I have spent the last few months, post last blog, proactively trying to live my life the way I want to…amongst other things, salsa lessons, attempts at learning to play the guitar, reading, writing my screenplay and going to the gym…in the moments that work (and self indulgence in the form of laziness) has not consumed me…
These times have been punctuated by the odd attempt at quasi romance and include pearler one liners such as “what does this mean to you”, “I’m not normally like this” and “It’s so comfortable with you”…all have dripped with bullshit. The only bit that’s an epiphany to me is the fact that that bullshit is not only from one party.
In the time since my last post, which proved to be terribly therapeutic and cathartic, despite the castigation and worries of friends, I have felt better than I have for most of this fucking year…a year that somehow managed to be more of waste than the regrettable drudgery of 2007.
At a place of all too familiar confusion, apathy and yet, frustration, far too early in the year than normally experienced, too much of this fucking year has hinged on the whims, reactions, retorts and actions of others. For a person that considers himself to be fairly centered and well rounded, I have let myself be affected by far too many of the inane and dispensable category.
I have not blogged for a while because for a decent part of my accidental sabbatical, I have been ok. As this page has become my safe place to rant, bitch, vent or judge, I lacked the required material to populate with anything worth reading, or for that matter, worth writing. I could have blogged about rainbows and butterflies and the sweet smell of rain in the fucking morning, but that would be too much of a stretch even for my imagination. For though I have not been as fucked off, as disenchanted, as disinterested as I normally have been for this God forsaken year, I haven’t quite felt an inkling of contentment, let alone the sight of happiness on any proverbial horizon.
In a world filled with valor and bullshit, honesty and cowardice, hope and regret, I find myself continually affected by the fucking variables that people are. Though this post was inspired by specific events, ultimately, the combination of recent events have provided the ambition and back bone of it.
Yet again, despite my not so squeaky clean endeavors, I find myself affected by the fucking opaque and vague actions of people…
As has become form, my posts tend to have a theme…a defined bitch or rant, a question with conviction…this particular post finds me just needing an outlet with a need to ask the simple, age old question…WHAT THE FUCK?
With waning interest in the very things that stirred my soul for decades, the shock at how others aren’t chocked or even swayed when their articulations drip with bullshit and a lack of faith in the general populace to acknowledge what the hell is going on and who they are, I find myself completely and utterly confused as to how to not want to say more than I have, which as it turns out, are volumes more than they would.
With recent experiences ranging from half truths, to lack of empathy, to falseness in small doses, to bullshit in large doses, to down right lies, to self absorption, I can but see myself standing in a crowded space, screaming expletives without anyone even hearing a fucking word…well, something like that.
The contrasting personas of people continue to intrigue me, as a person that borders voyeurism with a healthy interest in human behavior, I am constantly astounded by the fucking irresponsible retards you are.
I am no martyr…I myself may have helped situations along their path, though pre defined some have seemed or even manufactured pheromones to assist a certain process along, but I still, despite any heed of “man codes” or reasoning within myself that people need to deal with their own lives, I have articulated truths…as often as I could, as sincere as it was…
The period between the last post and now has included experience after experience beyond the norm. As my independent census has shown, these experiences, their sequence in time and their drama levels, do not oft occur…they have, however, in my life…and as such, I am fucked off!
Burdens of perceptions that other people manufuckingfacture in their minds of a situation with people that don’t exist should not be my concern. Double standards and articulations of do’s and don’ts, questions for reaffirmation and not to leave the lesser spotted, down right fucking lie…
Though I am a person who very much lives in his own head, with varying degrees of success, I find the lack of self analysis as shocking as it is fucking hilarious…What on earth are your hamsters doing? No deeper thought process of what one is saying, doing or as bad, projecting, yet with James Bond like confidence, resolute on the stance that the soap box they find themselves perched on is immune to questions, quizzical looks and just good old fashioned context…
Ah, context, I love that word. For me, no other word should mean more to any one person, perhaps, its only decent competitors are “hope” and “empathy”. Whilst one contributor (to this post) is dismissive to the realities of life, love and everything else, another manufactures a perception of a situation, not leaving out others that down right just don’t process a damn thing or as harsh, are dismissive to how damaging the double trouble combo of “double standards” actually is.
I guess its just a case of my cup runeth over, with regards to the lack of context and empathy that people have had, and the of course, the fact that those “issues” have been either one of, caused by me or happened to me.
One insightful, eloquent, and very centered contemporary ventured the thought that we are in fact our state of mind and tried to make sense of my mental state. His words were sharp, to the point, honest and fucking true. Despite what was an awesome case for the defense in the trial of “Context versus bullshit”, he over looked one critical factor, or rather, and with a certain amount of validity, dismissed the issue of empathy…mine in particular.
With ambition that rivals the next Everest summit party and Obama combined, I can’t help but fucking feel and hope…this is the Achilles heel to my Brad Pitt…that despite my best efforts to control my own universe, I let people in, and allow myself to see them as people with similar thought processes, and for that matter, thought in general…how wrong I am to give such hope and empathy to people that lack the respect for context…
I am tired. Emotionally. The pendulum swings as high as it does evenly and its imaginary Comet like tail leaves with it a residual of deep, depressing, introspection and all too little, the after glow of growth and improving self worth…
We are taught to worry about ourselves, with an eye to not fuck anyone around more than is absolutely needed, if in fact it is needed. We are taught to be strong, self reliant and street smart. Eloquent and articulate. The one thing we aren’t taught, is how to fucking grow up and even if our life depended on it, deal with the fact that there are things we should control, things that we cant control but should accept and things that we can do to make someone else’s journey that little bit less arduous, and empty…even then…its just a case of context, I guess…
I know that this post has nothing but grey all over, alas, a more truthful rant would be less affective towards me dealing with these issues and far too direct for the hapless fucktards that stirred the thought process in the first place. Suffice to say, that the levels of bullshit and complete lack of respect for context that I have recently experienced is as overwhelming as it is real. The sick cycle carousel continues and people shan’t change. These are things I know all too well, but without hope that people grow, deal and make the necessary upgrades within, I face the very disheartening option of an even lonelier existence. Because as the list of people that appreciate the person that I am, in context, shrinks, the constant reminders that I am very much, the only one that will completely get me grows…
A rousing fuck you to those that impose, manipulate, chastise, critique and generally don’t appreciate context. I hope you grow as a person. In context.
“Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”
“This is your life, and it's ending one second at a time.”
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Disenchanted
As inspired by David Benioff in 25th hour…
Fuck societal institutions. The need to find a safe and secure place in your life. Go to school, the false perception of a higher education, find a job, find a girl, get married, settle down, buy a house, have dinner parties, have a child, buy another house, have another child, have a braai, buy a better car…when does it fucking end? A never ending search to find a fucking pillar that you can rely on, but what the fuck does that mean? A reliable job, a reliable partner? Raise a child to continue your name in ignorance? Fuck that, and fuck all those people that accept this as a standard that they should strive for in their lives.
Fuck social standards and perceptions. Fuck the pampered boys and dolled up girls. Fucking manicured toes and designer gear. All adding to the fucking façade that you are. You aren’t fooling anyone you dumb fuck! Grow your hair into a mow hock, shave it off, grow it back longer, color it in, cut it again, give me a fucking break you fake piece of shit! The girls with the breasts perky, asses out, selling themselves for whatever fucking retard that best compliments them as yet another fucking accessory. Honey, you look like a real life blow up doll, worth a look you may be, but what you inspire in me, is fucking violence. The boys strolling around like fucking peacocks trying to attract the maximum number of looks based on the coolness they exude. Shut the fuck up with the grandioso hook ups and parties you false, fake, walking, talking insecurity.
Fuck the institute of marriage and what its done for an old school romantic retard like myself. People settle down with the no importance on the word fucking “settle”. A perception of what they want, what they believe they can only get or fuck knows what else. The removal of some of the financial burden with the “dual income” concept. Are you fucking serious? Men, have their head turned by every other tart, forking out tons of money on strippers and prostitutes, how the fuck did you let it get to this, and willingly! Women looking around and realize that their men aren’t anywhere near happy and that their set up is more of one of companionship fueled by the fear of being alone (which is true for men too) and more of a fucked up platonic friendship. One where trust quasi exists because neither party has enough energy to articulate how fucked up it really is to come home to another “how was your day, dear” conversation. This is your fucking life and you are watching it pass by. People go through the fucking hoopla and drama of going through the fucking ritual, invitation list and catering only to go back on their word and call it a day, for reasons that vary from infidelity to just “not working anymore”, are you fucking kidding me? If you weren’t blinded by the concept, you may have realized how retarded he is or how superficial she was. Play the fucking victim and blame the situation at home as validation enough to fuck someone else. Own your fucking situation; put your hand up and fucking leave with some sense of self worth still in tact!
Fuck beauty/health magazines and the pressure they put on me to lose 10 kg. The fucking impression that when someone describes someone as “average weight and build” they don’t fucking mean me, who the fuck are they? Preaching grooming techniques, work out techniques and cunnilingus techniques, give me a fucking break! Hairless washboard abs, completely disciplined lifestyles, fitted suits, am I supposed to buy into the hope that this is what a real man is right now? In the absence of the “hunter gatherer” concept this is what will constitute me finding a decent mate and a comfort within myself, fuck you! Women’s magazines preaching techniques on how to dress this summer and how to blow your man next winter. What the fuck does it matter when on the one page that they preach how to please your man, and on the next, they articulate the need to not feel objectified. News flash you fucking retarded journos, that’s why men watch porn. Do me a fucking favour and think about how the term fuck is used in context of sex, not her fucking him, but him fucking her, as a fucking object!
Fuck family and their neediness and attachment to the perception of fucking “duty”. Just because you are born into a household you are expected to fulfill someone else’s fucking belief system with regards to religion, sexual preference and general relationship management. Fuck that, I didn’t ask to brought here, yet I’m supposed to be fucking thankful to you. Well, allow me to thank you…for the first time I was dumped and felt heartache, for the first time you didn’t have money for something I wanted, for the first time I didn’t have money for something I wanted, for not protecting me against life’s harsh realities and having to deal with it before I should have, for me having to go through the concept of not being good enough, for me hating myself and for fuck loads more of other unnecessary disappointments that I have had to put up with. It is expected that I am supposed to be a certain brand of family member, caring, giving, considerate, why the fuck? Just because of blood ties I am expected to keep in touch, reciprocate affection and thoughtfulness. Fuck that! The concept of having a child has been severely warped. People need to look within themselves. Younger people looking to older people to help them, older people looking to younger people to need them, fuck off, is that why I am here, to validate your existence?
