Tumultuous

"I'm going to get wicked drunk, listen to 'The Cure,' and just generally be a miserable bastard for a bit. Because I'm entitled to be. And I intend to take full advantage of that. Maybe it's therapeutic. Maybe it's not. Maybe go fuck yourself.


See? I'm allowed to say things like that right now, just because I'm sad. And everyone else will understand.


But then, after I've gotten that out of my system, I'll be okay. Life goes on. 'C'est la vie' and all of that happy horseshit.


Now pass me the whiskey and cigarettes. I feel the need to do myself some damage."


[Even a really sucky breakup comes to this. Well, that, or crying into my pillow while I listen to 'The Smiths.' 1980's alternative rock goes well with emotional turmoil...]

I asked and asked but Santa never did get me that pony I wanted. So this Christmas I set a bear trap in the fireplace and now I have the best Santa suit ever...

Next Christmas will be just as disappointing, but Halloween will be amazing.

2011: The Pledge

"Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts. The first part is called 'The Pledge'. The magician shows you something ordinary: a deck of cards, a bird or a man. He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it to see if it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But of course... it probably isn't. The second act is called 'The Turn'. The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it, because of course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You want to be fooled. But you wouldn't clap yet. Because making something disappear isn't enough; you have to bring it back. That's why every magic trick has a third act, the hardest part, the part we call 'The Prestige'"

Cutter (Michael Caine) - The Prestige (2006) 

I guess I had a lot of things to say about this year. But most of those things I'd like to save for their own individual blog posts. Somehow, the truth always seems prettier when looked at through rose-coloured glasses.

Even though it wasn't intentional (at least, I don't think it was), this year showed me how fallible I am. That I'm not untouchable. That I can be sad. And make mistakes. And give up. And let people down. And for what it's worth, I am sorry.

See, I'm just like you. And everyone else. We are not alone. Let's totally go out for ice-cream sometime!

But it's not all about that. Because life is too short, to be so melancholy. And sometimes, I make the right decisions. And persevere. And reaffirm peoples faith in me. And mostly, I'm happy. 

But let's still go out for ice-cream sometime, because that shit's just awesome.

This year, I proved all of those things. Somehow, this year turned into a 'Pledge' of sorts. I guess through all of this, I've been showing you a man. Inspect if you will, but I am indeed real, unaltered, and normal.

Now it's time for the 'Turn.' Where this magician takes the ordinary something, and makes it do something extraordinary.

This is my resolution for the new year. Or maybe, a kind of resolution for the next few years.

Maybe you'd like to join me. 

Together, we can prove to an unsuspecting public that we can all be something amazing, and special, and extraordinary. And, if only for a moment, we'll make them all wonder, and believe in magic, and that maybe the world isn't as it seems.

We'll stand out on the worlds stage together; ordinary people, who've managed to do something extraordinary. And we'll be those who see something truly beautiful. It'll be the look on their faces..

I love you all, and you are in my heart always. 

Now.

Are you watching closely?

Carefully considered.

There's this weird period in time, after a break up, where you go a little bit insane.  Or at least, you go a little insane trying not to be insane. Sort of like when you're caught doing something wrong, then you try to act natural, yet for the life of you, you can't seem to remember what you normally do with your hands when you're being 'natural.'

Things like when you're driving past their house on the way to somewhere (no, not cruising past their house every ten minutes or so, just genuinely on the way to somewhere), you can't help but look, kinda hoping that they'll be out front or something, just so they can see that you're doing just fine.

I think that's what it's about. Putting up a facade that you want them to see.

Like when, a week after a break up, you organise to go and talk to them, just so a few details (why, how, etc.) can be explained a little better.

Sometimes it's better to know those things. Sometimes not.

The preparations for that meeting can get a little calculated. I mean, there's a look you're trying to go for there, and so much you want them to know, just by looking at you.

