02.14.10
A Nice Way to End.
Greeting. Although there have been some good and even very good experiences in the past while, it is nonetheless true that I meet these current days with great dismay. Not for everyone, and certainly not for people who are not evil and/or insane (insane counts for at least 90% around here) — but more than enough dismay that I simply don’t want to do this anymore, because my reflections bring repetitions of the misery, and I’d rather change the subject. It’s Friday, too — and I despise Fridays. I try, I really do, but generally Fridays have been so ugly, miserable, pointless and empty (most of my “life”) that I’d rather give Friday the big “FUCK YOU!!!” before it gives me the big “FUCK YOU!!!” And here we are — except I’m not anymore. It is true that there was going to be a rather complex “Closing Essay” of sorts — and I have written most of it (Gregorian Year 2009 showed such promise, and yet became so unimaginably ugly and stupid — from choices made by others — that I had no option but to appraise it, as if desperately clutching the wheel in a car with no brakes) — however I have decided, just this evening, to refrain from publishing it. Not for shame or discomfort — I have no problem calling anything and everything as I observe it — but because…well…because of two factors: 1. It has taken me the past few weeks, in very intense concentration, to comprehend the situation in which I find myself, and to comprehend the elements which conspired to create it — and theeeee hell if I’m going to give away all of that for free; and 2. I’m hardly unaware that my remaining readers of this diminishing journal — give or take an oddball — are icky, self-obsessed movie dorks, who (strangely) look to me to give them something — which I won’t, and can’t. Instead of looking to me, why not look to yourself? L: You’re not a bad guy — brush your teeth. J: You are a bad guy — and you really suck ass as a “writer.” J: Darkness and decay are good, too! That sort of thing. I’m sure that a couple of people about whom I care a lot also check in intermittently, and thank you, and cheers to you — but this medium no longer serves. I won’t be writing anything else here. I have completed a long, complex and arduous circuit — and I’m not about to repeat it. If you’re a friend, and any of this strikes you as odd or uncomfortable — well, I’m sorry about the uncomfortable part. You may laugh at this notion, but my nature is to be quite generous and open — and unfortunately this has led to some semi-psychos glomming onto me. Exhausting. No more. I can spot ‘em now. I’m tired of being drained by other people’s insanity — and then being left completely alone to make repairs. Enough of this stupid place. Buy a vowel, get a clue. I’ll be good to anybody who’s being good (or, at minimum, making some attempt at being good) in return (or just to the populace in general) — but no more secrets shall I reveal — in hopes of engendering “community.” Sorry about all the misery — I dunno, I sure didn’t want it or ask for it. But it is done. One needs hopes to feel disappointment — and my hopes are well and truly dead. That’s something, at least. And thank you for reading the fun parts, the respectful parts, the inspiring parts. Some good people doing some good things. Nonetheless: If I could do my past couple of decades over again (or, indeed, my whole “life”) — seriously now, I would. Alas for that. Some pivotal people profoundly let me down — and the blame falls squarely on them, and that’s the truth. My consolation is this: A future wherein I shall never again suffer shitbags gladly (or, at all). Go vegetarian. Read a book. Your dog is merely a mutated wolf or jackal. Stop having to be the loudest all the time (you asshole). Destroy all weapons. Rid yourself of religion as you would a disease or mental illness. Cars are stupid; take trains. Sing songs. Be nice to people. Bananas contain potassium. Pray for rain. Closing. ~G 26 February, 2010.
Hi. Happy New Year.
It would behoove you to get accustomed to stopping clicking here, because I really am about to finish and post the last appraisal (below, soon) of my “life” (as such) — and “move on” (I’m stealing back that phrase for common usage — since it proved useless and embarrassing in politics).
The movie site will remain; and renew.
I go somewhere else.
Meanwhile, I think it’s okay for this to be, by the Gregorian calendar, the last post of this awkward online journal. Presently, given this vulgar holiday, I reflect upon a lyric by Jonathan Richman: “Do you long for her, or for the way you were?” — and it’s kind of…neither, really. I could have done without the bludgeoning disappointments of the past quarter-century — damn, some of you people really are fucking shitheads; learn some MANNERS — but if you were in my life during that chapter, and you’re thereafter out of it, there’s a reason for that.
