Thanks for the Brews:

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Sip your beer you piece of shit, sip it again and again until it’s all gone. Yeah, fucking smooth I know, I don’t care if I’m not smooth, I’m fucking driftwood.

You think that’s important right, that thought you have that makes you a person. A three dimensional person. The things that make up your thoughts and feelings that you could only ever articulate the smallest slither of. Maybe you think you’ll do something, or find someone. It doesn’t matter ultimately, because they’re yours alone and not anyone else’s.

I don’t like bullies, people who decide to use their articulated thoughts to get what they want at the expense of other people. Often though I find myself asking why they’re doing that? Because it normally comes from a place of pain. I want you here right now, all the time because I’m lonely and I’m afraid of being alone and I have this bubbling anxiety that you’ll find something better without me. Yet instead of saying that, instead of being honest and attempting to articulate that dimension of you, others find it easier at times to use the surface of it to satisfy that wound.

I had some interesting responses from people that felt that way. One made a comic strip explaining what was wrong with me. How I failed to understand things and why I was a broken piece of shit. It was a little baffling and slightly insulting. The assumption I couldn’t comprehend their view, when in reality I think I just didn’t want to understand it. So desperate measures I suppose. I had another girl who I had fucked for a few months, one who got a little too emotionally close too soon, while I coolly ignored it. We had ceased seeing each other for a while, a number of months passed and I thought we could still be friends. Though as we sat opposite the quays she said she wanted to kiss me, but not before pointing to her boyfriend’s apartment across the water. I don’t know what to make of that. I should’ve walked away and I’m quite proud I did, because it’s easy to kiss someone, in fact it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. To promise someone validation by offering them affection, time, acknowledgement.

That’s not adult though is it. To be co-dependent. Because it only takes one thing to break the system. I suppose I’m quite independent when I’m independent, and not so independent when I’m feeling not so independent. Those tides in me change often and rapidly and it’s easy to fall into a relationship where the other assumes your one or the other all the time, and that when you change they react like it’s something unusual, new and not a real ”part of you”, just a blip. Maybe it is, but it’s a reoccurring blip. Because you’re a person too, a three dimensional person, where you’re deciding how to articulate the full force of your every thought and feeling. Choosing what to say and how to say it, and sometimes you don’t even really get to choose, you’re just at the whims of the cuts inside your mouth bleeding out into words and whines.

The implication that you depend on me can leave me with an uncomfortable feeling. Not because I don’t care, or I’m angry at you for it, but because I’m scared I’ll fuck it up. What is anger but fear, wounded from a place so deep it reflects more in the person that’s angry then the one you’re angry at? Not that I could ever be angry at you. Cause as much as I hate to admit it I depend on you too. What should I do? What do you want to know? I’ll tell you. I hate it when my friends sit across the table and dissect my life, like they understand where I come from or what I mean. Writing jokes on whiteboards like I act seriously. When I joke, when it’s always a joke.

It is though, because you’ve never loved yourself. The universe man, it’s split in three. In our heads too, the way we separate things. Past, present, future. How do you even know if you’re experiencing the present? How do you even know what you’re doing now isn’t just a memory? Maybe it all is, and you’re just reliving it at the end. Or you’ll wake up after you die and it’s all a dream.

Three universes, the past, the present, the future. You would explain across the table to your frowning mother. Yeah maybe they’re right and they should up your dose of antipsychotics. That would be easier for them right. Neglect you again. Maybe the piece of shit CBT officer can give you some comfort in that cold empty room you visit once a week. Oh you dread the bus ride you take alone. Waiting forty minutes in the cold just so you can be told you’re crazy, and when you break down in tears there’s no comfort from them, or anyone. You’re crazy right? So fuck you. That’s what they make you feel like. Everyone and everything. It’s just a fucking write off. You hate yourself because you’re overwhelmed by the idea that you’re different. You’re not different though, you just fell into the system that turns people into products. Pushed around by privileged career shits that gave up caring twenty years ago. Just waiting for their pension to mature so they can retire with their double garage. They’re not there to enable you, they’re there to not be accountable for when something goes wrong. ‘’It’s not our fault it’s cause they went off their meds’’. ‘’It’s not our fault they never showed up’’. Showed up for what? Showed up to be burned again, to be reminded that world sees you as an anomaly, a problem. Fuck that. I want to be happy. Is that hard to ask?
Sometimes you feel like a red hot chilli peppers song, sometimes you feel like you don’t have a partner, sometimes you feel like a fucking a loser baby so why don’t you kill me, sometimes you feel like you’re taking ten steps back just to take a few more.

