Feeling Something Right?


Time is wasting, youth is fleeting, you’re dying. No really. You. Are. Dying. Every second you waste reading this sentence is another you will never get back. You may laugh now, scoff, make humorous gestures, but the truth is you know, and you fear it just as much as me. You’re going to die very soon, your youth, which once seemed an endless consistency in a world that spilt out of a firmly smiling mouth has begun to crumble and will soon be gone forever. Spent, wasted, dead.

What the fuck should we do then? Fuck if I know, seriously. I expect people to feel the same way I do, hold the same beliefs I do, yet I do nothing to advocate or support either of them. I arrogantly assume that simply believing in them is enough. That old adage, we all know, if you don’t film it, it didn’t happen, has a sort of profound relevance here. If you didn’t preach it, you didn’t feel it. So yeah, no matter how many hammer and sickle pins I stick on my designer jacket I’ll never crush the mighty bourgeois.

The last year’s been pretty drastic for me and I think it’s made me a far more confident but ultimately fragile person. Despite a few successful and unsuccessful forays into the dating scene I still found intimacy a deeply difficult challenge. I think I took The Cars song, Just What I Needed, a little too literally. Because I really do sometimes feel like I need someone to love to validate myself. I think that one made me very awkward in a lot of cases, that and the confused mix of booze and oxycontin led to many bumbling nights of exploring shaking hands and LED lights flickering like we were running the sesh life.

One particularly attractive Austrian girl appeared in my Kitchen one evening and after consuming an entire bottle of fireball to myself, yes every last drop. I began mocking her home then proceeded to black out. I woke up and she was in my bed with me, although we didn’t have sex she just stayed over. Apparently, though I had been performing the Nazi salute while telling her to shut up and help her Führer undress. Which she did but only because I had vomited on myself. Yeah, it was a good evening…

I think I quite immaturely I let my insecurities dictate my understanding most of the time and instead of maybe being a bit more confident and seeing it through I chicken out. I mean… It feels like I chickened out…

I think it’s been quite dangerous for me because I’ve been in physically abusive relationships just to feel it. In those moments you don’t want to not believe the person doesn’t love you.

I don’t know I don’t really know what to do with this blog anymore. It was a tool that filtered my life at a very different time. It was something for me to focus on when I had nothing and no one else too. I’ve spent a long time trying to find the right thing to post, I’m not sure this is it, but either way I’m writing it so I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s right or not. I guess my point is that the words I write on this blog don’t help me anymore. They are someone else’s now. Maybe they’ll help or do something for the person that might happen, by some awful mistake stumble upon them. All I can ask from this place is that it keeps its promise, and my life is never like it was before. I don’t need you anymore, and I never want to again.


Thanks for the bruises.


Let’s Talk About Block:

tumblr_lv7204GdSj1qhyqpto16_r1_1280 No, I’m not talking about constipation, but the nature of writer’s block, specifically mine… So if you also suffer from this please sit down and let’s share, because one of the few things that can make the process cathartic is talking about it. My traditional preamble complete let’s move on.   After a really ugly tour of some of my own depravities, I wrapped up some major personal projects which left me feeling rather empty. By that time I had been using antidepressants daily for nearly a year, and unable to renew my shoddy prescription of Diazepam I seriously considered starting a heroin habit. Although a quick review of my finances threw that jovial and irrational trip into dismay. So I regressed back to my primary aspiration, which was always a confused sort of wet humming mess that I could never really work out.

I’ve been fascinated by literature, writing and anthropology, but most importantly people. For the last few years of my life I’ve found some amazing stories in others. Some I thought I never would have wanted to know, but there’s a gentleness to storytelling that brings others together. It’s one of our most primitive pastimes, and that means it’s also one of our most important traits.

So in an attempt to recapture a sort of keen motivation I started weaning from others. Cannibalizing ideas, practices, even topics, and it served well enough although I couldn’t help but think I was cheating someone. Perhaps it was myself, although I suspect it was more founded from the idea of ‘cheating’. Despite the fact that term, ‘cheating‘ with its many connotations and contexts was perhaps ill-fitting to how I was really feeling. Nevertheless it still remained the one word I could use to closely articulate how I was reacting. It was in many ways a sort of imposter syndrome that had wreaked my illusions of self-worth and talent.