As it’s Valentine’s Day, I realise this year that I don’t love anybody. Not romantically — or partnerally (that should be a word). I like the concept — but nobody steps up and proves herself worthy. I am left with the hideous jokes of the past. Whee.
The rub (or lack thereof) is: Life sans partnership, to me, feels like a terrible waste, a cruel and sadistic ploy to drain and kill the soul. I have endured this, for years (alas, my “family” suck ass — no backup plan there) — but I really don’t feel like enduring it anymore.
Where’s my girlfriend? Huh? Where’s my girlfriend?
(She’s probably sucking her dog’s genitals, or rimming her cat, or both. Useful way to spend your time and energy, babe.)
Kindness, generosity, patience and ardor all proved fruitless — wasted upon girls whose stupidity becomes more apparent to me as the years pass. I don’t miss them. They’ll probably turn into “cougars” and wonder why their lives aren’t satisfying. Ha-ha. Stupid girls.
I don’t like fat girls, either. If you’re fat, you should go on a diet and get some exercise. Stop being disgusting. You’re depressing everybody.
Loneliness is certainly a lot better than those horrid fates.
Go hurt somebody else, fatty. Or better, go hurt yourself.
Anyway…
I do feel peace. I like peace. Being freaked out just because everybody else is freaked out is RETARDED. Go easy. Although there’s a melancholy vibe to this Valentine’s Day, I’ll sleep well through the remainder of the morning, and I’ll awaken reasonably refreshed and content to greet the world and its people. Yesterday I was even nice to a crazy-ass old guy with bad breath, who flung himself at me and started blathering about Lew Wasserman and trying to get at least twenty bucks out of me. I gave him three quarters and two minutes. He was one bitter son of a bitch, but he sought my attention so I gave a little bit. Now, if you’re one of those judgmental twerps in my “life,” you probably would have snubbed that guy, and you should probably note that I fit better in this world than you do. And it’s very hard work some days. That guy was 100% the opposite of what I wanted to encounter after dinner, but I let him talk. You, loudmouth, you don’t have that kind of patience. Go fuck yourself. Twice.
To balance, I’d like to thank those friends who’ve appeared, even peripherally and/or briefly, over the past few days. It is no exaggeration to say that your presence connects much, makes most endeavours seem “worth it,” and saturates my world with colour (even when I want it grey). Enormous appreciation to you.
It’s funny…I really am scrabbling through my memories, trying to come up with fuzzy-romantic reflections — but even this or that nice moment is totally eclipsed by how much of an asshole the girl really was, outside of that moment (and how much damage she chose to inflict). It’s a clean slate now; I don’t pine anymore. I could die and go, “Whatever.” But I guess I’ll live.
So there’s no “her,” and I like me better now than then. Hm. I suppose, if anything, I can romance the potential of what was — and, since I firmly assert that “time” does not exist, still is!
There was an era — before everything got ugly and stupid and fucking unbearably horrible — when I gazed upon the world…not with my eyes, really; I guess I gazed upon the world with my ears. A sonic horizon awaited me (reader, perhaps you can relate) — and I believed — not idealistically, not naively, but simply truly — in…potential, I suppose — potential when “potential” and “love” become synonymous and interchangeable and meaningless as words and yet infinite in resonance. A lot of people are into bullshit, and it programs their thinking and actions — but I’m not into bullshit. I am — and always have been, and always shall be — into great stuff.
The great stuff makes it worth it, imbues life with Life.
From before the recent era of toxic, unbearable bullshit, then, I close with two holiday-specific examples of the great stuff. As I’ve said before, I’d happily live in the present if the present offered pop music anywhere near as good as the ABC song (but it doesn’t)…and the Tanita song…which makes me fall apart, cry, and turn into mud.
I choose to be mud until springtime.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
And a pre-final goodbye from The Writer Formerly Known As.
*
Love you, Martin:
Love you, Tanita:
Toodles.