-pb

 

 

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Origami horses don’t have real saddles:

The city is a pretty great place, if you want to do coke on the shelf of a bathroom stall that is, or talk to the homeless tell you a deeply troubling story about the time he was molested when he was twelve. Like… I didn’t really try hard for insane things to happen in my life they just sort of did.

I hate saying this but I get a little anxious at the thought of seeing old faces from a life I don’t recognize anymore. I was at a train station and ran into an old roommate, I didn’t even recognise him, even though just months earlier his pet snake had gotten out and had been living under my bed for several weeks without my knowledge. Yeah that was a pretty scary discovery. I didn’t know what to say to him, I asked after the snake, George and got a smile and some throwaway reply. Despite the fact we boarded the same train we didn’t continue to talk, we even sat two seats apart but we just let that awkward silence settled on the both of us. I guess we had both silently agreed that the end of our relationship in any form was the best for the both of us. I think in that moment, that moment when we knew we would never speak again, by choice or accident, that I understood him more than I ever had before.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot, the power of leaving. A website I used to frequent recently closed its doors for good and it felt like a nice closing chapter for me. I don’t like being depended on much, relationships, especially romantic ones make me uncomfortable. I’m not sure if I can sustain anyone I have, it’s something that sits and rattles in my head like ”is this actually healthy for me?”.  I think I might have another one of those moments soon, those mutual glances when we acknowledge this is the bridge and it’s burning and we’re not fighting to save it. Maybe in that moment, stripped down of all artifice, all assumptions and ideas of grandeur or perceived good, when you really see a person tear out your heart, then and only then will you really know them, every inch. You’ll wonder too in that moment if you convinced yourself that they were never this person before, but in truth you know, you both were just going through the motions. The fancy dress facade you use when you want someone to love you. When you want someone to be something and make you something to.

I had a bad moment in my life when I treated a series of women really badly, I was working through some fucked up shit and this resulted in a really aggressive series of bad entanglements. In a way though I was kind of okay with being the bastard at the time, because being the bastard is easy right? It makes you unaccountable. If you’re the asshole, you don’t have to live up to any standards cause obviously you’re the asshole and you’ve always been the asshole. I’ve had people tell me I’m the best person they know, or stupid shit like, I’m the most important thing in their life… In truth I cringe a little when I hear those things, I feel so disconnected from those words. From those feelings. Maybe I do have a dissociative disorder or something. Sometimes I see things and I think things, I get overwhelmed by the idea that I’m different. That I’m just not the same I can’t function like others. I know it’s arrogant to assume these feelings of, well… Not belonging are unique to me, I know they’re not. It’s just hard to have that perspective in the moment though.

I guess it comes down to fear right? That’s what it has to be? I have this special nervousness attached to questions pertaining to how I am or what I’ve done. I’m turning 22 soon. Just a couple of days now. Maybe I’ll feel something then, but right now I just can’t sleep. I’m staring at the ceiling thinking of people I haven’t seen in years, reliving moments so strongly my chest tightens. I can’t help but wonder in the darkness then, if they too, wherever they are share those same memories, those same thoughts. I don’t know if it’s comforting, or even…. Uncomforting to know either way. Maybe I’m the crazy one who just can’t grow up, leave my mistakes behind.

I have no answers if I’m doing the right thing, if I’m being the best person I can or if I’m just floundering in the darkness, trying to grasp onto something that explains my unraveled mess of a psyche. I don’t really know how to end this, I don’t really how to move on, change my mind set and come back to being… Happy…

Maybe this year, the oldest and the youngest I’ll ever, ever be will be the turning point. The moment when it makes sense. I think I need that hope to hold onto right now.

If you’re out there, thinking, feeling something for someone, maybe you too have your own little person thinking back about you, writing some dribble on a blog post because they can’t sleep.

-PB

Feeling Something Right?

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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

Service will resume shortly after these messages.

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