i am still here

I know it has been months but my life has become busy beyond control and well I just couldn’t be bothered. It’s not that I hate you guys I am just not particularly fond of you... Notice my ability to warm to my audience.  

So yes back to the being busy I think it’s fairly self explanatory uni, work, sport, and drinking these are serious time commitments and don’t like to be crossed together. The other night I was coaching my team at whom just so happened to be playing at my uni on a Friday night. So I took this opportunity to force myself into a bit of an extra study session rather than going home between uni and coaching. I realise being at uni late on a Friday night is not exactly what the cool kids do but I convinced myself it wouldn’t be that bad.

After my last lecture I set myself up on a desk in the library feeling pretty chill confident in achievement and made a start on some maths. I am not going to lie I was in general fairly lost with what was going on with the numbers on my page but I pressed on and so the night began. Well I say that fairly liberally because I’d say I got about 20 mins in before I decided i was too hungry and went to get food. I convinced myself I would just go back after a quick snack and continue and this is where the story reaches its climax... I returned to a closed library...

Now if you have even been to uni on a Friday night I am sure you would understand but for everyone else (the general population minus me) there isn’t exactly a lot to do. I had hit a limbo point; spend 2 hours driving home in peak hour traffic or two hours killing time on my own in a quite dark mass of towering buildings. For the purposes of saving fuel I decided to press on and search for something, anything and discovered nothing.

After an embarrassing circling walk I decided to sit in the car and read my notes fearful of going to the sporting ground too early and being singled out as the strange guy watching junior sport with not affiliation to either team. Sitting in the car had its own risks because cars as I discovered are always parked near other cars. Other cars always have owners and oh how owners have some judging eyes. Apparently there is no reasonable excuse for just sitting in your car trying to read from the dim light of the street lamp.

So after being judged so severely in just one short evening I was fairly shaken but there was no way I was baking down on my brilliant idea to stay and study at uni. So this story unknown to all I claimed brilliance and never said a further word when it was finally late enough for me to go over and coach.

I know this is a particularly boring story but I just had to remind people I was still alive it’s easy to forget;

                cheerio folk... mf    

 

In my life, I hope I lie, and tell everyone you were a good wife, and I hope you die.

So, as you know by now, most of my time I spend dwelling in my abandoned Cat Lady Mansion, guzzling gin and hurling kittens at innocent bystanders from balconies, cackling in a manner as to show all of my gold false teeth and listening to Edith Piaf playing through a gramophone.

(Except exchange "Cat Lady Mansion" with "North-Eastern outer suburbs home", and "guzzling gin and hurling kittens" with "playing flute and drinking coffee" and "playing Edith Piaf through a gramophone" with "listening to Jay-Z from my Ipod". So... essentially the same thing).

The point is, my penchant for living in my own head leaves me a great deal of time to dwell on things that cause me bitterness (see: everything), and therefore, without further ado, I announce: It's that time again... SPONTANEOUS AND UNNECESSARY HATING ON SMALL ANNOYANCES IN MY LIFE TIME.

HOORAY.

