Rid me of all sense and senses, take away the joy of touch, taste, sight, sound and smell. Lock my mind and soul in a box and leave my heart be for everything in these days reminds me of you. Every moment of happiness, every second of smiles brings me back in time to a place where you actually existed, a place where you weren't merely a painting of my own imagination but a thing of substance, something I could grasp with both hands and pull towards myself.
If you have found yourself here, contemplating which woman I would speak so boldly of then I would tell it plainly to you that I speak not of a woman at all. Nor of a man for those of you who would immediately take such a simple trip of thought. No, it is not a person but it was an idea. An idea I had so perfectly created in the eyes of my mind that it had truly become a physical possibility, it had grown depth and weight and a gravity that would constantly pull me to it would my mind slip away for the merest of moments.
The obvious question then of course is, what is the idea?
The more interesting question and I would suggest more important one is, how did an idea escape you?
For surely once an idea is had then it is yours forever is it not? It can be brought out and changed and polished and recreated time and time again whenever you need it? This is true for most men and most cases, but alas it is not for mine because this idea that I created is not so simple that it can be owned, it is an idea that is holey unique, this is an idea with wings and as anyone who has truly flown will know, with wings comes freedom, and with freedom come the release of any and all shackles, even those of the mind.
This is the story of Project Pegasus, of how it started, how it fell and how it found freedom from within...
Friday 12 December 2014
Tuesday 25 November 2014
Where was you?
Her twin lip piercings shone white under the industrial light of the utility room. They followed her mouth up into the curve of her cruel smile now as she muttered "bring it on you bastards." Egging on her courage as much as she was the slowly shuffling forms of the undead with her smile and her command. She had backed herself into a corner, incorrectly identifying a storage cupboard as the door to the fire escape. There were only three of them but she preferred to run rather then fight, less chance of getting blood on her leathers that way and less chance of dying. They were nearly at the doorway now, only a foot away from where they needed them to be. She would almost feel sorry for them if they weren't trying to kill her and feast on her still warm corpse. The weapon slid out of its holster with ease, the metal cool against her grip, she held it comfortably in front of her, the butt and trigger in one hand the grip in the other. "boom" she whispered quietly to herself as the three ragged figures all entered the doorway at once. The shotgun rang out like thunder and two and a half heads were gone. Buckshot. Big fucking buckshot. She would have smiled were there any joy in living these days. The world was gone and it had taken happiness with it.
She made her way out of the industrial district pretty quickly after that, there weren't many infected left in this part of the city but they were attracted to real noise and seemed to be able to sense their own truly dead. They moved in packs, attracted to the smell of the living, any groups left alive bigger then fifty were soon found disbanded or very very dead. They had hunted humanity to near extinction, the only options left were extreme security, extreme secrecy or constantly being on the move. She had lived on the road for too long, the company of a shotgun and a warm leather jacket hadn't done her sanity any favours. She knew she must find others the day the voices in her head had made their way to her mouth and started speaking aloud, accents, afflictions and all. She had done well to cure herself of that when she had joined Middleton's "resistance." A group of twenty strong survivors living out of some old storage units. Insanely strict and a little overbearing as a group but mostly harmless as long as you had a pulse. They didn't appreciate her little trips as much as she'd like but they were thankful enough when she found what they needed which of course this time she hadn't. Socket wrenches, a full set. Tyson their impromptu mechanic had lost his running from a pack of the undead. It wasn't the most obscure thing she had been asked to find but it was one of the harder things, most stores and shops had been picked over many times by now so she had to move further and further out from the compound each time.
She was halfway back when she saw it. Sixteen of them in total, shambling forms huddled in a group in the middle of two intersecting streets. Some clothed some not. Years of walking had literally worn the clothes off them. When you did find them this wasn't an odd way to do it. Without real stimulus they simply stood, waiting for some indication of the living, movement, noise, Anything to give them a direction to run in for their next meal. She crouched low behind an old brown station wagon, planning her path before them, studying there forms and looking for any unknown threat. "URGATT" screamed a large brutish looking zombie in the half light of the afternoon causing shivers to rake down her spine. Two others shook violently, then turned and ran down the street, directly towards her. They hadn't heard her, they couldn't have, she thought quickly to herself, unslinging her shotgun for the second time that day. What were they doing? She flattened her body against the wagon and waited, two barrels loaded and ready should the worst occur. They grew closer, their bare dead feet slapping roughly against the broken asphalt, now only metres way from her concealed position. They brushed harshly against the rusted metal panels of the wagon, coming around the sides and continuing on. They hadn't heard her, that hadn't even seen her as they thumped down the main road. It was almost as if they were responding to the others noise as a command. She almost laughed, what a ridiculous idea. They didn't communicate, they couldn't talk let alone give commands. She let the two runners grow out of sight before she moved, the larger group still standing in the intersection, silent and unmoving. Manoeuvring herself around several abandoned cars she made her way to the building line at the edge of the street, moving three blocks down before turning back to the direction of the compound and heading home.
Home. A strange idea when most of your friends and family were dead and still wanted to kill you. But she had one, if that's what you'd call it. A storage locker, big besa brick walls and a single roller door lockable from the inside and out. It was about as safe as things got in today's world and she had made efforts to make it her own. Band posters and clothes everywhere, an old army stretcher in the corner and a ragged armchair opposite. "ah, home sweet home" she said sliding off her pack and into the chair. She organised her haul into groups on the ground next to her. "four tinned meals, some more out of date antibiotics and a case of shotgun shells, nice" she thought to herself quietly. She needed rest, patrol duty for half the day and then her trip into Middleton had taken its toll. She stood slowly, easing her weary body out of the chair and then stripping down. Loading the last two of her batteries from the night stand into an ancient CD player. It had one speaker missing and most of the buttons gone but it still played her music. The others sneered at her for it but she always believed it was the little things that kept you sane. The music did that for her, fast, loose and loud. It drowned out the thoughts of the undead and the tension of the day, as loud as it was it helped her sleep. The compound was safe, the storage unit was locked. Her scratched and worn Korn CD echoed off the walls and kept the noise out as she slowly fell asleep.