You want them to know that your life is falling apart a little bit, but that you're doing fine. Or, I suppose, that you will be. What sort of clothes would you be wearing if that was the case? What sort of shoes communicate to a person that you're finding things a bit rough right now? What's the appropriate length of stubble? I mean, sure, you're going to be okay, but do you want her to think that you've got it so together, that you're clean-shaven and looking like you're ready to go out and meet someone else?

So you put more time into thinking about that than any rational person would, and then eventually, you go to have that conversation.

The awkward, usual pleasantries are exchanged, and then you jump right into the important questions. Or at least, the questions that seem important at the time.

"Do you love me?"

And she answers, but it doesn't really matter anyway; and while this is happening your mind is still stuck in the earlier insanity. Was an indie-rock t-shirt really the right decision here? Shit, you're hurting man, not about to go to a gig and rock out.

And she's explaining about the other guy, and you're asking whether she fucked him or what, and she she says that yes, they had sex, and even though this is all important, and you're focused on what's happening, there's that voice in the back of your head that says maybe the walking shoes were appropriate. You want to look like you're ready to move on, but not too fast.

You explain to her; angry, hurt, a little self-righteously, but never raising your voice; that she should probably say anything she feels at this moment, because you're not sure you'll want to speak to her again. And she says nothing, so you tell her goodbye with a finality she might not have heard and you leave. The door closes on her house, and that short chapter of your life, and it makes you feel sad.

And still, that little voice.

"You probably shouldn't have shaved your balls for this."

Like touching butterflies...

A long time ago, in the faraway land of Oz; the Tin Man swung his axe, and let out a sigh. Not a grunt, like most make when swinging an axe (for the Tin Man was strong), but a sigh.


How long had it been? A week? A month? Years even? He couldn't be certain. Time had seemed to move differently since those heels tapped together.


Many things had changed since that moment. Sure, at first glance, everything was much the same as it ever was. The poppy fields still swayed in the wind, the munchkins still hid whenever a stranger was near, and the Emerald City still glittered and gleamed in the sunshine. But still, things were different.


The Scarecrow, with his cunning, had become manipulative and full of greed; and the Lion, with his courage (which is different to bravery), had become a bully to all those weaker than he (which was most, for lions are such powerful creatures). 


But the Tin Man, with his clean, new heart, had become sad. 


For a new heart is not as cold and rugged as an old heart, and is easily broken. He found a love of art, and poetry, and music. Yet still, he missed her. He discovered a new zeal for his woodcutting, and enjoyed being outdoors amidst the forest. Yet still, he missed her. He found beauty in the impermanence of things, like life and stars and the sound of ringing in the ears. And yet, still, he missed her. 


He missed the singing, and the dancing. And he missed the way the colours of the world seemed brighter whenever she was around. The way she talked. The way she looked. He missed just being near her.


And even though he was thankful of being able to feel anything at all, still, he was sad.

"I've been called the Michaelangelo of electricians. Sometimes my work may look a little more like a Picasso, but that doesn't mean it's wrong, it just means that you don't appreciate art." - Actual quote from myself, to a guy checking over my work (It was perfect).

It's been awhile since I've written a status, or a blog post for that matter. More to come soon I hope.

In other news, I've been listening to the Arctic Monkeys' 'Favorite Worst Nightmare.' It's fun and depressing all at the same time, which I like. Thinking I should do that whole '30 Songs in 30 Days' challenge everyone seemed to be doing a little while ago. I know it isn't popular anymore, but I still think that parachute pants are cool too. Anyway, I listened to a song I hadn't really heard since the albums release. I still knew all the words, and it made me feel all sad and stupid and nostalgic. Exactly the way it did the first time.

It kinda made me want to cry, which would have been the first time since April 24th, 2010. I don't know what's harder somedays, the feelings and memories, or the fact that I haven't been able to cry for so long.

Cheese and biscuits.

Cheese can be complicated, she said.


I know what you mean, I replied. Different styles, textures and flavours, the origin of the milk, pasteurized or not, the butterfat content, the bacteria and mold, the processing, and aging. not to mention the flavouring and colouring agents.


She said that cheese was just a euphemism, and I told her that I didn't know what that was, but that I loved her anyway.

