Bad Autumn

 

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Weird autumn‘, she said through a mouth of smoke. I clung to the railing holding a sweating water bottle to my head. ‘Yeah, weird autumn‘, I said back, sucking on the fag end till I felt the filter fold.

We stared at the farce of trees dotting the outside of the park, the brown streaked like hands of leaves billowing as if pulled by an ocean current. Invisible lines of force exerting itself on nature, leaving the sidewalk cluttered with the remains of photosynthesis, life and death… She left me with a thought before she left for good. You only see the seasons change 80 times… If you’re lucky that is.

That’s eighty autumns, that’s eighty times to dress up as your favorite monster. eighty excuses to try that new coffee that’s a little too pricey, but hey it’s colder now so treat yourself… Eighty times to see the world spin by those invisible lines of force. Time.

It started like most autumns do, with the malaise of winter eating away at the  niceties of summer. The hot washed days of late sunlight that hang in the air, the fat burning, spoiled ice cream that melts with life onto and off the pavement. Where sex feels great because that fever is so bad and skin melts in your fingers. I want to say it was a good one, I want to say I did something interesting or I surprised myself. Or that I made a connection for life, that I found something in someone that made me go oh… Another one of me is out there, just over there, probably too wrapped up in their interior life to imagine me also wrapped up in mine.

I have a spot, not far from campus, there isn’t a bench but a short wall I’ll sit on. Sometimes hipsters or teens will climb the statue in front. Play pop songs from tinny phone speakers or dare each other to jump off the top. Though the sideshow of kids isn’t why it’s my spot. It’s the apartment buildings the break up the skyline, the little grey boxes that swallow patches of blue behind them. Not filled with metal, machinery and office equipment. But people, their lives, their belongings, and inside one of those apartments, actually all of those apartments is a person. A person that’s just as much of a person as you, or me… One with a history and a present, and a future. You might never know it, likely you won’t. It will just happen around you, more little invisible lines.

They say psychopaths aren’t convinced other people have interior lives. Voices and consciousness, understanding, thought. They believe they are uniquely intelligent in that regard. Moments like this remind me of the overwhelming scale of it, how mind numbingly painful it is to remember every person is in fact a person just as complicated and fucked up as you. I can understand switching off from that, it’s horrible at times. Complicated, messy. I’ve known people who ignore these facts, sometimes if you just don’t want to think you’ll numb yourself with distractions. Sometimes it’s people, friends, family, others alcohol, drugs, cigarettes. Things that help eat away at those feelings, those thoughts that are so all consuming they feel more like bear traps grasping at your ankles. Pulling you down and under into the darkness until there’s… I don’t even know what there is down there, it’s inarticulable. It’s just everything and nothing, solipsism and empathy and imagination and insecurities.

I think I got distracted here. Autumn I love, but I don’t like what it’s done to my life. To realise that one of the few people who might be, in some regard, even mildly responsible for your wellbeing, is in fact, a really rather fragile individual is pretty disturbing. I don’t like looking after the sick, it makes me sick too. It makes things hard and it ties you down, and I’m afraid of being tied up. I like the freedom to flake, the freedom to bounce, because if you don’t care about showing up, no one cares if you don’t. Yeah it’s a two way streak and it builds resentment, but hey, if it stops me from throwing up in the sink every other night with panic… I’m not gonna stop it.

Bad Autumn, weird Autumn, I am too a fucked up series of seasons that change. I’m spring, summer, autumn and winter, though my patterns of change are inconsistent. They’re striking and sudden and rarely make rhythm. What are you feeling today, the cold bite of winter, where you’re a little short angry and depressed. Or maybe spring today, I’m hot and bothered, and anxious and eager. Just a ball of unfocused yellow messy energy. I’m bipolar.

I hate it mostly, I never have one stage, I never have one calm moment. Everything is always the best or the worst. There’s no middle ground. When I fall in love it’s everything, the world the movement the universe it’s all love. When I fall out of love it’s nothing, it’s nada and it’s like it was never even there. It’s that extreme with everything, and I don’t have a balance. I try, I swallow pills, and attempt to meditate. I sit crossed legged on the floor of my room. Though I mostly end up drinking from a hip flask, listening to bad punk rock and staring at the ceiling.

fuck dude. fuck.