She was forever getting in trouble for not checking in. They all knew she was back, anyone who walked past her "unit" could hear the music seeping through the walls but it didn't matter. Protocols were protocols. Blake was an ex army sergeant who always seemed to forget the army had disbanded three years after the mass infection. He was their leader of sorts, making the small day to day decisions for their troupe and taking his place at the head of the table when it came time for group meals and major meetings. He was also the one currently tearing her a new one for not informing him of her return. "You are one of the few we send out alone! You are supposed to be setting example to the new recruits, show them how it's done and how to stay alive. Not to slink back in without a word and hide away in your cave!"
He smelt like pickles. "Yes Blake, sorry Blake" she could barely keep her eyes from rolling
"So you should be, you have two extra shifts of patrol this week, and I expect it done without complaint. "
He smelt like pickles and he spat when talked. "Yes Blake" she answered again.
"You're dismissed"
She walked out without another word. It was almost time to leave this hellhole, she had had enough of the false democracy and bullshit rules. With the rations and ammo she had stored away she could leave when she wanted, and Blake had just given her the perfect excuse.
I finally decided to post this after I realised I was never going to finish it. It was fun to write but it was never really going anywhere, so here it is for all of you to see and hopefully comment on. Positive or negative, some feedback is always better then no feedback.
She made her way out of the industrial district pretty quickly after that, there weren't many infected left in this part of the city but they were attracted to real noise and seemed to be able to sense their own truly dead. They moved in packs, attracted to the smell of the living, any groups left alive bigger then fifty were soon found disbanded or very very dead. They had hunted humanity to near extinction, the only options left were extreme security, extreme secrecy or constantly being on the move. She had lived on the road for too long, the company of a shotgun and a warm leather jacket hadn't done her sanity any favours. She knew she must find others the day the voices in her head had made their way to her mouth and started speaking aloud, accents, afflictions and all. She had done well to cure herself of that when she had joined Middleton's "resistance." A group of twenty strong survivors living out of some old storage units. Insanely strict and a little overbearing as a group but mostly harmless as long as you had a pulse. They didn't appreciate her little trips as much as she'd like but they were thankful enough when she found what they needed which of course this time she hadn't. Socket wrenches, a full set. Tyson their impromptu mechanic had lost his running from a pack of the undead. It wasn't the most obscure thing she had been asked to find but it was one of the harder things, most stores and shops had been picked over many times by now so she had to move further and further out from the compound each time.
She was halfway back when she saw it. Sixteen of them in total, shambling forms huddled in a group in the middle of two intersecting streets. Some clothed some not. Years of walking had literally worn the clothes off them. When you did find them this wasn't an odd way to do it. Without real stimulus they simply stood, waiting for some indication of the living, movement, noise, Anything to give them a direction to run in for their next meal. She crouched low behind an old brown station wagon, planning her path before them, studying there forms and looking for any unknown threat. "URGATT" screamed a large brutish looking zombie in the half light of the afternoon causing shivers to rake down her spine. Two others shook violently, then turned and ran down the street, directly towards her. They hadn't heard her, they couldn't have, she thought quickly to herself, unslinging her shotgun for the second time that day. What were they doing? She flattened her body against the wagon and waited, two barrels loaded and ready should the worst occur. They grew closer, their bare dead feet slapping roughly against the broken asphalt, now only metres way from her concealed position. They brushed harshly against the rusted metal panels of the wagon, coming around the sides and continuing on. They hadn't heard her, that hadn't even seen her as they thumped down the main road. It was almost as if they were responding to the others noise as a command. She almost laughed, what a ridiculous idea. They didn't communicate, they couldn't talk let alone give commands. She let the two runners grow out of sight before she moved, the larger group still standing in the intersection, silent and unmoving. Manoeuvring herself around several abandoned cars she made her way to the building line at the edge of the street, moving three blocks down before turning back to the direction of the compound and heading home.
Home. A strange idea when most of your friends and family were dead and still wanted to kill you. But she had one, if that's what you'd call it. A storage locker, big besa brick walls and a single roller door lockable from the inside and out. It was about as safe as things got in today's world and she had made efforts to make it her own. Band posters and clothes everywhere, an old army stretcher in the corner and a ragged armchair opposite. "ah, home sweet home" she said sliding off her pack and into the chair. She organised her haul into groups on the ground next to her. "four tinned meals, some more out of date antibiotics and a case of shotgun shells, nice" she thought to herself quietly. She needed rest, patrol duty for half the day and then her trip into Middleton had taken its toll. She stood slowly, easing her weary body out of the chair and then stripping down. Loading the last two of her batteries from the night stand into an ancient CD player. It had one speaker missing and most of the buttons gone but it still played her music. The others sneered at her for it but she always believed it was the little things that kept you sane. The music did that for her, fast, loose and loud. It drowned out the thoughts of the undead and the tension of the day, as loud as it was it helped her sleep. The compound was safe, the storage unit was locked. Her scratched and worn Korn CD echoed off the walls and kept the noise out as she slowly fell asleep.
She was forever getting in trouble for not checking in. They all knew she was back, anyone who walked past her "unit" could hear the music seeping through the walls but it didn't matter. Protocols were protocols. Blake was an ex army sergeant who always seemed to forget the army had disbanded three years after the mass infection. He was their leader of sorts, making the small day to day decisions for their troupe and taking his place at the head of the table when it came time for group meals and major meetings. He was also the one currently tearing her a new one for not informing him of her return. "You are one of the few we send out alone! You are supposed to be setting example to the new recruits, show them how it's done and how to stay alive. Not to slink back in without a word and hide away in your cave!"
He smelt like pickles. "Yes Blake, sorry Blake" she could barely keep her eyes from rolling
"So you should be, you have two extra shifts of patrol this week, and I expect it done without complaint. "
He smelt like pickles and he spat when talked. "Yes Blake" she answered again.
"You're dismissed"
She walked out without another word. It was almost time to leave this hellhole, she had had enough of the false democracy and bullshit rules. With the rations and ammo she had stored away she could leave when she wanted, and Blake had just given her the perfect excuse.
I finally decided to post this after I realised I was never going to finish it. It was fun to write but it was never really going anywhere, so here it is for all of you to see and hopefully comment on. Positive or negative, some feedback is always better then no feedback.