1. Disgustingly Joyous Occasional Moments of Good Weather that Fade into Winter in Frustrating Mockery of our Hopefulness.
- For all the Melbournians out there (Melburnians? Whatever, get a fucking dictionary or something, I'm not here to teach you... how to... label... regional groups. FUCK OFF), you may have noticed that the weather has been entirely disgusting and depressingly awful for many, many months. Usually, I'd be okay with this.
Well... no, who am I kidding, I'd normally be ranting about it anyway. But at least when it's winter one can learn to accept that there's some kind of worldly natural force that creates "seasons" that are difficult to change with sheer force of will. Not that I haven't tried. And trust me, I can yell and scream like a crazy psycho bitch when I want to. An elderly man once told me that my voice would give him a seizure. Clearly he has never watched an episode of "The Nanny", because if you want to hear a seizure voice, Fran Drescher is probably the best option. Except for "Battling Seizure Robots", but I guess that's more to do with lights and stuff, but... where was I going with this? RIGHT, ANYWAY, SEASONS = UNCHANGEABLE FOR THOSE OF US LACKING IN OMNISCIENCE/OMNIPOTENCE/OMNIPRESENCE BLAH BLAH BLAH.
The point is: it's spring. It's still 14 degrees every day. EVERY MOTHERFUCKING DAY. And I realise that 14 degrees is not really cause for alarm. I am yet to bring my snow shovel to uni every day, and as a general rule I don't wear thermal underwear, but IT SHOULD BE WARMER.
Sometimes, however, I have noticed that the weather likes the fuck with me.
The other morning, I was heading into uni. I parked my car at the station, and walked down the road. Now... I live basically on the very edge of the outer suburbs, where the population of hippies starts to grow, and also, unfortunately, the population of indie-folk-upper-middle-class-teens who decide to play the banjo and start shit bands who play music with too much glockenspiel because they're like, totally alternative, and life is so hard for upper middle class teens, there's so little to do, they can barely pay for the damage they did to their car when they drove home drunk on a bottle of $80 scotch, didn't you know?
OH HELLO TANGENT, WHERE WAS I??? Anyway, so living where I live, there are a bunch of whimsical gum trees and blossoming wildflowers, and shit like that that fills the world with radiance and gets rid of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere or something.
So I walk towards the station. And I notice that the lawn around the station (yes - there is lawn) has been recently cut. The sun is out. There are bees buzzing around the weeping willows and cherry blossoms that have recently burst into flower, and a gentle breeze is making the freesias dip and sway delicately.
It is a brief moment of weather-related bliss. IT FILLED ME WITH AN INTENSE RAGE YOU CANNOT IMAGINE.
For one thing, what was I in, a fucking Beatrix Potter novel? Should I have been carrying an easel, being followed by an array of wild-but-friendly animals with a parasol over my lightly powdered face??
NO. NO I SHOULD NOT HAVE. THE WEATHER WAS MOCKING ME WITH ITS SUDDEN AND UNUSUAL NICENESS. Perhaps it sensed my rage, because several minutes later it began to bucket rain with the passion and intensity of a jilted ex-wife and a ridiculous wind started blowing at all of the lovely trees and flowers and bees and everything, which made me MORE BITTER THAN BEFORE because it was cold again and---
ANYWAY. THE MORAL OF THE STORY IS THAT THE WEATHER ONLY EXISTS TO CAUSE US MENTAL, PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL ANGUISH AT THE MOST INOPPORTUNE MOMENTS, AND LAUGH IN OUR FACES.
And you thought it was a "natural occurrence". Shame on you, naive and foolish reader.

2. Pretentious Musicians who have Mapped Out their Future Careers in All Their Glory.
- I'll let you in on a secret, merry D.I.D. a Mess readers: musicians don't make any money. As a general rule.
Musicians don't take music courses or start playing or making or writing music because they think that they'll have the opportunity to buy a solid gold house and paper the walls with $100 bills.
Unless they are exceptionally deluded.
Another fact you may or may not be aware of is that many musicians are exceptionally deluded.
In fact, it turns out that how deluded you are about being a brilliant musician who makes a lot of money is directly proportionate to how much of a pretentious twat you are. I know, I made a graph to document this once, and everyone thought it was really great and applauded me for my artistic and mathematical skill:



Creative AND accurate.

Anyway, I have met a great deal of musicians recently who have absolute certainty about the fact that their musical careers will be fruitful and rich and they will become concert performers who constantly book out large performance halls.
THESE PEOPLE MAKE ME WANT TO DIE IN A WELL. They often say things like:
"I only got this piece TWO DAYS AGO and NOW IT IS PERFECT even though it's at L-MUS LEVEL."
Or, "I MUST PRACTISE CONSTANTLY so I can play more gigs I AM IN HIGH DEMAND."
Or also, "I HAVE A PASSION FOR MUSIC. MY LIFE IS MUSIC. I AM A MUSICIAN. I PLAY AT ABOVE POSTGRADUATE LEVEL EVEN THOUGH I AM ONLY FIRST YEAR."
Which is all well and good, but when reality comes crashing down around your head in a year or so, and you realise you'll be a penniless busker until you die in the streets of hypothermia playing a patched-up piano accordion in the snow in 19th century Dickensian England, you still won't have gotten laid, will you?

I think something might have gone astray there.
Hm.
OH WELL.
It's late. I've been writing this all night.
Anyway, FEEL FREE TO WRITE SELF-INDULGENTLY ABOUT THE THINGS YOU HATE. I need sleep.
BAIIII GUYS.
xx

My Grey Sky Revelations: NUMERO UNO

OK, here's something I'm gonna try. Because as you all know my thought process follows the weather thanks to shamanic powers. In short, everytime it's cloudy, I'ma write something pshort, psweet and psychedelic. So these are my Grey Sky Revelations... because that sounded too cool in my mind to waste...

