Monday, November 7, 2005

It's only words

Soundtrack: Polyphonic Spree / Hold Me Now

I'm a hard cunt to know, fo' real.

On any given day I may be the humblest, quietest, most well spoken gentleman you've ever met. And other days, I can tear it all down baby with an oral barb so hurtful you'll either punch me in the face or spit in my eye. (Like my fireman! Rub his helmet and he'll spit in your eye!)

I try...I try and be a laconic genius, easy going y'all, water of a duck's back and shizzle...but sometimes when I think I'm chilling on things, I'm actually STORING them, keeping 'em down, adding to the cauldron inside where shit be really BLACK and even I don't like to look. There are many, many things in there, a lifetime of...stuff. I guess it's why I drink, I guess it's why I don't necessarily like being on my own, though sometimes I sit under a tree on my own and I'm a happy little beaver. Strange days indeed lately.

Whenever I want a break from this blogging caper I find I can't, because I like to write, but then I just get all cryptic so only I understand what the fuck it is I'm writing about. JOURNAL ALERT. GHEY.

I've made this really big choice in the last few days. Wizard style. Thing is, it wasn't until now sitting in front of motherfucking blogger that I realised just how RIGHT it is. Now there are a couple of y'all who might get confused and excited and ain't THAT choice. Soz. But it's big and it's new and it's damn fucking personal, so cryptic I remain, public though this is.

Anyhoo...there's something else I want to blurt, a random thought I had the other night.

I was watching Men in Black 2. Genius that it is not. 'cepting, there is this one small scene and Grumpy guy Tommy Lee, Jones that is, after having his memory erased wonders why every night he finds himself looking up at the stars, dreaming...(of course it is because he was once a member of an elite team of you know, Alien Soldiers or something sexy..)

And I was thinking, I do that almost every night. Under the guise of steeping out for a tabacco hit, I stand / sit in a backyard and just look up and I dream of distance, different worlds, a different life, and in my fragile and warped little mind I wonder about DNA memory and I wonder about the genesis of my soul and I wonder about the shit that gets in, shit that leaves me tied up in knots and angry and lashing out lashing out...and I think of all the times I've sat at a computer and written preachy shit, soul finding shit, life is beautiful shit...and I wonder why sometimes that all disappears inside me and the black shit roars out and talon grips me in the fucking heart.

Told you, journal alert. Ghey.

It ain't the nuts yo.

And I can't shake the murder of my mother. Thought I could. Can't.

And I'm not the greatest boyfriend in the world. Never thought I was. Ain't. Good in bed though apparently.

And I once knew someone who truly lived to help other people, who truly lived to love other people, and is that rare? It's got to be right? Because to tell you the honest to god fucking stripped bare truth, I can't get out of my own head, so I find it really hard to talk to you, or help you, or love you.

But I really want to be a good guy. It's just the fucking balancing act which is hard. The balancing act of maintaining a tough exterior and a heart of gold. I'm not a character in a book, I'm fucking flesh and blood and heart, and sometimes I fall down go boom. And sometimes, though I pretend to be, I'm not tough at all, I'm not smart at all, I'm just a kid like all of you, all of us.

And fuck me, if that ain't the hardest thing to acknowledge for someone who has survived by thinking they were unique.

Squeeze the rant kids, it ain't all that bad. I truly am an optimist, it's just...make some room on the couch, I'm about to join the fucking human race.




  1. *Move over, guys. Makes room on couch.*

    Glad you didn't go away.

  2. keep writing and keep going. you're getting there.

  3. by the way, this might not be the time. but kranki said you put a picture of your fireman on your blog somewhere?

    [smiles engagingly with one eyebrow raised]

  4. i've heard of the fireman too

    [nods melbournegirls way, one eyebrow raised as well]

  5. The fireman has left the did get quite a lot of hits though. Heh.

  6. Welcome to the human race. We're all pretty fucked up. It's what we do best.


  7. I for one hope people stop hitting your fireman.

    What happened to that full of optimism vibe that used to come with springtime? Fucking Howard government.