Zoe Maria Leniston
Suicided on 15 November 2006. Loved and treasured daughter of Mary Heineman (Grado Italy) and Martin Leniston (deceased). Beautiful sister of Nathaniel (Queenstown) and Luke (deceased). Messages to the Leniston Family can be sent to P0 Box 14366 Kilbimle. A service for Zoe will be held in the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart, Hill Street, Thorndon, Wellington on Tuesday 21 November 2006 at 1:00pm followed by private cremation. Harbour Clty Funeral Home FDANZ Tel 387-8001
Today I had two friends from New Zealand come visit me at Hellbourne Choppers, after 6 years of me being away. And I got the news.
Zoe was easily one of the most beautiful hearts this world has ever produced, and one of this worlds most beautiful women all over. Her intelligence and capacity for understanding were limitless, and it's so frustrating having to write this, because words could never do her justice. This is just another shitty obituary, for someone who should never have left us so soon.
When I left New Zealand, I lost touch with pretty much everyone, except those I have since bumped into here in Australia. And I regret it badly, letting life get in the way so much, because now I have lost two of the best ones forever. I wish I didn't have so many dead friends. It wasn't on purpose, when I went it was kinda sudden, and I hadn't caught up with everyone to get their contacts. Not making that mistake again.
When Zoe and I broke up, it was nothing personal. I had to leave, because I was constanty on the road, and never home enough to justify wasting someone else's time like that. We stayed very close friends, but due to my touring schedule, we didn't see each other enough. I never stopped loving her, and I never will.
This will sound terrrible, but I always knew she'd die this way, which makes me so angry I didn't get around to looking her up. Zoe had had such a hard life, and because of her physical beauty she found it impossibly hard to find friends who could see past that, and see HER. So many people in her scene wanted a piece of her, and it was rare to never she would actually be understood by anyone.
We had it 100% right on, we got each other, and it was beautiful for as long as it lasted.
I am devastated, and as usual, in times like these, all I can do is remember the person she was, the lovely time we spent, and to keep close the residual energy of her memory.
"I hope you have finally found peace, and I am so sorry your last momets on this earth had to be so desperate, painful, and alone.
Love always."
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Trans-Experiential Love Story.
In a world just like this one, and not so long ago, there once lived a man.
And for the purpose of this tale, we will establish that we like him. He is a well-meaning man, a man who keeps to himself and does his very best to not affect those around him in ways that are not positive. Some people call him a good man.
And so then shall we.
Goodman lived a solitary life, and with the benefit of retrospect, we could say quite a sad one. He enjoyed his own company, but shied away from contact with other people, as his heart was a bit too big, and this world a bit too cold for it to survive in without special medicine, or isolation from without.
He found great pleasure in music, like many of the geniuses of history, and truth be told, the psychopaths as well. Music gives equally to either type, it has no preconceptions or favour.
Goodman also enjoyed his computer, in what must be said is quite a sad way. He saw it as a window to the world, a window however, that he could point at will at whatever interested him the most. And a window, through which the world had no access to him.
A bulletproof window.
He would stay up very late with his computer, and listen to music, and look at the world, and save parts of the view to be stored away and never actually looked at again. And it was during one of these very late nights, that his computer spoke to him.
He heard the softest of voices, barely audible above the music, so faint he had to turn down the song to hear the voice.
And the voice said so very very gently..."I love you."
Goodman caught his breath, even though he was used to the varying tricks of the internet, because it sounded like this voice was coming from another place. It shimmered, even though it is impossible for sounds to do so.
And so he knew he was on to something.
This voice would visit him when he least expected it, even though he constantly hoped it would come. He heard in it just the right tones and melody to suggest he would be safe should he let his heart out of its cage, and believe that the voice really loved him. And that he in turn, could love the voice.
One afternoon, when logging in, he noticed a strange application on his machine, and this application was simply called Luisa.
His heart missed a beat, and without thought or hesitation, he double clicked.
And on the screen she appeared.
Her smile was so gentle, her eyes so full of love, he had never seen anything like it before, and he was overcome in that instant, with a feeling that he thought was love, but again in retrospect, was more like gratitude and utter disbelief. He was addicted to her attention, and he would have done anything he could think of to receive it.
The voice and the face told him she could hear him, and he felt that she could. That she could hear him, and wanted to hear him, and suddenly all his inside thoughts and feelings spilled forth. And he shared them all. He shared them, without fear or thought, he let all of him out, good and bad, and hoped she would still love him as she said she did.
And she did not go away.
They talked for many weeks, and over this time, he grew bolder in himself, and began to venture out into the world. He saw it in a new and beautiful way, and he saw also that he liked that way.
More and more he gave up on his independence, in favour of the experience of being part of something bigger than just him, in his house, and his bulletproof window on the world. More and more he forgot who he was, and started to think in terms of how he felt with Luisa, and how to keep her disembodied voice near to him. He was lost, and so very happy about it.
And one day, when she was sure she had him in her hand, she told him they could really meet. She gave him directions, which he followed to the letter, and he found himself on the side of a sloping hill, with trees forming a canopy around him.
He followed the path, and came upon a gravestone, and on that gravestone, was her name.
And in front of the gravestone, was a pit, black and cold, and in that pit, was her lifeless and rotting corpse. She had died many months before, but her spirit still spoke, her energy still flowed through this world, and he could see among the remains, the decaying features of the girl he thought he knew.
Goodman cried and cried, his world suddenly appearing to him as the pit, opening up to swallow him into an eternity of dark, wet, death. And Goodman knew he had been misled by a wayward soul, and that the girl he thought he knew, hadn't existed for a very long time, if at all.
But this story isn't really about that hungry ghost.
Because after the months passed, and Goodman had had time to think about his life, he found he had started to create a new, and better life than the one he had before, and that throughout all the heartache, he had established a firm foundation for this life.