Fuck the different degrees of friendships and the need to not so subtly be yourself in it. To preach loyalty and not act accordingly. Murmurs of gripes and difference of opinion. Give me a fucking break. If you want to be there, be there. Don’t fucking fake it, I would rather be alone, jerking off than have to believe that the perception of my quality as a friend is me making myself available to fix your fucking problems. They are your fucking problems. Busy fucking passing comments and thought about how you are better in a plethora of ways that I cant comprehend. Grow the fuck up and deal with your own fucking shit. Realize the short comings you have before you believe you have a stance to look down on me…look down on me, fuck you! Seriously, take ownership of your life, but is it that hard to not be a dick, if it is, then I guess that’s enough detail for me. I am fucking tired of giving the affectionate ear to repetitive stories and dramas, being the understanding, sensitive idiot whilst you don’t give yourself the time it would take to properly process the shit you have going on. Wake the fuck up and smell the java. You aren’t as cool as you think, you aren’t as funny as you think, you aren’t as witty as you think, you aren’t as good looking as you think and sure as fuck, you aren’t as smart as you think…own your own shit. Fucking whining malcontents that refuse to be more than they are. Holes in their perception of friendship and their fucking lives. Don’t judge me when you can’t even identify your fucking deficiencies!
Fuck exes. Seeking random bits of validation and affection. What the fuck for? There was a reason you broke up with me, or I with you. Why do we go through the fucking circus of needing to give the perception that there is genuine care there. If you dumped my sorry ass, why the fuck are you still seeking to keep in touch? The fact that you broke up with me, doesn’t make me any less funny or witty or cool or fun to be with, sorry sweet heart, but this shouldn’t be news to you. Now you want all of the friendship and sincerity but none of the admin, fuck you! And for those that I broke up with, I guess I am the weaker one in that I want to make sure you are ok…I don’t seek validation or affection or random bits of flirty shit from you. More often than not, anything I have done, has been for some sort of warped sense of me bettering myself as a person. If I didn’t want to keep dating you, it must be for fundamental fucking reasons, along the lines of you being full of shit, or a variation there of…leave me the fuck alone. To both sets of exes, what we had, is long since dead, go fuck up someone else’s life. A few key thoughts, say what you mean, do what you say, stop using teeth during head, at some point, an erection needs to be used, I really don’t care about all of the fucking details in your day and the fact that your friends are giving you shit isn’t my fault, don’t fucking project! You having past admin that you didn’t deal with is also not my fucking problem and when you dump a guy, be honest, cos fuck knows, that would help him not want to smack you with a wrench when he sees you on the street. Stop hedging your bets, don’t bother with the perception that anyone is going to judge you for the things you do behind closed doors and at what times in your relationship, it’s just you and your partner. Start with dealing with your fucking baggage. I gave you all of me and you weren’t a first team player. I can only be sorry for that.
Fuck the sanctity of self improvement and the need for me to better myself. To gain control of a life I am not sure why I’m living. To know when to stop, to know when to go on, to want to be more. More of fucking what? Be spiritually centered? Be comfortable with the facets of life that are all in limbo at any one point? Better my vocabulary, my literary reference material so that I can participate in conversations of fuck all importance? Why the fuck do I need to better myself? You fucking better yourself and find your emotional centre…maybe then you would wonder what the fuck its all for when you need to better yourself further still, cos fuck knows, it never ends.
Fuck the perception of ambition. The need to grow my CV. Gain work experience, diversify my finance portfolios, expand my education through distance learning and off site courses. For what reason? To increase my salary band? The only immediate gain being that I get to buy more dvds which in turn leads to me not going out and interacting with fucking people. The need to travel the world? And find more of the same shit but with different accents? Pretty new buildings (to me anyway) with history laced bricks that have fuck all to do with who I am or who I will be? Fuck the perception of ambition and the fact that those that believe they have it are better than those that just don’t give a fuck!
Fuck racial prejudice. Well, for that matter, fuck religious prejudice, fuck class prejudice and fuck homosexual prejudice. Judging someone because they chose differently from you? Fuck you, you short sighted, retarded fuck. Its fuck wits like you that stagnate the human race. Gather some fucking like minded friends, go to a random barn and commit mass suicide. You will not be mourned, you will not be missed. You dumb fucks.
Fuck stereotypical fuckheads that force me to spend hours picking my name off the floor. Based on my skin tone and place of birth I have to spend fucking eons answering questions on how come I’m not like the stereotype or being judged on it without a defense. Fuck the need to fit in and its knock on effect on the concept of every stereotype. Jews are miserly with their money, Muslims are terrorists, blacks are violent and steal, Indians in this fucking country are like those from fucking india and whites are afraid of everything not like them. Fucking idiots that buy into this bullshit should not procreate. But what’s worse, is those of the stereotype, perpetuating it further…Jesus fuck, be your own person. Stop being a fucking sheep for a weekend and maybe, just fucking maybe you may actually figure out what the fuck you want and truly enjoy, as an individual.
Fuck you Zoydberg…fuck the need to feel like a fucking victim. Like you are the only fucking one going through the mass overflow of thoughts and emotions. Fuck the need to be a whining bitch about the things you have the power to change. Fucking retarded complaints about all that is not well and as per your fucking wants, but do you do anything about it, no, just sit on your ass, and vent about how fucked up the world is, as opposed to how you hide behind your apathy…Poke holes in every facet of life and all the things you don’t like for whatever reason, but in the end, nothing changes. You are still in the same fucking hole as before and need to pull your finger out. Fuck you and your self perception of well articulated insight that shields you from yourself…Fuck you Zoydberg…
“We are the middle children of history. No purpose or place. We have no great war, or great depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives.”
“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”
Fuck societal institutions. The need to find a safe and secure place in your life. Go to school, the false perception of a higher education, find a job, find a girl, get married, settle down, buy a house, have dinner parties, have a child, buy another house, have another child, have a braai, buy a better car…when does it fucking end? A never ending search to find a fucking pillar that you can rely on, but what the fuck does that mean? A reliable job, a reliable partner? Raise a child to continue your name in ignorance? Fuck that, and fuck all those people that accept this as a standard that they should strive for in their lives.
Fuck social standards and perceptions. Fuck the pampered boys and dolled up girls. Fucking manicured toes and designer gear. All adding to the fucking façade that you are. You aren’t fooling anyone you dumb fuck! Grow your hair into a mow hock, shave it off, grow it back longer, color it in, cut it again, give me a fucking break you fake piece of shit! The girls with the breasts perky, asses out, selling themselves for whatever fucking retard that best compliments them as yet another fucking accessory. Honey, you look like a real life blow up doll, worth a look you may be, but what you inspire in me, is fucking violence. The boys strolling around like fucking peacocks trying to attract the maximum number of looks based on the coolness they exude. Shut the fuck up with the grandioso hook ups and parties you false, fake, walking, talking insecurity.
Fuck the institute of marriage and what its done for an old school romantic retard like myself. People settle down with the no importance on the word fucking “settle”. A perception of what they want, what they believe they can only get or fuck knows what else. The removal of some of the financial burden with the “dual income” concept. Are you fucking serious? Men, have their head turned by every other tart, forking out tons of money on strippers and prostitutes, how the fuck did you let it get to this, and willingly! Women looking around and realize that their men aren’t anywhere near happy and that their set up is more of one of companionship fueled by the fear of being alone (which is true for men too) and more of a fucked up platonic friendship. One where trust quasi exists because neither party has enough energy to articulate how fucked up it really is to come home to another “how was your day, dear” conversation. This is your fucking life and you are watching it pass by. People go through the fucking hoopla and drama of going through the fucking ritual, invitation list and catering only to go back on their word and call it a day, for reasons that vary from infidelity to just “not working anymore”, are you fucking kidding me? If you weren’t blinded by the concept, you may have realized how retarded he is or how superficial she was. Play the fucking victim and blame the situation at home as validation enough to fuck someone else. Own your fucking situation; put your hand up and fucking leave with some sense of self worth still in tact!
Fuck beauty/health magazines and the pressure they put on me to lose 10 kg. The fucking impression that when someone describes someone as “average weight and build” they don’t fucking mean me, who the fuck are they? Preaching grooming techniques, work out techniques and cunnilingus techniques, give me a fucking break! Hairless washboard abs, completely disciplined lifestyles, fitted suits, am I supposed to buy into the hope that this is what a real man is right now? In the absence of the “hunter gatherer” concept this is what will constitute me finding a decent mate and a comfort within myself, fuck you! Women’s magazines preaching techniques on how to dress this summer and how to blow your man next winter. What the fuck does it matter when on the one page that they preach how to please your man, and on the next, they articulate the need to not feel objectified. News flash you fucking retarded journos, that’s why men watch porn. Do me a fucking favour and think about how the term fuck is used in context of sex, not her fucking him, but him fucking her, as a fucking object!
Fuck family and their neediness and attachment to the perception of fucking “duty”. Just because you are born into a household you are expected to fulfill someone else’s fucking belief system with regards to religion, sexual preference and general relationship management. Fuck that, I didn’t ask to brought here, yet I’m supposed to be fucking thankful to you. Well, allow me to thank you…for the first time I was dumped and felt heartache, for the first time you didn’t have money for something I wanted, for the first time I didn’t have money for something I wanted, for not protecting me against life’s harsh realities and having to deal with it before I should have, for me having to go through the concept of not being good enough, for me hating myself and for fuck loads more of other unnecessary disappointments that I have had to put up with. It is expected that I am supposed to be a certain brand of family member, caring, giving, considerate, why the fuck? Just because of blood ties I am expected to keep in touch, reciprocate affection and thoughtfulness. Fuck that! The concept of having a child has been severely warped. People need to look within themselves. Younger people looking to older people to help them, older people looking to younger people to need them, fuck off, is that why I am here, to validate your existence?
