“Once there was a girl and she used to go around telling people to be happy just like she was. Except it turns out that she wasn’t all that happy. Then one day along comes a guy with a huge cock and he says, ‘Be Happy Damnit, or I’ll bitch slap you'” ~Timmie
Somedays you’re the pigeon and somedays you’re the lonely statue in the park.
Somedays it is light and somedays are so dark.
Somedays you’re the hammer and somedays you’re the nail.
Somedays you suceed and somedays… you fail.
See and on those days you sit around feeling sorry for yourself and writing shitty poetry. It didn’t start out as a bad day. On the contrary, it was quite good. Charles was king today, for he brought donuts. Danna wrote a lovely tribute for Grand High Nelson, that I’d like to post with her permission. Jess and I drove around pointlessly to return one thing to Target. And suddenly my day is in the toilet. I know WHY. Not that it helps. I haven’t got much… I’m not pretty really… I’m not the brightest crown in the box… I’m a fairly good judge of character, but where does it get an antisocial person like me… But I’ve got my pride. It’s the one thing I have that’s never let me down. Even when I let it down, it stays strong for me. And I know that people think pride is a bad quality, but sometimes it’s all that keeps me from being to depressed. But now my pride is getting me in trouble… maybe its’ just me.
Ah shit look at me ramble on and on. This is what I would do if I still wrote in my diary (journal, notebook, ect.) Except I would tell it what was wrong and why, but you can’ trust people with things like that, cause people kick you when you’re down. Paper doesn’t DO anything just sits and accepts what ever you put on it. People judge. They take their morals and their philosiphies and impose them on to you and who you are and who THEY think you should be. People don’t really care about you. They care about the person they think you are. So maybe there it no such thing as love… you wonder how love comes into this? Love is the center of everything. People who write those silly maxims got it right when they said love makes the world goes round.
Except what if there is no such thing as love? What if we make it up? I wrote this once, “And when I say I love you. I make love, create it out of nothingness, because before I loved you, love wasn’t real. ” Sounds lovely doesn’t it? LIke soemthing you would say to your soulmate. If you believed in soulmates. I’m not sure that I do any more. I believe in lust. I believe in passion. Maybe I’ve never really been in love, never really loved anyone. Maybe I don’t know how. Maybe I shouldn’t be writing these things where a world can read them.
It’s a kind of arogance you know. Writing I mean. People who write have an inate arogance in them. A strength of conviction that what they write is worthy or important or nessacary… o well, I digress.
I believe I was in the midst of telling the world about my lack of loving. I could claim I loved my mother. I respect her certainly. I care for her even. For the most part I trust her. I don’t believe that she is perfect in fact I could list several ways in which she is not, but that also is beside the point. Lets move on to Kenny… if you don’t know who he is… you don’t need to. It is easy perhaps to love a memory… for really that’s all he is and not even a recent memory anymore… a child’s memory… a child I might add that no longer exists. Steve then? Could it be said that I loved Steve? He would deny it and I could not prove it. Jess perhaps? I would like to say that I love Jess, as skeptical as I am at this moment that the emotion exists, because we had something that was special. Laugh if you must… but in a way I think that Jess was possibly the closest I have ever come to love. And you. You know who you are. I would have to deny that I love you as well… a spark, perhaps chemistry, perhaps a chance, but nothing more then pheromones and instinct. It seems a shame that I should be so cynical, but fear not for soon after I finish writing this diatribe, I will feel better… the music will play and I will smile. I’ll forget that I was ever upset and I will move on. Only this gush of disconnceted thoughts and random tappings of a keyboard will be left to mark the passing of my fleeting discontent with life…
Funny old thing, Life…