The consequences of this are quite dire to any writer, as the soul of self is so often wrapped up in ones capacity to create something that encapsulates their state. I felt detached from my ruminations drifting between different personas, some snarky, some academic and others just muddled.

As I looked around the web for insight into this block and my subsequent imposter syndrome, it seemed that almost anyone could have a respected argument as long as they wrote a lot. No matter how many fallacies they used as a foundation it seemed that to the internet eyes, sheer volume must account for insight. This accounts for why so people perpetuate broken ideas and memes, simply because their own understanding on what constitutes a well thought out statement is based on a word count.

Searching through these made me feel rather dire and isolated and knowing that the prospects for someone of my talented ilk has few if any opportunity to amply stretch this skill made me feel genuinely depressed. There is no better disenfranchisement than knowing what you want to do and what your strengths our yet still remain a victim of circumstance and be trapped forever to wallow in unsatisfactory mediocrity. My muddled identity as a writer, my misnomers in poorly phrased arguments, these all fretted me beyond measure. Writing felt like an unachievable head-space only reserved for those elite few who have the free time to leisurely measure every tangential idea that puzzles them.

Yet, sometime in the middle of the night, while I lay silently in darkness wishing for the sweet embrace of sleeps unconscious breath. I pined, pined to write and expand and state and make and create and never stop and keep writing and what’s this know I’m up and I’m typing it’s three AM and I don’t care the lights are on here I am typing and it’s coming It’s all coming there it is here I am and… Wow. I can do it, I can actually do it, sometimes at least, and perhaps my talents will never measure up to those few. Perhaps my conflicting personas will always muddled and diminish my reader base.

Yet upon much deliberation I realized my writing was my release, release from so much that it would be but a boring list to most. So I wonder, genuinely, as I ask you few who follow me, and those who stumble upon this blog by whatever means.

 How do you feel about it?

2014: The New Year is Nigh


So the new year is nigh, yes another three hundred and sixty-five days of toil and suffering  await us all. In a just a few months, after the initial shock of being in a different year, when the pajazz of writing 2014 on your checks wears off, you’ll soon realise it’s the same old routine. Nevertheless it’s a good time for reflection, a chance to look back at what you’ve done, or most likely haven’t done and really tell yourself a convincing line about ‘how this year will be different’. My little blog here has been up for the better part eight months. It all started on lazy April day when I had nothing but a pocket full of change and an ever burgeoning god complex to my name. Since then I’ve matured both my style and writing to something I am somewhat proud of. I never thought I’d get this far, let alone get anyone to read the damn thing. I had never really written in an open forum before so my practices were a little… Off.

Not to say I was offensive or anything, I just come across a little hubristic in my writing. I’m a contrarian, and more importantly I’m cynical. Enthusiasm and grace are alien concepts, especially in my earlier work. Yet it wasn’t all bad, for I am of course my worst critic, as we all tend to be. I’d say since I started my writing has certainly improved in some regards. Well at least I have developed a self enforced hunger for it. Hopefully that newfound drive will serve me somewhere down the line, but for now let’s look at what I plan to do with this godforsaken site. After all I think it’s a little early to get all retrospective-y. (It’s a word, look it up)

Ruminations aside let’s make some New Years resolutions shall we?

#1: Have my brain transferred into a computer so I can live as an immortal, omnipotent god-like creäture.

Who doesn’t want to surpass the limitations of organic life?! I could live forever, and my knowledge and insight would lead humanity into a new age of enlightenment. I could be immortal, I could redefine life, I could even download a witty and humorous voice from the internet to use as my own.

#2: Fix broken posts.

When I’m not working as a super robot lord to all the humans in my dominion I’ll be writing; and if I’m not writing I’ll be fixing the posts I broke when I changed the blog’s theme. Yeah I messed up, the theme I’m using screwed up some spaces and destroyed thumbnails. I do have a solution for this but it means going back and manually changing it all. Something I’ve avoided doing by pretending to be busy. Yet no more cries New Year! Now’s the time to end this hellish nightmare…

#3: Don’t lose sight of the bloody goal.

Since I’ll have a fully formed robot brain this should be easy. Never again will I write about something and end up in a different place from where I started. This is a problem I have. I’ll come up with an idea, want to execute it, but when I’m in the act of writing it will get muddled and blurred in so many other developing ideas. Really I should plan these things out….

Anyway wherever you are, whatever you’re doing have a bloody good one and Happy New Year!