Unlimited Unrest

I want your love And I want your avenge

labish:

I have no regrets making this

walterthegreat asked: I've known ye since sixth grade, and I'm not sure where I even stand with you. I don't know if you think highly or lowly of me, or if we're even close, which we were at one point, but it far gone I believe.

I think fairly well of you, Wallace. You were there in the Middle School, which I hear is TERRIBLE. Well, mine wasn’t and I attribute that to the many good friends I had. I was a different person back then, so much angrier, but it was people like you who made a difference. Made shit funny. We’re as close as we ever were because I don’t believe in starting over because that’s so dumb. Yeah, it’s been awhile, but a friend is a friend to me. I don’t spend too much time dissecting what that means.

Niggardly nihilistic

I can’t hold grudges well.

Or at all.

I have almost never held a grudge, actively. Sometimes old stuff swells up, but not in manner that could be described as “grudgy.”

I can’t hold grudges well because I have an absolutely horrifyingly bad memory for the mundane. My perception of objects mundane is also incredibly broad. This is effected by my increasing ennui. I once talked to my mother about my attitude. She summed it up fairly evenly without a fancy French word. I am bored. I suppose despite their overlapping definitions often involving one another, I am drawing a line between these two words. Because one of them is French. 

My memory for stuff deemed unimportant seems to cause an inconsistency in my day-to-day modus operandis. I don’t see nothing special with being consistent anyway, but it certainly doesn’t feel inconsistent. One day, I may be angry or discontented with something but the next day I’m fine. This isn’t because I’ve moved on via catharsis or resolution. I have moved on because the give a fuck train left the station and I was so busy in town touching benches and illegal swimming that I forgot to board. It is because I literally forgot.

So it’s like I’m the goddamn Apotheosis of Forgiveness. Inadvertency causes a succinct, irremediable sincerity in absolvation. big word big word motherfucking big word.

That’s the bright side. And when I mean bright side, I am of course bifurcating the matter by drawing your attention to the existence of another side. It’s not a pessimistic side, either, oh no. I mean a complete referential dichotomy to Brightness. There is a dark side. Dark as in the second half of Full Metal Jacket or the first half of my penis. The humor is for you! Here’s comes the explanation. 

My grandfather is in the hospital. This man means a lot to me, he’s been there for approximately two thirds of my life, the latter two thirds that I actually remember. So, feasibly, it’s like he’s been there all my life, but I don’t actually remember it like that but this weird anomaly in perception isn’t pertinent. He’s been having serious inside problems for awhile now, having to have had his gallbladder removed and other gastrosurgeries. Recently, I went to visit him in the hospital. The bedpan was full of bloody stool and the nurse who took long enough to come remove it knocked over a urinal whilst clumsily putting on rubber gloves and the janitor cleaned a random patch on the floor rather than asking where the urine might be. Worrisome shit. He talked with an airy finality and the whole experience was rather jarring. For a full 24 hours I wasn’t myself. The next day, I was. I forgot. I didn’t care anymore, not because I don’t care, but because I didn’t remember. Never will my friends burden themselves with trying to get my mind off of anything. I am cursed with the ability to do it myself, involuntarily. This is just the most recent example.

It makes me feel heartless. At least, it does, when I acknowledge it, as I am doing now. And when I am in the moment, the subconscious foresight that I won’t care in the morning makes every other emotion feel contrived. Sometimes I talk and it feels as if the words are being strained out of my teeth and come out shredded and curled. Sometimes I engage in everyday chitchat and turn off. Every response is premeditated because I know what everyone is going to say usually. I once knew a guy who I convinced I was psychic because nearly every day when I would speak with him, I would reply to him before he would finish his final syllables. I don’t mean over talk his last few words, I mean that I would respond to questions that never got a question mark with supposedly genuine alacrity. This is another source of my frustrating ennui. Nothing is interesting anymore. I can’t pay attention if I try. To anything. People cross top and faaade.