He started to confront who he really was, as opposed to who he thought he was, and he found that he loved that person, and enjoyed that person immensely. And instead of trying to replace Luisa, he was content to follow his dreams, some old, some new. He was tireless in his pursuit of a better life, a home to lay his head, with real windows on the world that opened, and let in the air.
And the love that this story suggests, was a love for himself, a love he had never had before. And suddenly he had no use or desire for disembodied voices whispering that they love him, he had no use for real ones either.
Because love is love, and when it comes from within, it is the truest of all loves, and the way in which we people learn to truly love the world and other people.
And when you are loved for real, no matter if it be from someone close, or from yourself, life truly is beautiful.
And life truly is beautiful.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
And for the purpose of this tale, we will establish that we like him. He is a well-meaning man, a man who keeps to himself and does his very best to not affect those around him in ways that are not positive. Some people call him a good man.
And so then shall we.
Goodman lived a solitary life, and with the benefit of retrospect, we could say quite a sad one. He enjoyed his own company, but shied away from contact with other people, as his heart was a bit too big, and this world a bit too cold for it to survive in without special medicine, or isolation from without.
He found great pleasure in music, like many of the geniuses of history, and truth be told, the psychopaths as well. Music gives equally to either type, it has no preconceptions or favour.
Goodman also enjoyed his computer, in what must be said is quite a sad way. He saw it as a window to the world, a window however, that he could point at will at whatever interested him the most. And a window, through which the world had no access to him.
A bulletproof window.
He would stay up very late with his computer, and listen to music, and look at the world, and save parts of the view to be stored away and never actually looked at again. And it was during one of these very late nights, that his computer spoke to him.
He heard the softest of voices, barely audible above the music, so faint he had to turn down the song to hear the voice.
And the voice said so very very gently..."I love you."
Goodman caught his breath, even though he was used to the varying tricks of the internet, because it sounded like this voice was coming from another place. It shimmered, even though it is impossible for sounds to do so.
And so he knew he was on to something.
This voice would visit him when he least expected it, even though he constantly hoped it would come. He heard in it just the right tones and melody to suggest he would be safe should he let his heart out of its cage, and believe that the voice really loved him. And that he in turn, could love the voice.
One afternoon, when logging in, he noticed a strange application on his machine, and this application was simply called Luisa.
His heart missed a beat, and without thought or hesitation, he double clicked.
And on the screen she appeared.
Her smile was so gentle, her eyes so full of love, he had never seen anything like it before, and he was overcome in that instant, with a feeling that he thought was love, but again in retrospect, was more like gratitude and utter disbelief. He was addicted to her attention, and he would have done anything he could think of to receive it.
The voice and the face told him she could hear him, and he felt that she could. That she could hear him, and wanted to hear him, and suddenly all his inside thoughts and feelings spilled forth. And he shared them all. He shared them, without fear or thought, he let all of him out, good and bad, and hoped she would still love him as she said she did.
And she did not go away.
They talked for many weeks, and over this time, he grew bolder in himself, and began to venture out into the world. He saw it in a new and beautiful way, and he saw also that he liked that way.
More and more he gave up on his independence, in favour of the experience of being part of something bigger than just him, in his house, and his bulletproof window on the world. More and more he forgot who he was, and started to think in terms of how he felt with Luisa, and how to keep her disembodied voice near to him. He was lost, and so very happy about it.
And one day, when she was sure she had him in her hand, she told him they could really meet. She gave him directions, which he followed to the letter, and he found himself on the side of a sloping hill, with trees forming a canopy around him.
He followed the path, and came upon a gravestone, and on that gravestone, was her name.
And in front of the gravestone, was a pit, black and cold, and in that pit, was her lifeless and rotting corpse. She had died many months before, but her spirit still spoke, her energy still flowed through this world, and he could see among the remains, the decaying features of the girl he thought he knew.
Goodman cried and cried, his world suddenly appearing to him as the pit, opening up to swallow him into an eternity of dark, wet, death. And Goodman knew he had been misled by a wayward soul, and that the girl he thought he knew, hadn't existed for a very long time, if at all.
But this story isn't really about that hungry ghost.
Because after the months passed, and Goodman had had time to think about his life, he found he had started to create a new, and better life than the one he had before, and that throughout all the heartache, he had established a firm foundation for this life.
He started to confront who he really was, as opposed to who he thought he was, and he found that he loved that person, and enjoyed that person immensely. And instead of trying to replace Luisa, he was content to follow his dreams, some old, some new. He was tireless in his pursuit of a better life, a home to lay his head, with real windows on the world that opened, and let in the air.
And the love that this story suggests, was a love for himself, a love he had never had before. And suddenly he had no use or desire for disembodied voices whispering that they love him, he had no use for real ones either.
Because love is love, and when it comes from within, it is the truest of all loves, and the way in which we people learn to truly love the world and other people.
And when you are loved for real, no matter if it be from someone close, or from yourself, life truly is beautiful.
And life truly is beautiful.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
National Broadcast.
Originally, for those of you paying close attention, this title was to head up a very different post.
The kind of post that was angry and venomous, overflowing with hurt that I could have been lied to so much, and not seen it. How angry I am at myself for giving up my independence for someone who I never actually knew. Someone who, if I knew them, I would never have let them close to me, or wasted a year of my life loving them. But I have to be careful now, you can see the venom starting to overflow.
I wanted to name names, and tell her parents what she really does for a living, or worse still, what she does after hours. But it's not for me to do. You can't change others behaviour.
But you can change your own.
I am extremely insecure.
No surpirses there. I think most of it comes from my total lack of photogenicalizm. if you point a camera at me, things will turn out bad. I think in real life I'm actually ok, but when a camera enters the picture so to speak, all bets are off. And seeing as the only way I can really see myself is from a photo (mirrors don't count), then I think I look terrible.
But something I have learned from my post-breakup wasteland, is that this kind of insecurity is horrifically dangerous, not just for me, but for those I encounter.
