I feel like I should buy a helmet. And wear it. A lot.
So, let me just check to see if I have this right: zombie apocalypse, nuclear winter, polar shift, and now, taking me completely unawares, comes the theory where we're flung into outer space. Self-fulfilling prophecy is a real thing, people. See the patterns. Try to fight the programming. We can be more than animals. Gas mask, solar flashlight, and now a padded ceiling. What psychological damage is being done by all this thinking? It's not healthy.
In The Fisher King Jeff Bridges asks the crazy guy sitting on his lap, "Did you lose your mind all of a sudden or was it a gradual process?" The answer takes us nowhere.
Slllllllowly trudging our way forward. Avoiding phone calls. Knowing what happens next. Sick of being right. I mean, come on. Geez...
I don't know. I can't sleep. I still feel off. Very little makes sense.
And here's why the ending of Mass Effect 3 made no god damn sense at all: there's no fucking way Joker and the rest of the Normandy crew, upon seeing the imminent destruction of the Citadel, would take their opportunity to jump however many light years away, leaving Sheperd behind. And another thing! If you set up the entire premise of a trilogy based on your enemy being unstoppable, unfeeling giant monster robots from space, don't throw in a whole other conflict at the very end that only existed peripherally through the rest of the series. Synthetics vs. Organics was not what I carried away from all my talks with Legion, Tali, Kasumi, EDI and all the others.
Yeah, that was disappointing. Glad they're changing it. Woosh. Laser. Kapow. This isn't difficult fellas. Bioshock's ending took a year off my life despite how stupid the boss battle was. It can be done.
Just an all-around feeling of disappointment. In people. In pursuits. In dreams. I had a dream the other night where my stomach was punctured like a balloon and started draining acid everywhere. That probably means success in business or something.
Maybe my body is not letting me sleep for a reason. Don't sleep. Dawn is too near.
Shit keeps happening and it won't stop. Plus I have a lot of really funny observations and the dog just looks at me. I think sarcasm may be beneath him. So far the largest anvils have yet to fall on me. And virga is the term for when rain or snow evaporates before hitting the ground. Seemed appropriate.
Very tired. Very annoyed with everything. I wish I wasn't but there we are.
In my closet, there's about a quarter of a wall covered with post-its, all covering different things I want to include in this book thing. They're even color-coded by importance and category. Me. Color-coding. Still establishing characters' quirks and wrinkles. Movie night is now a bi-weekly fixture after only minimal nagging and I don't even have to bring the food next week. This week it's 'Joe Vs The Volcano' and BLT's. We have no theme. I'm finally making progress beating that effing Sigur Ros song on Rocksmith which means my guitar skills are improving. Maybe an acoustic is better to learn on than electric? I don't know but it sure is working. Cooking is by far the biggest struggle. That and going out. I don't know why. My level of respect for chefs, though, has grown considerably. The upgrade from bologna and cheese to deli meat and cheese and lettuce and tomato and turkey bacon and Dijon mustard is pleasantly jarring. The house rebuilding is well on its way. Today (this moment) I want to live in a place that's completely my own. It's either that or aimless wandering and while that appeals to me unimaginably well the practical side keeps reminding me just what a pain that would be to actually live. Not that I can't escape at any given moment if I change my mind. I freaking hate exercising but I'm doing my best to keep up with it. My legs were so sore one day, Dexter pulled me down a hill during a walk. I laid there and smoked a cigarette. It was a nice day. There have been a lot of those recently. There is progress being made. There is art decorating the walls. There is ample seating. There is surround sound. There is music. There are books. There is wine and the correct types of glasses to drink it out of. Not to mention the Patriots lost.
No, that can't be right. There has to be something wrong. There's got to be.
I wrote that last night. This morning I found out my uncle had a heart attack and no one told me. And then my dad asked me for $10000. There's the rub. What is wrong with these people? I'm starting to realize that none of my family really helps me, except with a few bucks in times of need. Never asked for 10 grand, though. This is what happens when you start assessing if things are good.
All this because of a windy day. Fucking hell. It reminds me of a line from High Fidelity: "John Dillinger was killed behind that theater in a hail of FBI gunfire. And do you know who tipped them off? His fucking girlfriend. All he wanted to do was go to the movies."
I can feel those eyes opening in the back of my head.
None of the colors were correct this morning. I believe I'll stay in.