Fuck the different degrees of friendships and the need to not so subtly be yourself in it. To preach loyalty and not act accordingly. Murmurs of gripes and difference of opinion. Give me a fucking break. If you want to be there, be there. Don’t fucking fake it, I would rather be alone, jerking off than have to believe that the perception of my quality as a friend is me making myself available to fix your fucking problems. They are your fucking problems. Busy fucking passing comments and thought about how you are better in a plethora of ways that I cant comprehend. Grow the fuck up and deal with your own fucking shit. Realize the short comings you have before you believe you have a stance to look down on me…look down on me, fuck you! Seriously, take ownership of your life, but is it that hard to not be a dick, if it is, then I guess that’s enough detail for me. I am fucking tired of giving the affectionate ear to repetitive stories and dramas, being the understanding, sensitive idiot whilst you don’t give yourself the time it would take to properly process the shit you have going on. Wake the fuck up and smell the java. You aren’t as cool as you think, you aren’t as funny as you think, you aren’t as witty as you think, you aren’t as good looking as you think and sure as fuck, you aren’t as smart as you think…own your own shit. Fucking whining malcontents that refuse to be more than they are. Holes in their perception of friendship and their fucking lives. Don’t judge me when you can’t even identify your fucking deficiencies!
Fuck exes. Seeking random bits of validation and affection. What the fuck for? There was a reason you broke up with me, or I with you. Why do we go through the fucking circus of needing to give the perception that there is genuine care there. If you dumped my sorry ass, why the fuck are you still seeking to keep in touch? The fact that you broke up with me, doesn’t make me any less funny or witty or cool or fun to be with, sorry sweet heart, but this shouldn’t be news to you. Now you want all of the friendship and sincerity but none of the admin, fuck you! And for those that I broke up with, I guess I am the weaker one in that I want to make sure you are ok…I don’t seek validation or affection or random bits of flirty shit from you. More often than not, anything I have done, has been for some sort of warped sense of me bettering myself as a person. If I didn’t want to keep dating you, it must be for fundamental fucking reasons, along the lines of you being full of shit, or a variation there of…leave me the fuck alone. To both sets of exes, what we had, is long since dead, go fuck up someone else’s life. A few key thoughts, say what you mean, do what you say, stop using teeth during head, at some point, an erection needs to be used, I really don’t care about all of the fucking details in your day and the fact that your friends are giving you shit isn’t my fault, don’t fucking project! You having past admin that you didn’t deal with is also not my fucking problem and when you dump a guy, be honest, cos fuck knows, that would help him not want to smack you with a wrench when he sees you on the street. Stop hedging your bets, don’t bother with the perception that anyone is going to judge you for the things you do behind closed doors and at what times in your relationship, it’s just you and your partner. Start with dealing with your fucking baggage. I gave you all of me and you weren’t a first team player. I can only be sorry for that.
Fuck the sanctity of self improvement and the need for me to better myself. To gain control of a life I am not sure why I’m living. To know when to stop, to know when to go on, to want to be more. More of fucking what? Be spiritually centered? Be comfortable with the facets of life that are all in limbo at any one point? Better my vocabulary, my literary reference material so that I can participate in conversations of fuck all importance? Why the fuck do I need to better myself? You fucking better yourself and find your emotional centre…maybe then you would wonder what the fuck its all for when you need to better yourself further still, cos fuck knows, it never ends.
Fuck the perception of ambition. The need to grow my CV. Gain work experience, diversify my finance portfolios, expand my education through distance learning and off site courses. For what reason? To increase my salary band? The only immediate gain being that I get to buy more dvds which in turn leads to me not going out and interacting with fucking people. The need to travel the world? And find more of the same shit but with different accents? Pretty new buildings (to me anyway) with history laced bricks that have fuck all to do with who I am or who I will be? Fuck the perception of ambition and the fact that those that believe they have it are better than those that just don’t give a fuck!
Fuck racial prejudice. Well, for that matter, fuck religious prejudice, fuck class prejudice and fuck homosexual prejudice. Judging someone because they chose differently from you? Fuck you, you short sighted, retarded fuck. Its fuck wits like you that stagnate the human race. Gather some fucking like minded friends, go to a random barn and commit mass suicide. You will not be mourned, you will not be missed. You dumb fucks.
Fuck stereotypical fuckheads that force me to spend hours picking my name off the floor. Based on my skin tone and place of birth I have to spend fucking eons answering questions on how come I’m not like the stereotype or being judged on it without a defense. Fuck the need to fit in and its knock on effect on the concept of every stereotype. Jews are miserly with their money, Muslims are terrorists, blacks are violent and steal, Indians in this fucking country are like those from fucking india and whites are afraid of everything not like them. Fucking idiots that buy into this bullshit should not procreate. But what’s worse, is those of the stereotype, perpetuating it further…Jesus fuck, be your own person. Stop being a fucking sheep for a weekend and maybe, just fucking maybe you may actually figure out what the fuck you want and truly enjoy, as an individual.
Fuck you Zoydberg…fuck the need to feel like a fucking victim. Like you are the only fucking one going through the mass overflow of thoughts and emotions. Fuck the need to be a whining bitch about the things you have the power to change. Fucking retarded complaints about all that is not well and as per your fucking wants, but do you do anything about it, no, just sit on your ass, and vent about how fucked up the world is, as opposed to how you hide behind your apathy…Poke holes in every facet of life and all the things you don’t like for whatever reason, but in the end, nothing changes. You are still in the same fucking hole as before and need to pull your finger out. Fuck you and your self perception of well articulated insight that shields you from yourself…Fuck you Zoydberg…
“We are the middle children of history. No purpose or place. We have no great war, or great depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives.”
“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”
Friday, July 4, 2008
Butterflies and Hurricanes
This post is more of a question than my usual strong opinionated or random rant efforts. What is this Zimbabwean million dollar question you might ask, well, it’s “Am I good luck Chuck?” When one of my closer friends strongly suggest I see this movie (read Good Luck Chuck) I immediately thought it was in reference to my affection for the uberly hot Jessica Alba (who is in the movie). Instead it was his not so subtle suggestion that it was a movie that compared closely to my actual love life. See, the basic theme of Good Luck Chuck, is that every woman that he dated/hooked up with ended up finding the person she would be with for the rest of her life after him. As in, the very next person they were to date was their quasi soul mate/life partner/person that completes them. Now, before anyone thinks that my 25 year old self absorbed, highly insecure existence is thinking about settling down and finding Miss Right, the motivation for this post was due to recently discovered information as well as thoughts of the past.
In Good Luck Chuck, he would date a woman, they would break up with him (or him with them) and the very next person they were to date became their husband. Granted, some of you romantic cynics out there may see this as a curse more than some sort of positive outcome, I however find just it disconcerting.
A little re-cap and historical context. The recently discovered bit of information is that my first ever girlfriend (and only girlfriend in high school, yes, yes, I was the cool, indifferent loser) that I dated for an entire 2 week period, has gotten married. This “relationship” of ours was all of 8 years ago. She started dating her now husband, the very weekend we broke up…THAT WAS 8 YEARS AGO! We lasted 2 weeks, in awkward conversation, some sort of physical attraction (well, I thought she had really blossomed) and she dated him for 8 YEARS! Sounds like no biggy, right? Well, strap in, prepare yourself for quite the ride.
That was in 2000. My next girlfriend of note was in 2003. She, though a harlot and eventual philanderer, was the other part in an awesome month long rollercoaster romance. The tears had barely dried when she began dating someone else. THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER. Even the village bicycle has managed a relationship for the past 5 odd years. Yes, she may have had multiple partners whilst still being with before mentioned dude or been the dismissive disarming princess she was to me (maybe more committed), but they still lasted 5 years. Seriously now, what the fuck?
The other ex from 2003, proceeded to date her next boy for approximately…5 years. Yes, that’s right. Their tumultuous and tempestuous relationship has gone on and on and included at least two engagements. They are still together and nearing engagement number three. We dated for 2 months. She is STILL DATING HIM.
Members of the jury, I now turn your attention to the evidence of 2004. I dated her for almost 5 months. It was interesting, and sometimes really, really good. She started dating someone else a week after we broke up as a quasi revenge offensive. THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER! We, as what I refer to it, extreme dated for 5 volatile months before the dramatic end (in which I ended it because I was tired of being told what a shitty boyfriend I was and met someone else) yet she and her new dude are all systems go and well on the path to marriage. Am I the only one seeing a pattern here?
We are now presented with the reason for above break up, the other relationship of 2004. I ended it and she didn’t take it too well. After a sabbatical from all things relationshipy, she started seeing someone in early 2005, yes, you guessed it…THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER! This is stuff that the greatest romance/thriller/fantasy/conspiracy theory novelists couldn’t come up with, even with guest contributions from Quinton Tarintino and Robert Rodriguez. She was a broken woman after our relationship, yet picked up the pieces and missioned ahead with her new guy. They are well on their way to marriage and aiming to emigrate together.
The drama of 2005 references the ex that actually saw suitors whilst we dated. Though those were decently ominous signs as it was, we dated for a record 6 months. It was generally good, till she validated an ex boyfriend more than me. They hooked up, again, after a 2 year period apart and …no prizes for guessing, they are STILL TOGETHER! I mean, what the hell man? We were good together, it was all rainbows and butterflies, but at the first instance of drama, it was death by conversation. Instead, she works it out with the very person that was a real dick to her during dating and even post dating.
We now get to undoubtedly, my most favorite story. The romantic tragedy of 2006. She was pretty awesome, we were pretty good together, her other personalities showed up and out voted the ones that liked me, that was that. We dated for a Nelson Mandela-prison-sentence rivaling 3 months. She started dating someone half an hour after me and…all together now, THEY ARE STILL FUCKING TOGETHER! We barely had a chance to discuss each others child hoods, favorite colors and other relationship shit yet she and her new man, have emigrated together. What the fuck dudes?
Right, now that the evidence is in, we retire to our chamber to pass judgment. They could have just got on better with the next. The next could have been easier to be with. The next could have been better than me in every way possible. In certain cases, the next may have had more personalities than me and as such, been a better fit. The next could have been wealthier and perhaps have a bigger penis and uber abs. But seriously now…it was like I was bringing a knife to a gun fight, in hindsight.
What do you think? The good people of the public domain. Some of you know me personally. Some even closer than that and some of you have just longed from afar. My best friend ventures the insightful “maybe it’s you dude”. As deep and profound as that may sound, I, a student of people and logic, can’t fathom that such a caveman conclusion fits. And even if it is the final prognosis, what are the symptoms and surely, sweet Jesus, surely there must be some sort of pharmaceutical experimental drug out there to aid my terminal state.
Just a sequence of bad choice, bad luck, bad timing…or deeper issues on one party’s side? As I have articulated before, I’m not that bad looking (have been accused of being handsome by the odd sober woman), I am decently insightful, intelligent, charming and witty. I have a decent job (for those old fashioned retards that factor that into a man’s worthiness); I am good with kids, pets and old people. Moms love me, fathers at least don’t generally hate me and I play well with her friends. What might be the problem?