I am a very friendly and outgoing person I have discovered. It's very easy for me to make friends and win people over (until they read this blog!) I have found that when I leave a room, people start asking my friends about me, and say a lot of really nice things. Gay guys love me (I have large hands), British women can't get enough (apparently I come off a lot like Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice, despite my heavily tattooed exterior), all kinds of people see different things in me that they seem to enjoy.
And this is a very good thing, because I like knowing nice people and making them feel good.
But there is a downside. because when you are friendly and genuine, and you listen, and look people in the eye, other people's insecure feelings kick in, and they think/hope that you see more in the situation than is there. They want to be adored, which is normal. When coupled with my insecurity, disastrous results can ensue.
I have to measure the amount of attention I give people, which sucks, frankly. Because when you are insecure as I am, other people's opinion of you is very important. If I spend too much time with one person, because my emotional need is to try and stay busy, to forget what I'm going through, that person gets attached very quickly (as a general rule), and then I am in a position where I have to let them down and hurt them, by not reciprocating the level of intense feeelings they are able to develop in a very short amount of time.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not the Arctic circle, I'm the Bahamas. I want to love and be loved, i won't run from that person, whoever they are. And it's not that I am hung up on my ex, and need to find someone just like her, because someone like her is someone I will never develop feelings for again. I'm ready to move on into new vistas of relationshipsville, but I am extremely picky, as well I should be.
I just don't want to be physical with anyone I'm not head over heels for. I don't want some relationship where independence means never seeing each other and even doing things seperately when together should be better. I want to wrap myself up in someone and feel all the intensity and passsion and the "I don't wanna go anywhere, I wanna stay here and hold you" thing that I dig so hard. I want the full menu. If two people are honest (haha!), and work to understand each others communication (and preferably aren't keeping their options open and giving themselves to other people at the same time), then you can be as intense as you like, without danger. Without losing yourself, your independence, or your power (more on this later).
So my point here is, because I don't want to settle, or fuck for fun, but I still crave people's attention and reassurance that I am attractive, I have created a dangerous situation where people step in to fill that void, but then get too emotionally involved, or want to be physically involved, and they get hurt.
Insecurity is dangerous, and should be handled wisely.
Besides, the very fact I have a line of willing (and beautiful) participants for the 2007 Relationship Games, must mean I have nothing to be insecure about in the first place, surely? (Don't let my photos fool you!)
I said I'd talk about power quickly, and I will.
I used to be ridiculously independent, I loved my own company, and preferred it over everyone else's. I was a hermit, and I actually liked it. When my old relationship started, her insecure demands meant I had to give her more and more so she might feel loved. More time, more attention, less time with friends. It was all about her.
Because I adored her, I did all this. I loved her when she was overweight and unemployed and depressed and needy. It wasn't easy, and we definitely clashed, but the love was genuinely there. Then she lost all her weight, changed her wardrobe, got her hair and makeup done a lot, and suddenly was transformed. Her new line of work meant men would pay attention to her non stop, and so she started to see that she was genuinely desirable (to look at), and that she was worried for no reason. Her attitudes changed, and suddenly she started to feel entitled to more out of life. And she didn't need my reasssurance any more, because she had it from every other direction.
But I had given her all my power. I was no longer independent, i was totally focussed on her, and making her see what I saw in her (which in retrospect was a total fantasy). But she was focussed on her too. And not on me at all.
Her needs and desires and expectations had morphed into some disgusting soulless monster, and I was left lovesick and unable to think about anythingg else. I gave her all my power, and that was my mistake.
I used to have a motto that was "never get involved wwith anyone you couldn't walk away from". It was very cynical and cold hearted, but I see why I thought that- to protect me from this.
But I will not freeze over again.
I have learned too much from this last year to deprive myself of the joy that comes from a loving companionship. I am no longer scared that I will not be able to attract the girl of my dreams, wherever she is. I think my chances are pretty good. And so I will continue to strive for happiness and positivity, and avoid dingy and heartless scenes that unfortunately those people I know seem to be magnetised by.
Having said all that, if you talk to me tomorrow, chances are I will be in the pits of despair, crying my eyes out, hurt, rejected, and forlorn. And the worst thing is, I have to go through all of that alone, because if I let someone hold me, there is a good chance they won't want to let go. And I transfer all that rejection and pain to them (while still keeping my original copy for tax purposes).
Life truly is a rollercoater. Let's all just hope it isn't the one at Luna Park in St Kilda. Or we're all dead meat.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
The kind of post that was angry and venomous, overflowing with hurt that I could have been lied to so much, and not seen it. How angry I am at myself for giving up my independence for someone who I never actually knew. Someone who, if I knew them, I would never have let them close to me, or wasted a year of my life loving them. But I have to be careful now, you can see the venom starting to overflow.
I wanted to name names, and tell her parents what she really does for a living, or worse still, what she does after hours. But it's not for me to do. You can't change others behaviour.
But you can change your own.
I am extremely insecure.
No surpirses there. I think most of it comes from my total lack of photogenicalizm. if you point a camera at me, things will turn out bad. I think in real life I'm actually ok, but when a camera enters the picture so to speak, all bets are off. And seeing as the only way I can really see myself is from a photo (mirrors don't count), then I think I look terrible.
But something I have learned from my post-breakup wasteland, is that this kind of insecurity is horrifically dangerous, not just for me, but for those I encounter.
I am a very friendly and outgoing person I have discovered. It's very easy for me to make friends and win people over (until they read this blog!) I have found that when I leave a room, people start asking my friends about me, and say a lot of really nice things. Gay guys love me (I have large hands), British women can't get enough (apparently I come off a lot like Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice, despite my heavily tattooed exterior), all kinds of people see different things in me that they seem to enjoy.
And this is a very good thing, because I like knowing nice people and making them feel good.
