Meandering.

WARNING: This post will contain even less structure than usual. Don't read it...seriously.

It's been a big few weeks, and it all caught up with me tonight. Anyone who knows me knows I'm not really all that social, but I do have my moments, and lately I've been making an effort.

To be honest I thought I'd be okay after I worked through the crushing guilt of breaking up with my ex. I felt so responsible and bad and greedy, but I'm now at peace with the fact that you just can't make everything work all the time, and that sometimes two people who are caring and decent and who think the world of each other just need to go their seperate ways, and that's life.

But I was wrong, of course. I'm not okay at all. I miss ten thousand things about this girl, and constantly worry about how she's feeling and if she's happy or not. I've come too far in parting to go back, and I'm proud of my resolve to not do the obvious and break off in stages (if you know what I mean, and you do). I've had to deal with the unexpected heartbreak of seeing her snuggling up to someone else, and force myself to not be a dick about it. Force myself to leave quietly and not do anything about it. Just move on, whatever that is.

But you know what? That's not really it.

Suddenly I'm single again, and I'm not good at being single. I need attention, i honestly do. If I'm in a relationship, then I'm good, but when I'm single, I kinda starve for affection. And I'm utterly starving right now.

It's spring, and pretty much everybody's horny. I have met probably 50 utterly stunning women this weekend alone, and was shocked at just how much I'd forgotten about interacting with the opposite sex, and also about my own personal feelings regarding myself.

Getting laid would not be a problem, but that's not what I want (for a change). I used to pursue sex like it was the antidote for my peculiar malady, that being, insecurity. It was such a stupid thing to do, and I totally regret every instance of it now. i would never go back to that meaninglessness. I used to meet someone new, think I was falling for them, and just run with those feelings. Then, I would begin to find out who it was I was crushing on, and what they were really like, as opposed to what they wanted me to see, and I would end up so put off by the reality of them, i'd just cut them clean out of my life. This usually happened after we had had sex, and the curtain that was tension and desire lifted to reveal the real person beneath (seldom what I wanted). I'm not sure I can actually see through that metaphorical curtain without having sex. It's like, desire/lust/whatever is so powerful, the only way to see past it is to have sex, and then you can get to the meat and potatoes of the personality beneath. So I 'experienced' a staggeringly enormous number of really beautiful looking and internally vacuuous/rude/stupid/disrespectful/mentally unstable women. Maybe it's just me, I don't know.

What I do know is, I'm sick of sex without a real connection first.

I said I'd met "probably 50 utterly stunning women this weekend", and I wasn't kidding. Some of my friends have a real problem meeting women. I'd say i do also, but if i was honest, I know I don't. I met, and talked to more people than I can remember names since Friday night, and I'm just amazed at the breadth of experience that lay waiting in those encounters. Operating under the knowledge that sex with me is a terrible idea, I simply tried to make friends. Holy Crap! making friends is WAY HARDER THAN GETTING LAID! I could bed 20 supermodels in the time it would take me to establish a meaningful connection with one average girl.

I met:

-Girls who talk so much about so little, that after 5 minutes, you're desperately coming up with excuses to leave. And I'm talking about devastatingly hot girls here.

-Girls who want to know what you do and if you're "anybody", before they will continue in conversation. I have found that being an integral icon in the Australian contemporary cultural landscape isn't all it's cracked up to be. I like to tell these types that I clean toilets, and watch them walk away, only to switch into full-on interested mode again if a mutual friend tells them things I have done that would actually appeal to them. Fuck every one of them.

-Girls who are so off their heads and out of control, conversation is futile.

-Girls who are really easy to talk to, and who say "I'm just going to the loo, wait for me here", and never make it back to wherever you are. Then, at the end of the night, when you're going home, who come up to you and say "Where did you go?"

In short, i experienced a lot of games.

I also was amazed to discover how many physically perfect looking women there are out there in Melbourne, who have such crippling (and totally imagined) insecurities, they make me look well adjusted. Women who I would immediately assume would have no interest in me in a million years, only to find they're thinking exactly the same thing I am. I seriously don't know how this works.

I'm starting to realise beautiful people are in plentiful supply here, but the beautiful (inside) people are a lot harder to uncover.

My worst experience of the weekend was meeting...well, let's leave her name out of it, shall we? Just this once.

I met a fashion editor at a houseparty in Collingwood, full of fashion and other creative types. We started talking totally naturally, and after a few minutes, it felt like we were in our own bubble, and no-one else really existed much. We talked about all kinds of things, and I really enjoyed her. She seemed to be feeling the same way, and I was feeling so happy that maybe I had actually found myself an exciting new friend. She had to leave, and she said "I really hope we bump into each other again", and then she just kinda stood there. I thought leaving it to chance wasn't really something I was that at peace with, so I suggested maybe we should swap numbers. She seemed into this, and I was heavily relieved when she said "Make sure you call me please".

Good sign.

I sent her a text message today, just to say "Thanks", and "I had fun", you know. And about 5 hours later I received the most cursory of replies, which left me in no doubt that whatever was happening last night, also stopped happening last night. Time to delete her number, and leave her alone.

So much for doing the right thing, hey?

I shouldn't care, but I do. No doubt I should be a lot thicker skinned about my weekend, but like most things, it really bothers me. If I had wanted to fuck some exotic brunette on the bonnet of a car, i could have. If I wanted to do the same thing, only in a bed, and with someone who i have been extremely attracted to for more than a year now, i had full permission to do so. If I wanted to get jiggy in the toilets of a bar or club, I had 8 offers, in 5 different venues, and one further offer on the dancefloor at Pony. When it rains, it fucking pours. But instead of any of that, i try to make friends, and I can't even do that.