Wednesday 5 November 2014
Like the dead sea...
Keep away. The lighters, the woman, the feels, the people, all the things that drive me crazy. Lock me in a room and leave me there forever. Its what I need. Time? Maybe. Peace? Definitely. Some quiet in the one place I cant turn the volume down.
So do you turn the music up to block out the screams and the confusion or do you turn it off and sink into the insanity that waits. A bit overdramatic Lee. Definitely that too, its what I'm good at. I've tried explaining it. maybe you get it, maybe you don't, but ill never be able to believe anyone truly gets it. Maybe one, but they are a long way away from where they need to be. That's selfish and still true.
Paragraphs are hard. This isn't going to flow the way I want it to so each time it stops in my head I'm going to end it and start down another track before I get really bogged down.
Its go time people, Lee the great motivator! that's what they'd call me if anyone actually felt inspired by the ridiculous shit I sprout at work. I love the idea of getting every geed up for work or anything really. Caffeine and chocolate does it sometimes but I wish words were enough. One of them told me to stop being so energetic today, I told him I wasn't energetic I was keeping myself moving, that's how I have to work. the same as it is here, if I get bogged down I end up somewhere else, somewhere dark and fucking scary and I cant function there, so I roll my sleeves up and work as hard and fast as I can, maybe not physically because at the moment if one thing isn't broken it feels like another will be soon, but mentally I'm always on the move in that place. always jumping form one task to the next and then back to something I picked up and forgot about. Its not a perfect system but its the only one I have that works at the moment. Hopefully after tomorrow I'll start getting better again, either way there are tough times ahead. I need to push harder and just cop whatever comes my way. Its going to get interesting quick but I've always been able to handle it in the past.
So the infamous A.P. just rang and distracted the hell out of me but I'm trying to reign the wild horses now crashing through my headspace in.
An oddly good friend of mine recently made me realise some things I've been doing when it comes to any form of romance in my life.
"Can I say one thing tho? You are too available. We don't want dicks. We just want someone to treat us like we are different. The things you are doing for these girls is nice but a girl has a way of sensing if a guy is doing something because there is a crazy connection or because the guy just does this for women. Dave treats me like a princess and says he would do anything for me...he would do anything for me...but he would do anything for any woman he was dating...he falls fast despite personality's. A girl shows him love and says a few nice things and he would follow them to the ends of the earth. And that's easy to sense" - A person who is way way way smarter then I am.
and my exact response to this was
So do you turn the music up to block out the screams and the confusion or do you turn it off and sink into the insanity that waits. A bit overdramatic Lee. Definitely that too, its what I'm good at. I've tried explaining it. maybe you get it, maybe you don't, but ill never be able to believe anyone truly gets it. Maybe one, but they are a long way away from where they need to be. That's selfish and still true.
Paragraphs are hard. This isn't going to flow the way I want it to so each time it stops in my head I'm going to end it and start down another track before I get really bogged down.
Its go time people, Lee the great motivator! that's what they'd call me if anyone actually felt inspired by the ridiculous shit I sprout at work. I love the idea of getting every geed up for work or anything really. Caffeine and chocolate does it sometimes but I wish words were enough. One of them told me to stop being so energetic today, I told him I wasn't energetic I was keeping myself moving, that's how I have to work. the same as it is here, if I get bogged down I end up somewhere else, somewhere dark and fucking scary and I cant function there, so I roll my sleeves up and work as hard and fast as I can, maybe not physically because at the moment if one thing isn't broken it feels like another will be soon, but mentally I'm always on the move in that place. always jumping form one task to the next and then back to something I picked up and forgot about. Its not a perfect system but its the only one I have that works at the moment. Hopefully after tomorrow I'll start getting better again, either way there are tough times ahead. I need to push harder and just cop whatever comes my way. Its going to get interesting quick but I've always been able to handle it in the past.
So the infamous A.P. just rang and distracted the hell out of me but I'm trying to reign the wild horses now crashing through my headspace in.
An oddly good friend of mine recently made me realise some things I've been doing when it comes to any form of romance in my life.
"Can I say one thing tho? You are too available. We don't want dicks. We just want someone to treat us like we are different. The things you are doing for these girls is nice but a girl has a way of sensing if a guy is doing something because there is a crazy connection or because the guy just does this for women. Dave treats me like a princess and says he would do anything for me...he would do anything for me...but he would do anything for any woman he was dating...he falls fast despite personality's. A girl shows him love and says a few nice things and he would follow them to the ends of the earth. And that's easy to sense" - A person who is way way way smarter then I am.
and my exact response to this was
"Fuck
...
So that's what's going on.
...
That makes a lot of sense.
...
Goddamnit"
Of course the information blows, because it shows that I am the problem... which actually didn't come as much of a surprise as I wanted it to. But in a way it is also good because if I am the problem I can fix it.
Which brings me to the other thing I keep telling myself, I need to work on me. Its one of those things I think people say a lot and never stick the but the problems and evidence are stacking up really quickly that I am causing the majority of my own problems, which is okay, but only if I am working to fix them.
Which brings me to the other thing I keep telling myself, I need to work on me. Its one of those things I think people say a lot and never stick the but the problems and evidence are stacking up really quickly that I am causing the majority of my own problems, which is okay, but only if I am working to fix them.
Its funny in a really dark way how similar working on myself and joining the army are in my head. What happens if I find I am too broken to be fixed? I'm functional but by no means am I happy. The same thing occurs to me for the army, what if I am simply not cut out for it?
One of my favourite pieces of internet are says fear makes the wolf bigger. You are damn right it does, but what are you supposed to do when the thing you fear the most is yourself? What if I'm not the man I want to be, what if I cant be that person? What if the world throws its will against me and I shatter into a thousand pieces, if I break down again. Become this husk of who I am every time I'm challenged in my head.
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Well I'm shit out of sugar and I've got more then enough lemonade to drown in.
One of my favourite pieces of internet are says fear makes the wolf bigger. You are damn right it does, but what are you supposed to do when the thing you fear the most is yourself? What if I'm not the man I want to be, what if I cant be that person? What if the world throws its will against me and I shatter into a thousand pieces, if I break down again. Become this husk of who I am every time I'm challenged in my head.