It's cold and the clouds are out. I'm sitting in my room, with music raging out my laptop and vibrating in the keyboard. (Klaxons - Surfing the Void... it's cool and spacey and a bit psychedelic and every bit excellent to sway to).

AND I'M THINKING... goddamnit I need to be more tired because tomorrow I'm gonna feel like I spent the last three days trying to refuse the sexual advances of a humvee but without the bruises to press charges... poignant and beautiful. Well, under that, (I THINK IN LAYERS, AND IN TYPEWRITER, BUT THAT IS A STORY FOR ANOTHER DAY) I was thinking about personas/masks/facades/charades/roles/reality/not really reality... DAMN, album finished... so, PINK FLOYD TIME!! (One Of These Days, bluesy piano meets the doctor who theme with really uhh.. laidback? guitar) But yeah, the masked faces under the masks. This really used to bug me, I think I wrote something on it in THAT OTHER BLOG, but masks are actually really cool. I'd wear one out if I had one... and get refused entry to places because of the crimes I'd no doubt commit. But they're cool, and they're everywhere. I like to think of it like undressing people, because it's dirty and masculine company acknowledges you more seamlessly when you've got bad intentions. But you start to take off people's masks, and see what kind of underwe... NO. Other masks they've got underneath. That's much more excellent. (More Pink Floyd, Saucerful of Secrets, because four movements means I don't have to change the music for a bit. Prog-pretense, I love you sometimes).

So yeah. SO YEAH. This is going to be short, don't hope for anything well thought out. I wear a mask all the time and I know it. I embrace it. AND I LOVE TO BE UNDRESSED BY SOMEONE ELSE BECAUSE IT'S NOT AS TANGLY AND YELLING...

Ahem or sorry or goodbye or all of the above.

TONGS AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


"BECAUSE FUCK YOU, SHADOWS" - C. Tongs on his alleged involvement in strings of museum robberies

EVIDENCE? ... maybe one day ;)

But it was only fantasy
The Wall was too high as you can see
No matter how he tried, he could not break free
And the worms ate into his brain
Roger Waters

It's Sunday, I'm pissed off with god only knows, I haven't done anything else productive today, so why the fuck not?

Here's another rubbish post about stuff I've been writing lately, y'know, the kind of stuff that's generic and tedious, but might take on a life of it's own in the wake of suicide.

'Your sky won't stretch to cover my head,
I've got no insurance for when I'm dead'

'Let's never, ever be friends! Okay?'

'Faith moves mountains, death's more economic with his excavations'

'How many other ways to look are there?
I mean, it's got to all come to a grinding halt someday?'

'Constantly changing, my mind has no shape
There's still a hole, but nothing will fit'

'Remember who you used to be,
bright eyes, big fears and so many dreams.
But now look at it all
and what do you see?'

'I think I'm Jesus on a soapbox
cursing them with filth behind closed doors'

'If it's a question,
Who inspired who?
What's he trying to do?
Show everything he's read?
But what's he ever said?'

'We're all losing our minds over imaginary friends'

'Love is the answer, but his horse is hatred'

'The mirror breaks
Flays the fake
A million portraits shine
Still, none of them are mine'

'MY BAPTISM ISN'T WORKING,
I NEED TO COME UP FOR AIR,
PLEASE, LET ME COME BACK UP THERE,
I'M BEGGING YOU, LET ME BREATHE,
PLEASE, IT WON'T WORK, I'M SORRY
YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME, PLEASE
YOU'RE DROWNING ME, I CAN'T DO IT
LET GO. LET GO! LET GO?'

'I like the beautiful people most,
Disobedient and wayward eyes, crumbling lips
Marred skin to cling feebly to the bone,
Veins burrowing through bodies,
Teeth screaming amidst catastrophe.
Anything but that stare
empty and unaware
blinding hair.
The horrific scare
at the care,
in a corpse drawn with beauty's remorse'

'What's wrong with your hands, they're so cold. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO. HELLO.
How was your day? I love it. I LOVE IT. But who are you? BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!... YOU AGAIN?!?! You look... stupid. I think you should see someone about that. YOU ANGRY, TWISTED LITTLE PERSON. Not me, YOU'RE AWFUL. Because one day you'll know what love is like. You can talk, I won't judge. You look really suspicious though'

'I SMASHED THE GODDAMN ANGEL, ALRIGHT!!
THE ONE WITH IT'S EYES CLOSED, BECAUSE IT MADE ME ANGRY,
HOW IT JUST DIDN'T FUCKING CARE WHEN IT FELL APART.
IT TRIED TO KILL ME, BUT YOU KEPT IT'S GODDAMN WINGS?!?!
I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THOUGH, SEE JUST HOW YOU DON'T CARE EITHER'

'You can't actually die if you don't ever start to live!'