But there is a downside. because when you are friendly and genuine, and you listen, and look people in the eye, other people's insecure feelings kick in, and they think/hope that you see more in the situation than is there. They want to be adored, which is normal. When coupled with my insecurity, disastrous results can ensue.
I have to measure the amount of attention I give people, which sucks, frankly. Because when you are insecure as I am, other people's opinion of you is very important. If I spend too much time with one person, because my emotional need is to try and stay busy, to forget what I'm going through, that person gets attached very quickly (as a general rule), and then I am in a position where I have to let them down and hurt them, by not reciprocating the level of intense feeelings they are able to develop in a very short amount of time.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not the Arctic circle, I'm the Bahamas. I want to love and be loved, i won't run from that person, whoever they are. And it's not that I am hung up on my ex, and need to find someone just like her, because someone like her is someone I will never develop feelings for again. I'm ready to move on into new vistas of relationshipsville, but I am extremely picky, as well I should be.
I just don't want to be physical with anyone I'm not head over heels for. I don't want some relationship where independence means never seeing each other and even doing things seperately when together should be better. I want to wrap myself up in someone and feel all the intensity and passsion and the "I don't wanna go anywhere, I wanna stay here and hold you" thing that I dig so hard. I want the full menu. If two people are honest (haha!), and work to understand each others communication (and preferably aren't keeping their options open and giving themselves to other people at the same time), then you can be as intense as you like, without danger. Without losing yourself, your independence, or your power (more on this later).
So my point here is, because I don't want to settle, or fuck for fun, but I still crave people's attention and reassurance that I am attractive, I have created a dangerous situation where people step in to fill that void, but then get too emotionally involved, or want to be physically involved, and they get hurt.
Insecurity is dangerous, and should be handled wisely.
Besides, the very fact I have a line of willing (and beautiful) participants for the 2007 Relationship Games, must mean I have nothing to be insecure about in the first place, surely? (Don't let my photos fool you!)
I said I'd talk about power quickly, and I will.
I used to be ridiculously independent, I loved my own company, and preferred it over everyone else's. I was a hermit, and I actually liked it. When my old relationship started, her insecure demands meant I had to give her more and more so she might feel loved. More time, more attention, less time with friends. It was all about her.
Because I adored her, I did all this. I loved her when she was overweight and unemployed and depressed and needy. It wasn't easy, and we definitely clashed, but the love was genuinely there. Then she lost all her weight, changed her wardrobe, got her hair and makeup done a lot, and suddenly was transformed. Her new line of work meant men would pay attention to her non stop, and so she started to see that she was genuinely desirable (to look at), and that she was worried for no reason. Her attitudes changed, and suddenly she started to feel entitled to more out of life. And she didn't need my reasssurance any more, because she had it from every other direction.
But I had given her all my power. I was no longer independent, i was totally focussed on her, and making her see what I saw in her (which in retrospect was a total fantasy). But she was focussed on her too. And not on me at all.
Her needs and desires and expectations had morphed into some disgusting soulless monster, and I was left lovesick and unable to think about anythingg else. I gave her all my power, and that was my mistake.
I used to have a motto that was "never get involved wwith anyone you couldn't walk away from". It was very cynical and cold hearted, but I see why I thought that- to protect me from this.
But I will not freeze over again.
I have learned too much from this last year to deprive myself of the joy that comes from a loving companionship. I am no longer scared that I will not be able to attract the girl of my dreams, wherever she is. I think my chances are pretty good. And so I will continue to strive for happiness and positivity, and avoid dingy and heartless scenes that unfortunately those people I know seem to be magnetised by.
Having said all that, if you talk to me tomorrow, chances are I will be in the pits of despair, crying my eyes out, hurt, rejected, and forlorn. And the worst thing is, I have to go through all of that alone, because if I let someone hold me, there is a good chance they won't want to let go. And I transfer all that rejection and pain to them (while still keeping my original copy for tax purposes).
Life truly is a rollercoater. Let's all just hope it isn't the one at Luna Park in St Kilda. Or we're all dead meat.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Monday, November 13, 2006
A blog post in two acts.
Today I got out of bed.
That might not sound like much, but if you were a fly on my wall, you would know it is amazing.
I have been fantasizing about knives through my heart, or plastic bags over my head, or the jerk jerk peace of drowning. But don't worry, I promised key people I wouldn't investaigate further. I am a man of my word.
At least today.
I've been living that rock and roll cliche of "hanging on the line" for the one you love. Of limbo, of never knowing, but knowing the answers will come some time soon. Like an execution. Waiting for the hammer to fall.
Closure.
And so instead of crying and shaking and rolling myself into a ball, and knowing full well the strength of fear, of regret, and with the benefit of glorious hindsight, I rose.
I drank a berocca, ate a multivitamin.
I looked at food, and even though it took me three hours to remember to eat it, when it was right in front of me, I...I keep fading out you know.
I can only concentrate on one thing, and it isn't sleep, or eating, or being calm.
And I guess it shows.
The people around me are starting to talk. They bring me dinner to forget about. They stop by at odd times to make sure I'm still breathing. They know, I think.
Sure they do.
And I get emails.
I get emails from other bloggers, and they say "you sound so sad all of a sudden". There's no fooling you, I know.
I used to get emails, and they would relate how a person may have stopped by my page for whatever reason. And how just when they were about to leave again, a word or a phrase, or a whole entry caught their imagination. And how they appreciate the intensity and honesty and the familiarity of some of the things I have said. Like we're not so different, even though we are. They tell me they think I am gifted at writing, and they hope I never stop.
And now I know what that is like.
I accidentally landed on one of the thousands of songs I never listen to on my iPod yesterday.
It was a voice and an acoustic guitar, and as much as I was over that genre 15 years ago, it held me there.
Lyrics:
What Becomes of Us- Holly Throsby, from the album 'Under the Town'.
