What a horrible week, in my horrible month. Even my normally indestructible outdoor countenance is taking a beating this time round. Very dark times, not least politically, with Julian imprisoned and demonised and WikiLeaks struggling, the loathsome Tories shafting every vulnerable part of our society with all the finesse an Eton schoolboy can muster,it's not sounding cheerful.
Of course I can't get out of this bloodstained arsehole of a country either, thanks to my comittments and responsibilities and that it Not Good. I suppose people like the EDL and the Tories should be opposed and I should stay and fight the good fight and all that, jolly good fwah fwah fwah.
Ugh.
Sometimes I would give a lot to live on a landmass so immense there were patches where you could just sort your own politics, but that's just idealism, because no matter how peaceful and well run your ideas are there will be people who come and seek to destroy the walls of your little world, and then all the peaceful ideals you try to live by have to postponed as you defend yourself, or you get ripped to bits over and over again. Don't I know it.
Ben very open with people this week. More so than normal, even, and learnt some stuff about other people, which has ended violently internally, if I'm honest and left parts of me dead, dying or critically wounded. But it's led to an epiphany that I've had before, but is always a shock when I realise it again. I'm living my own hated cliches and it's infuriating going through the motions when I could be alive, passionate and sparkling. Well, maybe not sparkling. I tend to stick to matt black, after all. I'm so faded at the moment. Poor Spook is getting the brunt of it too, as he is here most he gets my sullenness and boredom and I think it probably gets to him more than he lets on. I need to go away somewhere or just get myself straight somehow, but I've not got the time, I've got work next week and then Christmas. Maybe I can persuade it to rest for a couple of weeks.Hate December.
Monday, 13 December 2010
Monday, 6 December 2010
December
The month of dark realisation. Of darkness and misery. Of helplessness, hopelessness, and need. I'd hate it if the frost on the trees wasn't so beautiful. I lose so much every December, be it blood or friends or trust, I can't seem to evade its spiked white needles in my brain. People get festive. People...bake, and have trees and sparkly things.
I try all that too, but my fastive traditions seem to run more along the lies of lashing out and alienating people, drowning my sorrows so successfully that they become marinated, or dripping the red stuff all over my clothes. Not particularly festive, and I can't understand why. I've always had big extravagant family Christmas's and presents and things...maybe seasonal Affective Dohicky has a degree of it but I don't know what else.
I notice things more. Maybe it's that. Maybe it's the realisation of how many lies I live, how many smiles I fake, and how many pretenders I know, and I do know you. The liklihood of you reading this is stupidly low, but I won't dignify you with your names. I try not to think of you often. You don't think of me, after all.
Maybe it's the knowledge that no one ever feels about me how I feel about them.
Maybe it's the knowledge of the idiocy of my idealism as the dead months take their casualties, the unfortunate become the dead, freezing on the shopfronts, thinking warm thoughts to try and get through the icy nights.
Maybe it's the children who get beatings for Christmas, the poor, tiny little souls that are tainted, deformed or ripped away in a haze of alcohol and hatred.
Maybe it's simply people and their stupidity. The ignorance displayed at every second of every day with all the blind confidence of a true moron.
Maybe it's the waste I've made of my life.
Who knows! The point being, I can't modulate my own mood in December, and I've started offending people with my whip tongue. Again.
I try all that too, but my fastive traditions seem to run more along the lies of lashing out and alienating people, drowning my sorrows so successfully that they become marinated, or dripping the red stuff all over my clothes. Not particularly festive, and I can't understand why. I've always had big extravagant family Christmas's and presents and things...maybe seasonal Affective Dohicky has a degree of it but I don't know what else.
I notice things more. Maybe it's that. Maybe it's the realisation of how many lies I live, how many smiles I fake, and how many pretenders I know, and I do know you. The liklihood of you reading this is stupidly low, but I won't dignify you with your names. I try not to think of you often. You don't think of me, after all.
Maybe it's the knowledge that no one ever feels about me how I feel about them.