Am I Good Luck Chuck and to be doomed. Destined to be some sort of lucky charm for women in their quest to find their preferable perfect fit? Resigned to fall, be left or leave and end up alone, whilst everyone else picks up the pieces and makes happy postcard-esqe memories. Sunday afternoon “comfy” sex and romantic weekends away? Fighting over what movie to watch, which shade of tan to paint the living room with and where to holiday? All, only after me?
If that is the burden I bear, the cross that I carry, then pretty please, dear Santa, all I ask, is where the fuck is my Jessica Alba?
“Rather than love, than money, than fairness, give me truth”
In Good Luck Chuck, he would date a woman, they would break up with him (or him with them) and the very next person they were to date became their husband. Granted, some of you romantic cynics out there may see this as a curse more than some sort of positive outcome, I however find just it disconcerting.
A little re-cap and historical context. The recently discovered bit of information is that my first ever girlfriend (and only girlfriend in high school, yes, yes, I was the cool, indifferent loser) that I dated for an entire 2 week period, has gotten married. This “relationship” of ours was all of 8 years ago. She started dating her now husband, the very weekend we broke up…THAT WAS 8 YEARS AGO! We lasted 2 weeks, in awkward conversation, some sort of physical attraction (well, I thought she had really blossomed) and she dated him for 8 YEARS! Sounds like no biggy, right? Well, strap in, prepare yourself for quite the ride.
That was in 2000. My next girlfriend of note was in 2003. She, though a harlot and eventual philanderer, was the other part in an awesome month long rollercoaster romance. The tears had barely dried when she began dating someone else. THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER. Even the village bicycle has managed a relationship for the past 5 odd years. Yes, she may have had multiple partners whilst still being with before mentioned dude or been the dismissive disarming princess she was to me (maybe more committed), but they still lasted 5 years. Seriously now, what the fuck?
The other ex from 2003, proceeded to date her next boy for approximately…5 years. Yes, that’s right. Their tumultuous and tempestuous relationship has gone on and on and included at least two engagements. They are still together and nearing engagement number three. We dated for 2 months. She is STILL DATING HIM.
Members of the jury, I now turn your attention to the evidence of 2004. I dated her for almost 5 months. It was interesting, and sometimes really, really good. She started dating someone else a week after we broke up as a quasi revenge offensive. THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER! We, as what I refer to it, extreme dated for 5 volatile months before the dramatic end (in which I ended it because I was tired of being told what a shitty boyfriend I was and met someone else) yet she and her new dude are all systems go and well on the path to marriage. Am I the only one seeing a pattern here?
We are now presented with the reason for above break up, the other relationship of 2004. I ended it and she didn’t take it too well. After a sabbatical from all things relationshipy, she started seeing someone in early 2005, yes, you guessed it…THEY ARE STILL TOGETHER! This is stuff that the greatest romance/thriller/fantasy/conspiracy theory novelists couldn’t come up with, even with guest contributions from Quinton Tarintino and Robert Rodriguez. She was a broken woman after our relationship, yet picked up the pieces and missioned ahead with her new guy. They are well on their way to marriage and aiming to emigrate together.
The drama of 2005 references the ex that actually saw suitors whilst we dated. Though those were decently ominous signs as it was, we dated for a record 6 months. It was generally good, till she validated an ex boyfriend more than me. They hooked up, again, after a 2 year period apart and …no prizes for guessing, they are STILL TOGETHER! I mean, what the hell man? We were good together, it was all rainbows and butterflies, but at the first instance of drama, it was death by conversation. Instead, she works it out with the very person that was a real dick to her during dating and even post dating.
We now get to undoubtedly, my most favorite story. The romantic tragedy of 2006. She was pretty awesome, we were pretty good together, her other personalities showed up and out voted the ones that liked me, that was that. We dated for a Nelson Mandela-prison-sentence rivaling 3 months. She started dating someone half an hour after me and…all together now, THEY ARE STILL FUCKING TOGETHER! We barely had a chance to discuss each others child hoods, favorite colors and other relationship shit yet she and her new man, have emigrated together. What the fuck dudes?
Right, now that the evidence is in, we retire to our chamber to pass judgment. They could have just got on better with the next. The next could have been easier to be with. The next could have been better than me in every way possible. In certain cases, the next may have had more personalities than me and as such, been a better fit. The next could have been wealthier and perhaps have a bigger penis and uber abs. But seriously now…it was like I was bringing a knife to a gun fight, in hindsight.
What do you think? The good people of the public domain. Some of you know me personally. Some even closer than that and some of you have just longed from afar. My best friend ventures the insightful “maybe it’s you dude”. As deep and profound as that may sound, I, a student of people and logic, can’t fathom that such a caveman conclusion fits. And even if it is the final prognosis, what are the symptoms and surely, sweet Jesus, surely there must be some sort of pharmaceutical experimental drug out there to aid my terminal state.
Just a sequence of bad choice, bad luck, bad timing…or deeper issues on one party’s side? As I have articulated before, I’m not that bad looking (have been accused of being handsome by the odd sober woman), I am decently insightful, intelligent, charming and witty. I have a decent job (for those old fashioned retards that factor that into a man’s worthiness); I am good with kids, pets and old people. Moms love me, fathers at least don’t generally hate me and I play well with her friends. What might be the problem?
Am I Good Luck Chuck and to be doomed. Destined to be some sort of lucky charm for women in their quest to find their preferable perfect fit? Resigned to fall, be left or leave and end up alone, whilst everyone else picks up the pieces and makes happy postcard-esqe memories. Sunday afternoon “comfy” sex and romantic weekends away? Fighting over what movie to watch, which shade of tan to paint the living room with and where to holiday? All, only after me?
If that is the burden I bear, the cross that I carry, then pretty please, dear Santa, all I ask, is where the fuck is my Jessica Alba?
“Rather than love, than money, than fairness, give me truth”
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
For reasons unknown
Right…for the first time in eons, I went out clubbing a week or so back. It was a Friday night and part of the itinerary tied to a friend’s birthday. I am not generally the clubbing type. It’s not that I believe I’m above it, or too old or anything like that. It’s just that I’m over it. Yeah I bob my head to certain dance tracks on the radio here and there and fall into a nostalgic place when my home PC stumbles across old MP3s. But for the better part, the Zoydberg that enjoyed the concept of clubbing is well and truly in hibernation. Safely tucked away from the chaos of hard house, tribal beats and ecstasy filled evenings. I am not like those now non-smokers that chastise the cancer stick now that they have quit…clubbing was cool, just not my fit anymore.
Anyway, I digress. The one thing that always intrigued me about going to clubs (be them the hardcore ones I used to go to or the preppy, tartish efforts in suburbia) was the, as Martin Lawrence’s character once called it “scattered ass”. No disrespect to women, in fact, I have the highest regard for women, but the hootchies that go out, all dolled up, with next to nothing on, putting on a show on the dance floor with “fuck me” looks. It’s almost an audition for a new Brittney/Christina music video. Again, please heed the disclaimer; this is not me painting all women that go to clubs as this brand of female, but definitely, a large, large proportion. As a hot blooded man, with a decent libido, above mentioned hootchies certainly catch the eye and quickly enough accomplish their mission of gaining their fair share of looks from their core targeted demographic.
I can’t, for the life of me understand how such a grave number of women put themselves out like that. It’s almost a true animal planet-esque sighting…”and here we see the 19 year old uber hottie with midriff and severe cleavage showing and micro mini hiked up even further to attain the affection and attention of men she doesn’t even have interest in. Quite the task she has as she battles the massive amount of alcohol she has had, the massive amounts of alcohol they have had as well as her 6 inch heels. ” Again, please don’t get me wrong, ornithology (braces himself for impact from female friends for that one) is one of my favorite past times but the way that the whole thing plays itself out is quite fascinating.
See, I’m no Brad Pitt or Jude Law or Johnny Depp, I don’t have old money or too much of new money and there certainly aren’t washboard abs nor huge penis burdens for me, but I have been ok with the ladies. They seem to like me, though in warped shows of affection and tumultuous endings, but they like me enough to at least stick around for stints of time and don’t mind being seen with me in public. But I have never been able to chat up a woman in a club, properly, or with any sort of suave or swagger. The 4 times that I was successful (there is context, put the pitchforks away) all have their own interesting stories attached.
The first was by accident, she was attractive, uninterested in my come hither looks and couldn’t care less, I left, came back and was going to attempt to hit on her, but found some random drunken guy hitting on her, she found me a slightly more attractive option and said that I was her boyfriend and he was to leave…that catalyzed conversation, and led to high school action…after, and only after, she found out that I was funny, witty and charming.
The second (note, the 2nd, 3rd and 4th were all on cricket tour) was me playing wingman to my mate…he scored her very attractive friend I took her out to eat some hay…was painful, but was for the sake of the Man Code.
The 3rd and 4th was me, not really caring, them noticing that I was part of a cricket squad from natal and returning soon enough, and everyone was decently tipsy to drunk…and that was that…they were more interested in the concept of than the actual person. I am convinced of this.
As the above summaries surmise, none of these cases actually have anything to do with the girl liking me. In fact, it was either due to her getting to know me, or just going with the flow of the context that I was able to put the proverbial points on the scoreboard. Which all just further backs up my age old ethos about myself…”I’m quite attractive once you get to know me”
The thing about me is, that I would, I guess, like to be found attractive for who I am, as that would validate my critiquing of those more superficial than me. Yes, very counterproductive, I know, but still how my warped mind works. That said, I don’t believe I am completely dodgy looking and have had the affection of some attractive girls. That is, however, only because I had the chance to speak to them. You see, a club does not afford someone like me, who puts so much stock in my abilities with my tongue (pun unintended) to err…eventually get to use my abilities with my tongue (pun intended). The music is too loud, the people are too tipsy and unfortunately, it’s more a case of first impressions that works the magic. I have fundamental issues with having to buy a girl a drink in order to buy her time as this infers prostitution (yes, yes, so does the date concept of dinner, movies, etc). The thing about the drink thing is, did you honestly get all dressed up and picture guys walking up to you to buy you drinks in order to flirt with you to get in to your pants? You seriously didn’t expect the man of your dreams to rock up and sweep you off your feet with you wearing hootchie heels and matching skank skirt? What does that say about him…you also could just have been out for a girls night, still looking like above mentioned 2 bit ho? All of this leads to the other fact, of which most of these women are aware and participate in, which is, to have the invisible “open for business” sign up.