It is early
You are dead
There are crows in our bed
But I won’t come undone
We are done, we are done
There is air still
In my lungs
I will get up and get on
With the other mouths and tongues
And the work there is to be done
This is what becomes of us
There are dim things in the pond
There is dust under the rug
And I don’t ever know
What’s below what’s below
But I am up!
I am above!
I have a new love!
And it’s warm like a gun
Or a knife that I fell on
This is what becomes of us
I was not ready
You won’t be back
I was not ready.
...the way she sings this song is so raw, and so region-specific, and so perfectly delivered. It's honest, and even if I wan't feeling it anyway, I would feel it, by virtue of the strength of her art.
She is a lot stronger than I am I think.
You can't fake that voice, the life that pours through it. And it shows the rest of us it can be done, and not only done, but conquered. Because she lives on the other side of that experience, and opens her mouth and sings about it.
And it is so sad and beautiful, just like the world Sparklehorse sang about.
You may like to connect in your own way:
http://www.hollythrosby.com/
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
That might not sound like much, but if you were a fly on my wall, you would know it is amazing.
I have been fantasizing about knives through my heart, or plastic bags over my head, or the jerk jerk peace of drowning. But don't worry, I promised key people I wouldn't investaigate further. I am a man of my word.
At least today.
I've been living that rock and roll cliche of "hanging on the line" for the one you love. Of limbo, of never knowing, but knowing the answers will come some time soon. Like an execution. Waiting for the hammer to fall.
Closure.
And so instead of crying and shaking and rolling myself into a ball, and knowing full well the strength of fear, of regret, and with the benefit of glorious hindsight, I rose.
I drank a berocca, ate a multivitamin.
I looked at food, and even though it took me three hours to remember to eat it, when it was right in front of me, I...I keep fading out you know.
I can only concentrate on one thing, and it isn't sleep, or eating, or being calm.
And I guess it shows.
The people around me are starting to talk. They bring me dinner to forget about. They stop by at odd times to make sure I'm still breathing. They know, I think.
Sure they do.
And I get emails.
I get emails from other bloggers, and they say "you sound so sad all of a sudden". There's no fooling you, I know.
I used to get emails, and they would relate how a person may have stopped by my page for whatever reason. And how just when they were about to leave again, a word or a phrase, or a whole entry caught their imagination. And how they appreciate the intensity and honesty and the familiarity of some of the things I have said. Like we're not so different, even though we are. They tell me they think I am gifted at writing, and they hope I never stop.
And now I know what that is like.
I accidentally landed on one of the thousands of songs I never listen to on my iPod yesterday.
It was a voice and an acoustic guitar, and as much as I was over that genre 15 years ago, it held me there.
Lyrics:
What Becomes of Us- Holly Throsby, from the album 'Under the Town'.
It is early
You are dead
There are crows in our bed
But I won’t come undone
We are done, we are done
There is air still
In my lungs
I will get up and get on
With the other mouths and tongues
And the work there is to be done
This is what becomes of us
There are dim things in the pond
There is dust under the rug
And I don’t ever know
What’s below what’s below
But I am up!
I am above!
I have a new love!
And it’s warm like a gun
Or a knife that I fell on
This is what becomes of us
I was not ready
You won’t be back
I was not ready.
...the way she sings this song is so raw, and so region-specific, and so perfectly delivered. It's honest, and even if I wan't feeling it anyway, I would feel it, by virtue of the strength of her art.
She is a lot stronger than I am I think.
You can't fake that voice, the life that pours through it. And it shows the rest of us it can be done, and not only done, but conquered. Because she lives on the other side of that experience, and opens her mouth and sings about it.
And it is so sad and beautiful, just like the world Sparklehorse sang about.
You may like to connect in your own way:
http://www.hollythrosby.com/
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
One step forward...
...two steps back.
On my ever continuing quest to discover exactly what it is that drives me, to understand what exactly it is that makes me feel and think the things I do, I like to do very stupid things.
Here's a rule we should all live by: when you break up with someone, don't EVER look at their myspace page.
Just when you think you're actually ready to sayonnara everything you grew to know and love, and instead embrace your motto "onward and upward" with refreshed vigour, you have to go see her pictures and who's who and where, and suddenly you're back at square one.
For my American readers, I can spell "vigor", it's just over here we speak English. Sort of.
But it doesn't end there, because I don't like doing anything by half. Nope, if I'm to fuck something up, I have to utterly annihilate it beyond any recognition.
So I went back to our old place, to grab some more of my stuff.
And I saw that old carpet, and the peculiar smells that house had, and the weird lighting, and as I went upstairs I could just imagine all the times I'd turn the corner, and there she'd be. My god that's hard. And it's so very very gone.
For those of you late in tuning in, the "she" in question isn't dead. She's just not available or accessible in any way whatsoever. Not to me anyway. I'm sure she'd love to get to know you, however.
Why am I blogging tonight? I should know better. It's like drunk driving, it's just not done. My regular readers are probably sick of hearing me sook, and want to get back to the bad old days when I was funny.
I wouldn't mind getting back there myself!
I guess I just wanted to beat myself up, on the record, for being so slow on the uptake. For still not wanting to accept that she plain old doesn't like one thing about me any more. I don't feel like accepting that right now. Hurts.
For someone who always goes on about "being real" and "opening your eyes", that's very hypocritical.
That's me, apparently.
When someone hurts you, and you love them, how do you stop loving them? How do you wake up and say "I don't like this person?" I seriously want to know, so I can do it. Because it's really hard to focus on life and positivity when you constantly miss a person who for all intents and purposes, no longer exists. Especially when no one else you meet even compares to the hurtful version. I feel like I'd rather have her hating me and at least still have her in my life in some way, instead of having no contact or experience of her whatsoever.
I'm calling down an empty phone line here.
Can anyone out there reprogramme me (against my will)?
Don't tell me I just have to ride this all the way home. That's a long tunnel.
A real long tunnel.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
On my ever continuing quest to discover exactly what it is that drives me, to understand what exactly it is that makes me feel and think the things I do, I like to do very stupid things.
