Demotivated

My fingers like to rock out. They like to keep the beat. My middle finger takes care of the high hat and my index the snare, but sometimes they like to change it up and bring home the guitar. My fingers like to rock out because it’s somewhat inappropriate to strut around in public wailing on an air guitar, lip-syncing Steven Tyler-Style. These are things that are frowned upon as Steven Tyler is an ugly looking motherfucker. I’m sure he’s a nice guy though.

So, my fingers do the rocking. Sometimes though, my head likes to bob and my feet like to tap along but mostly my fingers are bringing the rock.

Haven’t been blogging much, been going through fazes, some involving fuzzy pills, most others not. Been obsessed with the mundane, been looking through the scratched glass at nothing of import. I don’t remember writing most of these posts that I’ve imported from Blogger – incidentally in the maybe thirty minutes I’ve spent with WordPress I’m definately more of a fan of WordPress – but here they are. Here’s an interesting fact that I’m sure has been pointed out in the past by others; Blogger is a recognised word to the WordPress spell checker and yet WordPress isn’t. I have 369 posts to put into categories. That’s going to be tomorrow’s task, me thinks.

But getting back to those rocking fingers of mine, ho-damn do they flick and tap and snap in time well.

Two posts in the same day[ish]

This kinda shit hasn’t happened here in a long time. I’m typing this, but I don’t have anything to say, I think I’m just going to ramble on for a bit. Last night I wrote the first thing I’ve written in about 6 months and it felt weird. Felt like getting so used to silence then having a word break through.

Or something.

I wrote this;

It’s been three weeks since she’s been dead, but every time I open my eyes I see her. It’s not like I loved her or anything; that’s just not the way I am. It’s not like I feel guilty or anything; that’s just not the way I am. There are some things that make more sense now, like her saying; “I’ll die if you leave me.”

Things like the doctor saying that she needs love and support from the one’s closest one’s to her while she recovers. Things like the nurse I fucked saying that she hates me after she found out who I was.

If I turn into a butterfly, will Mount Saint Helen’s erupt?

All semantics, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Her stomach was just swollen from the crash, not a corpse rotting inside her, being devoured by her innards, turned back into pieces of her. It’s not like I put it in therein the first place.

The mirrors, the windows, the puddles all look at me with accusing eyes. I just wonder why they don’t mind their own fucking business. Even the spam mail I get in the hundreds every morning now glare back.

Where they used to read; “GET A BIGGER PENIS” they read; “You bastard.”

I don’t know. Maybe the word that broke through the silence came from a voice that had emphysema or something. The black lung.

I did say that I was going to ramble, so here goes.

You don’t know anything if you don’t open your eyes and ears to anything beyond your own insipid, hateful rambles. You can’t learn anything if you’re always right, there’s no point to that if you’re so goddamned convinced that you’re the top shit on a pile of lesser shit.

No such luck, there’s not a damn thing that people will actually respect you for, even the ones that praise you will, ultimately feel shamed in their core, for not only supporting you, but for believing in you. You can become a god in your eyes and maybe in the eyes of others, but that in no way makes you one.

It just makes your earnings deductible. It just makes your words fall on deaf ears, but these deaf ears are easily persuaded.

Remind yourself that there ain’t no fucking way for the world to turn that’s predetermined. There is no destiny, you are not part of some grand opus, you just exist. There is only one way that the world will end. There is only one way that your life will take, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be different, because if it can’t then you may as well give up now.

If destiny is an all encompassing entity that drives the universe along it’s twisted little carousel ride than there’s no fucking point in not going up the road; not across the street.
Destiny does not exist, but that does not mean that we can escape whatever is down the line. Choices are what shape the road we stumble blindly down, not some unforeseen dark cloud passing down judgement and tossing obstacles in our way. There is no test, no studying, sometimes we trip and fall off the path but then wherever it is that we end up landing becomes the new path.

If you look in the mirror and love what you see staring back at you, you need what some people would call a “punch in the balls.” If you look in the mirror and hate what you see, you need what some people would call a “mind altering substance.”

If you look in the mirror and don’t really care about what you see staring back at you, you need what some people would call a “big fucking ribbon.”

Life’s not about love, it’s not about hate, it’s just about surviving until you can’t go on any further. And hey, if you go through wide-eyed, good on you, son.

kissin’ killers in your town.

Well fuck me. I figured, Rube’s gotta a blog, I may as well be an asshole and copy him. Because an asshole is what I really am, or so I’ve been told on occasion. Aside from the fact that I’m flat broke, and have nothing but 6 packs of Ramen to eat until Friday I’m feeling good. Why? Because I’m free from my ex. I have no feelings for her left. Goddamn that feels good, and yet, my stomach is constricted. Why? Because I’m a hungry hungry hippo.

What to expect from this blog – bullshit. Lots and lots of bullshit. Schizophrenic bullshit, poetic bullshit, socio-political bullshit, and plain old bullshit-bullshit.

It’ll be a blast.

-Dan