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Time is wasting, youth is fleeting, you’re dying. No really. You. Are. Dying. Every second you waste reading this sentence is another you will never get back. You may laugh now, scoff, make humorous gestures, but the truth is you know, and you fear it just as much as me. You’re going to die very soon, your youth, which once seemed an endless consistency in a world that spilt out of a firmly smiling mouth has begun to crumble and will soon be gone forever. Spent, wasted, dead.

What the fuck should we do then? Fuck if I know, seriously. I expect people to feel the same way I do, hold the same beliefs I do, yet I do nothing to advocate or support either of them. I arrogantly assume that simply believing in them is enough. That old adage, we all know, if you don’t film it, it didn’t happen, has a sort of profound relevance here. If you didn’t preach it, you didn’t feel it. So yeah, no matter how many hammer and sickle pins I stick on my designer jacket I’ll never crush the mighty bourgeois.

The last year’s been pretty drastic for me and I think it’s made me a far more confident but ultimately fragile person. Despite a few successful and unsuccessful forays into the dating scene I still found intimacy a deeply difficult challenge. I think I took The Cars song, Just What I Needed, a little too literally. Because I really do sometimes feel like I need someone to love to validate myself. I think that one made me very awkward in a lot of cases, that and the confused mix of booze and oxycontin led to many bumbling nights of exploring shaking hands and LED lights flickering like we were running the sesh life.

One particularly attractive Austrian girl appeared in my Kitchen one evening and after consuming an entire bottle of fireball to myself, yes every last drop. I began mocking her home then proceeded to black out. I woke up and she was in my bed with me, although we didn’t have sex she just stayed over. Apparently, though I had been performing the Nazi salute while telling her to shut up and help her Führer undress. Which she did but only because I had vomited on myself. Yeah, it was a good evening…

I think I quite immaturely I let my insecurities dictate my understanding most of the time and instead of maybe being a bit more confident and seeing it through I chicken out. I mean… It feels like I chickened out…

I think it’s been quite dangerous for me because I’ve been in physically abusive relationships just to feel it. In those moments you don’t want to not believe the person doesn’t love you.

I don’t know I don’t really know what to do with this blog anymore. It was a tool that filtered my life at a very different time. It was something for me to focus on when I had nothing and no one else too. I’ve spent a long time trying to find the right thing to post, I’m not sure this is it, but either way I’m writing it so I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s right or not. I guess my point is that the words I write on this blog don’t help me anymore. They are someone else’s now. Maybe they’ll help or do something for the person that might happen, by some awful mistake stumble upon them. All I can ask from this place is that it keeps its promise, and my life is never like it was before. I don’t need you anymore, and I never want to again.

 

Thanks for the bruises.

-PB

Music Musings: Fergie: M.I.L.F $ or SHILL? 

(Suggestion: Stay away)

Fergie isn’t just flying free from the shackles of oppression that the Black Eyed Peas held her back with. She’s also smashing the societal expectations of Motherhood. Her new Trap single M.I.L.F $ is changing a word that’s stigmatised a lot of people, turning the rather lewd acronym into an equally lame one… ‘Moms I’d Like to Follow’. I admire the place this is coming from and I think music is a powerful medium to express such sentiments as controversial imagery has been fuelling popular music for too long. Though I’m convinced that Fergie’s goals here weren’t met in the way people are saying they are. Because what Fergie is saying the song is about and what it really feels about doesn’t line up.

Got MILF is a pretty smart way to reboot a solo career after lingering in a group for the better part of ten years. I don’t think I could ask anyone I know to describe ‘Fergie’s sound’. That’s the sort loss of identity you have when you work in a group for as long as she has. I suppose too there are parallels that suggest it’s the same sort of loss of identity that can happen when you become a mother. Something she recently became herself. Fergie said ‘that Society tries to tell moms what they should and shouldn’t be’. Though, I think what her music video suggests is that as long as you’re conventionally attractive and are willing to wear nothing but lingerie, pour milk over yourself in leathery outfits, have a super skinny waist, flawless skin, no fat left over from pregnancy, no stretch marks and no scars from a possible C-section or… Well the list just kind of goes on. The point is that she’s drawing pretty strict lines here about what a mum that should feel empowered and sexy should look like.