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Well I'm shit out of sugar and I've got more then enough lemonade to drown in.
Thursday 5 June 2014
Warning: author completely full of shit.
Warning: author completely full of shit. - Bigford Smeckler's Cool Ideas
I lose my place quite often, I will write something brilliant up in my head, I'll turn it on the lathe and polish it until its smooth and shiny and then I'll lose it to the next piece of shit idea that jumps in the way of my thought train. I wish it didn't, I want a vault for all the brilliant ideas that I would write out and an auto save function so I never lose out on the tiny bits of progress I make in this life.
I have been being more honest with myself lately. Trying to sort out my bullshit from my real shit and convince myself they I can actually tell the difference. Its a hard thing at the moment as both mountainous peaks are showing signs of collapse which will almost certainly end in my own demise due to lungs full of crap instead of oxygen. I recently achieved some form of a goal as you may have read, I passed the are you smart and healthy enough tests to get into the army, which to my former reckoning would have given me access to clean slate and fresh playing field for my emotions and life goals. You have one mission, get you ass moving and your stomach shrinking. Push, push, push. How I convinced myself it was ever going to work that way I don't know. It doesn't, just in case that wasn't clear. There are still two mountains of shit that I need to scale before I get where I need to be to make this work. They are big, they are shaky and they smell like three month old hobo vomit. its a little graphic I agree but if you cringed then you get the point. I don't have climbing gear, I have mentally stability, there are no ropes only confidence that I can get the job done. There is no falling back on anyone this time, the only person that can fuck this up is me.
Which brings me to the second shittiest realisation of my life. It doesn't matter who is here and who I have and who cares about it all. This, all of this is on me. The rest of my life is on my shoulders.
"Well" you say "Lee that's just what being an adult is about."
No. Fuck you. See getting a job, that was on me. Finding a place to live, that was on me. Doing the washing, that's on me. BUT and it is a big but, they were problems of a repeatable nature. If I didn't get the job at JB then I would have somewhere else, if I didn't get the house I did I would have found somewhere else to live. THIS, this is the rest of my fucking life. This is the one shot I have to get where I want to be going. "So go out there and do it?" Ah no thanks, I'm going to stay here and hide under my blankets until life starts knocking on someone else's door. See in my head I'm out there kicking ass and taking names, I'm doing all of the things I need to be doing right now in the moment, and then I get home and I sit for a moment in silence and I can hear it. That little voice in your head, the one that tells you, you are doing something wrong. You are killing your life one day at a time.
So why write it here? Why not just change it if you have noticed this thing about yourself? Ah well there it is, the real conundrum laid out in plain English. I am a stubborn fool. I deny and lie and cheat and fight with my own brain until I am comfortable sitting on the couch for the weekend smashing out Watch Dogs eating ice-cream and pizza. So I plaster my bullshit here. For all the world (so like six or seven people) to see, and more importantly for me to read. Over and over and over again until I have got it all sunk it and learned and shit. Until I am ready every day to get on my bike and ride to work instead of driving. So that the packet of chips in my cupboard doesn't look more desirable then cams and a slouch hat.
I lose my place quite often, I will write something brilliant up in my head, I'll turn it on the lathe and polish it until its smooth and shiny and then I'll lose it to the next piece of shit idea that jumps in the way of my thought train. I wish it didn't, I want a vault for all the brilliant ideas that I would write out and an auto save function so I never lose out on the tiny bits of progress I make in this life.
I have been being more honest with myself lately. Trying to sort out my bullshit from my real shit and convince myself they I can actually tell the difference. Its a hard thing at the moment as both mountainous peaks are showing signs of collapse which will almost certainly end in my own demise due to lungs full of crap instead of oxygen. I recently achieved some form of a goal as you may have read, I passed the are you smart and healthy enough tests to get into the army, which to my former reckoning would have given me access to clean slate and fresh playing field for my emotions and life goals. You have one mission, get you ass moving and your stomach shrinking. Push, push, push. How I convinced myself it was ever going to work that way I don't know. It doesn't, just in case that wasn't clear. There are still two mountains of shit that I need to scale before I get where I need to be to make this work. They are big, they are shaky and they smell like three month old hobo vomit. its a little graphic I agree but if you cringed then you get the point. I don't have climbing gear, I have mentally stability, there are no ropes only confidence that I can get the job done. There is no falling back on anyone this time, the only person that can fuck this up is me.
 |
| Step 1 - Hide under blanket Step 2 - Continue hiding under blanket for the rest of time |
"Well" you say "Lee that's just what being an adult is about."
No. Fuck you. See getting a job, that was on me. Finding a place to live, that was on me. Doing the washing, that's on me. BUT and it is a big but, they were problems of a repeatable nature. If I didn't get the job at JB then I would have somewhere else, if I didn't get the house I did I would have found somewhere else to live. THIS, this is the rest of my fucking life. This is the one shot I have to get where I want to be going. "So go out there and do it?" Ah no thanks, I'm going to stay here and hide under my blankets until life starts knocking on someone else's door. See in my head I'm out there kicking ass and taking names, I'm doing all of the things I need to be doing right now in the moment, and then I get home and I sit for a moment in silence and I can hear it. That little voice in your head, the one that tells you, you are doing something wrong. You are killing your life one day at a time.
So why write it here? Why not just change it if you have noticed this thing about yourself? Ah well there it is, the real conundrum laid out in plain English. I am a stubborn fool. I deny and lie and cheat and fight with my own brain until I am comfortable sitting on the couch for the weekend smashing out Watch Dogs eating ice-cream and pizza. So I plaster my bullshit here. For all the world (so like six or seven people) to see, and more importantly for me to read. Over and over and over again until I have got it all sunk it and learned and shit. Until I am ready every day to get on my bike and ride to work instead of driving. So that the packet of chips in my cupboard doesn't look more desirable then cams and a slouch hat.
I am never entirely sure how this will affect me. Some days it brings the biggest ups, it lets me think nothing for a few moments and have peace and silence in my head and other days it brings out all the very best fears I have. Tonight it has done a bit of both, it clears me up and then shakes me down, the end scene, song and credits bringing with them a torrent of eclectic emotions. Sadness, loneliness, freedom.