The first thing a girl sees of a boy in a club is his looks, then his dancing ability. Both infer so much more about so much more. How he looks , speaks to his actual genetic makeup, his dress sense infers certain things about his taste in clothing and class factor as well as a certain something about the money he has access to. The way he dances infers his comfort with his own body and his confidence levels…all of which is conveyed in 2 simple minutes. Unfortunately, it would appear that most of these women that look attractive and have that sign up, are only looking for the best possible looking guy they can attract with the above mentioned qualities. I unfortunately, base any game I have on my ability to talk…which is nullified by the loud music, by the fact that they clam up already based on how I look (and what that infers) and a perception of what they want , and the fact that I am sober and they sorta aren’t…
To conclude, my excuse for not being able to pick up a girl in a club are because she would have made her mind up before I have even delivered my hilariously funny, witty and charming opening line. And as such, I shall remain on my soap box, cos who wants those uber hot, low moral fiber tarts anyway! Give me a girl with context, for goodness sake!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Straight jacket fashion
These last few weeks I have been spending a lot of time on my own. Awaiting the alone time that the 5 PM bell brought on a Friday afternoon. In this time, I have, as expected by those that may know me, spent most of those evenings watching random movies and comedy shows. Most have not been toilet humor and as such, with some sort of message embedded throughout the running time or at the very end. Random thoughts were provoked about pretty much every facet of my life. My career, friendships, relationships and family. The one particularly random thought that popped up was…”who?” Nope, not whom I would wed, or who I want to become or whom I want to leave my enormous (err…ya) wealth to, but rather, who are the top 5 people I would like to meet…dead, mythical or alive.
I have been blessed in this regard as the combination of my personality and circumstances have afforded me plentiful opportunities to interact with many interesting people. I guess if one of those people was someone that was genuinely kind and generous and selfless, I have already met him; in fact, I had the esteemed pleasure of growing up with him (my middle brother, Doc). If on my list was to meet the most beautiful girl in the world, well, I see them (there are two, equally gorgeous) every week and they shower me with unadulterated affection (my beloved nieces). If it were the funniest person that does not have a commercial contract, well, we email every week or so.
But before this sounds like a mushy ode to my family members or friends, this is in fact a list of people that I think would fascinate me in the entire length of a 3 hour, once off session. It’s a case of where they’ve come from, what they became and how they have intrigued or touched my life.
It is worth articulating, that I don’t read, so that rules out the great authors of our existence. I can’t respect the amazing literary efforts of certain documented geniuses because I just lack context. I’m sorry, and I’m sure that if I had the want or exposure to great pieces of literature, I would definitely have had at least some of them on my list. The same upfront excuse goes for my respect of most great historical figures. Your Churchhills, Napoleans and such….unfortunately, I just don’t know enough to know that I would want to slot them in. I know Napolean was a hobbit and Winny had a drinking problem and it did sound like he was an inspiring character, but ya, not enough to crack the nod, sorry guys…
Right, enough with the foreplay…who makes the grade and why…
Let’s start off with the slightly commercial choices…the first being, Robbin Williams. Yes, Mrs Doubtfire, Mr Keating, Man of the Year. I am sure that most of what he has done from a movie point of view was all a part of the great scripting process by some guy in his basement (or office, based on his success) and not uber improv, but there is something about Robbin Williams that speaks louder than his impersonations. His ability to mimic and quite competently impersonate people, situations and red necks (because they seem to be a category on their own) is entertaining and engaging. But my want to meet him is primarily for some of the roles he has played. No they haven’t been Oscar winning movies and expensive, over the top Hollywood efforts, but the dialogues that he signs up for, speaks volumes of the man. His eyes articulate so much more than the average quasi A list actor and when you couple that with his actual comedic abilities, you can’t help but want to have a sit down with the man and get to know him a little better…if the age old adage of “the eyes are the window to the soul”, then this man certainly is worth delving into, well, my thoughts.
Right, time for the second…yes, yes, it’s a bit of a cliché but its Tiger Woods. The man (a young black one) took the world of golfing (run by old white men) by storm and has remained there for eons. The ability to excel at the level of competition that he has is one of unimaginable heights. The concentration required to unequivocally dominate is truly remarkable. Only Micheal Schumacher, Valentino Rossi and Roger Federrer may have rights to be on that same podium, but even they have such blips on their CV that its questionable. Sportsman of the year a few times over and quickly catching the great Mark Nicklaus (who played till he was 233) are only 2 milestones on his impressive run of world dominance of a sport that requires much more than brute force, supreme physiques and outstanding technological advances. Then there are the typical issues of how he has stood the test of time, fighting the stereotype of being a huge US sports star (with endorsement deals that would solve world hunger) and being black (well, sort of, he has like 5 races in him) and the fact that the sport that he is king of is one of supremely managed concentration. I think Tiger could teach us all a thing or two about how we could apply our minds better in our day to day dealings.
Then there is Mathew Bellamy. The lead singer and guitarist and pianist of Brit band Muse. No, my interest in him is not only that he kicks ass on stage, belting out uber rock songs, but also his appreciation of the ability to improvise. His instrumental talents are spellbinding and to work just one of those instruments would be a dream accomplished for most. I cannot articulate just how talented this man (and his writing skill) is and I’m sure that pound for pound there are only a few others, past or present that would rival his abilities. It’s not just that he can do what he does, but with the ease and grace of someone that is so comfortable and confident with his skill, plus, the music they make is out of this world. His singing style is another not so typical stance on how music should be churned out. Then there is the fact that he is a strong believer of life on other planets and is a champion conspiracy theorist…the making of an interesting meeting, I think so.
And then there were two…Step up Adolf Hitler. Yes, as cruel and insane as his crimes were, from what I know of the Holocaust, this man had the ability to inspire (or brainwash or put fear in) an entire country. To make so many people, probably decent people that would have lived normal, vanilla lives do such horrible things to innocent people, are truly remarkable and must rank him as one of the greatest motivators ever. From what I know, he muscled a few situations but somehow, with whatever techniques, made so many follow his will and more importantly, his vision. Can you even imagine how he must have been with his friends, outside of killing innocent people based on his delusional thought process? Did they sip a beer and discuss how their favorite team was playing without their Jewish midfield playmaker…or did they discuss stuff like how traffic is a bitch if you a working in town? Or how children these days grow up so fast? I mean seriously, what the fuck went on in that psychos mind, bar the retarded concept of purification? I don’t even know where I would go on to, from “Hi Adolf, I’m Zoydberg”…perhaps “So, killing people in really fucked up ways, what’s that like?”
And finally, and if he existed (or not even)…Jesus Christ. Yes, as someone who is agnostic or Religion Light as I like to call it, I question whether JC even existed. I mean, he has this massive worldwide following, had wars fought and blood spilled in his name and is the reason why at least 2 women I have dated did not put out, obviously the man has got some pull. The question of his existence is not under examination here, it’s just that it would be pretty cool to ask him questions related to how things started, that supreme A-hole Judas, and of course, how things turned out since. Again, not a topic I am incredibly well read up on, but from what I know, I think it would definitely make for an interesting Q and A session. We could bounce across these allegations of homosexuality being a straight path to hell (do not pass begin, do not collect R200), we could talk about how faith in him is the only path to heaven (or be faced with Route 666) and we could talk about those 2 women that didn’t put out…I’m thinking the water and wine stuff would come up, and most importantly, is this how he wanted it to turn out (as in was he maybe just spreading the rough teachings of Buddhism), was this his vision of what it was going to be or did people take it and royally fuck it up and how? I guess, I know how I could start the conversation…“So, play any sports when you were a kid, or would that have been unfair in the “My dad” argument?”
“The only thing that we can be sure off, is that we don’t know enough”
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Endlessly
It’s been a long time coming, but I think I have finally accumulated enough (who am I kidding, I was ready to write this in 7th grade) context to write an autobiographical account of my life’s romantic tragedies. Granted, I have previously articulated my thoughts on romance, but purely from a philosophy or “how it should be” or “what I think it should be” sort of view.
We date back to my first ever “dare to be great” moment in which I(grade 7) revealed to my first crush, let’s call her A, that I in fact had this funny feeling in my tummy every time she entered the room and made me lose control of my brain whenever she looked at me and all I wanted to do every time I saw her was to awkwardly kiss those gorgeous lips and hold that soft hand. After all, what did I haveto lose? It was the last day of school and she and I were going to different high schools. How bad could it be right? It would turn out to be a rejection that only I would know about and would not have to face on a day to day basis. WRONG! On revealing this childish, pubescent feeling I was greeted with: “well, Zoydberg, I don’t like you like that. I actually have a huge thing for Random_Boy.” Instead, he wasn’t that random, he was my best friend. I then proceeded to hook them up….every romantic experience since, as John Cusack’s character once said, has been a different version of the same thing….Zoydberg the martyr.
Skip forward a few years to high school…let’s call her B. Smart, witty, God damned attractive and super popular…”Err, B, I have to tell you, that my mother told me never to tell a girl I would move heaven and earth for her, but for you, I would”…”sorry, Zoydberg, I see you as a gay best friend and feel comfortable enough with you to change clothes in front of you, but what’s up with Random_Guy2, he is so hot!” Also, not that I seek such circumstances, but random dude turned out to be new best friend in high school. He didn’t need much help (or quasi permission) to cure her curiosity.
Fast forward a few more years and I start dating the first woman I was to fall in love with, C. Granted, she had a wee bit of a reputation before we hooked up. I however, soon discovered that there was a plethora of awesomeness to her that she needed to realize. I validated her, she proceeded to be philandering and dismissive partner that ensured I owned the title of “broken ex boyfriend”. Christ she looked stunning the day she dumped my ass!