I'm in a documentary mood today. We started with "Kill Your Idols", which was about how punk music in the past relates to early 2000's music. They didn't call it punk and sneered at the mention of The Ramones but, in the end, everyone was just trying to do their thing bc that's what they liked to do. The old-timers were upset they weren't original enough or maybe just because the new kids didn't sound like they did...which was fucking nuts. Although I liked it. Most of it. Amazingly, I already knew "Teenage Jesus & The Jerks" but none of the other ones. Well, except for the "Yeah Yeah Yeahs" but I'm not sure they belonged there. One of those "Goo Goo Dolls/Sex Maggots" stories.
Next was "The Cove". Effective but not affecting. I don't know. Maybe I'm desensitized. Basically, a lot of dolphins were being killed by this small group in Japan and the doc was about the guys who tried to get footage of it. I'm always torn in these instances. Especially when it's the filmmaker putting himself in the documentary. On the one hand, yeah he's working hard to get the message out but...there's DVD sales to consider, that's all I'm saying. Maybe not in this case. Maybe he gave all the profits to some dolphin charity, I don't know, I haven't done my research. But in the overall...
Now I'm rewatching "Food, Inc.". I'm always struck by the part about corn. And then I think about how, if we stopped eating cows, the methane percentage in the air would skyrocket from all of their shit. God, that's not cynical at all. Get a grip. That's right, breathe and continue. Maybe these aren't the best background noise to a semi-comedic literary undertaking. I say semi-comedic because it all derives from truth, but arranged in a colorful way. Better than a quote book, worse than a movie. But life is long.
Oh, and I watched two others last night: "Gonzo" about Hunter S. Thompson and "Exit Through The Gift Shop" about...well, it's supposedly about the "underground" art scene but really it's about this idiot. Or at least that's the way he comes across and is portrayed. I know it's incredibly easy to criticize but I hate it. I hate how people who are doing something, if not original then original to them, are always always exploited by the idiot who's better at marketing. I had an argument once with (sigh) let's call him an artiste (strong strong emphasis on the e) about the motivation behind street artists' work. My view is that it's all advertising. They want to be noticed for their work and not for who they are. But they still want to sell. Not sell out, just sell. Who the fuck doesn't? We all gotta...geez, that meat looks gross...sorry, still on "Food Inc". Anyway, his argument was it's all noble and only about the work and blah blah blah, forgetting (conveniently) the fact that we had just come from a gallery where his work was hanging, big ol' pricetag at the bottom. Fish gotta swim, birds gotta eat. Don't forget it.
Tonight, I eat dinner with the family. Can't wait to see what happens when the check comes around. So fucking mundane. Yesterday I was at a party in a closet tripping on salvia. I saw my whole life laid out in front of me like a movie and everything is gonna be freaking awesome. Then we played "You Don't Know Jack" between 4 people and 2 controllers. There, am I social now? "So glad to see you out and about" they say. If only they knew. The city is no place to survive for those of us with addictive personalities. Feels like I have a hangover even on the days when I'm sober. I'm going to start updating my every location and meal to facebook, see if that shuts them up. If only people weren't so awful, says the recluse.
A lot of fear and loathing all around. Still, though, generally optimistic...
(as the bombs fell)
A road trip. This time I, with the help of my trusty sidekick, Jesus, will find the American dream...at some point in the near future. Coming soon. Under construction. To be continued. Seriously.
A new year and it seems I'm slowly adjusting to this new world/body/mind. The only problem with it all is that I'm the narrator and, while I'm stuck with him, it does mean that often there are these long, uninterrupted breaks of dialogue where I'm arguing with myself over what I've just said. And, just like the idiot hero, managing to say the last line of the argument out loud. Usually an "I'm sorry" or "For the love of..." confusing any within earshot. Because, oh yes, this happens in public now, too, which I'd like to think looks more like a romantic comedy but probably comes across as more survival horror. I don't make these rules but god do I try to live by them.
Sean Bean has just walked into the room. He stands in the only shaft of sunlight. He's got such a great voice. And I wish I had his hair.
Sorry, I'm in the middle of this movie called "Black Death". It's about the plague but I'm pretty sure they're going to have to kill something or take something from one place to the other. Your basic B-movie/video game logic. Holy shit, was that Ray Winstone? He's worked with Scorcese!
