My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, I’m taking the week off to guest blog at Ecstatic Days. Go check me out!

So, next week, starting Sunday, I’ll be guest blogging over at Ecstatic Days. Jeff VanderMeer is one of my favorite authors and for some bizarre reason, possibly mushroom addiction, he’s giving me seven days to fill his site with my nonsense.

Now, I don’t usually ask questions on my blog, but here goes… Does anyone have any topic suggestions for next week’s Ecstatic Days?

“I don’t want to be your friend

I just want to be your lover

No matter how it ends

No matter how it starts

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine” –Radiohead

I’m certain that any fellow from Radiohead can walk up to any woman, casually say the above, and be in bed within four minutes. I just wonder if the song has any real-world applications. I wonder if I could try it without getting clocked. I think, maybe, it’s all in the delivery. Maybe.

This is a conversation between me and an acquaintance involving Battlestar Galactica.

Person: I’m watching with my mom, who keeps up a running commentary

Person: Then I shush her, then I start to make comments and she shushes me

Person: it’s fun

Me: excellent

Person: it goes without saying that you’re better Battlestar watching company, right?

Me: I talk less

Person: but what you say is more interesting

Me: like, “OMGZ GAIUS IZ TEH SEKS?”

Person: yes

Person: yes, exactly like that

Whenever I’m a little down, playing this song really loud always seems to make things a bit better. It’s so upbeat and positive, with a great sound. Oh, and I’m pretty sure it’s about a serial-killer.

I haven’t “spoken” since something like, last August. For the most part, except around certain people, I don’t particularly miss talking. At least, I don’t miss it strongly.

I’ve never walked, so I definitely don’t miss that, I don’t even imagine it. I’ve never had a dream in which I’m walking, my brain just doesn’t fathom it. Other physical losses, using my arms, sitting up, breathing, they all disappeared over years. It’s easy to adjust to gradual losses. Talking, however, is a different kind of loss. One evening, I choked on some pineapple juice, passed out and woke up two weeks later with a tube in my throat. Talking went away abruptly, I lost something so important in a blink. It’s not easy letting go, even after two years, but I’ve handled it well enough. There’s really no other choice.

Still, I haven’t completely let go of speaking. Whenever I’m listening to music, I still move my lips to the songs. Last night, I was listening to a mix of Tracy Shedd and Nirvana, really getting lost in the lyrics. Tracy sang, “and we’re taking the road, taking the road home…” Kurt ranted, “thank you dear God for putting me on this earth, I feel very privileged, in debt for my THIRST!” One song for my loneliness, the other for my frustration. I was singing along, like usual, but at these particular songs, these particular lines, I opened my mouth and honestly expected to hear my voice. For a few moments, I completely forgot about the little tube in my throat.

It’s funny how my mind can’t quit my voice.

I hate it when I can’t write, and I have to write about having nothing to write. Lately, the words just aren’t there. Though, I suppose that’s not entirely accurate. I always have thoughts in my head, there’s always something to write. It’s more accurate to say that I lack the desire to write my ideas, I lack focus.

It’s hard to find the will, whatever, nevermind. 

That’s how I feel lately. Tired, bored, frustrated, lonely, apathetic. These feelings aren’t anything new, they come and go, and come again.

So, I’d wanted a tattoo on my left hand for a long time, something to balance out the poppy on my right. I wanted an image that said something about me in a simple, yet elegant way. Well, last night, thanks to Colt, tattoo artist and all around fucking cool guy over at Doc Dog’s Las Vegas Tattoo Company, I have my sixteenth tattoo…

Nirvana Smiley

The Nirvana smiley pretty much describes me since, forever. I’m basically a happy, depressed sort of fellow. I’m both at once, I’m cheerful darkness. I think that’s the most honest way to characterize the me in my head.

I’ve written about Atheism, liking the idea of Atheism, but I’m not an Atheist. I tend to believe in God, but not a happy God. I believe in Tori Amos’ God, a God Who doesn’t come through. I believe in Tyler Durden’s God, a God Who doesn’t want me, doesn’t like me, probably hates me. I believe in Elliott Smith’s God, a God Who makes problems just to see what I can stand before I do as the Devil pleases.

I tend to think that we’re God’s tv show. He probably doesn’t help us, He doesn’t hurt us, but I think He gives, or allows us obstacles to see how we’ll react, things to make the show more interesting. Mostly, He just watches as we find pleasure, or suffer. I don’t think God is actively out to fuck anybody over, but I definitely don’t count on Him to do me any favors. 

Ultimately, all we can do is solve our own problems, and help each other out. God would just as soon watch you struggle and die than do anything about it.

She’s beautiful, so smart, endlessly interesting. You tell her these things, because they’re entirely true, because whenever she’s around you’re entirely happy, but she just smiles and looks away. She doesn’t think she’s particularly amazing, but you know she is, and you want her to know it. Talking with her is the most natural thing in the world, you’re both so ridiculously alike in your odd contemplations. Your wants and worries are so the same.

You’re a restless sort, rarely content, often lonely, no matter who’s around. You always feel that you ought to be somewhere else, but that somewhere is elusive, never within reach. These feelings are usually so palpable, but not when you’re with her. Lying next to her, holding her hand, her head on your shoulder, loneliness doesn’t exist. You don’t want to be some place else, there is no place else. Being close to her is like walking through an opiate fog, but that feeling of peace, of contentment is real, not a drugged out illusion. You want to say these things, her lying so close, but you don’t. Her brown eyes are gorgeous and bright, warm and alluring, they make you forget your way with words.