We are infinite.
I have had moments like that, moments of where the world fades away and everything is still alright. moments that played back would appear in black and white with the perfect background music. Where nothing matters, not even what is on screen only whatever it is you are feeling right in that moment and to make it last as long as is possible. I miss those moments as they can very rarely be made, it takes a special place in my head that I cant get too at the moment. It needs a key that I no longer have, lost somewhere in the house of my mind. Not stilling, or missing but lost and I know I will find it and I wait for that day. Where my confidence is not a fleeting thing and my emotions are stable enough to walk on again. I am limping most days and running the rest, but I would give up the run if I could just have the chance to walk tall again and trust myself. I don't see that coming around again soon unless I can kick off this rut I seem to be standing in. Gym, work, home, work, home, work, home, gym, home, work. It is a bad loop with too much work and not enough gym. The pattern up stairs does not look much better.
I am growing tired of my own duality. I want to be the better half but the weaker one holds my strength for ransom. He has no demands only the want to see me fail and finally have an excuse for my own impending depression. I would cast him aside like a poorly fitting organ if he wasn't sown into my insides. I hope I get through this alive, without more burns or insanity, without hurting anyone else, without losing myself again.
Friday 4 April 2014
All the right moves...
I wonder about timing a lot. about how things happen at random, always random but often seeming so very not random. I think that is an important part of human life, knowing that things aren't on purpose but believing they are anything.
I think the quit smoking campaigns can be applied to any part of your life. This whole every time you quit it gets a little easier idea. Its simple brilliance. I wake up every morning thinking today is the fucking day, lets get in and smash it. Get it done. Simple as that, and each day I do it gets a little easier to do it the next day and the next. Motivation is a bar of soap in the prison room shower, if you let it slip you are going to get fucked in places you don't like.
My point tonight is that I have a new ridiculous goal. Something completely absurd, but I don't care. Its about time the completely ridiculous started working out for me, I have been dealing with its negatives for so long I think I've earned some positives. You see my Internet friends, I just got out of Captain America - The Winter Soldier (Its ridiculously awesome and everyone should watch it... twice). Chris Evans of course returns to his role as the Cap with a figure one could only describe as just a little awe inspiring. He is one of the only people I have ever seen that manage to look that ripped without looking the slightest bit grotesque. Now whether it is movie magic or not doesn't matter, that is what I want. I'm about three centimetres taller than that man and without all the muscles my shoulders are just as wide as his. There is no reason what so ever that I cant manage that. It wont happen tomorrow, hell I can tell you now I wont manage it in six months. I'm too lazy. in a week I will give up. but in a month I'll be back, and in three months I'll be back again and I will keep fucking pushing until I have the things I want. It doesn't matter if its the army or the girl or the body or the money, it honestly doesn't matter what it is because in these moments, where my whole consciousness is focused on achieving my goals. I am unstoppable. I am the motherfucking batman of my life. I will swear to me and anyone who says I cant do it, doesn't know me and doesn't want to. I have a lot of people to show the things I will do and I think I'm going to start right now.
That is where I will leave it tonight.
I think the quit smoking campaigns can be applied to any part of your life. This whole every time you quit it gets a little easier idea. Its simple brilliance. I wake up every morning thinking today is the fucking day, lets get in and smash it. Get it done. Simple as that, and each day I do it gets a little easier to do it the next day and the next. Motivation is a bar of soap in the prison room shower, if you let it slip you are going to get fucked in places you don't like.
My point tonight is that I have a new ridiculous goal. Something completely absurd, but I don't care. Its about time the completely ridiculous started working out for me, I have been dealing with its negatives for so long I think I've earned some positives. You see my Internet friends, I just got out of Captain America - The Winter Soldier (Its ridiculously awesome and everyone should watch it... twice). Chris Evans of course returns to his role as the Cap with a figure one could only describe as just a little awe inspiring. He is one of the only people I have ever seen that manage to look that ripped without looking the slightest bit grotesque. Now whether it is movie magic or not doesn't matter, that is what I want. I'm about three centimetres taller than that man and without all the muscles my shoulders are just as wide as his. There is no reason what so ever that I cant manage that. It wont happen tomorrow, hell I can tell you now I wont manage it in six months. I'm too lazy. in a week I will give up. but in a month I'll be back, and in three months I'll be back again and I will keep fucking pushing until I have the things I want. It doesn't matter if its the army or the girl or the body or the money, it honestly doesn't matter what it is because in these moments, where my whole consciousness is focused on achieving my goals. I am unstoppable. I am the motherfucking batman of my life. I will swear to me and anyone who says I cant do it, doesn't know me and doesn't want to. I have a lot of people to show the things I will do and I think I'm going to start right now.
That is where I will leave it tonight.
It is not the falling down that matters, it is simply the getting up. no matter how hard you are hit. No matter how badly you are broken. I will be standing tall tomorrow. Will you?
Sunday 30 March 2014
Do you hear the people sing?
Movies are starting to affect me badly again. Making me long for things I tell myself I could never have. I have always wanted to be a soldier, ever since I can remember wanting to be something real and not a frog. Some days frog is still a pretty appealing option. Second above all else I wanted to be an actor. I liked the idea of being someone else so much that I thought I could do it for a living, which retrospectively says an awful lot about me. If I didn't have a crippling case of stage fright at all times I might have even pursued it, but I do so I didn't and the time has come. I got the call, I am available for re-evaluation for the position of combat engineer in the Australian Army. It has been six months since my soul crippling rejection, eight months since I royally screwed up my relationship with a truly beautiful human being and three months since I opened back up to an idiot. nearly twenty-two years since I was born and I am still no better at making decisions. I have done next to nothing about my fitness because I refuse to be motivated to losing weight and being better. It is so very fucking hard to write that sentence. The tears swell in my eyes as I write "I" instead of "My mind"or "my brain". Both of which are such bullshit, its like blaming a third party for my refusal to do a single bloody thing, but the blame falls at no ones feet but my own. I don't know what to do about it anymore. I tell myself I will go to gym tomorrow and I probably will but how long will it last this time? Until the next girl breaks my heart from a million miles away. The next time someone makes a fat joke or a forever alone joke or the next time I feel hideous because I am constantly reminded of how unremarkably average I am in the attractive department?