Do you see how her message seems kind of incongruous with the rest of the song? How she wants to laud and celebrate Mum’s and their chance to get theirs and feel good by reserving that right to those who society already deems attractive and deserving? It feels kind of like having your cake and eating it. Decrying the sexualisation of women and then reviling in the imagery for the sake of your music video.
Now I’m not one to suggest Fergie’s cause isn’t legitimate and I’m certainly not the first to criticise her… But, you have to think about the fact she’s an artist who hasn’t performed solo for a long time and needs something to grab a bit of attention. Because let’s be honest here, M.I.L.F $, with its flat generic sound and boring explicit ‘can you believe it‘ lyrics isn’t exactly the reason anyone came.

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Controversial music videos have become very popular. I don’t think the fact that YouTube views count towards the billboard’s chart is pressed hard enough into our collective consciousness. We saw the outcome of this in Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines in 2013. It was so edgy it made over 11,000,000 hits and I’d argue a lot of that was to do with its racy music video. Though fortunately that song got a lot of backlash, and I’d like to think MILF is a step forward, for the marketers at least. They learned that they can spin the video that glorifies the imagery it’s criticizing by claiming it’s some sort of progressive move by the artist against it. Then, groups will defend it as doing just that when in reality, well… They got played by a marketing bit. You went away and talked about it and generated traffic for her video, her name, and her Fergalicious brand.
That’s why Fergie filled the video with powerful female role models like Kim Kardashian. A woman made famous for a sex-tape and successfully cultivating an entire career out of her buttocks. Props to Kim regardless I mean if only I could do the same I wouldn’t be spending my time writing about Fergie videos.
I guess the real crying shame here is that Fergie bet on the wrong horse. I’m not here talking about an amazing song with a hell of a beat and catchy chorus. No I’m here ranting to you about some crusade. She sold out her chance to really explore something creative and great for some weird 2edgy4u ploy and I just don’t think it’s worked out for anybody. I want to be here talking about a great song, but Fergie either isn’t capable of writing one or she doesn’t have enough faith that her song alone would be worthwhile.
I think I’d much rather M.I.L.F stood for Music I’d Like to Forget.

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So it’s been awhile, another month by the looks of things, I guess that’s my scheduled now. I never intend to leave this blog barren, after all why else would I bother paying for the terrible domain name? In all actuality I’ve suffered from a case of block that I’ve been treating with a large dose of procrastination, (to be taken twice daily).

I’ve been tackling with myself over what I want to do with this space. A part of me dreads the clinical regurgitation of uninteresting news that I seem to offer yet another part of myself knows that I have little time for anything more.

This all came about when I wanted to have a little look at Arcanum. I wanted to start this diary like novel playthrough thingy ma-jiggy. The premise being that the main character, who was once a intelligent upstanding gentleman is now crippled by an idiocy he suffered after devastating blow to his head, leaving his ability to communicate cogently completely shattered. The diary would be from his perspective, as he not only struggled with what the world demanded from him, but also his companions who merely saw him as nothing more than a bumbling fool.

It was designed to show the options and great schemes of player influence that the game allows, I.E having a low IQ makes you dumb, and everyone around you will see you as such. It’s a simple concept on paper but if you follow the game through with this method in mind you might realise the great depths of the games choices.

It was perhaps too grand a project for me to undertake given my current circumstances, and perhaps I realised this. I drifted away from the concept in favor for more, starchy, filler ideas.

Then I wanted to get all intellectual and talk about Protagonist in video games, define the line between a protagonist and the player themselves. Explore the crossover and value their flaws and favors. Yet that divulged into a rambling against the white male protagonist, as if we haven’t raged about that enough already?

Despite all this what can you expect? Well let me tell you, more opinionated riff raff! I’m finding my own style at the moment and having drifted along some different concepts I think I’ve found a more favorable taste that suits me. Stick around if you would and join me for the upcoming weeks will be far, far more populated.

P.S: Sorry for the whining.

-PB