...IMDB says I'm a liar. And I can live with that. The men on screen are off to fight a demon. God, I'd love to have something like that to do. But I have no demons, dragons, spirits, or any other malevolent beastie I need to slay. Other than this...I don't want to call it anything, because then it becomes that and if you call it a book, well then just go ahead and blow my head off right now. Because there's no way that that is a viable way to live or do anything else, really. Absolution. Many words have more than one meaning. I'll tell you it's strange being back in this city where I have done nothing but misbehave. And now it's 2012. Wouldn't it be nice to have a woman to misbehave and have adventures with? We can't have it all. Yet. One morning, I'll wake up and it'll all be bananas and strawberries and I won't even be able to connect the dots from here to there.
Just keep going and don't listen to the naysayers. We begin over and over again. It's all wits, skill and how much luck on any given day. And any and everything with a happy ending to get you through the shitty parts. No new information. No definite plans. A ship but no star to steer her by. My default position.
Funny how often it is that I'll have written an entire entry, then it erases for absolutely no reason at all...I'm starting to suspect a pattern here...
I get bogged down in my own problems. I can either let them turn into 'neuroses' or deal with them, try to be a better person, and, oh I don't know, attempt to be happy. Maybe have the tiniest bit of fun. Not be so...usual. Imagine what kind of tedium life would become if you stopped being able to surprise yourself.
There was a part in here (let's call it draft 1) about needing to find a place to belong and someone to share it with but....well, it was kind of obvious. So instead, I'm going to post my favorite moment of any game I've played this year. And my driving is about the same.
I need to get out more. Looking outside of my universe puts it all in perspective. Yeah, let's try happy for awhile. See how that goes.
If this were a video, I know exactly what I'd do: we'd start with a white background, after a couple of beats, my head would poke out from the left side to stare straight out at the screen, then duck back in again. Another beat and you'd see my head again, only this time much more cautious. I'd step out into the middle of the screen, constantly checking my surroundings, like a wild animal before taking a drink from the lake. Then, once I was sure I was safe, a few quick turns to look behind me, I'd straighten myself up, dust off my arms and start with something like:
WHAT THE HELL?!?
Who expects their house to burn down? Then, since I am obviously so brilliant, to then lose it and scream at my family I didn't give a shit what they thought because I felt monumentally disrespected and subsequently getting fired for it? Oh and let's not forget about the other fights that have come out of nowhere the past couple of months. It's not supernatural, I'm on edge and less inclined to deal with the bullshit that I usually just bitch about on my oh-so-productive-and-relevant blog. Doesn't make me a hero or, for that matter, not an asshole. The only sense in which I'm a victim is in the fact that I've lost my house and virtually every single thing I've ever owned other than some clothes, my dog, and a dream journal.
Since then, other than the human drama that I allowed myself to get sucked into, it's been shopping and isolation. When I go out it's always by myself b/c I just know I'm going to say something to someone that I like and it's just going to get me into trouble. I'd much rather stay here, play xbox or read a book, meaning I'm assured a somewhat pleasant day, than run the risk of disappointing another person's self-imposed expectations of me and what I should be thinking. If nothing else, this whole experience has shown me that I am different. The only time I really let go was when I yelled at my mother and her husband/my ex-boss, and that was only because the anger made it slip out. I'm finished with the bullshit, I'm done, and you can keep it.
But this isn't a video and I'm not the person who wrote the rest of this thing anymore. I use too many words to say what I mean. I don't think I'm destined for anything typical. I also don't want it that way. I'm trying to decide what kind of life I want to lead from this point but the one I want keeps getting further away. A life where there are people who are genuinely interested rather than just looking to fill some part of themselves that I somehow speak to. So instead I can do...what?
If you had the means and the wherewithal to start a new life wherever you wanted, no matter what that life would be, wouldn't you at least want someone there who actually cared about you, who's sole desire in sticking around was to find out what happens to you? Otherwise, what's the point? At this point, all anyone would have to do is say "let's go" and I would be booking the next flight.
I guess I'm still just as emo and depressing. None of my stories seem to end with a happy ending anymore.
Do I really rebuild a brand new house exactly the way I want, even though I no longer have a job to pay for it? Do I run away to the ends of the earth, forsaking everything that's come before, to start a new life? Do I do something less selfish, join the peace corps? Fund a start-up? Piss it all away? All of these questions are really just incidental. You know what the biggest question is? The one that makes me lie awake constantly, terrified that I can't think of an answer?
There was that time I bought a house. But then it burned down.
Thursday was beautiful, Friday had its charms (for sure), Saturday I was in a bouncy house with a 2-year-old and Sunday I was evacuating. Tomorrow should be interesting. It's not confirmed yet but it's pretty certain. I'm okay with losing everything I own; I got the things that really, truly matter. Just another random situation I will handle.