I don't even know if this is depression anymore? I hate that, I always think of it as an excuse to feel sad. Oh I have depression, or bi-polar or stress disorder or a thousand other things.
If I fail this time I don't know what will happen. I am scared of that, not knowing that is dark. that's a road I am fucking terrified of, but applying almost scares me more. To sit in a room and try to prove to a complete stranger that you deserve the future you have always wanted when you yourself are not even sure you do deserve it.
Do you know what people ask? How are you going to get in with all your head stuff? Don't you have to be fit to get in? But aren't you a bit too emotional for the army? Do you know what that does to a person. What this fucking decision is doing to me right now. I am so gone, I just want out. I want to step into the rain and have it wash me away to a place where I don't have to feel like this. Tonight the darkness in my mind may consume me. If I make it through the house in my head I will see you all tomorrow. If not, make it Tuesday.
I don't even know if this is depression anymore? I hate that, I always think of it as an excuse to feel sad. Oh I have depression, or bi-polar or stress disorder or a thousand other things.
If I fail this time I don't know what will happen. I am scared of that, not knowing that is dark. that's a road I am fucking terrified of, but applying almost scares me more. To sit in a room and try to prove to a complete stranger that you deserve the future you have always wanted when you yourself are not even sure you do deserve it.
Do you know what people ask? How are you going to get in with all your head stuff? Don't you have to be fit to get in? But aren't you a bit too emotional for the army? Do you know what that does to a person. What this fucking decision is doing to me right now. I am so gone, I just want out. I want to step into the rain and have it wash me away to a place where I don't have to feel like this. Tonight the darkness in my mind may consume me. If I make it through the house in my head I will see you all tomorrow. If not, make it Tuesday.
Friday 7 March 2014
I must admit I momentarily missed the good old days...
I am inevitably always surrounding by two things. the first thing being women who are as incredible and beautiful as they are unavailable and the second thing being assholes.
As I become more and more of an adult I begin to realize how easy it would be to end up in this place forever. To stand still in your life when you find a place that you understand and know would be the easiest thing in the world after experiencing years and years of not knowing what will happen next. I think this is how people end up working retail for the entirety of their lives. If you can put food on the table, keep the lights on and have money left to buy the various substances required to keep you mostly inebriated then why would you want to move? That is what I am afraid of, the more I put off the army the more that fear grows, that I am not putting it off for an benefit but that of my fear. Am I doing it so that I am more prepared in the long run or because I am safe here? I have a home, I have food, I have some semblance of a social life, I can pay the bills and am happy at least thirty percent of the time. Life is not that bad in the here and the now, so why not just sit down and get comfortable? Everyone knows why not, because you want bigger things or different things or you have dreams. I get that, I know that for myself all I am saying is I get it now. I get why there is a forty year old man working at woollies as a shelf stacker.
I don't like not knowing how I feel, which I imagine everyone dislikes to some degree but I find it especially difficult as my emotions rule me more then I rule them. I'm not a robot and not as perpetually angry as some of you may think I am. I like having focus and knowing my feelings, I use them to write and create and make decisions, just like everyone else once again I suppose. It is a funny thing that we all consider ourselves unique for one reason or another but few of us really truly are. I suppose in a way that is exactly what makes this hard. I know I'm not alone, I know there are so many others out there like me, but then I have to ask why the hell I am sitting here alone? Is it all to be blamed on me not getting out there and doing stuff. I don't think I'm solitary in nature I just think I'm so used to this now that I honestly don't know how to change it. I think it is much the same as breaking up with someone you have been with for years, you feel broken, all you want is them back as bad as whatever caused it is and half of all of that is not knowing how to exist with them in your life. I guess I don't know how to function with people in my life and I've never had it constantly enough to learn. I either fucked up the relationship, moved away from my friends or was too drowned in my own bullshit depression to care. I don't do people well anyone that knows me can tell you that. I just get awkward and weird and my confidence slips away from me like a bar of soap in a prison shower. I am trying to be better at this, joining the SES should be a step forward in a lot of areas. I'm doing it on my own, new people, new stuff. I'm scared shitless, that's why I don't shut up about it, but I'm still doing it.
I need to get away. I have camping on the Murray in April, and as excited as I am that's still not where I want to be. I need to get to Adelaide, I need to chase a different dream, if only for a day.
As I become more and more of an adult I begin to realize how easy it would be to end up in this place forever. To stand still in your life when you find a place that you understand and know would be the easiest thing in the world after experiencing years and years of not knowing what will happen next. I think this is how people end up working retail for the entirety of their lives. If you can put food on the table, keep the lights on and have money left to buy the various substances required to keep you mostly inebriated then why would you want to move? That is what I am afraid of, the more I put off the army the more that fear grows, that I am not putting it off for an benefit but that of my fear. Am I doing it so that I am more prepared in the long run or because I am safe here? I have a home, I have food, I have some semblance of a social life, I can pay the bills and am happy at least thirty percent of the time. Life is not that bad in the here and the now, so why not just sit down and get comfortable? Everyone knows why not, because you want bigger things or different things or you have dreams. I get that, I know that for myself all I am saying is I get it now. I get why there is a forty year old man working at woollies as a shelf stacker.
I don't like not knowing how I feel, which I imagine everyone dislikes to some degree but I find it especially difficult as my emotions rule me more then I rule them. I'm not a robot and not as perpetually angry as some of you may think I am. I like having focus and knowing my feelings, I use them to write and create and make decisions, just like everyone else once again I suppose. It is a funny thing that we all consider ourselves unique for one reason or another but few of us really truly are. I suppose in a way that is exactly what makes this hard. I know I'm not alone, I know there are so many others out there like me, but then I have to ask why the hell I am sitting here alone? Is it all to be blamed on me not getting out there and doing stuff. I don't think I'm solitary in nature I just think I'm so used to this now that I honestly don't know how to change it. I think it is much the same as breaking up with someone you have been with for years, you feel broken, all you want is them back as bad as whatever caused it is and half of all of that is not knowing how to exist with them in your life. I guess I don't know how to function with people in my life and I've never had it constantly enough to learn. I either fucked up the relationship, moved away from my friends or was too drowned in my own bullshit depression to care. I don't do people well anyone that knows me can tell you that. I just get awkward and weird and my confidence slips away from me like a bar of soap in a prison shower. I am trying to be better at this, joining the SES should be a step forward in a lot of areas. I'm doing it on my own, new people, new stuff. I'm scared shitless, that's why I don't shut up about it, but I'm still doing it.