Here's a rule we should all live by: when you break up with someone, don't EVER look at their myspace page.
Just when you think you're actually ready to sayonnara everything you grew to know and love, and instead embrace your motto "onward and upward" with refreshed vigour, you have to go see her pictures and who's who and where, and suddenly you're back at square one.
For my American readers, I can spell "vigor", it's just over here we speak English. Sort of.
But it doesn't end there, because I don't like doing anything by half. Nope, if I'm to fuck something up, I have to utterly annihilate it beyond any recognition.
So I went back to our old place, to grab some more of my stuff.
And I saw that old carpet, and the peculiar smells that house had, and the weird lighting, and as I went upstairs I could just imagine all the times I'd turn the corner, and there she'd be. My god that's hard. And it's so very very gone.
For those of you late in tuning in, the "she" in question isn't dead. She's just not available or accessible in any way whatsoever. Not to me anyway. I'm sure she'd love to get to know you, however.
Why am I blogging tonight? I should know better. It's like drunk driving, it's just not done. My regular readers are probably sick of hearing me sook, and want to get back to the bad old days when I was funny.
I wouldn't mind getting back there myself!
I guess I just wanted to beat myself up, on the record, for being so slow on the uptake. For still not wanting to accept that she plain old doesn't like one thing about me any more. I don't feel like accepting that right now. Hurts.
For someone who always goes on about "being real" and "opening your eyes", that's very hypocritical.
That's me, apparently.
When someone hurts you, and you love them, how do you stop loving them? How do you wake up and say "I don't like this person?" I seriously want to know, so I can do it. Because it's really hard to focus on life and positivity when you constantly miss a person who for all intents and purposes, no longer exists. Especially when no one else you meet even compares to the hurtful version. I feel like I'd rather have her hating me and at least still have her in my life in some way, instead of having no contact or experience of her whatsoever.
I'm calling down an empty phone line here.
Can anyone out there reprogramme me (against my will)?
Don't tell me I just have to ride this all the way home. That's a long tunnel.
A real long tunnel.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The Warrior.
Sometimes everything goes so right, it's like life just got CRC sprayed all over it, and a big greasy bucket of bearings thrown underneath.
Lately I've been feeling like an old lobster boiling in hot water, raising my claws at the wooden spoon, too stubborn to just fuck off to the other place, choking on globs of salty seaweed. Trying to resist certain agents attempts to tear my thorax apart. Keeping my meat all to myself.
But not tonight.
I forced myself to take a day off from work today.
I'm a workaholic, that's why I threw the word "forced" in there. I'm terrified that if I leave the shop for five minutes, I'll miss out on a sale, and then I won't be able to pay the rent or eat. Well, that's bullshit, because I've paid the rent two months ahead, and the cupboard has plenty of batchelor chow in it. It's sort of true though, in that whenever I close the shop, six people arrive wanting (in order of demand):
1. pumps.
2. tubes.
3. tyres.
4. lights.
5. servicing.
6. a whole goddamn bicycle.
So forgive me if I'm a little apprehensive at the thought of not only closing the door, but being someplace else on the other side of town, nowhere near it.
But I did it (cue applause).
I even left my brand new project, a Honda VT250F, in the workshop- hardly chopped. Granted, I stayed up all night ripping the seat, fairing, tank, battery housing, rear suspension, and other unnecessary crap off, and cutting the rear section of the frame off with a grinder, but I can't sleep nights, so I can damn well do as I please. I call her Rhonda, coz she's a Honda. And because my favourite Aunt is called Rhonda. She goes 160kph on her rear wheel! (The bike, not my Aunt.)
*gush*
See? I can't even get out of the shop in my damn blog! So...moving on.
Today was lovely and warm, and I walked around the city and caught up with friends new and old, making absolutely sure I didn't hurry anywhere, or stress, or think about Rhonda, and all the things I want to cut off and weld to her when I get back. I had a haircut. I talked to Lord Monkey. I talked to Shelena. I talked to Kellie. I patted some dogs. I met a crazy guy called Ivan, who is one of the new bouncers at Cherry bar, and listened to some of his stories from back in the day, and marvelled at his insane collection of old Harleys, Mercury 2 doors, and Mercedes'z (which he keeps photos of, in his jacket, at all times).
Good shit!
When it started getting a bit darker, I trammed my way over to St Kilda, which (for those of you outside Oztraya) is beside the sea (well, the bay), and full of cafe's, bars, restaurants, hookers, addicts, and wankers, in that order. I had a catch up with more long neglected friends at The Vineyard, and walked out of there at about 10pm.
I was changing trams in the city, or about to, when I remembered a place I hadn't been in years, and wondered if it was still there. It's this crazy Karaoke bar in Chinatown, up one level in a lift with bullet holes in the wall.
Clem, remember this place?
The lift doors open, and you're right in there, and everybody looks at you like you just pissed in their beer, because they are all so seriously hardcore into karaoke, and they are there to win, take no prisoners, because KARAOKE IS FUCKING SERIOUS BUSINESS OK? AND IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME, REFER TO THE HOLES IN THE ELEVATOR WALL. So yeah, big deal over there.
This place has bouncers, okay? They hang out in the dark corners, with long leather coats, because they are huge in Eastern Europe, and that's where they hail from. And just when you think they are the baddest humans you will ever come that close to, they get up on stage one by one, and sing the theme from 'The Lion King' or something. But you can't laugh, because it's SERIOUS.
SO by this stage I have a coke, and I'm shit out of luck finding a table, or a chair, so I sit on the floor, off in front of stage left.
The DJ is doing his best approximation of "...this is Jenny from Canoga Park..." (without the wet tee shirt), and if you don't know what I'm saying here, you really need to start listening to music, and not whatever it is they feed you on the radio nowadays.
Segway.
