Just against the wall, a slow rhythm. Something's happening. I wonder who it's for. Stupid grass, so damn finicky.
I know it's mostly my fault. Bombing through dark suburbs at night because I can't stand being seen by those people isn't a healthy impulse. Neither is avoiding people you sort of know because they won't stop crying and wailing about life's injustices. Or maybe it is, I don't know. Which is the point, I guess; I don't know where social standards stop and begin.
I do know I feel like hitting people with no damn perspective.
"Waah, I'm being kicked out because I'm emotionally abusive to other tenants and have a narcissistic streak a mile wide! No, wait, it because my girlfriend is bitch. That's it. Woo, nearly had to think about that, there."
i just want to hurt them all, blood everywhere, flesh
It's confidence, I guess. To know that you're right and strong is attractive. Too bad restraint isn't nearly as useful.
hanging off in useless strips, taste it
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Verbosity
I find myself at a common place: the desire to talk but no real target. That's the whole point of this blog, not to inform but to stew quietly so I don't drive others mad. Perhaps that's the problem. Others are perfectly willing to drown me in World of Warcraft statistics until the letters "D", "P", and "S" lose all meaning, but unwilling to try and hash out my stupid, petty little obsessions because there's no way to grind Confused Ideology 101.
Mostly, I think it's the calmness. Most talking seems so emotional now. I just don't care enough. A while ago I watched a grown adult break down crying because a doctor misspoke some advice and immediately corrected himself, because obviously making a mistake means he doesn't care. Course, she yearned for the days of midwives in the salt of Poland, so whatever. They paint the cows blue to show a woman for marrying, you know.
This weekend was a fine example. Lots of screwed up things going on, but everyone is calm, and it's working out, instead of getting all chewed up by angry people.
Maybe it's just the hissing I don't like. The words come out all sharp when people are angry, screws things up. I can hear it through the walls.
We all need villains and fools, just ask the British.
Mostly, I think it's the calmness. Most talking seems so emotional now. I just don't care enough. A while ago I watched a grown adult break down crying because a doctor misspoke some advice and immediately corrected himself, because obviously making a mistake means he doesn't care. Course, she yearned for the days of midwives in the salt of Poland, so whatever. They paint the cows blue to show a woman for marrying, you know.
This weekend was a fine example. Lots of screwed up things going on, but everyone is calm, and it's working out, instead of getting all chewed up by angry people.
Maybe it's just the hissing I don't like. The words come out all sharp when people are angry, screws things up. I can hear it through the walls.
We all need villains and fools, just ask the British.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Small Talk
I guess it was rude. You're just never calm. Sometimes, I need quiet time to think out loud and eat beef jerky, and these weird tiffs you guys have aren't conductive to not being tweaked out.
Probably would have helped if I didn't hear. I try to sit and mind my own business, but no, everyone has to hear it. If only I didn't need citations.
viruses and flies we aren't special and the great dice roll sixes eventually
Probably would have helped if I didn't hear. I try to sit and mind my own business, but no, everyone has to hear it. If only I didn't need citations.
viruses and flies we aren't special and the great dice roll sixes eventually
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wane
Of course it went away. Heck, those cookies that we're on the doorknob did. Oh well. I should go find a use for that map.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Mood Swing to Stupid
I wish I could say these sudden turns into doubt we're brought about by something significant, but they never are. Yesterday, my new landlord figured out I was having a smoke and threatened to throw me out after a week of living here. From there came, the last 16 hours of sudden despair.
For whatever reason, it all just pissed me off. I'm angry he wasn't directly confrontational, I'm angry I was caught, I was angry that I got angry getting caught. Just a big circle of dumb. Everyone else who lives here strikes me as very...optimistic, I suppose. Still young, or at least younger in mind than me, still somewhat idealistic, still believing in higher powers. They believe 9/11 was an inside job, that they have encountered numerous ghosts, that sort of thing.
And it makes me realize I'm just different from these people. They way they have it arranged, they have a family situation as a way of dealing with the loneliness of being away from home, a situation that seems utterly alien to me. I'm fairly happy chugging away on my own, while they are quite a bit more social. I'm confused and paranoid being around people who want to know me, and they see me as an aloof bastard.
And I suppose that is the crux of it. I feel like a bad or damaged person for not getting it, for being able to read the little rules. I understand courtesy and have contributed to public tasks like the dishes, garbage, that sort of thing, but it will take a long time to get used to the little things, and I have trouble justifying the effort when I am happy doing my own thing.
On reflection, I'm definitely faulty when it comes to social activity. I was raised on a farm and didn't talk to other kids until school, and didn't really have friends until the 7th grade. Sure, I participated in sports and the likes, but I always pretty much just that; a live body to fill in an empty spot on the team.
In the end, all it is was a nic fit and a warning, but I'm still stuck with paranoia and unease, that future conversations will be hollow traps. Untrue, probably, but it just doesn't change the fact I can't stop reading between the lines.
I need to go back to the doctor, see if he can find something for social anxiety. Therapy would be nice, except they have proven themselves hollow. I really hate having this be self-sustaining.
For whatever reason, it all just pissed me off. I'm angry he wasn't directly confrontational, I'm angry I was caught, I was angry that I got angry getting caught. Just a big circle of dumb. Everyone else who lives here strikes me as very...optimistic, I suppose. Still young, or at least younger in mind than me, still somewhat idealistic, still believing in higher powers. They believe 9/11 was an inside job, that they have encountered numerous ghosts, that sort of thing.