Skip through the puntuatory(yes, just made that up) dates or random hookups and we have documented experiences of dating someone that actually met “suitors” set up by her family(D)… then, super emo who was oh so promising then turned out to have more personalities than a talented ventriloquist (“I love you like a brother”, thank you E), another that was also uber emo and uber promising and didn’t want to broach the issue that despite my best efforts I had her unhappiness on a hair trigger (F), the “I-think-you-rock-and-I-actually-do-want-you-but-we-can’t-be-due-to-insert_reason_here”, G and the made for TV in true Bollywood style, I-think-I-love-you-but-we-can’t-be-together for…err…still figuring that one out…H
Not to leave out the initially promising I, who chose to try to “save me”, be dismissive and judgmental of those less fortunate, then want to shag me to keep me…J, who is smart, uber intelligent, cultured, liked me enough to want to be with me, but not enough to not want to mould me and make damn sure I articulated just how lucky I was to have her…K, whom I had a huuuge crush on, validated her more than her piss poor selection of boyfriends, and on rejection from them (always horribly inebriated, of course, cos she has too much pride otherwise) decides to articulate my awesomeness, before sobering up the next day, in which I was again safely tucked back in the Dawson’s Creek friendship box…Uber posh(and hot) L, who loved spending evenings in with me, but was too chic for such public displays…etc…etc
Before you jump on your horse named High, there is much context to each. There always is. In every single one of these scenarios, be them in cases of me actually getting to date/be with X, Y or Z or merely trying to woo and win them, I have given and given and essentially, been the cavalier romantic fool I have given every impression I am. I’m the one that believes in the Hollywood romance of her getting off the plane after some uber epiphany that I really, really, do rock or the even less likely, her calling me to say she would like to give this a shot because life is too short and to regret is the worst thing in the world.
I continually find myself convincing women to be with me. Trying to get them to see that I am actually attentive, sensitive, insightful, witty, charming, low admin and will make you feel like the most desirable woman on this planet. I remember the small, arbitrary details and glorify the important ones. Yet still, they enjoy the preview but don’t bother buying the season ticket. Dogged by perceptions of who I might actually turn out to be, their own unchecked baggage filled history or just confusion of what they want, I am the loser left with my heart quite literally on my sleeve.
Many quotes come to mind. There are no half martyrs or if you put everyone before you, you eventually end up last or it just wasn’t meant to be, but the one that echoes most eerily is that of you should never have to convince those that already know you.
Despite their best efforts, I choose to remain this terribly optimistic, hopeless romantic. Maybe a re-evaluation of my own worth and a lowering of the “BS acceptance meter” is called for, but if I don’t have the tenacity and lack of fear, who will?
“It’s better to say too much, than never to say what you need to say”
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Citizen Erased
Life has become fairly stable…even good to a certain degree. As I continue to contemplate a career move, I make progress in other facets of my life…one of the notable mentions is that I have seen the almighty Muse live and as such have checked one more on the “To do” list. I haven’t blogged for a while cos I guess; I have been fairly ok with how things are right now…no specific need to vent or articulate frustrations or bitch really.
So, I have been thinking about certain things and the re-watching of the Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind has catalyzed a thought about not playing any exaggerated role in a few peoples lives. My martyrish take on things yet still trying to live out the carpe diem bit sorta conflict one another. This has led to me developing relationships with people whom have expectations of me, be it by action or reaction.
I seriously question whether they would have been better off without the “disappointments” supplied by me. Whilst I am sure, that they would deny this and rather counter my thought process with a decent case of “I would rather have than not”, I doubt they have thought as much about it as I.
Is it too selfish to want people to deal with their own shit or is it actually a very self absorbed thought. I really, really, don’t mind being a pillar or an ear or an audience, whatever the fuck they need at that point, but should they then not realize that they need to deal…in the end?
Whilst I like helping people because I sincerely believe I can sort my own shit out better than most (melancholic bouts included) should they not at some point realize that this is the fucking hand they have been dealt, stop being a fucking victim and move forward with some sort of a game plan, resolution tactic or stop gap scenario?
What I do find is that most of this shit that stirs in the pit of their souls causing this random bout of expectation from me, is in fact, history…stuff from a past. An action that needed more thought than they were willing to offer. A statement that should have been articulated in a more diplomatic manner, a guy that shouldn’t have been nuts after looking so promising, etc…or is that me being self absorbed again.
Seriously, the fucking victim card thing pisses me off. I vent and bitch and in the end I fucking deal with it myself…I try to fix other peoples shit as well as my own. Is it fucking higher grade to realize that you are processing shit on a standard grade level and that hoping that other people will put up their hands to go salvation army on your sorry ass is retarded?
I’m sorry that your life is not rainbows and fucking butterflies, I really am, but it is your shit!
If I had not existed in their lives, not assisted with being that pillar or ear or audience, would they still not have dealt with their shit but also not be disappointed by yet another person in their life?
Honestly, I do wish for world peace, gender equality, the ceasing of animal cruelty, but for fuck sake, can you realize that you are going through either a mildly shitty or completely shitty time and deal? Do not make random, left field requests and believe that all is fucking well and fine when you go of the reservation and even worse, hope for validation when you have your own fucking shit to sort out!
As dumb human beings, we try to validate our existence by wondering about what is the fucking reason….we are fucking animals, here to live, breed and die…the continuation of the fucking species. Yes, we have a greater logic and the continued ability to learn and that alone separates us from a fucking pack of hyenas, but they sort out the fact that they are hungry, that their litters aren’t reaching optimum age or they are lacking fucking water. We just bitch, whine and hope that somefuckinghow our problems will be solved. The way the world looks at us, the way that your job doesn’t fulfill you, the way that life is not working out the way you hoped…sorry, hoped? That would infer that you fucking thought about shit at least once in you life, what is so difficult about doing that again, at least this time, some of the variables have been mitigated. Would any of this be any different if you didn’t know me? Or would some other sad bastard be the one wondering if he could do more?
Seriously, I give decent amounts of me to many people and I do it sincerely. I try my utmost to help others by either just listening or giving advice or even acting on thoughts. When I do that, I don’t expect a fucking Nobel prize, I just want you to realize that there is value in the people around you. In context if I am available to assist you, then that context would define how you handle me. If I wasn’t around, would you deal with your shit anyway or am I just the one that is projecting internally about your fucking problems?
Relationships are all about fucking context…realize and respect the context and the relationship will no doubt flourish. All of this means shit if you are busy non processing your shit with half lies, evasions and fucking innuendos.
I have met a plethora of glorious, super fantastic people that have made-for-Hollywood shitty lives and continue to be dealt shitty cards, but they mission on in a courageous and graceful manner and not hamper other people with wanting solutions or assistance to their sagas. Not only that, they continually give all of who they are, without condition whilst dealing with their own problems…and winning.
Your life is not that bad. You are attractive, you are not that fat, you are smarter and funnier than you think, people do like you and find you interesting, he will accept it and move on, you will find another, you have to hope that you will start to feel better and in the name of Zeus Fuck, do you really think that asking “how can this happen to me” or “how can my life be this shitty?” would have any validity considering how you have treated, judged and manipulated in the past? But then again, maybe if I didn’t exist, you would have come to this conclusion anyway, without one more person that offered disappointments.
Get over it, grow up and as Tim Robbin’s once Andy Dufresne said, “get busy living or get busy dying”…
So, I have been thinking about certain things and the re-watching of the Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind has catalyzed a thought about not playing any exaggerated role in a few peoples lives. My martyrish take on things yet still trying to live out the carpe diem bit sorta conflict one another. This has led to me developing relationships with people whom have expectations of me, be it by action or reaction.
I seriously question whether they would have been better off without the “disappointments” supplied by me. Whilst I am sure, that they would deny this and rather counter my thought process with a decent case of “I would rather have than not”, I doubt they have thought as much about it as I.
Is it too selfish to want people to deal with their own shit or is it actually a very self absorbed thought. I really, really, don’t mind being a pillar or an ear or an audience, whatever the fuck they need at that point, but should they then not realize that they need to deal…in the end?
Whilst I like helping people because I sincerely believe I can sort my own shit out better than most (melancholic bouts included) should they not at some point realize that this is the fucking hand they have been dealt, stop being a fucking victim and move forward with some sort of a game plan, resolution tactic or stop gap scenario?
What I do find is that most of this shit that stirs in the pit of their souls causing this random bout of expectation from me, is in fact, history…stuff from a past. An action that needed more thought than they were willing to offer. A statement that should have been articulated in a more diplomatic manner, a guy that shouldn’t have been nuts after looking so promising, etc…or is that me being self absorbed again.
Seriously, the fucking victim card thing pisses me off. I vent and bitch and in the end I fucking deal with it myself…I try to fix other peoples shit as well as my own. Is it fucking higher grade to realize that you are processing shit on a standard grade level and that hoping that other people will put up their hands to go salvation army on your sorry ass is retarded?
I’m sorry that your life is not rainbows and fucking butterflies, I really am, but it is your shit!
If I had not existed in their lives, not assisted with being that pillar or ear or audience, would they still not have dealt with their shit but also not be disappointed by yet another person in their life?
Honestly, I do wish for world peace, gender equality, the ceasing of animal cruelty, but for fuck sake, can you realize that you are going through either a mildly shitty or completely shitty time and deal? Do not make random, left field requests and believe that all is fucking well and fine when you go of the reservation and even worse, hope for validation when you have your own fucking shit to sort out!
As dumb human beings, we try to validate our existence by wondering about what is the fucking reason….we are fucking animals, here to live, breed and die…the continuation of the fucking species. Yes, we have a greater logic and the continued ability to learn and that alone separates us from a fucking pack of hyenas, but they sort out the fact that they are hungry, that their litters aren’t reaching optimum age or they are lacking fucking water. We just bitch, whine and hope that somefuckinghow our problems will be solved. The way the world looks at us, the way that your job doesn’t fulfill you, the way that life is not working out the way you hoped…sorry, hoped? That would infer that you fucking thought about shit at least once in you life, what is so difficult about doing that again, at least this time, some of the variables have been mitigated. Would any of this be any different if you didn’t know me? Or would some other sad bastard be the one wondering if he could do more?
Seriously, I give decent amounts of me to many people and I do it sincerely. I try my utmost to help others by either just listening or giving advice or even acting on thoughts. When I do that, I don’t expect a fucking Nobel prize, I just want you to realize that there is value in the people around you. In context if I am available to assist you, then that context would define how you handle me. If I wasn’t around, would you deal with your shit anyway or am I just the one that is projecting internally about your fucking problems?
Relationships are all about fucking context…realize and respect the context and the relationship will no doubt flourish. All of this means shit if you are busy non processing your shit with half lies, evasions and fucking innuendos.
I have met a plethora of glorious, super fantastic people that have made-for-Hollywood shitty lives and continue to be dealt shitty cards, but they mission on in a courageous and graceful manner and not hamper other people with wanting solutions or assistance to their sagas. Not only that, they continually give all of who they are, without condition whilst dealing with their own problems…and winning.