Back in the '80's, I was a young teen. I've said it before, but back then, the radio really meant something. It was a lifeline. I'm totally serious. Yeah, we had ghetto blasters, and all that cool old skool buttery flava-ey shit, but it was the radio that mattered. On the weekend, when the American Top 40 with Kasey Kasem was on, you stayed at home and listened to it. Every fucking song. Whether it was The Bangles, or Phil Collins (who utterly rules), or Twisted Sister, you listened to it. And you loved it, because there was something about the 80's that was so all at once so diverse and yet totally unified, something so inverse to yourself, so you kinda just fit into it, something that broke down all the barriers, and owned you to the point where it still owns you today. Have you ever heard another band like The Eurythmics?
It's pretty obvious my favourite music comes from these days.
It has a very special place in my life, it reminds me of the days when I was relatively carefree (at least by comparison). Back when I could listen to Bruce Springsteen and just dig it, as opposed to listening to Bruce Springsteen now, and relating to it to the point where I feel like he's speaking for me sometimes.
And so, in Hell's karaoke bar, in between the divas belting out Mariah (pretty goddamn convincingly, I'll admit), somebody would get up and destroy a Talking Heads song, or cum all over your face singing Wham!, or depress everyone by attempting Sly and Robbie. And I thought, "You know what? If you want the 80's, I WILL GIVE YOU THE MOTHERFUCKING 80'S!!!", so I walked up to the DJ and and got him to play a Steve Perry (from Journey) song.
Oh Sherry.
If you've never heard of it, i want you to punch yourself in the face really hard, right now. I'm serious. The rest of us are gonna sit here and wait for you. Hurry up.
So, I wait my turn, and after some utter fuckmaster totally obliterates one of the only good songs U2 ever did, I walk up and drop some serious 80's shit on everyone in attendance.
And it was so cool, because if I had've done 'Good Times' by Jimmy Barnes and INXS, everyone would have known what was going on. If I dropped 'I wanna Rock' by Twisted Sister, they would have sat back and gone "Oh yeah, this one...let's have it!"
But no.
I'm up there under the budget light show, with my fully sleeved arms tattooed to maximum capacity, and I've got these tight jeans on that I never wear, but it's laundry day, and all around me this swirling tinkly synthesizer is starting up, and everyone is just sitting there going "What exactly the fuck is this?"
And then I sing it.
"You should've been gone!
Knowing how I made you feel,
And I should've been gone!
After all your words of steel.
Oh I must've been a dreamer,
And I must've been someone else,
And we should've been over.
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on"
And this song is so angsty and mental, it's so dense and huge, the drummer is doing these insane hi hat warp speed manoeuvres, and the guitar solo has all those 'wow wow wow' things in it, and you can imagine Steve wrote it with like, sixty bazillion arrows sticking out of his back, just singing his guts out, not giving a flying fuck whether or not Sherry's Dad hears him and backs the family Dodge over him, because he fucking LOVES SHERRY, but he knows it will never work, and he's gone through so much hurt and heartache he really doesn't give a shit if someone hits him with 2 tonnes of Detroit steel.
It's so wrong it's right. It's what Bon Jovi wished they could pull off, it's so Industrial America, and it rules because it's HONEST.
If you're a guy, and you haven't felt like Steve Perry, you're like, six years old, or a paedophile. And if you're a girl and you didn't want to be Sherry, even though Steve rocked the biggest mullet you've ever seen, and had a nose that Julius Caesar would have approved of, then you're a frigid bitch.
There, I said it.
And I'm singing my guts out. I'm shredding the living shit out of my uvula, and I love it. I am feeling every word of it, and exorcising all the demons this shitheap of a month has dumped over me. All the pain and rejection, and hope, and lost hope, and desire, and confusion, and wait a minute, who is that girl?
"But I want to let go
You'll go on hurtin' me
You'd be better off alone
If I'm not who you thought I'd be"
She's sitting at the end of the bar, and she's looking at me like a cat looks at cat food. She's got these laser beam eyes, she's got these legs and that torso, and...well, a head with hair on it, and it all looks A-1 awesome, top quality, Grade A distraction material. She's kinda smiling, but it looks more like it hurts than a smile.
She had freckles, and they were programmed to just destroy you instantly.
"But you know that there's a fever
Oh that you'll never find nowhere else
Can't you feel it burnin' on and on
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on"
And the guitar solo kicks in, and is all 'wow wow wow' like I told you already, and I take the opportunity to walk right up to her and kiss her dead on the mouth.
""But I should've been gone
Long ago, far away
And you should've been gone
Now I know just why you stay
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on""
So yeah, I do that, and she kisses me back. Right there in the karaoke bar from Hell. And I see the security guys elbowing each other in the ribs, like "Did you just see that?", and I'm standing on the top of my own personal mountain as I say, and she's blowing parts of my face off with those laser beam eyes, because they're open again, and now my moment has passed I am overcome with nervous energy and self defeating thoughts, so I go sit down back where I was before, and my back is to her.
And three more people get up and waste their time because no one was going to be able to top Steve Perry. Not in a million years. Not even Steve Perry stood a chance.
And then I ate my words, because right then I see this pair of legs walk by, and the carpet is bursting into flames, and that girl is grabbing the mic and strangling it like there's no tomorrow, and after what came next, I wouldn't care if there wasn't.
These huge chords kick in, and she tosses her hair to one side, because she's got one of those Chrissy Amphlett fringes that is all in her eyes, and all of a sudden she takes a deep breath in and lets out the biggest "Whooooah" you have ever heard, and if you know Patty Smyth, and her song 'Warrior', you know exactly what I'm trying to tell you here.
Seriously, i could go on for about six hours regarding how amazing it felt to have that song hit me in the chest and brain and cock, but let's cut to the chase...
...she sang the damn song, and she sang it AT ME.
"You run, run, run away.
It's your heart that you betray.
Feeding on your hungry eyes,
I bet you're not so civilized.
Isn't love primitive?