As usual, I havo no clear idea what I'm trying to say here. Or who I'm saying it to. I keep meeting people who read this thing (Hi Dom! Hi Shane!), and as much as I'm glad there are people out there getting something out of it, and wanting to keep coming back, it's so scary, because this is my actual life, and I live it, and it involves real people and places and emotions and experiences, not just abstractions. I can hurt people with this thing if I'm not careful. And i can definitely say too much about my own personal experiences too. But fuck it. I have always been determined to be real, and that's what I'm doing. If people want to tune out and come back when i attempt humour, then that's cool. Maybe someone will read this, and it will make some sense to them, and we can both feel like we're not freaks, but just 2 honest people with the same feeling about something, adrift in a world full of apparent somnambulists. Or maybe I just need to do it for me, and the rest of you can cut me some slack for today, so I can have some "me time".

Also it has come to my attention that because of my previous 'love 'em and leave 'em' ways, I have developed a cult following of scorned women who like to talk to each other about how horrible I am (as if they don't have problems/issues of their own to address), and to try to warn others away from me, as if it actually works like that.

1. If I dumped you and never looked back, it's because I couldn't find anything there to respect. If you're waiting for an apology, you can fuck yourselves. Stop focussing on me, and either get on with your lives, or take a look at yourselves, where half the the problems actually lie.

2. When you gossip about me, it gets back to me. And counter to your intentions, it just gives me this big badass reputation, that women absolutely adore, and need to try to unravel for themselves. You're trying to set it up so no-one will want to talk to me ever again, but all that's happening is you're making me this unfeasibly (and undeservedly) attractive proposition that women cannot resist. You're getting me sex, and I don't even want it anymore. How can you not see this?

Anyway, I started this thing out by talking about how all these experiences have caught up with me, so I should finish with that.

I fully understand that I am an animal that is ruled by my insecurities, and my fears. Anything I have ever achieved was certainly rooted in a fear of not achieving it, or of needing to impress somebody, somewhere.

I am scared of the life choice I have made, of living with no money most of the time, of subsisting, so I have time to be creative. Being creative has got me archived and played on the radio and all sorts of cool shit, but it didn't buy me a house, and it won't provide for me when i start to get old. I'm 34 years old, and I'm flatting with 24 year olds. Personally, i like living how i do, but I am fully aware that in their minds, no matter how great we get on, I'm the "old guy", and that freaks the shit out of me. Good luck if I ever need to find another flat. it's so hard already, and the older I get, the worse it will be. There's no way I'll be able to do it when i hit 40, but I have no other alternative either.

I'm devastated that for all the effort and the sleepless nights and the practice and whatever else, that I haven't produced more and better art/music/writing/etc... I feel like such a fraud getting so much attention for basically defacing a street sign and being a graff artist. When I die, I want to leave a couple of albums behind that people generally respect, and that add to the cultural landscape. Not just some rock music that rocks and not much else. I wish I was better.

I am sick of hating myself. I am sick of feeling dirty, even when I have just stepped out of the shower, when I'm near someone beautiful. I'm sick of feeling like so many people are better than me, for no reason i can put my finger on. I'm sick of always being on the outside, even when I'm around friends, because I'm different to everyone I know. I'm sick of people just not gettting me, why I don't drink, why I don't drive cars if I can help it, like it's all so alien and freaky, when it's just sensible. i'm sick of feeling like I am superior to most people every time I leave the house and see how people act and what they do. I'm so insecure, and yet I'm this raving egotist. I'm sick of being baffled and utterly confused by the simplest things. Mainly people. I'm scared I'm getting left behind by culture, and no matter how hip i think I am, I am actually this 80's metal throwback who is only good for novelty value. I'm sick of not understanding the appeal of getting utterly shitfaced and smoking and smashing bottles and being a trashy piece of shit every time you're in public. I'm scared of finding out that I am as ugly and undesirable as I think I am. I'm scared of being left behind. I'm scared I don't matter.

I guess this post was really really for me, I can't imagine anyone enjoying reading it. I stopped writing in my diary about a year ago, and I've felt overdue for an emotional custard fight with myself, so I guess this was it. I guess I needed to confess.

I guess I wanted to say: Hey world, I think you absolutely stink, and you're wrong, and nasty, and self-centred, and counter to anything intelligent or reasonable, and i see it, and I'm disgusted by it, and you know what? I'm just the same. And I'm disgusted by me also.

And I know I don't deserve any real shot at happiness, but I'm praying that whatever runs the Universe will have their hands full, and some will just slip through a crack and get to me. Because I can't keep operating with a heart this heavy, and I don't want to give up right now.

But I also know regardless of what I may want, there is a part of me that takes control after a while of feeling this way, and it says "Enough", and it makes my decisions for me, and one of those decisions is going to be me wiping myself out, and getting off the ride.

I'm not trying to be controversial, and I'm not after sympathy. For that reason I'm going to disable comments, because I'm not asking for reassurance or anything at all from you. I'm just admitting my real feelings.

I'm not just a cartoon character that occasionly drops something funny on a blog. I'm a real person. I'm feeling pain, I'm confused, I'm lonely and sad, I'm angry, dissapointed, scared, you name it. And that's just right at this minute.

I don't know who you are, or where you are, or what you're thinking of any of this. And I guess I never will.

But if there is one thing I could get you to leave my blog with, it's this:

I hope you understand how important respect is. I hope you see that if there was enough respect or consideration in this world, we would all be so much better than we are. If we dropped the fucking masks and dared to be real, life would blow our minds. That's it.

Now excuse me, I'm going to go hug my dog.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.