I Need a Flutterboard

A day when melancholy attacked several times and with little mercy.

Not that melancholy is completely merciless in its most natural form. It’s certainly preferable to anguish, or fury, or that plain, old, run of the mill depression.

Nevertheless, it sought me out, and dug its nails in deep.

So I will drown myself in chocolate martinis, and I will chain smoke while contemplating a night out. But I will likely just stay inside, get drunk alone, and wake up shortly after last call with a hangover and a sugar rush.

Oh, My Humanity

I was trying to pay more attention to my surroundings this afternoon.

Trying to actually interact with the world outside my imagination. Be more involved, that sort of thing.

It’s hard to make this deliberate effort to act differently, but sometimes the act of balancing the conscience seems to do wonders to one’s perspective, and ultimately, self-esteem.

So I tried.

I gave change to some guy.

I ran into some zine thingy going on at the Gladstone and I paid attention to the works of others, bought some buttons, and made conversation with strangers, which can be really hard sometimes.

I threw my garbage in a garbage can, even though I thought the half-consumed skull lollipop would have looked better resting upon the partial pigeon wing I came across. Maybe I should have put it on the wing instead. Whatev.

And then disaster struck and I climbed back into my shell.

Some dumbass knocked over his grocery cart while crossing the street, spilling cans of Rock Star all over the place. His friend didn’t help him, and neither did I. I just watched while someone else went over and helped him scoop up his mess.

No one got hurt, there was no loss of precious disgusting beverages, but I felt like a useless asshole, nonetheless.

So I guess I’ll try again.

Another Fork, or Mere Prudence

It’s funny how one seemingly insignificant fork in the road would have such a spiraling butterfly effect on my sense of self worth.

I chose wrong last week, and I should have been more responsible with my time and priorities. Of course, the walk home in the fog was beautiful, and there will be other chances to right my wrong, or left my right, as it may have been. All the same, I can’t help but regret my decision.

And now I am waiting for another . . . something, to take my mind off of my woes. Maybe something to kill those woes outright. A simple change, something equally small and seemingly insignificant.

A change of scenery.

A chance meeting with a more positive outcome.

An idea.

A pebble.

Fish Cannon

Last night, I dreamt of vaginas.

I dreamt that I was watching a talk show, Oprah or some such thing, and they were featuring a woman who would shoot large fish from her vagina, torpedo style. They filmed her doing so in her bathtub. The fish that she shot out were used to feed her other, larger, pet fish.

Any insight would be greatly appreciated, other than telling me to lay off the drugs.

That’s just trivial.

Another Stumble, Another Bruise

I miss me.

I haven’t been me for awhile. I’ve been staying at home and eating a lot. On the rare occasion that I do go out, I am quiet and I don’t enjoy myself. I have been feeling inconsequential and impotent, and I know that this is no good way to feel.

I am unsure of myself and jealous of others. Jealous of their social lives that don’t include me. Jealous of the attention they get just for being themselves, while I get no attention for not being me. Or even for being me, sadly.

I feel ugly and vacant.

I feel both undeserving of this misery and undeserving of affection and love.

I have fallen, once again, into this trap that I myself create, where I cannot masturbate because I cannot fathom anyone desiring me.

So here I sit, sexless, friendless, artless and angry. Angry with myself for allowing this situation to exist. Worried that this time around, it will stick. Not sure how to proceed.

Pete and Repeat Went to the Store . . .

Let’s talk about similarities.

Without going into boring detail, I will say that September 2007, when compared to September 2006, was similar in its events and experiences, down to the very same date, give or take a day.

Some of the dates were mirror reflections, and some were polar opposite, yet still directly related to last year’s experiences. On the whole, I have found September 2007 to be a strange, if not entirely original, month.

And tonight, although no longer September, I am feeling a strange tingle that I felt last year. It was a premonitory tingle the first time around and said tingle gave way to a very interesting, if not completely positive, life experience. Lots of lessons were learned, and lots of people came into my acquaintanceship; some good, some bad, most irrelevant in the long run.

This time around, the tingle is not nearly as strong, but it is familiar, so I am battening down the hatches in preparation. Luckily the hatches are one year older and many miles wiser.

Of course, it could just be gas, right?