Your life is not that bad. You are attractive, you are not that fat, you are smarter and funnier than you think, people do like you and find you interesting, he will accept it and move on, you will find another, you have to hope that you will start to feel better and in the name of Zeus Fuck, do you really think that asking “how can this happen to me” or “how can my life be this shitty?” would have any validity considering how you have treated, judged and manipulated in the past? But then again, maybe if I didn’t exist, you would have come to this conclusion anyway, without one more person that offered disappointments.
Get over it, grow up and as Tim Robbin’s once Andy Dufresne said, “get busy living or get busy dying”…
Sunday, February 17, 2008
In Pieces...
Tagged!
So, this is in a fairly random post and I guess infers that I don’t have anything too insightful or thought provoking to blog about. Should you need some insightful or thought provoking reading, please scroll to earlier posts.
This post is in response to the almighty Golden Beagle and her “tagging” which, if you haven’t read her blog, asks that I share 7 random or weird things about myself. Lucky for you guys, I am self absorbed and am only too happy to continue divulging arbitrary detail about me. These are, of course, the life and times of Pedro Zoydberg.
Here goes:
1) I am reading my first book since 1994 (yes, I didn’t even completely get through my set works in matric)…that book back in ’94 was Animal Farm and I was 11. I guess I will have to get rid of my adage “I don’t read, ever”
2) My first kiss was just before my 17th birthday and my first sexual encounter was shortly after my 21st birthday! My memories of my first kiss is one of me talking and her pulling into me, mid convo! (tongue and saliva were not held back!) and my memories of my first sexual experience was “Good God, is it supposed to be this awkward… please stay up, please stay up, please stay up!”
3) Sort of a follow on from the previous point…I have never climaxed during sex…ever! Since that first faithful day, a few women have found me mildly interesting enough (I wish my friends were there!) to shag me…that said…I have never even remotely been close to climaxing…*sigh*
4) I cry during movies and certain sporting events. That is right, I am a stallion in the prime of my youth (certainly not a “Man’s man” though), but Braveheart, Gladiator, The Notebook, Shaun Pollock retiring, United winning the Champions League in ’99, amongst many, many others have drawn tears…that’s right…I’m a weeper.
5) When I prepare to go out to bat (for cricket), I prepare the left side of me first…don’t know why, but its just this random habit that has popped up…left sock, right sock, left shoe, right shoe, left glove, right glove…I think you get the point
6) I view my life as a movie…and every movie I see or song I hear, contributes to thoughts of whether I would have that bit in my final script/soundtrack (hindsight view of my life, post death) or not…from what songs would fit where (The Shins, Collective Soul, Seether, Coldplay, Lifehouse, etc) to which scenes resemble my life (The Notebook, Love Actually, Legends of the Fall, Fight Club, Garden State,etc)…it is true, movies almost seem more real life than real life does.
7) My very best days (yes, there are a few), are…the day I played at Kingsmead Cricket Ground (the home of cricket in Natal), watched Collective Soul (a bit of a life goal, as the first time they were here, I was broke, studying for exams and a million miles away from seeing them due to other contextual life reasons), paying off my last installment of a R50 000 student loan on a really, really (you have no idea!) shitty salary in 16 months and finally, watching my brother graduate to become a doctor! My very worst day…the day I realized (and yes, I get the inconsistency) that amidst my martyrish one liners and actions, I will never know if I will ever truly be validated…
There you have it…a quick peak behind the curtain.
So, this is in a fairly random post and I guess infers that I don’t have anything too insightful or thought provoking to blog about. Should you need some insightful or thought provoking reading, please scroll to earlier posts.
This post is in response to the almighty Golden Beagle and her “tagging” which, if you haven’t read her blog, asks that I share 7 random or weird things about myself. Lucky for you guys, I am self absorbed and am only too happy to continue divulging arbitrary detail about me. These are, of course, the life and times of Pedro Zoydberg.
Here goes:
1) I am reading my first book since 1994 (yes, I didn’t even completely get through my set works in matric)…that book back in ’94 was Animal Farm and I was 11. I guess I will have to get rid of my adage “I don’t read, ever”
2) My first kiss was just before my 17th birthday and my first sexual encounter was shortly after my 21st birthday! My memories of my first kiss is one of me talking and her pulling into me, mid convo! (tongue and saliva were not held back!) and my memories of my first sexual experience was “Good God, is it supposed to be this awkward… please stay up, please stay up, please stay up!”
3) Sort of a follow on from the previous point…I have never climaxed during sex…ever! Since that first faithful day, a few women have found me mildly interesting enough (I wish my friends were there!) to shag me…that said…I have never even remotely been close to climaxing…*sigh*
4) I cry during movies and certain sporting events. That is right, I am a stallion in the prime of my youth (certainly not a “Man’s man” though), but Braveheart, Gladiator, The Notebook, Shaun Pollock retiring, United winning the Champions League in ’99, amongst many, many others have drawn tears…that’s right…I’m a weeper.
5) When I prepare to go out to bat (for cricket), I prepare the left side of me first…don’t know why, but its just this random habit that has popped up…left sock, right sock, left shoe, right shoe, left glove, right glove…I think you get the point
6) I view my life as a movie…and every movie I see or song I hear, contributes to thoughts of whether I would have that bit in my final script/soundtrack (hindsight view of my life, post death) or not…from what songs would fit where (The Shins, Collective Soul, Seether, Coldplay, Lifehouse, etc) to which scenes resemble my life (The Notebook, Love Actually, Legends of the Fall, Fight Club, Garden State,etc)…it is true, movies almost seem more real life than real life does.
7) My very best days (yes, there are a few), are…the day I played at Kingsmead Cricket Ground (the home of cricket in Natal), watched Collective Soul (a bit of a life goal, as the first time they were here, I was broke, studying for exams and a million miles away from seeing them due to other contextual life reasons), paying off my last installment of a R50 000 student loan on a really, really (you have no idea!) shitty salary in 16 months and finally, watching my brother graduate to become a doctor! My very worst day…the day I realized (and yes, I get the inconsistency) that amidst my martyrish one liners and actions, I will never know if I will ever truly be validated…
There you have it…a quick peak behind the curtain.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Sad Story
Right, to my masses that have been waiting with baited breath for my next post, the time of reckoning (and reading) is here. We first re-visit the plethora of dark, heavy and very emo thoughts that punctuated my last few months…they were all dark, heavy and very emo indeed. I have however overcome a great deal of them. I am pretty sure that a decent amount of the heaviness was exorcised with my decision NOT to go to the UK and rather choosing to seek employment elsewhere in this city. It is to be seen where this process will take me, as it is in its infantile state. But yes, it would appear that I had placed many tonnage on what and where my life would continue…I am happy to say, right here.
Not soon after becoming comfortable with my above decision, Eskom decided to level up and completely and utterly fuck up many things…traffic and fresh coffee being the most important. I am however refusing to be a part of the masses of doom profits that have the opinion that our power dilemma coupled with the impending Zuma reign are the beginnings of an end. I think we will be OK. I think its going to be tough, but as a country, we will come through it…many candles later.
Regarding my funk, well, the birthday was also a huge contributor to the dark cloud of depression that is usually reserved for talented musos, poets and artists. It was then, that with massive surprise that many people that I know made an enormous effort to validate me on this day…most notably, an unnamed, unknown friend/admirer/stalker proceeded to punctuate the day with a “gift hunt” across my employers many campuses. It was interesting, fun and very fulfilling…as of yet, I still have no clue who this wonderful person is and why they went to such great lengths to make me feel not so arbitrary, and I thoroughly appreciate your efforts and only wish I could thank you…however, if you for some really, really sad reason read this blog…THANK YOU!
I had, what turned out to be quite a lovely birthday. To further the amazing race of gift hunting, a surprise birthday dinner was thrown with some of my closest friends and my beloved doc. A great evening was had and further validation felt.
Now, on to the business end of things, as it has appeared to me, that I have over come my temporary funk and moodiness and am back to my self absorbed, self proclaimed inspirational, thought provoking, insight invoking self…
It seems that I know too many people that are oh so comfortable with their own state of vanilla. I’m not saying that its not allowed (as prior posts will tell you, I feel that everyone has full right to this), but to hold on to it, and make it all you have with regards to feelings and experiences is terribly short sighted and severely life limiting. These people that I speak of are interesting, smart, charming, witty and attractive individuals, yet in my opinion, they lack any real desire to enjoy new experiences. They do have hope for these new experiences, but in my opinion are held back by their past, be them bad or good historical knowledge…they either linger on how glorious the past was or how deep the scar was or a good measure of both!
I can’t understand it…for the life of me, I can’t. I am by no means the most interesting person I know, but these people are way more well versed with world knowledge, have their opinions and arguments in check and are just all round fantastic, but, they are chicken shit…building walls upon walls and taking a stand against life itself…it borderline infuriates me with how shamelessly they seek to take the safe haven of constants and not bother too much with the variables of this world and its people. How? How on earth can this be enough…how can such enchanting personalities be happy with such mundane thoughts about certain things so important…?
To put yourself out there, is a very daunting thing, but to live a life protecting yourself from even the joys it offers, is truly criminal. For their sakes and for the people that they will touch, I hope the walls come crumbling down and human reaction/emotion runs free…for the world is a poorer place with such people running in neutral…
“You would say we were just a big mistake, I think its worth making…worth repeating”
And just cos it’s good to feel alive again…
“It’s not the years in your life that matter, but the life in your years”
Not soon after becoming comfortable with my above decision, Eskom decided to level up and completely and utterly fuck up many things…traffic and fresh coffee being the most important. I am however refusing to be a part of the masses of doom profits that have the opinion that our power dilemma coupled with the impending Zuma reign are the beginnings of an end. I think we will be OK. I think its going to be tough, but as a country, we will come through it…many candles later.
Regarding my funk, well, the birthday was also a huge contributor to the dark cloud of depression that is usually reserved for talented musos, poets and artists. It was then, that with massive surprise that many people that I know made an enormous effort to validate me on this day…most notably, an unnamed, unknown friend/admirer/stalker proceeded to punctuate the day with a “gift hunt” across my employers many campuses. It was interesting, fun and very fulfilling…as of yet, I still have no clue who this wonderful person is and why they went to such great lengths to make me feel not so arbitrary, and I thoroughly appreciate your efforts and only wish I could thank you…however, if you for some really, really sad reason read this blog…THANK YOU!
I had, what turned out to be quite a lovely birthday. To further the amazing race of gift hunting, a surprise birthday dinner was thrown with some of my closest friends and my beloved doc. A great evening was had and further validation felt.