'The best day of my life was when I got to be everything I'd ever hated and noone had to know'

'Stretch me out until I tear apart,
I know you just don't care.
It won't kill me, just make me mad.
I'll just rage through the flaming rave,
searchlights spinning, sirens singing.
I'll dance through the fires of your lives,
Through everything you thought you were,
everything you think you're entitled.
The throbbing of your guns is my beat,
The authoritarian commands the lyric.
My fury burns from nothing
But yours burns you from inside.
You tear apart your own lives trying to make it right.
And I can keep dancing your fucking Danse Macabre
while it starts to make some sense.'

'In the spring when the buds open,
you can finally find what was waiting to emerge.
Some flowers are just learning now
how sick they always were.
Beautiful flowers are fragrant
with no right to a fucked up stench.
With no way to keep buds closed 'til death
they just pray they'll be cut into
a nasty, empty bouquet and hope the sun's the other way'

Meh, leave feedback, pretend you didn't read any of it, do that awkward thing I run along with where we meet face to face and don't bring it up under any circumstances, I don't care.

Just for the sake of it, here's something I just sat and streamed for a while some time ago. I'd really advise people to try this, it can be pretty awesome to just write for the sake of it with one prompt or something or nothing. It can be pretty interesting. And let's be honest, all we're really doing is killing time til we hit the hay for good, why not try it? Hell, why not try, anything?

One beep and you're gone, off my radar, out of my ocean. Taking silent steps in scary directions. Seeing the future I already heard about. The wet dry man with a beard full of sand sings in my band wrapped around my head. Step away from me or step in me and never leave. But I'll never know climbing up and down holes and thrills to see the rising collapse on the last day. "Coils of light!", the serpent roars while little men make their wars but the devil and me, we've got nice shoes and don't need clothes to step them into the mushy ground. The helicopter bopper struts his stuff, we laugh and play cards but he punches my nose and away he goes in fire and smoke. I claim his arm as my prize. Blue and green suit, hat with stars and moon, just jiving and salsa with heels and a face. But she's taking me back to her place. I know it can see me, it's long fingers flick through my mind like pages, it removes it's glasses then... SCREAMS!!! I'm disgusting this monster. I looked in the abyss too long. Now wind blows through my empty soul. A barren world is all I ever wanted so this is all my fault. Someone dances as the vultures and crows tear at me, It's like a mirror mixing my emotions. My Badness laughs at my bones being cast. He's winning, the sun is setting, but we kiss anyway, it's passion, it's real like the pain, which one did I ask for? I wake up from the apocalypse outside my eyelids. Am I insane? Was I insane? Crying for a while I wed myself to herbut she turns to dust and I turn back to me again. He's there, just grinning. I take to the sky to make my escape, He follows riding a yellow eyed, black snake. Spinning around it's tornado takes me. So I just ran across the meadow. "WHERE ARE YOU?!?" I yell but her stones can't answer. I can't do this alone. He breaks the stone with his foot and laughs like a child. I hear the waves crash. I hear the birds sing. Under the shade of that tree where I learned it all, The sun's a little too bright. I can't outsleep the dream or run to escape the nightmare. This is funny for everyone. Naked with a funny hat and drowning in my own blood. They're really happy though! I don't want to make them sad. My green field is going, creeping slowly across the mountains, those insurmountable walls. I weep as a child again. "Give me my world back!" I cry to the wise men, but they turn their backs and hum other tunes as the sea's grey roar hides them in it's foggy breath. Falling or flying, or floating or lying, I don't know anymore. I don't care.

Have some random quotes... you've earned them, I think...