On a completely different note that will contradict shit, I am interested in girl. And it’s all like what do. She’s coquettish, a word which I’ve used noticeably to describe several million people lately, I think. But it applies so hard here. I’m going to also start using it to apply to myself, too, I think. Aside. Anyway, she’s coquettish, which is the problem. We made quicker friends this year, being in a production together, and all throughout she flirted with me to some levels that I look back upon now and realize that maybe my indecision was stupid and I should have just went for it, that moment, for serious, Past-Tyler, you are so dumb. That’s my name, I guess, (I don’t guess, I know.) but I don’t think anybody reading this actually didn’t know that. Well, maybe that one guy who follows me, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he made a massive mistake following which he will quickly rectify when he realizes this schtick right here is basically what my blog is all about. The rest of my followers are people who know me in real life, so thanks, yoooouuu. So dumb, Past-guy. Who is me. And now, after this neat event centered around dancing at which very little dancing was fomented (People Raving Over aneventsoveryimportantinhighschoollifeithinkyouknowwhichimtalkingabout Man), which I escorted her to, it has stopped. The flirting through which our friendship was founded out dried up. I miss it, but that’s not the biggest problem. I think my lack of initiative, that is to say, me not asking her out every single time it was perfect- such as that aforementioned night- has made her complacent. She would advance as she does on everyone and I would ignore her out of fear. Yes, fearful ignorance. Not ignore her, in the way which I know you’re thinking. But not exactly comply, out of fear. I didn’t want to be known as just another idiot guy who fell for this chick because she flirts with everyone and woe is her why can’t she just have a nice guy friend. It sounds like I’m blaming her, but I’m not. So, in the interest of maintaining the illusion I’m not an idiot, I never took her up on her many advances. To this day I don’t know whether I was right or wrong, but the way she doesn’t flirt with me after what seemed to be the culmination of DATE/NOT DATE, seems to indicate a finality of our relationship as just friends and I suppose this is her filling in that. And it sucks. Because I don’t want to be just friends and it’s taken me this long to realize I should have just asked her. And yet, now feels like the worst time to ask her because she’s so very platonic that it’s discouraging. 

HAH- and of course, I could never be so black and white. ALTERNATIVELY, we have always just been friends, she has never had any interest, the escort to that dance was just that, but the few moves I did make (you see, I had an intention of totally asking her out, I just didn’t) made her realize I do have a thing for her and now she sees me as just another idiot who fell for her and is being as off-putting as possible so as to not lead me on. 

I feel like someone may be reading this and being all like Juuust ask her out adurr durr. No, fuck you. It’s pretty simple.

I NO LONGER WISH TO BREATHE YOUR FUCKING AIR

I’m talking to yoooou, Mississippi.

I’m not angry, sometimes cussing is cool! Tell your children- quickly, before you think.

Where were we?

The title that this post almost had: The Legend of the Third Party.

How wrong I may have been! It is so wrong. Depressingly.

Ever almost cry? Ever almost cry because you are asked out in one of the most creative and cool ways but it’s like you don’t like them that way?

Back to the almost title. I was pursued, indeed, by a two-party system. The option I opted was for the third one, the smallest, but hah! Wrong.

I may have a problem. Subliminally, even. I may only want what I can’t have because that has seemed to be the case as of late. Indeed, the previous two ventures have been for taken people. Or taken-in-waiting. And then they were. And then, as if the universe were spiting me, number one, but not the third party, displays the sexiest quality of all. Understanding my goddamn riddles. Being smart. I mean, holy hell. And they had to be the one most adamantly off limits. The conversation had them hinting, oh so sneakily hinting, that she kneeeew. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t notice. But I did. I pressed it, several days later. I pressed it, and pressed it in such a subtle fashion. It was a beautiful thing. And she riddled to me, TO ME, the most elegant shutting down of all time, a contrast to the coolest asking out. That hurt the most. Tasting what could have been and realizing it never could have, in actuality.

Writing that paragraph hurt.