I need to get away. I have camping on the Murray in April, and as excited as I am that's still not where I want to be. I need to get to Adelaide, I need to chase a different dream, if only for a day.
Thursday 30 January 2014
Cool, cool cool cool.
Up the creek.
I don't remember getting on this boat. I don't remember why or when or how it happened, but I have been on here for a while. Bailing water out of the bottom and trying to plug up the holes. It is hard watching others sink, it takes people so long to realise you can’t plug the holes with stuff. It doesn't work like that. These holes aren't really in the boat. They are in us. We are bleeding lead and poison into our boats and it is dragging us down. So you bail as fast as you can and you get it all out and the boat starts to rise, and that's when you notice one of the holes is gone, and you smile and another has vanished. That's it. Positives plug the holes, so now you don't have to bail; now you can spend a night out, go, party, enjoy your life and when you get back everything will be fine. It’s not; it never seems to be on this boat blog of mine. You have left it to long and now you are scrambling to get the water out, and that's when the voice kicks in. You are going to drown Lee. No. You are going to drown and no one will fucking care. No. Give up, you are going to anyway. And the holes are back, so positives plug the holes up and negatives bore them back in? Correct. So what is the bailing? Bailing is keeping yourself level enough to exist while the water floods in and you can’t create the positives. So.. we basically just keep doing this until we are alright? Yep. That's kinda shit Lee. Oh I know, I've been doing this for a while now and it doesn't ever really get awesome, well I have to get back to bailing now otherwise, well you know, death and all that. WAIT! Wait, why don't you just pull up onto the shore?? Tried that, this happens to be the river of my life, sounds cheesy right? But it’s there. So you pull up onto the bank for a while, but sooner or later you have to get back in the boat and when you do you realise you haven't really gotten anywhere. So why not just pull up on the bank and spend that week repairing all the holes? Tried that as well, but there are things you need to do that. Like mallets? And timber? And various hole plugging things? No. Like therapists, and shrinks, and happy pills and time off work, and money for trips to Fiji. But why not still do all of that? Because when it’s all done there is still the chance that the holes can come back, the boat is never permanent. It always changes. So what do you do? Spend your whole life paddling down the river? That's the plan, one of three things will happen. Option 1. You give in, let yourself sink and sit on the bottom for a few peaceful moments before your brain runs out of oxygen filled red blood cells and you die. Option 2. You paddle far enough down the river to find a place you can settle for; you slide up onto the back, get comfortable in the mud and accept your life for what it is right then and there. Or my current goal. Option 3. You get good, you learn the lesson that there will always, always be holes in the boats and you manage your brain enough to fight them with the positive hole pluggers, and if all else fails you get to be the best damn bailer you can be. You keep that up for as long as you can until you get where you really want to be going. Some rivers are long, some are short, some go on for infinity and some grow as you do. They can take you anywhere as long as you are willing to paddle that way and they always end in something good. There are waterfalls and rapids, rainbows and kickass colourful fish. There are scary things and awesome things and everything in between. But in the end, there is only one real way to go and no one else can paddle for you. So come on buddy, get back in the boat. Stick your positives in the hole and follow me into infinity.
I don't remember getting on this boat. I don't remember why or when or how it happened, but I have been on here for a while. Bailing water out of the bottom and trying to plug up the holes. It is hard watching others sink, it takes people so long to realise you can’t plug the holes with stuff. It doesn't work like that. These holes aren't really in the boat. They are in us. We are bleeding lead and poison into our boats and it is dragging us down. So you bail as fast as you can and you get it all out and the boat starts to rise, and that's when you notice one of the holes is gone, and you smile and another has vanished. That's it. Positives plug the holes, so now you don't have to bail; now you can spend a night out, go, party, enjoy your life and when you get back everything will be fine. It’s not; it never seems to be on this boat blog of mine. You have left it to long and now you are scrambling to get the water out, and that's when the voice kicks in. You are going to drown Lee. No. You are going to drown and no one will fucking care. No. Give up, you are going to anyway. And the holes are back, so positives plug the holes up and negatives bore them back in? Correct. So what is the bailing? Bailing is keeping yourself level enough to exist while the water floods in and you can’t create the positives. So.. we basically just keep doing this until we are alright? Yep. That's kinda shit Lee. Oh I know, I've been doing this for a while now and it doesn't ever really get awesome, well I have to get back to bailing now otherwise, well you know, death and all that. WAIT! Wait, why don't you just pull up onto the shore?? Tried that, this happens to be the river of my life, sounds cheesy right? But it’s there. So you pull up onto the bank for a while, but sooner or later you have to get back in the boat and when you do you realise you haven't really gotten anywhere. So why not just pull up on the bank and spend that week repairing all the holes? Tried that as well, but there are things you need to do that. Like mallets? And timber? And various hole plugging things? No. Like therapists, and shrinks, and happy pills and time off work, and money for trips to Fiji. But why not still do all of that? Because when it’s all done there is still the chance that the holes can come back, the boat is never permanent. It always changes. So what do you do? Spend your whole life paddling down the river? That's the plan, one of three things will happen. Option 1. You give in, let yourself sink and sit on the bottom for a few peaceful moments before your brain runs out of oxygen filled red blood cells and you die. Option 2. You paddle far enough down the river to find a place you can settle for; you slide up onto the back, get comfortable in the mud and accept your life for what it is right then and there. Or my current goal. Option 3. You get good, you learn the lesson that there will always, always be holes in the boats and you manage your brain enough to fight them with the positive hole pluggers, and if all else fails you get to be the best damn bailer you can be. You keep that up for as long as you can until you get where you really want to be going. Some rivers are long, some are short, some go on for infinity and some grow as you do. They can take you anywhere as long as you are willing to paddle that way and they always end in something good. There are waterfalls and rapids, rainbows and kickass colourful fish. There are scary things and awesome things and everything in between. But in the end, there is only one real way to go and no one else can paddle for you. So come on buddy, get back in the boat. Stick your positives in the hole and follow me into infinity.
