This is gonna be weird. Right off the bat, this is scary. I'm not even sure how to do this anymore. i used to just sit down and let everything pour out of me. I don't know why it's not so easy anymore. I think it's that there didn't used to be pressure. It used to be for me. So I feel like if I keep this to myself it's ok. Maybe only tell a few people.
I feel like I'm being watched all the time. I just keep wanting to sink further into obscurity, but at the same time I don't. My other blog's success excites me. It's not my face that's recognizable, so that's fine. I kinda don't really have friends anymore. I mean, there are some people. But I don't have anyone I feel like I could call if I just need to talk. And it's not that I don't think anyone is there. I just don't know how to talk about how I feel anymore.
I think having that pseudonym helped. I could pretend I was telling the story of some mythical admiral who lived forever. And sure it's relations to me were painfully obvious, but it was enough to propel me into an expressive state. Maybe I just need a new character. I know I can't return to the admiral. I can't really explain what I hate about him so much, but I hate it.
I don't really feel at home anywhere lately. I'm gonna stop right now. I'll write some more later. I'm gonna think some more on this new character as well.
Monday, June 1, 2009
It's been a long time... long time now. The glitter and glitz is gone. Long shattered are the dreams of a foreign sailor, and still cut short are the very things that put him to sea. A new breed comes and a new breed goes. Call it a ritual, call it whatever you will. I'll call it home and hell and breathing and everything that ever was. My bed has been empty for weeks, but only for the shortest of while. My love will return, and yet every moment is searing with her gone. The air is dryer. Hotter. A flag waves sullenly in the background and I can't help but wonder of the tales it could scream. That lost loves and destroyed men it could tell of. One could only imagine, and so that's what I do. I imagine a man with a rifle and a torn about family. And another man, bent to his knees. Begging for his life. For forgiveness. I imagine a woman constantly stood up by her suitor, while he gallivants around town with other unsuspecting women. I imagine me, bleeding in an ally. Imagination goes out the window. Fuck what you can dream if lusting ever becomes too bearable. This is not for me, and for naught I will destroy it all. In my waking path new buildings will rise and we will continue a cycle we a forced to quit.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
My throat screams for a glass of water. I try to make sound but not even a croak etches its way out. My wrists and ankles are cut and sore from shackles. It's been seven weeks and they have yet to tell me why I'm being held like this. Not that it matters. I already know. You can't live forever without making a few enemies along the way. I made a lot. Don't get me wrong. This is probably not some nefarious evil doer that has a dynamic plan to overtake the world. This is a rag tag group of pirates who simply hate me for all I've done to rid the seas of their filthy kind. And now I'm being tortured. The fleet will find me soon enough. I've no doubt that they have picked up a witch by now to help them track me down. And she'll be the best witch money can buy, because the entire Portugese kingdom backs me. Laugh and drnk heartily and enjoy it for as long as you can, mates. Your time is up, and I will pour sand down each and ever one of my tormentors throats. They will know this pain as I have.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
A stumble. A small stretch across a vivid land. A soul left only to wander. A filthy soldier wishing he had even half the chance of the people he left behind. Never look back. That was their mantra, was it not? Well fuck that. I wanted a return. I wanted to give a god damn for once in my fucked up cataclysm of a life. Welcome to desolation. Welcome to a bleak past brought anew. I wanted to sit there and silently watch the vinyl disc spin on it's platform, emitting a scratchy rendition of songs so old even my Grandfather could not recognize them. Blessed was the sea I had parted. I can't be a part of the sand I so longed to create. The beach was no longer glass and garbage. Sand and salt. I could already feel the burn of the sun on the back of my neck. I am not at home. This is a desert. Get on your knees. Get on your knees. Get on... Where is this coming from. A gun in my neck. Don't turn around. You will die. If only he knew. As long as she lives, I live. How long had I been down in those catacombs? I guess I have some things to take care of...
Saturday, January 17, 2009
How do I tell you I've been faking? That I never really did get over it? I fell apart all over again last night. this whole time I've been telling everyone the same story. I played it different. It ended even worse, I think. Now no one knows but me, and I don't want to tell them. Some actually admire me for being over it, and I think they'd resent me for it to know I wasn't really over you. Fuck. See, I never know how to put all of this down. I form it so well in my head, but the second it leaves it all looks a jumbled mess to me. I'll try this again in a bit.
Revisiting angst. Death Cab plays in the background. Eccentricity seems more vague. I'm just a carbon copy again. Oh, what it was to be so naive. Don't get me wrong. I'm still playing quite the fool. The fall guy. I don't even know what I'm getting at with that statement, though. I had quite a bit to drink last night. Oh, I'm at work right now. I almost said that I'm working, but you know I don't get paid to blog, so clearly I'm not actually working. A fellow just told me Death Cab is his favorite band. He's the only customer in the store and I just happen to be playing his favorite album ever. That almost never happens to people. Anyway, back to drinking last night. I don't know if you know this, but I'm quite the emotional person when I drink. This isn't to say that I am sad, I'm just a very extreme projection of emotions. Happiness, anger, love; it's all there. Last night sadness hit me. That's always the worst. I end up almost seeking out ways to further the sadness. Then it becomes anger. Any sad person eventually becomes angry. Angry at whatever it is that made you sad. Angry in general. Can I just say that I don't blame him. Don't bother trying to guess who. You're wrong. I promise. But really, he had every right. He saw what I saw. Why not, then? Back to last night. Actually, I'm not sure where this story was going. I was upset. Bla bla bla. What do you care, right?