This guy is like 15 levels of pathetic. If "pathetic" were a job in FFXIV he'd have hit fatigue by now.
Thinking, sinking deeper into my writing. Choking on the depressing thoughts my mind likes to come up with.
OH WAAAAAH DEPRESSING THOUGHTS CHOKING ON MY WRITING MY WRISTS BLEED TEARS OF RED ;_;
As of right now, I have been reading all about Edgar Allan Poe. His story inspires me, to a degree, to not care whether I make a living on my writing. It is all about my writing making a living on me.
Oh wow.
Too busy to write, too busy sleep. I don't like it, just like most people wouldn't like being pulled away from their desired fillers of time.
That's the simile you're going with?
I'm going to write a simile like his now:
I don't like this blog the same way I don't like anything written by douchebags.
I can still feel the lived in space of my room. It is my room at college that I miss and feel secure in. Though I know it is all an illusion. A wondersome illusion.
MY LIFE! O YE MORTAL COIL!
The most important things to talk about are my career updates.
>The most important
>implying any of this is important
The first is my Senior BFA Reading, which took place on December 14th, 2010. It was a very chilly evening and I had eaten all my meals alone that day.
FOR I HAVE NO FRIENDS FOR WHO COULD BE FRIENDS WITH A TORTURED GENIUS SUCH AS I?
I had been a nervous wreck, fearing the performance I would give. When all the suspense built horridly up, I found myself a delirous laughter box. Then the lights in the Landing went dim. And Gretchen Legler began talking about the reading, and then she started reading my introduction...
She incorrectly read that I grew up in "Midford," New Jersey. It was Milford...
SHE INCORRECTLY PRONOUNCED THE GREAT POET OF OUR GENERATION'S HOMETOWN! WHAT KNAVERY!
There was applause, but I could not hear it over my heart.
I sat in a sad pile on the couch and I listened to the rest of the readers from my class. They were wonderful. I did not deserve to be with them.
FOOLISH FOOL, WHAT MAN DESERVETH TO READ WITH HIS KINDRED?
I did not deserve the flower they gave me. And so I pitied myself, gauntingly even as people tried cheering me up. Then the awards came, and I had forgotten there would be such an occashion.
>occashion
That pleases me greatly for some reason.
THE GREAT GENIUS, UNSURE OF HOW TO SPELL OCCASION? I THINK NOT!
I had been feeling better, but all I needed was to be told I wasn't worth an award and my writing would suffer greatly in my insecurities.
All great writers go unappreciated in their life time, man.
Ha, ha, ha just kidding.
When you know there is a difference, forget the ties and slurp the whys. Ignore the horrid voices, become the mystery inside.
Woooooooow.
Break the norm, because you are better than all the other people they fall for. You are the magic marker they use to write.
You are the magic marker they use to write-- what?
This is the writing you want acknowledgment for? This is what you think is so great?
As the Cary wants to retire to bed, the writer wants to come out and play.
As the journal is lightly touched by ink, the keyboard feels lonely.
"The" Cary. You just graduated 20 ranks of douchebag right there.
Now, I really don't know if the hat is from the fifties or not, as I have mixed opinions. But I like the damn thing since it suits me and I don't see them everywhere I look (besides in movies).
He's talking about a fedora which let me tell you buddy you are not the first smug hipster cunt to think the fedora is awesomely in fashion again.
I just thought I would share my sense of wonder with the love I have for another things I have wanted for a long time and have finally come to possess. These would include my authentic windup pocketwatch, my zippo lighter from Viet Nam War, my briefcase, my woodpipe, and probably some other things I don't get to use quite as often.
This guy is getting so many cool points.
What else does he need to graduate and become a full hipster?
Actually I think that's it. He has the full ensemble. He has the full set of artifact armor for "pretentious hipster cunt"
Sometimes emotions control my writing too deeply, I think too harshly and I haven't been thinking about how public this journal is, when it is the most public of things.
Yeah don't want any conviction in your voice on this fabulous journal everyone is reading.
Just a ton of "WOE IS ME" tortured poet bullshit.
The way my venting works is difficult to understand, and it cannot be accounted for as the truth of what is completely reality, because anger, fear, love, passion, and so on makes us all say things that satisfy our need to rid ourselves these emotions.
What-- oh I get it.
GREAT AUTHOR.
I deleted the last entry because the of the immense emotional dellusions it went on.
Delusion*
I can't say she is my ex, I can't say she can't stand me, I can't say I don't know love, and so much more.
I can't say she can't stand me-- so she can stand you?
Let me explain how I really think things are, even though I think I have talked about this in earlier entries:
Yes, I need some exposition on this exposition.
