It's an odd moment to realise. The process of constructing enough lies in an attempt to save another is always going to hurt yourself, but somehow I have developed such a personality that I don't mind the damage. A result of years of beatings and thrashings finally to numbness. I think this is how the clarity has come to settle. Having edged away from the last bit of flogging, I've finally cleared through the echoes and dust and managed to carve out a spot for myself. People often say that you cannot recreate yourself or life, and maybe I'm a little farther behind on such things, but still here I am, a different person to 20 different people, new stories and ways of speaking. I'm almost proud of the amount of creativity involved, the deftness at which I can easily just ghost and give up one shell for the next. I've woven a million times these robes and masks, and they are becoming more and more complex. A menagerie nearly enough but without the cages. I have my own space where I alone exist and then the areas where all the costumes take their chance at the stage.
I think that not merging groups of friends was wisest, just streaming between them as I was always forced to do. I'm glad to have had this small touch of experience for the moment, now that I notice exactly what it is I've become, what I am yet to be. Very interesting to know that I was never very far off.
Enough of this, I shan't be sentimental because people expect me to feel guilty for my lack of emotional involvement. This especially holds true when I have merely 30 some odd hours til departure to the states. Well, that and I just saw an amazing concert headlined by Franz Ferdinand. Sure, they're spectacular and even gave away free singles on vinyl, but the highlight for me was the Ramonesish openers Kaiser Chiefs. Pure brilliance in terms of indie rock with an infusion of old school punk. I was blown away, literally, but that could have been the 5 beers and a ew cloves that I relished as my last thrill prior to returning to the hell that is America.
Unfortunately this entails a great deal of stress, not only on the home front, but also on the airline vs. my ego front. I don't much like being thought a terrorist, and I sure as hell would like an id card saying I'm not so that I could avoid getting the security wand up my freshly molested naughty bits. Alas, I also must endure a cumulative 12 hours of flight time in crap-class seating, ie. a small saet not wide enough for my shoulders and without the leg room I so desperately need. That and there's always the first-time flyer that can't shut up for the duration of the shite movie. Go figure.
But as always I shall plod on and wake up early tomorrow in order to do laundry and prepare for my last huzzah at the movies with the few "aquaintances" I have here. Another sodding day in which I am forced to feel completely crap and yet don't. Odd.
Mother, sweet mother,
Please don't discipline your hands.
Just kiss me in the morning,
In your dirtiest pants.
I've beens staring at printed notes of sheep gestation and feed and slaughter weights for more hours then is humanly normal or humane. Death, death to the man that subjugated our ovine brethren. Disgustipated suddenly is playing in my head, go figure. I can hear the screams of the carrots as well, but they're just a bunch of wussy (wimp + pussy) whiners. Go eat some cheese you douches. Speaking of douches, interesting piece of advice. When talking to people not from the U.S. refrain from referring to any person as a douche/douchebag, especially while mercilessly pummeling your liver with toxins (for all you no-brainers, that means drinking). The problem isn't that they don't understand the term douche/douchebag, more the way in which a person is like a douche/douchebag. I think it's just another one of the problems with the english language and slang of any sort. I watched a poor guy and his girlfriend try and explain the usage of douche to a kid from Germany who for the life of himself just couldnt grasp it. He seemed to think that the guy being referred to gave douches to other people, but he couldnt figure out if he sold them or performed them. Oi, the problems. I watched for about 30 minutes and lost interest when Kat came by to bother me at my bartending position. Note to all people throwing parties: never work the bar, or don't have me working the bar, I tend to horde beer for myself and become anal retentive about keeping the beer in a nice pattern and the table clean. I'm such a nerd, luckily certain Greek chicas dig this sort of thing.
I said it once before, and I'll say it again for good measure. I'm completely hot stuff, just not in America or to American women (this is why Guess Who are such badasses). Had I been told about this minor snafu earlier in life, I woulda totally been out of the country sooner. It just makes sense. But in the meantime, my name is Jonas, I'm carrying the wheel. And this has been a look into my ever-altering physical state.
And if it was just how you wanted
You'd be glued to his bones and his brainstem
And changing your image and attitudes
I sometimes miss Burgess Meredith up on the screen
leaning as he did with wry-ity
Just like jungle gyms and quarters spinning
he had that simple silver grin
like blank black photos we all thought never developed
People go on
The Sauchiehall hell we created is no different
much like a cat with no fangs and flat teeth
it makes much more sense through a window and rain
staring at the frames and finding the subtle touches
left of ourselves
It strikes me as odd how often things are completely different between one person and the next, just the way they see a color or feel a touch of wind. Is this, then, what lends itself to the charactre of a person, to their very nature of existence, because it seems more often that they never realise their perspective is so very individualised, complexed and complicated by the infinite myriad of circumstances and positions of everything else. Chaos to order, my dear, as always is the way with thought.