I wish I felt more distraught but I only feel like laughing. Or is that denial?
*sigh* It just keeps getting weirder.
Day 2
I am exhausted.
It's been up and down all day long. I get hope from one source and another destroys it. I look at a map that shows my home out of the danger zone, then I see a reporter standing on a street in my neighborhood amongst cinders.
I love my friends so much but nothing anyone's saying is helping. But what could they say?
I can tell you what they shouldn't say: the things my parents are. What car they're going to buy next or where their next vacation is going to be. Must be nice. They're devastated over an unfinished home they hadn't even begun to move into yet. And I have no home. Maybe I never did. Maybe it was just a hunk of wood with my stuff in it. I tell myself that this is just their way of dealing. But then I tell myself that their way of dealing is awful and selfish.
And then to get yelled at for forgetting papers like my birth certificate. I have used that exactly zero times and isn't it on a fucking hard drive somewhere? Will I no longer own my car because I forgot the lease? Will I not get insurance because I left the property info behind? Could I please not get admonished for one fucking day? And we're all going to work tomorrow like it's going to be so easy to focus on some rich fuck's tri-level fucking swimming pool design.
Day 2, stage 2...anger. Fuck them anyway. I wish I was a fucking tree.
I imagine myself back there. Over and over again. Day in and day out. Innocuous little details that seem to mean nothing. The air the next day feeling crisp and cool in scalding hot temperatures. The image of you standing there, the water reflecting the sky, like you were hovering in the air. In pajamas. How the light didn't seem to scatter quite right that morning and continues to hit my eyes in a way that's different than a week ago. The world became calmer and more chaotic at the same time. A beautiful contradiction.
I remember parting the blinds ever so slightly earlier in the day. That's why there was moonlight to see you. I was going to shave, too, before I fell asleep, but then you said you were coming and I decided not to, thinking, stupidly, that it would make a difference. The smile, the breath, the softness. Most of all, your smell. The surprise was worth every shitty moment of my life that came before and led up to it.
I'm an idiot. I'm crazy. I have absolutely no right typing any of this.
I think, "Here I go again. Everything they say is correct. I am completely, utterly predictable." But I hear the words come from you and somehow they're comforting. Then I think, "Maybe." And in what kind of cruel world would I be able to think that without it being possible?
These spam comments are really starting to piss me off. It's one thing to spam a blog but to use such terrible grammar? Unforgivable.
You know what else is unforgivable? Netflix not acknowledging the existence of "A Muppet Christmas Carol". I feel like I'm in "1984" every time I look at the Muppet filmography on your page, Netflix, seriously. How could you not have possibly the best Muppet movie ever made? I'm just saying.
July is finally, finally over and it never seemed so strange. Human beings: what a concept. No matter what I say to the ones I'm related to, I invariably piss somebody off (usually the same person). No matter what I say to the ones who have the option to never speak to me again, they just seem to love me more. Needless to say, not feeling a lot of love from the family at the moment. I don't remember who said most men lead lives of quiet desperation but I have been anything but quiet. The things that were taking up my whole view just four weeks ago, I barely think about now; we're onto this whole new set of problems. I don't know if I came up with this, probably not, but I once said, "If I was in charge, we'd have none of these problems... we'd have different, way worse ones." I really need to stop watching the news. It makes me hate everyone even more than I already do.
I feel my thoughts jumping around from one thing to the next. I can't focus on anything. It's like being in the middle of a storm and trying to watch television, you only catch bits and pieces so is it even worth trying to watch it at all? Which is like me saying it's better to not focus on the jumbled thoughts and just sit around waiting for something to happen, which is utterly ridiculous.
I want something to care about. I know I could. I have. It's just there's so many other things taking up space and it just seems to be building and building and pushing me in a direction that I'm not even sure that I want to go. But when you owe someone something, you do your best to balance the books and hope that one day you'll have paid down the interest. But I know that I only feel that way now. That's what's great about being an adult; you have the long view. A kid pitches a fit because he can't have a candy bar and it's the end of the world because he doesn't know if he'll ever get a chance to get that candy bar again. It is the only, last, best candy bar in the whole world. That's kind of how I feel about this new situation. Do I wait for my chance? Or do I throw caution to the wind and just go for it? My style falls mainly in line with the latter and, while I do have a great many stories I can tell as a result of it, nothing every really came of it, obviously, since I'm sitting here doing the same thing I've been doing for god knows how many months now. This is that twilight moment in human drama where you have absolutely no idea what to do...until whatever's supposed to happen does anyway.