And it makes me realize I'm just different from these people. They way they have it arranged, they have a family situation as a way of dealing with the loneliness of being away from home, a situation that seems utterly alien to me. I'm fairly happy chugging away on my own, while they are quite a bit more social. I'm confused and paranoid being around people who want to know me, and they see me as an aloof bastard.
And I suppose that is the crux of it. I feel like a bad or damaged person for not getting it, for being able to read the little rules. I understand courtesy and have contributed to public tasks like the dishes, garbage, that sort of thing, but it will take a long time to get used to the little things, and I have trouble justifying the effort when I am happy doing my own thing.
On reflection, I'm definitely faulty when it comes to social activity. I was raised on a farm and didn't talk to other kids until school, and didn't really have friends until the 7th grade. Sure, I participated in sports and the likes, but I always pretty much just that; a live body to fill in an empty spot on the team.
In the end, all it is was a nic fit and a warning, but I'm still stuck with paranoia and unease, that future conversations will be hollow traps. Untrue, probably, but it just doesn't change the fact I can't stop reading between the lines.
I need to go back to the doctor, see if he can find something for social anxiety. Therapy would be nice, except they have proven themselves hollow. I really hate having this be self-sustaining.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Long Season
Almost through the summer. The question is whether or not this will herald the end of that weird hanging feeling. Still paranoid, still oddly tense. Could just be the warmup before the instituitions spring back to life.
The next month will be on egg shells.
The next month will be on egg shells.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Going Quietly
Got an empty chat window, want to talk, but I don't think I can keep a damn conversation going. It would help if the other end gave a shit, I suppose, but I'm getting good at holding up a one ended conversation at this point. It's tiresome, but I figure I've got a good ten years, maybe even 15 to 20 before that sort of thing gets toxic. Good practice, I suppose, until I bother to develop a personality.
The thing about the anti-depressants wasn't that they suppressed bad feelings and anxieties, they just helped me not care. Now, it's like muscle memory; the act of not caring is down pat, and I can keep repeating it. A steady diet of general store pharmaceuticals helps too, though the weird little shifts in balance are annoying.
It's a good time to not care too. Everything's been going off, like I've been on and on about. It seems like we're at the end of an era, where the thought of empathy for strangers becomes distasteful again, where comfort is temporary, or if it isn't, heavily guarded and very expensive. I suppose every generation is given to thinking this time, this time they are active is the big shit, the time of reckoning where past is discarded and the future takes root. As if things stopped and started and moved towards goals like that.
In the meantime, garbage still needs to be taken out, the frogs are all over the sidewalk, and I don't really want to hoist an AK for some fucking philosophy 101 wank. But it looks like everyone else is sick of trying to do this calmly, just screaming and waiting for shit to fly. Have they seen fighting, or just think it looks cool?
I was hanging out with others they we're able to identify models of assault rifles based of glances. All in movies and games, and all useless. Fights start with rocks, sticks and studded potatoes anyhow.
I'm not sure why I keep this log. No one reads it, and at best it will be used against me. I suppose it's just a record for myself, a far away place to keep thoughts. Hopefully it'll just stay that way. I talk a big game every now and again, but I'm not too keen on living in interesting times. I know I've got nothing coming I don't go for myself, and I think I know that the right way too, not some way that blows away in a stiff breeze.
I like taking the garbage out anyhow. Gives me a chance to sort shit out and lug it away, maybe grab some of the shit that settles around here in the gutters. It's sort of calming. But then, I like a lot of tedious processes. Why trade it for short violence?
The thing about the anti-depressants wasn't that they suppressed bad feelings and anxieties, they just helped me not care. Now, it's like muscle memory; the act of not caring is down pat, and I can keep repeating it. A steady diet of general store pharmaceuticals helps too, though the weird little shifts in balance are annoying.
It's a good time to not care too. Everything's been going off, like I've been on and on about. It seems like we're at the end of an era, where the thought of empathy for strangers becomes distasteful again, where comfort is temporary, or if it isn't, heavily guarded and very expensive. I suppose every generation is given to thinking this time, this time they are active is the big shit, the time of reckoning where past is discarded and the future takes root. As if things stopped and started and moved towards goals like that.
In the meantime, garbage still needs to be taken out, the frogs are all over the sidewalk, and I don't really want to hoist an AK for some fucking philosophy 101 wank. But it looks like everyone else is sick of trying to do this calmly, just screaming and waiting for shit to fly. Have they seen fighting, or just think it looks cool?
I was hanging out with others they we're able to identify models of assault rifles based of glances. All in movies and games, and all useless. Fights start with rocks, sticks and studded potatoes anyhow.
I'm not sure why I keep this log. No one reads it, and at best it will be used against me. I suppose it's just a record for myself, a far away place to keep thoughts. Hopefully it'll just stay that way. I talk a big game every now and again, but I'm not too keen on living in interesting times. I know I've got nothing coming I don't go for myself, and I think I know that the right way too, not some way that blows away in a stiff breeze.
I like taking the garbage out anyhow. Gives me a chance to sort shit out and lug it away, maybe grab some of the shit that settles around here in the gutters. It's sort of calming. But then, I like a lot of tedious processes. Why trade it for short violence?
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