I feel a bit like a post-rock song these days, tied up in infinite depth, hoary, exasperated, completely third person disconnected looking down and away and yet all too fervently venting, emotional, thrashing at life and all there is. Mmm, post-rock. Silly me. Silly broken nose of mine (which by the way still feels funky 3 days after the fact... no more tickle fights methinks).
I feel I'm missing something that I know I had before. A piece of myself that I never remembered losing or discarding, but then again, nine lives is a long time to live and die within, a grave at the end and homes in between and all that jargon of long ago thought. I suppose I am admitting that despite my overall clarity and tranquility, if you will, I am at a loss for once, unsure, unstable, but undeniably enjoying the adventure. I think after all the adaptation and stretching of ideas over the past years I filled in all the crevices that housed every other emotion besides anger, because, of course, anger has no rational root and is never subdued by rationality. I'm just a bit of a dense cloud of sand and fog at the moment realising that maybe what I'm after is only inhibited by myself and not all the extrinsic forces I blame normally (it makes life a lot easier when you can simply point and say, "nyeh nyeh, its all their fault," much like the little kid you are at heart).
At the same time I feel numbed, I also have a sense of something waking up, maybe the very numbness, like pin needles in a wrist is subsiding, or it could be something far worse. I can't really conjecture or care to when all-in-all I'm not that concerned with the entire situation. Let that be a lesson, one day at a time without thought or worry can often lead to the best run ship, ie life. I'm really just an insensitive bastard and and ass, and most of all, just really feckin lazy.
It's fun, it's good, it puts me to sleep at night. I tend to wonder if what makes life so difficult is this emotional labeling, this identifying and leading ourselves down into a further caustic trembling, all the while I can hear Christmas Steps just trancing off oblivious and yet oddly passioned for something it doesn't seem to be a part of. We should all be post-rock, negligent to ourselves, subserviant to others, but then again, I've been away for a long while, traveled some perilous ways and places, and what is left may not be myself or anything remotely like it. Just a remote part of an idea I had as a child buttressed by the personalities of everyone I encountered along the way. But as long as there's a warm bed to go home to.
I believe in a thing called love
Just listen to the rhythm of my heart
There's a chance we could make it now
We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down
I believe in a thing called love
Mmm, The Darkness. Soo, tasty. So yeah, I've typed about Greek food in Scotland, but I think I left out the hottie Greek women, or woman. But I'm just gonna keep leavin her out cos she's too damn cute for this hole of a webpage. At anyrate, I've been picking up itsy bits of the language whilst being laughed at by Akaterina. You'll have that. I'm an American, I suck as a person, but I'm weird. This makes me sexy, despite all my ill looking physical disparities. So SUCK IT AMERICA!!!!
Well there's my normal rant of superiority. If you haven't been keeping up on Foamy or Strongbad, I suggest you jump on the ball and get with the program before all the coolness is sucked out into the cosmos from within your tiny pecker or midden twat. And by this point you're once more saying that this rant is in no way, shape, or form anywhere near entertaining. Well, nay, I say to you, NAY and then a hearty mooo. I realise that the past, say 20 million, entries have been far below my standard of nonsense and hooplah, and not to mention the distinct lack of ricketa racketa. But, I'm sick, only for the past few days I'll grant you, but nonetheless, I've been sick in the head most if not all of my life. So, I am justified in my suckiness of craptacularity. Seeing as I no longer have a loyal reader fanbase-- ie. you all come once and never again, just like all the one night stands with your mom --you're totally missing the point. The point of this was just to express my opinion from moment to moment and without giving two shits, let alone one, about whichever way you lean on these issues of pointless, tactless, idiocy.
So I'm gonna go dunk my head in bleach and hopefully kill the majority of bacteria and virus capsids swimming around in my brain without damaging too much of my cerebral cortex. With any luck I'll be back up to rockin' out status, maybe even with my cock out, just in time for the A Silver Mount Zion concert at Oran Mor (my new fav all-time greatest venue). Sons and Daughters rocked it up and out there jsut about a week ago, and lemme tell you, the raw vocals totally owned the studio versions, not to say its all shite, far from it. But you have to respect the completely pure nature of live and shite soundboard vocals and instrument. I think it didna hurt that I was right at the stage feeling the guitarists boots slamming out the beat as he fixed everyone with a frigid fecking glare. Metal thrashing with booming bass and slamming drums. So it wis but a good show. One of many from which I'll take a way a button and maybe even a quality tshirt.
\m/ (><) \m/ Rock, Rock Hard, Rock for Life...