Now, on to the business end of things, as it has appeared to me, that I have over come my temporary funk and moodiness and am back to my self absorbed, self proclaimed inspirational, thought provoking, insight invoking self…
It seems that I know too many people that are oh so comfortable with their own state of vanilla. I’m not saying that its not allowed (as prior posts will tell you, I feel that everyone has full right to this), but to hold on to it, and make it all you have with regards to feelings and experiences is terribly short sighted and severely life limiting. These people that I speak of are interesting, smart, charming, witty and attractive individuals, yet in my opinion, they lack any real desire to enjoy new experiences. They do have hope for these new experiences, but in my opinion are held back by their past, be them bad or good historical knowledge…they either linger on how glorious the past was or how deep the scar was or a good measure of both!
I can’t understand it…for the life of me, I can’t. I am by no means the most interesting person I know, but these people are way more well versed with world knowledge, have their opinions and arguments in check and are just all round fantastic, but, they are chicken shit…building walls upon walls and taking a stand against life itself…it borderline infuriates me with how shamelessly they seek to take the safe haven of constants and not bother too much with the variables of this world and its people. How? How on earth can this be enough…how can such enchanting personalities be happy with such mundane thoughts about certain things so important…?
To put yourself out there, is a very daunting thing, but to live a life protecting yourself from even the joys it offers, is truly criminal. For their sakes and for the people that they will touch, I hope the walls come crumbling down and human reaction/emotion runs free…for the world is a poorer place with such people running in neutral…
“You would say we were just a big mistake, I think its worth making…worth repeating”
And just cos it’s good to feel alive again…
“It’s not the years in your life that matter, but the life in your years”
Monday, January 7, 2008
No Surprises
For the first time since I have started working, I have been away from it for 11 days (the most ever) over this most festive of festive seasons…and I felt…numb. Which is a bit of a paradox in itself…but none of that festive cheer bullshit or the feeling of giving or anything really?
My folks were up here, so this time involved juggling my family, mates and the area that needed the most attention, my self. This insomnia ravaged time means that I am spending a decent amount of time in bed, waiting to fall asleep, or even worse yet, waiting for my mind to calm the fuck down enough for me to feel even an inkling of peace…but to little joy.
Before I continue, I have to speak to recent conversations with fellow bloggers that have commented adversely about my blog. I’m sorry, but this is me, for the better part, in any case. I don’t seem inspired enough to write about just about anything. I do however thoroughly enjoy reading your rants on the randomness of life, but fear my cynicism on life at present would just lead to dark reviews of darker movies and enlightening tales of albums that do in fact highlight heart sore and aggravation. Then there is the case for idiot co-workers and recent acquiesces that require acts of violence to kindly shut the fuck up….I really, really don’t fucking care about what you did, ate or experienced!
This Christmas, I spent a decent amount of money out of duty on those close to me, they did however have a greater amount of thought applied to them…more so than usual…the only gift that I hope adds serious value to someone’s life and shows them what they mean to me would be that of a gift to my beloved Doc. You fed my passion, I hope I have contributed to yours, in however insignificant manner.
As I sit awake, on yet another fucking evening, well beyond normal sleeping hours, listening to random dark, morbid music filled with angst, I contemplate writing what a possible suicide note would read, or even better, a self eulogy…I however fear that that would attract the wrong sort of attention from those that read this that know me…everyone just calm down, I’m not going to kill myself…
As my mind tosses and turns trying to wrap itself around a potential expedition to the UK for work and life purposes I find myself deeper in the chaos of my thought than usual. Often the harder thing to do, is nothing, but what sort of answer is that to life’s great quandaries?
Right, back to the Christmas and New Year bit…as the title suggests, it has been par for course. Nothing particularly joyous (bar time with my nieces and nephew) struck nor decent insight into my sense of self. Yes, this is all really heavy and becoming very boring, I’m the last person that needs to hear it, but I just don’t fucking care about the random, arbitrary shit going on at that time of year that people indulge themselves in.
I contemplate if this would have been the last New Year in this country for a bit or if this will become standard issue for the next little while. New Year, did however, once again underline all the usual bullshit of people.
And no, I did not go in with the most morbid of morbid attitudes, I actually was quite neutral to the whole fucking thing…I did enjoy decent laughs, interesting conversation and way too much alcohol, but what the fuck…I could not be an absolute downer for all and sundry…
I had no expectations, hope or agenda attached to this time period, other than to chill out and not concern myself with the rigor of work. Instead I experienced a visit from the ghost of Christmas past, someone close to me experiencing their own turmoil and the standard issue apathy to most else.
Fuck, what I would give for a good nights sleep!
I’m not entirely sure how I am processing shit at this point because it just seems like a plethora of chaos…I do however think the UK thing will probably fall through due to my reservations of my financial standing. Which then infers that one situation in my life would be nearing resolution, but who knows…
My usual “best of the year” music cd compilation also no longer grabs with the same passion it once did and I find myself watching The Legends of the Fall, Fight Club, Donnie Darko, Garden State, Little Miss Sunshine, Closer, Stranger than Fiction and musical DVDs of Nirvana, Keane, Collective Soul and other randoms (30 Seconds to Mars, Panic Channel and The Kooks)….common factors amongst them? Not sure…Tristan is wild at heart, all those around him die and he is tormented by factors of his life; Edward Norton can’t sleep either and decides that anarchy is the route along with creating another personality to handle his deficiencies; Donnie has hallucinations, also becomes an anarchist and eventually dies with a plane engine falling into his room; Zach Braff something or the other accidentally paralyses his mother as a child and his father has him on valium into his mid 20s; Steve Carrel’s Frank failed in his suicide attempt and is roped along on an insightful, dark road trip; Jude Law’s philandering ways are rewarded with loneliness; Will Farrel is faced with his imminent death and then there is the music, with Nirvana in general, being dark and tainted with Kurt’s apathy in their most popular gig just before his death early the following year, Keane’s Bad Dream and Everything Changes contribute, whilst How do you love?, Needs, The Kill, Why Cry and Naïve all play their part too…
Whatever, fuck it…I’m just tired…I guess I’ll shake it off soon enough…here’s to hoping cricket season gets going really soon!
“Pain is the suffering we endure to attain happiness”
My folks were up here, so this time involved juggling my family, mates and the area that needed the most attention, my self. This insomnia ravaged time means that I am spending a decent amount of time in bed, waiting to fall asleep, or even worse yet, waiting for my mind to calm the fuck down enough for me to feel even an inkling of peace…but to little joy.
Before I continue, I have to speak to recent conversations with fellow bloggers that have commented adversely about my blog. I’m sorry, but this is me, for the better part, in any case. I don’t seem inspired enough to write about just about anything. I do however thoroughly enjoy reading your rants on the randomness of life, but fear my cynicism on life at present would just lead to dark reviews of darker movies and enlightening tales of albums that do in fact highlight heart sore and aggravation. Then there is the case for idiot co-workers and recent acquiesces that require acts of violence to kindly shut the fuck up….I really, really don’t fucking care about what you did, ate or experienced!
This Christmas, I spent a decent amount of money out of duty on those close to me, they did however have a greater amount of thought applied to them…more so than usual…the only gift that I hope adds serious value to someone’s life and shows them what they mean to me would be that of a gift to my beloved Doc. You fed my passion, I hope I have contributed to yours, in however insignificant manner.
As I sit awake, on yet another fucking evening, well beyond normal sleeping hours, listening to random dark, morbid music filled with angst, I contemplate writing what a possible suicide note would read, or even better, a self eulogy…I however fear that that would attract the wrong sort of attention from those that read this that know me…everyone just calm down, I’m not going to kill myself…
As my mind tosses and turns trying to wrap itself around a potential expedition to the UK for work and life purposes I find myself deeper in the chaos of my thought than usual. Often the harder thing to do, is nothing, but what sort of answer is that to life’s great quandaries?
Right, back to the Christmas and New Year bit…as the title suggests, it has been par for course. Nothing particularly joyous (bar time with my nieces and nephew) struck nor decent insight into my sense of self. Yes, this is all really heavy and becoming very boring, I’m the last person that needs to hear it, but I just don’t fucking care about the random, arbitrary shit going on at that time of year that people indulge themselves in.
I contemplate if this would have been the last New Year in this country for a bit or if this will become standard issue for the next little while. New Year, did however, once again underline all the usual bullshit of people.
And no, I did not go in with the most morbid of morbid attitudes, I actually was quite neutral to the whole fucking thing…I did enjoy decent laughs, interesting conversation and way too much alcohol, but what the fuck…I could not be an absolute downer for all and sundry…
I had no expectations, hope or agenda attached to this time period, other than to chill out and not concern myself with the rigor of work. Instead I experienced a visit from the ghost of Christmas past, someone close to me experiencing their own turmoil and the standard issue apathy to most else.
Fuck, what I would give for a good nights sleep!
I’m not entirely sure how I am processing shit at this point because it just seems like a plethora of chaos…I do however think the UK thing will probably fall through due to my reservations of my financial standing. Which then infers that one situation in my life would be nearing resolution, but who knows…
My usual “best of the year” music cd compilation also no longer grabs with the same passion it once did and I find myself watching The Legends of the Fall, Fight Club, Donnie Darko, Garden State, Little Miss Sunshine, Closer, Stranger than Fiction and musical DVDs of Nirvana, Keane, Collective Soul and other randoms (30 Seconds to Mars, Panic Channel and The Kooks)….common factors amongst them? Not sure…Tristan is wild at heart, all those around him die and he is tormented by factors of his life; Edward Norton can’t sleep either and decides that anarchy is the route along with creating another personality to handle his deficiencies; Donnie has hallucinations, also becomes an anarchist and eventually dies with a plane engine falling into his room; Zach Braff something or the other accidentally paralyses his mother as a child and his father has him on valium into his mid 20s; Steve Carrel’s Frank failed in his suicide attempt and is roped along on an insightful, dark road trip; Jude Law’s philandering ways are rewarded with loneliness; Will Farrel is faced with his imminent death and then there is the music, with Nirvana in general, being dark and tainted with Kurt’s apathy in their most popular gig just before his death early the following year, Keane’s Bad Dream and Everything Changes contribute, whilst How do you love?, Needs, The Kill, Why Cry and Naïve all play their part too…
Whatever, fuck it…I’m just tired…I guess I’ll shake it off soon enough…here’s to hoping cricket season gets going really soon!
“Pain is the suffering we endure to attain happiness”
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