Just to start out, and consider this a warning – the weekend was great, the week; fuck me sideways.
I’m hopped up on anti-flu meds and have had a tide of feelings which I will go into this post. This is not a happy post; you will find no smile nor giggle here, much less anything resembling a joke.
And the reason is simple. For the past few years I had a theory – at the core of every joke is a sad miserable moment. And the funnier the joke, the more miserable it’s origin. One day this experience would make a joke that will rival one of Robin William’s creations – but not today. Today it’s the raw catharsis of trying to figure out just what is wrong with me.
Back in 2011, just when I started writing I made a vow to myself that I would sacrifice everything to devote all of my energy into one purpose – writing. As such I rejected party invitations, dates, anything that could distract me from my sole purpose. Back then it was so simple, and I suppose very little has changed now. I look out side the window and all I see are solved puzzles and boring shit. there is absolutely nothing that interests me in this country, with these people. But in the end the English saying is true: no man is an island.
the best I got was a peninsula.
I do have friends, albeit few in numbers. very few. I find that the ones who stick with you through shit are the ones that matter most.
And herein lies my conundrum: you’ve heard people say that they feel lonely in a room full of people. My case is somewhat similar. I don’t know whether it’s because I’m a male, and we can’t get a fucking clue, or perhaps because I opened the doors on perception to my creative mind, wondering the vast cosmos with my brain waves: the point is that because I see things differently than others, I find it hard to connect with them. And they can smell it. the questions then ensue: “You OK?” and what the fuck are you gonna reply:
“Sorry. I zoned out during the last five minutes of whatever crap you were saying because I was too busy figuring out why your lip curls the way it does whenever you speak her name or why your pupils dilate at certain times when you face my direction? Is it because I’m somewhat indirectly responsible for the thing she did to you which you’re bitching about? Is it the way the bellboy looked at you that you associated with something unpleasant? Do you maybe wanna fuck him? Oh wow, good for you. That will do swell for an emotional rebound, which is exactly what you need, because quite frankly, I have not idea what to tell you or how to console you. Or perhaps that look is of disappointment – maybe it’s something I said and you have taken heart to, perhaps you were throwing yourself at me and I blatantly dismissed it as ‘liberal’ action? Or maybe you’re trying to tell me something, some sort of subtext which you wish me to decode but is too painful for you to speak out in plain fucking English?”
Now imagine that little rundown for every word you tell me and every gesture you make. Imagine if we are a group of ten and each member has 9 different reactions to the other. that’s at least 81 different possibilities in my head. Also, try doing this over Facebook chat and then tell if you start bleeding from your eyes and nose.
This is why I don’t go out. this is why I refuse to leave the house or go anywhere that’s too far from my street. this is why I refuse to look at you and instead tap away at my phone. It’s not a question of loneliness or being insecure – it just too overwhelming.
I don’t know what this is but it feels like crap. This ain’t like Sherlock Holmes, where your mind is focused on just the rational facts. I am still attuned to emotions and can still feel them, just like any other person. Emotions and humanity are linked in a symbiotic way after all. For me, it’s like that feeling of knowing that you’re sinking deeper and deeper, and yet everything you try, every branch you try to grab turns out the be either dead or a live snake (Indiana Jones reference). So when I say something and deep down I know it’s no good, and when you look at me like that, I know something is wrong. I just can’t compute a solution or a cause for that matter.
And this bdw is just your normal everyday friends meet up to go grab a beer type of situation. There is very little emotional bond here unless I’m missing quite a lot. Don’t get me wrong – I’d take a bullet for my friends. I’m just not gonna tolerate any crying afterwards. So here’s a nice scenario to picture: I’ve been single for a couple of years now and unlike some people I hang out with, I’m perfectly comfortable in isolation. So imagine if you will, if some young lady were to come over and speak to me, or maybe even ask me out?
How insane would that be? Can you imagine just how my rotations the typhoon inside my brain would do? I’m pretty sure there will be portions of my frontal cortex which would fold over themselves like a house of cards and my temporal lobe would just implode (hey that rhymed). First off, even if I could get around someone begin attracted to me (highly unlikely), what kind of a person would torture themselves into listening to me for more than 10 seconds before running away screaming? It would seem clear to me by now that the brain-trust that created this blog, as well as my Professional work (click on the ‘Legacy Series’ tab on this site) has no business interacting with the rest of society.
Perhaps it’s my destiny you know? To end at tortured soul (maybe Oscar Wilde), to become one of those people who tell really good stories and really funny jokes but when they look deep enough in the corners of their mind, there is a small child sitting in the corner crying for a hug.
by the way, all of this crap that I just said – It’s all in my head. By no means does it apply to anything or anyone. I could emerge a week from now, be all smiles and sunshine, typing away at how awesome life is and how I feel loved and amazing. Perhaps this is all true and I haven’t seen it yet. What am I, smart?
Oh and for those of you who read this and thought ‘he’s doing all of this for publicity’ – go fuck yourselves you cunts.
Actually no, you are not cunts. You clearly have neither the depth nor capacity to please.
I doubt anyone in my publishing house will read this (maybe a few) and I’m not even sure my manager even follows my blog. This is a diary for me, where I get to spew out whatever’s in my mind so that when it comes down to business, I do a good fucking job.
Moral of the story: a blog post is cheaper than therapy.
Now, I have rambled on and on about this and I think it’s time for me to leave. However I would like to end this with a poem I wrote. A good friend of mine got me into poetry when I was sixteen and I was shit at it. I still am but I had this one checked by the talented Shannon Thompson who kindly reviewed it. Her response took me completely by surprise when she said it was OK, rather than “Burn it. Burn it now!!”
So here it is. Judge me; fucking judge me.
The feeling of lost
But in a crowd
The cry of despair
But no aloud
A shout of elation
That’s a bout
When all is South
And being alone
That’s not the start
You’re just laughing
Your words are smart
There’s a hollowness
You cannot hide
They slowly move
From your side
The time is crucial
Are you just tired
Or are you a mess
Your answer’s strong
The voice is true
‘No, it’s all fine
And how are you?’
The moment’s passed
It’s now sublime
Lost in your head
In space and time
But you’re not alone
You never are
The distant echoes
Are never far
I turn to them
For some mending
The voices, I know