I misunderstand everything that's said to me. That's my job. How can you expect me not to do my job?
My hero is Sylvia Plath. I like the way Janis Joplin always looks like she’s nursing a bad hangover. I can understand why Kurt Cobain grabbed and an out. I can deal with the fact that Axl Rose was so angry he lost his edge.
I’m not going to apologize. Because that’s not what I do. What I can do however is beat the crap out of your delusions – if you’ll let me. I’m good at that. Very good.
I can see a sociopath right in the eye and explain him is misdemeanour and still not let him feel judged. I can feel at ease with selfish, insecure, commitment phobic people because honestly people, they’re real.
I can try to pretend I care. And I do that well. But I can never patch up the cracks; the cracks in the veneer of oh the most plebeian, people pleasing conviviality. Seriously, I’m not in the least the bag of sunshine that’ll make your day.
That’s just not who I am.
I can help you deal with your mistakes – the darkest, most bad ass mistakes. Because seriously, there is nothing to deal with there. All I’ll tell you is that you’ll make them again. So just try not killing yourself while you’re at it. Because however crappy this whole business of living is, it’s still better than being dead. Because the dead don’t breathe and personally, I think breathing is pretty darned good. It’s one of the good things about being alive. So I’ll tell you – breathe.
Everyone makes mistakes. Some people spend their lives hiding theirs, others, they just shrug and learn to live with theirs.
If you’re looking to kick yourself in the gut so bad it hurts. I can help you with that. I despise people who don’t know how to do that. I like to believe that sooner than later everyone has their dog-day. When that day arrives, it’s good if you’ve had your share of practise.
I try not believe too much. And not hope too much. I can paint love so dark it looks like misery and happiness and I are on continuous outs. I don’t like anything that is build to comfort people into a nauseous state of oblivion where they forget they’re just people who’re running around in a random circus of subjective reality – one where the most potent of all cosmic crimes against humanity – ‘pain/suffering’ is as random as an eighteen wheeler losing control and hitting your midsection with the bang of creation ringing in your head trying to remind you – we’re all random. So deal with that.
One of these days I am really going to have to accept it. I have issues. Maybe my issues are self created. Because I can find nothing wrong with my family history. Or maybe I like to repress that as well.
Who knows? But as long as you do not show me how you need to throw a fit every day to let out your steam; and shrink me and tell me whining is good for the spinal fluid – I’m going to ignore you. Please let me ignore you. Because ignoring you is good for me. Almost healthy.
You and I are not the same. You believe talking is good. I believe repressing the only sane way to survive. You’re a bright, hopeful young thing who has relationship, work troubles. I just have dysfunctions.
Dysfunctions don’t go with talking. Your troubles might.
So stay away from me. I don’t do the talking. I don’t like the talking. And I definitely don’t like hearing you do yours.
Repress, and move on.
I brood. I like my brooding. My brooding is my job. And I do it well.
And all you happy people can keep your pathetic nods and fake understanding purrs inside your halo and walk away.
Because people like you need people like me.
If it weren’t for people like me, people like you would never be happy. Because I am the reminder of all those things that make you grab at your purses and stuff them with half a dozen bits and scraps of custom designed smiles that reek of botox.
I mean it, I like my brooding.
Probably, in the scheme of random things – you were the planned one. And someone like me was a mishap.
But even when you will refuse to admit it, accidents happen all the time too. Just like you.
So in a strange levelling way, we’re equals. You and I have nothing to compete for, or about.
I don’t care about who and what you are. So here’s wishing you will stop attempting at judging me so much.
Because you can’t compete with an accident. Somethings are always more equal.
No go deal with it.
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