"I have just now come from a party where I was its life and soul; witticisms streamed from my lips, everyone laughed and admired me, but I went away - yes, the dash should be as long as the radius of the earth's orbit -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- and wanted to shoot myself." - Soren Kierkegaard

"I knew I was different. I thought that I might be gay or something because I couldn't identify with any of the guys at all. None of them liked art or music, they just wanted to fight and get laid. It was many years ago but it gave me this real hatred for the average American macho male." - Kurt Cobain

"I want to work in revelations, not just spin silly tales for money. I want to fish as deep down as possible into my own subconscious in the belief that once that far down, everyone will understand because they are the same that far down." - Jack Kerouac

"If there is a Devil at work, then he rests in institutions and not in individuals. Because the beauty of institutions is that any individual can abdicate responsibility. The assumption that we're all utterly powerless, that's the Devil at work." - Thom Yorke

"That's all I wanted to do as a kid. Play a guitar properly and jump around. But too many people got in the way." - Syd Barrett

"If you have hitherto believed that life was one of the highest value and now see yourselves disappointed, do you at once have to reduce it to the lowest possible price?" - Friedrich Nietzsche


Thanks for reading!... Yeah, it was a little bit schizophrenic and everywhere, but whatever, I have the most posts here, you have to love me! *laughter maniacal, and slow fade*

Enchanting Ghost.

Tell me what you saw in me
And I'll try to replicate it with a scene.
If it troubles you to breathe,
Wait a moment; I could change the scenery.

Don't carry on carrying efforts, oh no.
Somewhere there's a room for each of us to grow.
And if it pleases you to leave me, just go.
Stopping you would stifle your enchanting ghost.

It's only that I meant to bring
Love and liveliness to your breast on the scene.
Did you cut your hands on me?
Are my edges sharp? Am I a pest to feed?

Don't carry on carrying regrets, oh no.
Somewhere there's a room for us to speak alone.
And if it grieves you to stay here, just go.
For I have no spell on you, it's all a ghost.

I still have the things you gave;
Four anointing oils, the paperweight you made.
For sure I haven't carried them,
Or buried them in the name of your ghost my friend.

Don't carry on carrying efforts, don't go!
Stay with me until I sleep within your host.
Or if it pleases you to leave me, just go.
Stopping you would stifle your enchanting ghost.

Just Because It's There, Doesn't Mean You Feel It

The truth's always got a shortcut you didn't think of, because it'll always get you, no matter how far you run... and I can run like the devil's on my tail.

I've had a really weird week. That's all I can really say. It's just weird. I don't have any other way of approaching this, I think it's what they call growing up... you know, when suddenly you're not equipped for any of this but it's gonna come crashing down on you whether you like it or not. Or maybe not, I just don't know, something feels different. Maybe I AM going crazy... it honestly wouldn't surprise me, but maybe not.

The only thing I know is that everything's catching up. EVERYTHING. Heh, this could be my 'Dark night of the soul'! I really don't know whether or not I should laugh or cry... hell, sometimes it's actually been easiest to do both. I don't know whether to write about it or just shut the hell up, neither actually helps when you've only really got your own feet to fall back on.

It sort of started last weekend, I didn't feel too fantastic last Friday. It's weird. It's like you feel a bit nauseous, but you also feel really detached from the world, like it'll just keep spinning on ahead of you but at the same time it'll drag you into those barricades up ahead and you're going through, you don't get to break them down, you don't get to be crushed against them, you just get pulled through. You just feel the whole thing for a bit, and then it's way behind you. You didn't fix it, you're not over it, but there's nothing you can do... so why even bother caring anymore?

Well, I think it was 4am Sunday morning or something. About that time where nothing moves. It's perfectly silent. I'd really recommend going for a walk from about 4 until 6 in the morning some time, you get to see the world, sort of, fill itself. At first there's just nothing, everyone else is asleep, there's no voices, no cars, no birds. But there's lights. Traffic lights are pretty funny at this time of morning. They're really unnecessary, like lines in the road. It's like the same rules are there, but there's noone around to observe them. The street lights are on, but noones awake. At this time, it's surreal, the world that so much work goes into building is incomprehensible. It's bizarre. It's strange. Familiarity just melts and suddenly you see everything from the outside, all the structure that resembles nothing, the need to see while your asleep, the signs that somehow tell you where to go, what to do, who to be. Well, it was about this time, and I wasn't feeling normal the day before either, it's weird, it's like you just have nothing that you would say. There's so many words coming to mind, but nothing's what YOU would say. I was sitting up in my bed, I couldn't sleep. I think it'd be amazing if one day I got to go to sleep because I was tired, not because of a clock or company, but anyway I was awake and suddenly I just let it all in... or everything out? Or just lost it? Or found it? It sounds like pretentious rubbish, but it's just how the truth works. I think I just sort of realised that noone could ever come with my wake up call. That there's alot of things in this world, not everyone is entitled to everything, and the things I'm not up for are starting to introduce themselves.

