Tuesday, June 23, 2009
honesty is another word for neurosis
Decided one day that I don't really like myself sober. Awkward and over-active-brain-hindered. Wanted an escape. Decided three days later that I don't really like myself drunk. Loud and liver-fucked in the mornings. Can't stop caring what other people think. I am a bad drunk. Or my conscience needs to quit. Or my memory needs to give up. Shit. I am floating. I am tragic and I will one day pitch a TV show where I interview everyday people about their lives. Just like the worst parts of game shows. “Gail is a hairdresser from Christchurch!”. It will have limited market appeal. It will get cancelled. I cannot concentrate on anything ever. Television and the internet stole my attention span, and every time I do lines of ritalin off the tops of rubbish bins down alleyways I secretly pray that rather than the chatterbox-energy-rush, I will feel calm and centred and ready to 'get myself together'. That way I would have some clear idea of what is actually going on. I'm not coming to terms with anything. Being older doesn't make sense. Should I own stocks? Maybe I should buy stocks. Or bonds. Whatever they are. Maybe I need both. Have been thinking about “becoming a capitalist”. Not quite sure what this involves but it might make me “a man” or something. I would feel happy and mature. If I lived in a systematised world I would know where I stand. Could just move to Japan, I think they have rules for everything there. What to think about at certain times of day, that sort of thing. Feel kind of racist now. Have been thinking about putting everything I write into 'scare quotes' maybe. Seems 'kind of popular' right now. I could pretend to 'be detatched' and just write about things ironically. I went to a 'totally cool' party last night. That kind of thing. I could just grow a beard instead. It would be easier but probably achieve the same results. Every time I walk through town I feel like I have been doing the same thing for the last six years and I start to choke. Every show I go to with the same faces and the same bands, I want to stab myself in the heart, or get out of this city. I feel like telling people I think their band sucks. That they should give up. Just for a change, something different to the same old local-music-circle-jerk-no-objective-opinion-because-you're-down-with-the-band fuckfest I dive headfirst into. Yeah, we get by. Yeah, 'the scene' is a joke. Yeah, honesty is looked down upon. People would rather drink in carparks than watch the bands. I would rather do this too. I want to throw hammers at the crowd, and use razor blades instead of stamps at the door. This should be ugly. This should be blood-on-guitar discomfort. Bad vibes, bad vibes, bad vibes – take me away. I will never act on my opinion. I am too scared. Fucking terrified of everything. Cars that go past in the dark. Groups of people outside houses waiting to fuck me up / stab me / bottle me / rob me. Life. Death. Almost everything in between. Feel like I'm floating 90% of the time and crushed the other 10%, and can't figure out which I prefer. The funniest thing I ever saw was a bible in the toilet at church. It made perfect sense at the time. Almost everything that “is true” makes me feel like shit. Objectively, I'm gonna have 2.2 kids and live until I'm 80. Objectively I am one of 6 billion of a specific class of mammals. Objectively, my life is pointless, meaningless and worthless. Good vibes, good vibes, good vibes. Bring on the escapism of blockbuster movies, Big Macs, internet porn and $16 dozens. Its all I've got left, anyway.