PEOPLE AND PUTTING ME DOWN when im reading two very different but identical pieces of paper that insult me in two very different but identical ways yes theres a place and time to nudge and smile and say the truth but fuck me if you didnt dig and dig and hack and drink glorious red and yes one was for business one was for pure cold hearted business where the hacking and slashing was all for one and one for all but one was sly and one was deep and fuck it if i can be bothered with the whining and the repetition and the happier than happy smiles that snake from overly red lips as you shout naively into the world that YES YES YOU ARE A WHOLE PERSON when in fact you cannot be and you will not be until you wake to the rampant cynicism through the course of history and see for yourself that the world is not bathed in red or black and your reason for thinking ends and dont think ive forgotten you oh yes you with your business eyes and business tongue that has left scathing whip marks across my ego and im sick and tired of people putting me down for my confidence for my vanity for my egotism because they are so wrapped up in their little insecurities that they cannot bear to see someone who smiles in the morning and knows who they are and what they want and i dont want to become one of those people wondering who the fuck they are on a sunday morning because i know yes i know and i know with my smug little smile and my styled hair and purposefully unkempt stubble because fuck YOU if you take that away from me and disrupt my red hearted vibration through life and i am down but i will be up and if you dare take that away from me again i swear to fucking god that i will make you pay your pound of flesh.
The segment concerning Promap is a relic from my old blog. The rest is new.
(don’t judge me too much. i was young)
FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING CHRIST.
I just had a really big update for what happened on the fucking weekend and fucking promap has a fucking error and fucking fucks it up!
Fuck it. I’ll update to-fucking-morrow.
FUCKING PROMAP!
(a post written two years ago is found in the dreary wastelands of a search engine that races its min d with arbitrary worrrrds a nd comes up with mag-ick)
(wanderers stumble across such a treasure and th-black-ink that they know what it means)
(they do not)
I would like to remind any and all visitors to this site that this post from an old personal blog which was written in August 2005.itellthembutdotheylistenohtheydonot.
(and so, two years after this post was created, these wanderers scrawl one final message before the wi nds of life dis-murder_mystery-solve them)
(and i cannot answer them)
the memories are stored in everything that you can imagine_ smell especially, but not limited to that_ i heard someone say a phrase and my mind was flung to huddled in front of the breakfast club and eating peanut butter raw from the
and smiles and sunsets and grumpy eyebrows that furrow and smile and shine and feel of silk and god that silk
but enough distractions.
I’m liking this.