I can't say she is my ex, I just find this may be an important way for me to look at it to improve the situation for her and my mental health. We weren't working so well around a year ago, through my sensitivities and her responsibilities.
Whoever decides to date you must have a martyr complex or the patience of several saints.
They were not a good mix, let's say. But overall we are very good together, perfect really. But with these clashing attributes we needed to put some space between each other for the time being and the attraction could still pull us together from time again.
>perfect together
>clashing attributes
Let's go over this briefly, shall we? You're not the only one to do this, Cary Lee Babcock.
When you say shit like "the controls were a little floaty and the plot didn't make a lot of sense and the difficulty was a little inconsistent" and then you turn around and give the game a 10/10 it's like saying "it had some flaws but ignoring those it was perfect in every way."
Also let's disregard all euphemism, what you're saying is "when we weren't having bitter arguments we were perfect" which is the same as saying "we weren't perfect" because, indeed, who is?
Except for you, of course, Cary Lee Babcock. The great author.
We talked so many times and it comes down to the one significant action I must take, no matter how much I don't want to.
All my life has been leading up to this single point.
All the fire, all the piss and vinegar coursing through my veins has brought me to this lone moment.
Today personal safety is naught. Today Giacomo di Patzi will die.
I need to get over her. But I struggle with the idea of getting over someone if I may one day be with them again.
Oh right. Sorry.
I forgot we have a strict "no interest" clause in this blog.
SO this is where I stand trying to find a way to limit or eliminate all the problems in the friendship between she and I.
She and I
You and I
Why Don't You & I?
So far my best thought is to limit the time I spend with her, no matter how much I want to be around her I need to get over her so that when I am with her there is no thought of wanting to be with her, wanting love, and so forth.
Every time I try to talk to you
I get tongue-tied, turns out
everything I say to you
Comes out wrong and never comes out right
These things should be secondary.
So I'll say why don't you and I--
I literally do this so when I go back and reread it I'll just mouth the word "fuck" to myself and look whatever song I just typed into Youtube.
I've taken the time to walk the line and see into the lives around me.
I keep my eyes wide open all the time.
Yeah that's right, motherfucker: this is going to be a tough entry to reread.
I need to take the time to actually start writing a lot more poems and stuff again.
I know what song I need to work into this entry somehow.
Take the idea of understanding our life-perspectives change so gradually we don't see it until years and years down the road. Potheads at the young age of 12 through even early 20s may not see their mind state being any different yet because they haven't looked into it, until they smoke the weed and see that things are ever going through the process of change.
No, I don't think--
I don't know where it came from. Maybe it crawled out of the dunkin donuts clear plastic cup used primarily for coolatta's these days. Or maybe it slipped into my ears from the audio of the videos I watched on youtube today. Or it might have been the air I took in walking by the cemetery today.
The miasma at the cemetery, Christ dude. No, this isn't working. I need a reference to going fast or a car or something--
Maybe the feeling of the girls in their car laughing at me sitting on a bench alone.
Foreveralone.jpg
eeeeeh close enough.
ONE FOOT ON THE BREAK AND ONE ON THE GAS, HEY!
Though I really don't know for sure.
WELL THERE'S TOO MUCH TRAFFIC I CAN'T PASS, NO!
The feeling of vigor is back and pumping through my veins.
So I tried my best illegal move
A big black and white come and crushed my groove again!
Though, I am sorry to admit I must waste the feeling at work, washing all the dishes all on my own until the night is over and all I can hope is it isn't a long, busy night.
Go on and write me up for 125
Post my face, wanted dead or alive
Take my license n' all that jive
I can't drive FIIIIIIIIIIFTY FAAAAAAAAAHV! Oh No! Uh!
Okay I have to stop that now this entry is going to take 45 minutes to reread.
Right, what am I supposed to be doing? It kind of turned into shoehorning as many songs into my entry as possible.
I'm on my bed after waking up and I can't stop feeling the emotions of my dreams.
This reminds me of another song actually (genuinely this time) but fortunately most of the lyrics are in JAPANESE (I UNDERSTAND JAPANESE BAKA GAIJIN) and I'm not typing it.
If you ever thought life was simple, you were wrong. Don't even try contradicting me!
LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHF IS AAAAAS SIIIIIIMPLE AS YOUUUUUUU MAKE IIIIIIIIT YEAH (writing songs like Bruce Springsteen).
Well I think that's it. I managed to shoehorn at least 4 song lyrics into my post and conclusively proven Cary Lee Babcock is a sniveling twit.
Have fun rereading this at a later date, me!
No comments:
Post a Comment