A delicious, delicious omlette. With bacon.

I'm ever so tired of walking on eggshells for people. And I think I'm losing my true self in the opinions I don't share, and hiding it all away.

Rape can be funny. Your child's retarded. Your girlfriend's a whore. You've put on too much weight. You've lost too much weight. You're too much of a narcicist. You're too depressed. You're too close to being black. You're too close to being an albino. You're too gay. You're too much of a philanderer. You're too much of a slut. You're too frigid. The word 'cunt' is no more offensive than the word 'dick' and I will use both to accentuate what I say. You are a cunt. You are a dick. I never meant the things I said, except the things I did. You're too flighty. You're too steadfast. Duality is bullshit, because there are more than two sides to a person. Your parents never loved you. But they were terrible parents anyhow. etc. etc. etc.

Accept it.

Move on.

2010: Hung Jury

Regular readers will already know this; regular friends, too. 2009 sucked, but as I finished off my last years end post, I went into 2010 with a drink in my hand, and hope in my heart.

But that was a heart which, like a nihlistic Daft Punk song, was harder, colder, meaner, stronger.

Just when you think that things can't get any worse, they usually do, and prove to us that we didn't quite have the depth of imagination to visualise how bad it could all be. So, for awhile there, 2010 looked to be just as bad as 2009, if not worse. Well, I suppose that was the first half of the year or so.

Sort of like last year, most of these tales of woe aren't mine to tell, but I will say this: It all looked pretty bleak. People were sick, people died, and other people had some pretty horrible things happen to them.

"I lost the plot for a while then. And I lost the subplot, the script, the soundtrack, the intermission, my popcorn, the credits, and the exit sign."

Ahh, High Fidelity, my favorite, most quotable of films and books. God bless you Nick Hornby.

There were some good times, too. Don't get me wrong.

I was in a bad spot, mentally, I guess, and I thank you all for sticking with me through it. I don't think I made it easy.

And then, one day, I just let it all go. Chucked in the job, moved out of the house I was in, packed my stuff, and went to Europe. Which had the potential to not end well for reasons I'll probably never tell you. Granted, it didn't all happen suddenly, I took the time to make sure that if, for whatever reason, I never made it back, everything would be in it's right place.

Shortly before I went to Europe; and again, this is a story I'll never tell you; what I regard as an omen occurred which made me think that ultimatly, everything would be okay, one way or the other. It made me think about all of the good things that had happened up until that point.

People got better. I still mourn those we'd lost, but I made new friends as well as the old, who didn't replace those passed, but helped me through it anyhow. People had some really lovely things happen to them as well.

And then, Europe. Which you can read about to a certain extent on my travel blog (themoonhasteeth.blogspot.com - Still haven't finished it off, it's coming, I swear). And it's just a collection of stories I wouldn't mind my mother reading (an avid reader of the blog). It's very hard to put into words things like a feeling, or an experience. If I had to sum it all up in a phrase, I'd have to say "life changing." Ask me about it sometime.

I managed to reclaw back a lot of what I'd lost. I re-discovered the plot, the sub-plot, etc. And now I'm working on the sequel.

Like I said earlier this year, I read a packet of Skittles the was a soothsayer reads entrails. And all of the best days are filled with blackberry and strawberry. But some days are filled with lemon. But we need the lemon flavor to make the strawberry and blackberry even better than they are. Life is beautiful, it really is. And sometimes it takes the bad things to happen, to make us realise that it isn't forever, and to throw the good things into contrast just to seem a little better overall.

I love you all, and you are in my heart always.

Merrily Ex-mass,

Joshua

She was right.

I met with one of my favorite authors today.

She told me that having nothing to lose and everything to gain when aiming for a goal is okay, but what if you acheive that goal? Then you have something to lose. Something they can take away.

The ache becomes more prominent. I came here knowing, and not caring that this trip might just kill me. After all, I had nothing to lose.

But now I do. I have someone I want to hold, and ideas unrealised. And fuck me, I want to live!

The irony isn't lost on me, I guess.