I really, REALLY hate Sunday. I think it might be because I just sit and think by myself all day, because I hate it or because I know I wouldn't want it any other way. Where I live, Sunday tends to be the day where everyone I live with is present for the afternoon, and everyone seems to just do the same thing. An identical conversation about football throbs like backing to my mother's emphasized warbling over dream renovations. I'll never understand why anyone would want to spend so much of their life in the one place. You can never complete a 'home' until you reach the age where it just serves to wall you in. I never want to be nailed down, I never want an unbreakable attachment to anything, anyone. I always fantasize about running away. I'd like to say I used to, but it's something that I don't think I'll grow out of until the fantasy becomes musing on a regret. I can remember at about ten or something, planning on getting a job at fifteen and making enough money to get on a plane to anywhere and starting a new life, I wouldn't be trapped by family, by friends or even my own identity. I'd say I was older, get a job and start working on my next escape. Boldly going nowhere, because there's no point trying to 'win' life, there's no climax, no reward. Just experiences. This Sunday I was pretty shaken up, it can be pretty worrying when you start to feel, think or even fear stuff that you haven't for years. I'm always surprised at my own stupid capability for letting things get to me, especially the things I shouldn't. And especially the things I just don't care about that I trouble myself with. It was just one of those moods where I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get out of bed, I couldn't hold a conversation without getting obscenely emotional or being callously emotionless. I couldn't strike the middle ground. I couldn't feel sad or angry, I could just sort of flit between. I couldn't feel happy or calm either, so I'd just sort of laugh at some things and just fidget around.

I always get anxious in crowds. I swear, if everybody just agreed that it'd be perfectly cool for us to just start screaming every time we felt the need to, the world would be a loads better place. That's me in a crowd. I'm the guy that needs to be screaming. I don't know whether it's a problem with people in general or something claustrophobic but it's relentless. I start to tremble if someone sits opposite me on the train. My heart stops if I bump into someone. And if I recognise someone I just close my eyes, count to three and just hope they can't see me. It's not the sort of thing that pops up all the time, but the second my mind even strays into the very awareness that I'm not alone alarm bells start ringing. This week just seemed to make this even more hellish. I just became massively irritable. I would get furious with everything, just to distract myself from the apprehension. I'd imagine the guy sitting next to me on the train tearing my throat out, I'd picture me hurling the girl in front of me down the stairwell for just being present, I'd jump in front of traffic to avoid the crowd getting off a tram. Anger is something I've never really liked about myself. It's not something I think is remotely dangerous to anyone else, it's just the thought of pain as a distraction. You know how nurses talk to you to get you to ignore the injection? Mind over matter? Well, sometimes I just need to quieten down my mind a little.

So what was my big revelation last weekend? What changed everything? Damned if I know. All I know is I got thinking about alot of things, and I sort of realised that this is just my life. This has been and always will be my life. It's not something that 'gets better'. It's normal. You know that painting with the dogs playing poker? And how Homer freaks out about it. It's pretty horrifying. We're just the same, we're wearing hats, playing with abstractions and sitting at tables, but underneath all we can really do is eat, sleep, fuck and die. That's our lives. Well, it's my life anyway, It's this great big lie. So much effort goes into giving it a new coat of paint. It's just a really fucking hard time to be alive, but for all I know, that could be a recurring theme.

So maybe I'm 'not well' as some would say. I prefer to say that I'm dealing with it, the way I deal with things. I'm not hurting anyone, I'm not planning on hurting anyone and if I went ahead and got 'help' they couldn't find a cure. I've just been to a physio about my knee, the guy said I should exercise it daily with this specific stuff. I haven't done it though, and I doubt I will. Because to be cured, you've got to want to be cured. And I know I don't fit some people's definition of normality, thing is though, I don't really care. People are about eat, sleep, fuck, die and they know it, so their criticisms hold no weight. I don't really care what you think because I don't really care how you cope, I don't have time for it, I'm busy clawing my way through this stinking pit like everyone else.

Okay, so I wrote it down, I don't feel better, I don't feel worse, I just filled an hour and a half though. This has served it's purpose, if you don't feel comfortable posting after this kind of stream of consciousness bullshit you can delete it, it's fine with me.