Look really I just want people to read my blog. Yes it’s dirty terminator future buzz man zapping up in your dateline fresh from another dadaist jaunt.
It’s so much more exciting when nothing makes sense, but hey don’t take my word for it.
So yes, I need to be less self absorbed. How do you do that?
I’m talking about a better side coming through, y’know, if I started focusing on stuff other than myself, then it would be a heel of a lot more interesting than the normal dreary nonsense I go on about.
I am free. Which costs money. I am totally free, in my own house, living how I please.
I think I need to just put that there and appreciate it.
That costs money. That’s a privilege, having no job and a house and the internet hooked up so you can do as you please that’s modern freedom.
I’m hoping I will come to truly understand that more deeply.
t’s just the pressure of privilege. If I have this background, and I have this privilege, then why can’t I just have the perfect life, why isn’t it just easy for me to put it all together, dust off my hands and walk away?
Maybe I’m a storyteller, mine isn’t for the living, it’s for the watching and describing to those who will never witness it.
Maybe I’m not a winner, maybe I just have been shown enough about winning to better describe it to other people, and that’s my role, to be the storyteller, to help people understand that there were people who radiated more so than we.
You’re special too, just not as special as you thought.
And that ties in to with me getting myself off the stage and getting on with my own thing. Not quite sure how now, but- oh yeah, that no one’s interested in me complaining, so I guess I have to focus on someone other than me, despite the fact I’m so self absorbed.
Might have to bring the seething resentment into part of the story.
But how can I be resentful when I’m happy in my house? I haven’t been sent to die, there’s no one making my life a misery. I’m just hear, sitting round collecting a marginal wage for a marginal amount of work and paying most of it on my rent.
Maybe just like the characters in Lost, I have to “let go”.
But How now? Might have to call a song that, if I ever write any more songs.
See listen to me whinging and crying, it’s not very becoming is it? Maybe I need editorial? Well that’s nonsense. I’m flawed, I am. I am summoning great powers, if you think you know how it’s done I’d like to invite you to try.
I’m not being arrogant, this is my throw of the dice. A magical time traveller becomes involved and with a point and click of the mouse everything is a fantasy.
Everything is art, and unfortunately you cannot escape the amusement park, no reality gets in but no sense gets out. I’m sure will be fine, unless you’d rather take the option to rot as so eloquently laid out.
I’d rather have all options open to me where possible. Who’d want to miss out, get less? Too easy, too boring, unprofitable, unviable, antiquated, not suitable to my brain activity.
I am charging at windmills in the fight to beat reality, beat existance and simply exist without the intrusion of barbaric anxiety and mental autobrutality, masochism and torture. We want fries with that when just need a reason to smile for 5 seconds. I don’t want to sit still in case I fall asleep and die before I wake.
Whats next anyway, get it over and done with I felt existance was a terrible disappointment anyway, where were action movie storylines I thought I had been promised? I thought I could fix my problems with felt tip pens and yet inexperience only led to abstract abherations.
Maybe I could beat the clock but more likely I was an idealist. And these is how you see me screaming as I fall, we’re all heading one place anyway so why police yourself, why arrest yourself with misery?
Will you allow them the satisfaction of your misery?
Will you allow yourself the satisfaction not demanding to be packed into somebody elses manufactured fantasy?
Let’s do the timewarp again – August 2010
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