Tuesday 28 January 2014
I found myself that day.
You bring yourself back in like you were never gone. No dust, no marks, no mould, no problems. Just a few rooms all for you and your madness, your brilliance and all of the little that go along with you. Art supplies and a room full of clothes with your tattered and muddy ones in the corner. What a woman. Knee deep in it everyday and beautiful every night. Anybody would think I was in love right? Ha, they do. They already do and they don't even know the story, or the smile, or the fireplace and the magic. And then we talk on the phone and I want to punch your face in. "And that's why you love me" she says.
I found myself that day, there was no other way. I spent some time away, I'll never be the same.
I found myself that day, there was no other way. I spent some time away, I'll never be the same.
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| Created by Courtney Chapman |
I let my walls down to damn fast, I let the wrong right people in. People that get it but cant be there, reliability has to be a quality of the people you let into the house in your head. You have to be able to trust them to be there when all hell breaks lose and you go back to being the madman on the run. I've mentioned it before I think, this big house in my head. It came about sometime after I read The Redemption of Althalus by David Eddings, which is brilliant if you are interested in any sort of fantasy. It was a metaphor for my mind that I grew really attached too. An infinite house, with paint peeling and locked doors, open ones and rooms for guests. A sprawling mansion with wings I didn't even know existed until I come upon feelings that I have never felt before. There are permanent rooms in there, places for me and for other people I know will never go. There are rooms for music and insanity, there is desk and a pencil for writing and even places I try not to go anymore. but back to my point. I let people in too much, I'm trying to correct that, put the breaks on my emotional connections because that's what they are, you can call them friends all you like but you pour your heart out to someone enough and shit starts heading into that weird grey zone. Even if it doesn't for them it still puts you in an odd position. So I hope I don't come across as a cold fish. I'm just trying to protect the people I care about and myself from the inevitable insanity that stems from being attached to the impossible.
A relationship gone past has been tumbling through my house lately, slamming doors shut and blowing others open, letting memories out I really don't want floating around. They are armed missiles set to destroy my mood and my day. Considering times gone past and rumours blowing up chunks of happiness. I don't often talk about what I did because it has become so twisted in my head that I don't really know what happened. Do I have an explanation for it? Or am I just trying to justify my actions for decisions of a past that other people have apparently forgotten. Is this all just a case of my loneliness making my pine for a partner? Or is it my brain returning to the pattern of the aftermath where I went psycho again. I don't want to go back to that I have been doing so well keep my anger down to minimal levels, and then you bastards had to go and start laughing and blow it all up again. people are weird.
A relationship gone past has been tumbling through my house lately, slamming doors shut and blowing others open, letting memories out I really don't want floating around. They are armed missiles set to destroy my mood and my day. Considering times gone past and rumours blowing up chunks of happiness. I don't often talk about what I did because it has become so twisted in my head that I don't really know what happened. Do I have an explanation for it? Or am I just trying to justify my actions for decisions of a past that other people have apparently forgotten. Is this all just a case of my loneliness making my pine for a partner? Or is it my brain returning to the pattern of the aftermath where I went psycho again. I don't want to go back to that I have been doing so well keep my anger down to minimal levels, and then you bastards had to go and start laughing and blow it all up again. people are weird.
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| Not created by Courtney Chapman |
The picture. Some of you may freak out at this, and I did think about it for a while before I decided to add it in. I wanted to show you rather then tell you what its like, this circle of thoughts in my head. it like watching your life roll by with bad reception. Greyscale colour and so much snow you cant see a damn thing. You brace yourself for the drop into depression and you want to rip your hair out and scream but you just have to keep going. You have to tell yourself this is only for the moment, that things will get better no matter how often these moments come you will beat them. There are days when I give up and want to die. there are days when all I feel like doing in going back to the metal and the lighter just to feel something different, to let my brain process those sweet, sweet endorphins that come after the pain. But you cant. You have to handle it like an adult, you have to push through everything and just keep fucking going. The static is the worst though, you roll up your sleeves and prepare yourself to do something positive, to change your life and be better but your mind throws decides something else entirely. Suddenly there are these road blocks and stop signs and excuses not to go, the snow gets turned up to eleven and now not only are you suddenly waist deep in reasons to stop yourself, you also cant see why you wanted to do it in the first place. Build a snow plow out of good memories and upgrade your headspace to digital reception.
I have this amazing friend, a real ticks all the boxes and twelve out of ten sort who carries around a lot of emotional baggage from her past and all of the things that have happened to her along the way here, and it got me thinking. Emotional baggage, we all drag it around for no real reason until we finally build up the strength to let it go. Past relationships, denials, rejections, bad days and horrible memories all zipped up and ready to go in handy wheel along packages. What for? To tire us out? or slow us down? Why do we keep these things with us for so long? Because when you really think about it when has anyone ever described anything akin to positive emotional baggage? It doesn't exist! it isn't a thing, its simply not there, its not hidden in your toilet bag or packed into your just under the limit carry on. It is inside us. It sounds cheesy when I write it out, but all the positive stuff, the good things we keep to keep us strong and shuffling along this road of ours all comes from inside. It isn't something we carry, or pull along or push in trollies, we keep it in our heads and hearts for easy access when things really go south on us. Maybe that's the key to being happy, keep the pockets of positivity inside bigger then the emotional baggage you are carrying on the outside.
Sometimes I write because I feel like I might say something brilliant other times it is because I need to get things out of my head. Today it is the latter. It may not have been written well but it has been written and at the moment that is all that really matters to me. I'll be back again when things get real or better.
Sometimes I write because I feel like I might say something brilliant other times it is because I need to get things out of my head. Today it is the latter. It may not have been written well but it has been written and at the moment that is all that really matters to me. I'll be back again when things get real or better.
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