2012 is not being a good year for me. Two walls up, two left, I guess. Iunno. In any case, an ex, a friend, utterly betrayed me. And I confronted her about it. We talked it out. Maybe she regrets calling me such a harsh epithet. I don’t know. I fought it, and on the surface we’re cool. It’s beyond me, and I suppose that’s fine. But the deeper I ponder it.. I realized how much more powerfully justified… she is.. and continues to be. I used to absorb myself in definition.

We all do so, at some point. We choose some qualities, some true, many wishful. We add some bad things to qualify qualities, y’know how we do. And we gooooooo. People just spend too much time defining themselves and not enough time being. Ever met a self-proclaimed “Sweet Guy?” I will use their cases. Often, they can be a tad over-bearing. This is because being sweet is an extreme quality and they have to try incredibly hard. To themselves, it’s torture and they don’t even know it. Being untrue to oneself is horrid, the contrivedness is depressing and confusing. Which brings me back to me. I used to absorb myself in definition, too. I used to think I was a nice guy. When I stopped really thinking about, the plaque just hung there, getting dusty. Today I looked at it, realizing I never took it down. I ripped it down, I used to be a nice guy, but something has happened, and I don’t know what. It was probably me. 

Now I don’t know if I have been parading manipulation as empathy. I never try to be condescending, I feel as if I am only ironically arrogant, but people aren’t picking up on that. Maybe I am an arrogant, disrespectful ass. I love people. People think I think I’m better than them. They want me to be that kind of person. And that makes me hate them. I often go out of my way to not be annoying. But I am anyway. I’m jagged. 

I used to use these journalish posts as release but nothing therapeutic has come of it.

I’m Gay? or- Part Two of Straight Posts

I’m totally not gay. It is a rumor. That I started. On accident. Anyway.

This has been an incredible week, even imagining that 100% of my 75%s bit were gaming relations as opposed to, like, the 50% I am hoping. 80%.

Did I mention straight-forwardness? DID I?

Romantic endeavors should just be private, even if one is just endeavoring for the privates.

But who even does that anymore.

I used to frequent a thread on a forum on a website, quite frequently. I was a regular and I made incredibly close friends with all of them. We were a very tightly knit bunch. Profound changes were made on my character by these people and I was truly myself online. Then real life. Not a terrible thing though. But, upon trying to return recently, I felt pressured. I had changed. I felt.. contrived. And this realization made me additionally realize that I spend a lot of my waking moments feeling like this. People often take who I am for granite. I am introduced as “That’s just Tyler, don’t listen to him.” and I am never more frustrated. I don’t just exist for your amusement, you know? The things I say have depth, but you’re too busy living your fast-track lifestyle on you iPod, and there’s no reason to disqualify mine. I don’t understand how to be understood if at every stop I am stopped. I vent.

On that subject, a contrived stance is also not a departure from me. I had a man comment to me at work that I shouldn’t be untrue to myself just because I am paid to. But, I mean, just because NOW I say “You have a good night, sir.” robotically doesn’t mean I’m not me. I am at work, working. I am not defined by my job and I certainly don’t define myself by the job I do. It’s not lying to me, it’s the movies that tell you the cliche that’re lying to you. The notion that being malleable is a poor quality is ridiculous. If it makes you miserable and less of yourself, then perhaps the problem is deeper than repetitive noises. Maybe we’re all in an identity crisis and it’s easier to blame the machine rather than meet the real us. Who is not a self-assured identified man, ever. I am in an existential crisis, I think. Vaguely.

All of my memories are in the third-person. I remember things as if I’m watching myself doing them. It gives a feeling of going through the motions, bringing me back to my contrived life point. I used to be a nice guy. I used to be interesting.

All in all, it’s been a fantastic week, though, but I miss having an anchor. 

If I were a Pokemon, I think I’d be Lonely natured. Not that I’m lonely all the time, but the nature of my being is Lonely, that’s the concept I’m trying to convey. I don’t do well when I’m alone. I pace. I stand. I walk and I talk to myself. Sometimes I catch myself repeating the same word over and over to myself. And yet, I cautiously function as a loner. I think without a stabilizer, I go crazy. I might be wunnadem dependent folk. It makes for great long terms, though. Promise.

That was not desperation.