Damaged Goods.

I should change this blog name to I Ruin Everything.

I'm sick to death of everything having a reprocussion. Goddamnit for once I would love to do something without anyone caring.

Call it kar- no wait fuck that.

If I wasn't the Lothario of SCPA, fuck that of life, then the fuck else would it be.

Exactly, FUCKING NO ONE.

So I was shoveling through the shit of the past and found these lame ass blogs I wrote a year ago.

The first one, aptly named Blog 3, I'll be giving commentary through out.

(I Thought this was a pretty funny intro, so I wrote it down while on the bus)

I've started writing blogs because keeping a diary is just to damn gay.

 

if i was gonna start keeping a diary, i picture myself laying on my stomach with my legs bent up at the knee and crossed at the anklewith my cat on my ass.


No


Fuck that

I'll write this blog shirtless, standing, covered in blood surounded by wolves.
The sky is a plasticine blue; deep yet crystal clear, as though i can almost see right through it, see the stars right through the lie that is the blue sky.

 

And it means one thing

 
(For some reason I though this was really cool, and how wrong I was.)
[in deep dramatic baritone]Today, will be, a good day.[/deep dramatic baritone]

or a bad day.

or both

but never neither

although it can't, yet it must.

ok 

enough with the fucking Tom Stoppard bullshit.

(See.)

as it turns out the day is niether good nor bad.

the day is stoic.

the day is paraplexic.

i'm beggining to fear that i'm not allowing my self to enjoy these days.

(you can fly without me)

this lament corner, this right angle of disdain, will continue after this break.


(Oh this part is just to damn precious! I of course, am talking about Ariel Campbell)
we sit next to each other.

I love it.

I feel it.

but I act as if i don't give two shits.

I act stoic

I act brave.

but I never was, I always cared.

 

Or at least acted like I cared more about the facade then the face.

but that's just not true. 

 

whoops.

i tell ya, this blog would have so much more crediblity if Clive Owen narrarated it.

In other parts of time.

(I am speaking about the P&P rooms and To Kill A Mockingbird.)
The room has a faint famliarity to it, as though that is where my life was dramatically changed, where my future was most likley shaped, but thats not it. No, no i think i've seen it in a Better Homes And Gardens. The lights are bright and we sit on what was, at one time, the swing where my daughter sat, on those hot summer mornings in Maycomb.

(This is Gary and I talking to each other, we're funny fucks.)
We are not alone.

We contest back and forth who's life is worse. Who made the mistakes, who made the choices.

X's never made choices

Y's made to many,

 and it all comes out to one thing. The one thing that we were always to blind to see, but now know that it's what we have to do.

 We need to swap lives and sell the story to Paramount.

Kidding of course.

(Rain of the Razor Lazer)

(That "thing" I'm talking about was asking Ariel Campbell if she was still in love with me. Oh Al if you only fucking knew.)
this "thing" proverbial of course, does in fact need to happen.

(day of the cloudy howdy)

It needs to happen so we can move on, which is the one thing that i was scared of

(flight of the shleter melter)

son of a bitch

(you can fly with out me)

i knew it."

So that concludes TerribleBlog1

Terrible Blog 2 Titled Oh Shooting stars, FUCK YOU

(So I wrote this one after I had just got done fucking Mika, it was during that phase where she was with her new boyfriend but was still sleeping with me and I was listening to a lot of Lightspeed Champion and Bloc Party.)

"You find yourself tossing and turning, RLS seems to have spontaneously erupted inside of you. Thats you wanting to do something that you're mind is telling you 'You realize you are fucking retarded for wanthing this, don't you?'

(This was a Bloc Party lyric, but I thought it fit so perfectly)
(After sex, the bitter taste, been fooled again)

 

i talk and talk about how "I know that we are compatible, we could work, start all over, more enlightened" I sigh "But i'm still leaving, so this still wouldn't work, but I just love you so fucking much"

she gasps

"what?" hoping that something i said made some sort of significant impact in that damn head.

"i just saw a shooting star"

(in uptight whitey news caster voice)we interupt this boring bleeding hearts show with an announcment, Bitterness is back and in full effect, you better check your shit yo

"mhm" i mutter

spite.

"fuck dude I wanna get outta here, i wanna go to space, i'm ready for something new" she says, as if i've been fucking silent this whole conversation.

and just like it hits you, AGAIN, that this is how things must be now.

 

the Brutal Romantic, the Weak Realist.

such tragic characters.

Butchers tounges, gentle hearts.

(So, here we are reinventing the wheel.)

(i'm shaking hands with a hurricane.)

I probably deserve this.

i was so commited to nothing 

lived with one foot out the door at all times.

"Should'na' done that" the western archetypical villian says in my head over and over.

what does he know, fuck him.

(The teeth of this world tear me in half)

and in this corner...

(Once again, Ariel, and once again, it means nothing now.)
i have the ever present unrequited love that has plagued me for 4 years now, and i kick myself every damn time because i can't destroy it.

if love was a person i would take him out back and beat the shit outta him.

but he would keep coming back and tapping me on the shoulder.

persistant motherfucker.

So i just sigh, and i just sigh, and i just sigh, and i pretend that theirs nothing wrong.

"Do your best to avoid it, smile when its right, always find an out"

yeah.

to bad i never did that.

i tried to keep my doors open, keep options available, keep tractions cleared.

and i'm locked in, closed off, and jammed now.

 

in the words of the immortal Arch-Angle Gabriel

"Fucking WONDERFUL!"

Now I actually liked that one, I thought it was pretty well done.

It's amazing to think that at one point I cared so much about things that mean nothing to me now.

and not the "Mean-nothing-but-if-I-saw-them-kiss-I'd-jump-off-of-the-Cornado-Bridge" Mean nothing, I mean it means ___.

The only thing that still makes me sad is that I thought it was all my fault.

Well actually it was all my fault, but fuck that

like some chick changed her myspace status to: "Forget what you feel and remember what you deserve."

Damnit, where was that status update a year ago.