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When the shades have been pulled shut.
Sometimes, it's a royal pain in the a** being a friend, much less a GOOD friend. Of course, this all depends on your quality of friends, but what-hey, you get by with what you can. Here's to fube, hoping everything all works out.
5 days, and I'm there. 5 little days. ******** me, it can't come fast enough. I'm in serious hurt for a vacation. for time off from this hectic life I lead. Time to sit back, relax, and soak in the joys of being just a little famous. It's just my hack ego at work, I surmise, but I hope to bloody ******** that somone at the con knows who I am, and is actually happy to see me. I mean, I know it sounds like narcissism on a base and stupid ******** level, but I'm sick of always being the one who looks up to everyone else as objects, people, of respect and honor. For once, I'd like the tables to turn, and have people actually look up to and respect me. Maybe that's asking a little much, since I doubt many people aspire to be the resident skanky anything, even if it's a mod. Not like being a mod is a great ******** honor. It's fun, it's redeeming, and you meet some great, great people. You also deal with shitheads and ******** as a daily requirement, like vitamin c. I guess it all evens out.
I just keep getting the sneaking suspicaion that people are going to hate me, or be repulsed by my appearance, or just generally not give a flying ******** about what i have to say. I keep thinking that the con is going to be a bust, and that hotel life will not live up the admittedly grandiose expectations I have for it. Just this last-minute sense of dread and doubt, creepig in again, fog on cats feet.
I'm such a sick, paranoid ********. I spend all this time, money and effort to improve my standings all on the basis that I'm going to meet people. The desire to impress runs so deep that i have changed my schedule to meet them. I got my tat ahead of schedule, I'm dying my hair. My clothes are washed and picked out. Things have been upgraded. It's just sad.
Now, it's 5 days away, and staring me in the face. I tell myself I'll be fine, they''ll like me plenty, I've got nothing to worry about. Yet part of my mind, some subterranean oubliette calls forth; "you're not good enough. You're too ugly. You're not witty enough. You're not in good enough shape. Your highly personal designs and skin markings are silly and overdone at best. You're technical prowess pales in comparison. You're a lame ******** b*****d." Part of me, damn that part, hates them with a passion, but beleives every venom-coated word, and drinks it in like ambrosia. This self-destructive seed I carry in my head encourages it. It makes me wish to scale to new hieghts of outrageousness, reach increasing levels of drunk and disorderly, to push this image of "Gaia's mod bad-boy". As if it's really something to be proud of. Not saying, that in some aspects, i'm not a little badass, a litle thug, ruffian, scoundrel, ********. But part of me wants to "pimp" that image, that notion, as if it's what I require to be liked, respected, received. As if I have to prove myself to be these things that I've done. I'm quite ******** of it, truthfully.
If all the doubt and fear could slip away in a moments notice, it would be like a gift from my atheist gods. I know I complain now, but in 6 days, i won't want to leave, I won't want it to end, ever. Or I will. Who knows. I know my outcomes, though. If it goes as according to plan, everything will be peachy-keen daddy-o. Life will continue, and I may just make this an annual thing. If things go to s**t and back, well.. I'm thinking about retirement anyways. If things go to s**t, i'll take that as my final queue, and step offstage, ne'r to return. Such is life, and so we live.
I've been listening to bill hicks lately. I don't think ryan or becky quite get it. I don't agree with everything he says, but I agree with how, why, and that he is, in fact, saying it. He's also funny as all hell. Maybe I'm a late joiner to the party, the guest of honor long since departed to further shindigs of a much classier venue, with much better musical guests, and guest stars, but I'll be damned if I won't end up owning this party when i'm good and done. He speaks to me on such a base level, that I can't help but listen, wholly focused. Garth Ennis and Warren Ellis snatch my attention in the same way. i can't help but be enamoured, enraptured.
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A lot of Christians wear crosses around their necks. Do you think when Jesus comes back he ever wants to see a ********' cross? It's kind of like going up to Jackie Onassis with a rifle pendant on."
Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is mearly energy condensed through a slow vibration, we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, life is only a dream and we are the imaginations of ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather.
Obnoxious , self-righteous, whining little ********. My biggest fear is that if I quit smoking, I'll become on of you...Don't take that wrong. I have something to tell you non-smokers that I know for a fact that you don't know, and I feel it's my duty to pass on information at all times. Ready?.......Non-smokers die every day...Enjoy your evening. See, I know that you entertain this eternal life fantasy because you've chosen not to smoke, but let me be the 1st to POP that bubble and bring you hurtling back to reality....You're dead too.
The world is like a ride in an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it, you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time and they begin to question, is this real, or is this just a ride? And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say, "Hey - don't worry, don't be afraid, ever, because, this is just a ride... And we... kill those people.
I was told when I grew up I could be anything I wanted: a fireman, a policeman, a doctor - even president, it seemed. And for the first time in the history of mankind, something new, called an astronaut. But like so many kids brought up on a steady diet of westerns, I always wanted to be the avenging cowboy hero - that lone voice in the wilderness, fighting corruption and evil wherever I found it, and standing for freedom, truth, and justice. And in my heart of hearts I still track the remnants of that dream wherever I go, in my endless ride into the setting sun.
- Bill Hicks
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Most days, That last one really applies.
 Twistex · Sat Jun 25, 2005 @ 07:51pm · 0 Comments |
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