Maybe it's the knowledge of the idiocy of my idealism as the dead months take their casualties, the unfortunate become the dead, freezing on the shopfronts, thinking warm thoughts to try and get through the icy nights.
Maybe it's the children who get beatings for Christmas, the poor, tiny little souls that are tainted, deformed or ripped away in a haze of alcohol and hatred.
Maybe it's simply people and their stupidity. The ignorance displayed at every second of every day with all the blind confidence of a true moron.
Maybe it's the waste I've made of my life.
Who knows! The point being, I can't modulate my own mood in December, and I've started offending people with my whip tongue. Again.
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Me
I just realised what hesitations have cost me in this circle, staring at a destination that I always aim for and too often miss. It hurts to think about courage that I should have had and have lost somewhere. I can't remember who I am anymore. Why am I here, and whos life am I living?
These people are all me, somehow, but at the same time they are wholly unlike anything I associate with myself and are not me at all. Each of them mourns another when they are who I am...
I just can't work out which of me to stay true to and with each indecision I lose another inch, another point of me. Another night. Another kiss. Another memory. Another me. But should I be me anyway?
I don't understand myself- I never really did but there was a path among the hopeless tracks that was black and straight and going my way. It's still there but if I follow it I lose things. But if I don't, I lose me.
I need to be me. But I don't know how to be me without losing me.
I just need to be me.
These people are all me, somehow, but at the same time they are wholly unlike anything I associate with myself and are not me at all. Each of them mourns another when they are who I am...
I just can't work out which of me to stay true to and with each indecision I lose another inch, another point of me. Another night. Another kiss. Another memory. Another me. But should I be me anyway?
I don't understand myself- I never really did but there was a path among the hopeless tracks that was black and straight and going my way. It's still there but if I follow it I lose things. But if I don't, I lose me.
I need to be me. But I don't know how to be me without losing me.
I just need to be me.
Sunday, 24 January 2010
.
Helplessness is such an infuriating thing.
To stand there and need with all your heart to stop someone hurting, to stop something going wrong and knowing that no matter how much you care and how much you need to change things for them that you just don't hold enough sway when alls said and done points out to you that sometimes you are just helpless. There is nothing you can do.
And it hurts sometimes. It hurts to know that when you are struggling I am never going to be able to help hold you up.It hurts knowing that despite the effort I do and will always put in that I will never be the one you reach out to.
It makes a lot of sense because I have always maintained the opinion of myself that winds into this feeling of total uselessness. Maybe I am creating my own weakness.
It's selfish, too, but everyone is selfish no matter how good they are at being charitable and stuff deep down when the shit hits they are all selfish. We save what is the most important to us, the things we need. Even if its the opinions of others its still what we need to give ourselves purpose.
It's stupid to let someone else become one of your purposes, but people can't help but do it.
There are so many things I wish I could change.Times to go back to, impulses to act on, words to say.
How do you begin to accept there is nothing you can do? Should you accept it? Or should you keep trying to change things that you can't change just because of how you'd feel if you accepted it?
To stand there and need with all your heart to stop someone hurting, to stop something going wrong and knowing that no matter how much you care and how much you need to change things for them that you just don't hold enough sway when alls said and done points out to you that sometimes you are just helpless. There is nothing you can do.
And it hurts sometimes. It hurts to know that when you are struggling I am never going to be able to help hold you up.It hurts knowing that despite the effort I do and will always put in that I will never be the one you reach out to.
It makes a lot of sense because I have always maintained the opinion of myself that winds into this feeling of total uselessness. Maybe I am creating my own weakness.
It's selfish, too, but everyone is selfish no matter how good they are at being charitable and stuff deep down when the shit hits they are all selfish. We save what is the most important to us, the things we need. Even if its the opinions of others its still what we need to give ourselves purpose.
It's stupid to let someone else become one of your purposes, but people can't help but do it.
There are so many things I wish I could change.Times to go back to, impulses to act on, words to say.
How do you begin to accept there is nothing you can do? Should you accept it? Or should you keep trying to change things that you can't change just because of how you'd feel if you accepted it?
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