A wild gift you wanna give...
Break out of captivity!
And follow me stereo jungle child!
Love is the kill, your heart's still wild!
Shootin' at the walls of heartache...
Bang, bang, I am the warrior!
Yes I am the warrior!
And heart to heart you win,
If you survive...
The warrior, the warrior.
You talk, talk, talk to me.
Your eyes touch me physically.
Stay with me, we'll take the night.
As passion takes another bite.
Oh, who's the hunter?
Who's the game?
I feel the beat call your name.
I'll hold you close in victory.
I don't wanna tame your animal style!
You won't be caged!
From the call of the wild!
Shootin' at the walls of heartache,
Bang, bang, I am the warrior.
Yes I am the warrior,
And VICTORY IS MINE!!!!"
...and with every "Bang bang", she thrust her hips at me like she had a tail like a horse, and was whipping me in the face with it. And that would have so been just fine.
And when she sang "Victory is miiiiine!", she couldn't have been more right, with her left arm straight up in the air, pulling a massive devil sign with that chipped chrome nail polish, and a tattoo of the ace of spades on her inner wrist.
Rock beats scissors, scissors beat paper, and Patty Smyth beats Steve Perry. Hands down.
Still, if you were born in the 80's, you probably missed out on these, two of the greatest songs ever written and performed, in the entire history of music. Seriously, who fucks to Bach? Tell me.
"Yes yes, but what happened next!?" you breathlessly intone...
Well, as soon as the song was over, she brushed her black hair out of her face, and went to sit down right next to me. Of course I said "Oh no you don't", and took her by the hand, and down into that elevator and out of the building stat.
And that's all you're getting, because this blog post is all about the music.
Go find it. If it doesn't change your life, you're dead already.
"Bang bang!"
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Lately I've been feeling like an old lobster boiling in hot water, raising my claws at the wooden spoon, too stubborn to just fuck off to the other place, choking on globs of salty seaweed. Trying to resist certain agents attempts to tear my thorax apart. Keeping my meat all to myself.
But not tonight.
I forced myself to take a day off from work today.
I'm a workaholic, that's why I threw the word "forced" in there. I'm terrified that if I leave the shop for five minutes, I'll miss out on a sale, and then I won't be able to pay the rent or eat. Well, that's bullshit, because I've paid the rent two months ahead, and the cupboard has plenty of batchelor chow in it. It's sort of true though, in that whenever I close the shop, six people arrive wanting (in order of demand):
1. pumps.
2. tubes.
3. tyres.
4. lights.
5. servicing.
6. a whole goddamn bicycle.
So forgive me if I'm a little apprehensive at the thought of not only closing the door, but being someplace else on the other side of town, nowhere near it.
But I did it (cue applause).
I even left my brand new project, a Honda VT250F, in the workshop- hardly chopped. Granted, I stayed up all night ripping the seat, fairing, tank, battery housing, rear suspension, and other unnecessary crap off, and cutting the rear section of the frame off with a grinder, but I can't sleep nights, so I can damn well do as I please. I call her Rhonda, coz she's a Honda. And because my favourite Aunt is called Rhonda. She goes 160kph on her rear wheel! (The bike, not my Aunt.)
*gush*
See? I can't even get out of the shop in my damn blog! So...moving on.
Today was lovely and warm, and I walked around the city and caught up with friends new and old, making absolutely sure I didn't hurry anywhere, or stress, or think about Rhonda, and all the things I want to cut off and weld to her when I get back. I had a haircut. I talked to Lord Monkey. I talked to Shelena. I talked to Kellie. I patted some dogs. I met a crazy guy called Ivan, who is one of the new bouncers at Cherry bar, and listened to some of his stories from back in the day, and marvelled at his insane collection of old Harleys, Mercury 2 doors, and Mercedes'z (which he keeps photos of, in his jacket, at all times).
Good shit!
When it started getting a bit darker, I trammed my way over to St Kilda, which (for those of you outside Oztraya) is beside the sea (well, the bay), and full of cafe's, bars, restaurants, hookers, addicts, and wankers, in that order. I had a catch up with more long neglected friends at The Vineyard, and walked out of there at about 10pm.
I was changing trams in the city, or about to, when I remembered a place I hadn't been in years, and wondered if it was still there. It's this crazy Karaoke bar in Chinatown, up one level in a lift with bullet holes in the wall.
Clem, remember this place?
The lift doors open, and you're right in there, and everybody looks at you like you just pissed in their beer, because they are all so seriously hardcore into karaoke, and they are there to win, take no prisoners, because KARAOKE IS FUCKING SERIOUS BUSINESS OK? AND IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME, REFER TO THE HOLES IN THE ELEVATOR WALL. So yeah, big deal over there.
This place has bouncers, okay? They hang out in the dark corners, with long leather coats, because they are huge in Eastern Europe, and that's where they hail from. And just when you think they are the baddest humans you will ever come that close to, they get up on stage one by one, and sing the theme from 'The Lion King' or something. But you can't laugh, because it's SERIOUS.
SO by this stage I have a coke, and I'm shit out of luck finding a table, or a chair, so I sit on the floor, off in front of stage left.
The DJ is doing his best approximation of "...this is Jenny from Canoga Park..." (without the wet tee shirt), and if you don't know what I'm saying here, you really need to start listening to music, and not whatever it is they feed you on the radio nowadays.
Segway.
Back in the '80's, I was a young teen. I've said it before, but back then, the radio really meant something. It was a lifeline. I'm totally serious. Yeah, we had ghetto blasters, and all that cool old skool buttery flava-ey shit, but it was the radio that mattered. On the weekend, when the American Top 40 with Kasey Kasem was on, you stayed at home and listened to it. Every fucking song. Whether it was The Bangles, or Phil Collins (who utterly rules), or Twisted Sister, you listened to it. And you loved it, because there was something about the 80's that was so all at once so diverse and yet totally unified, something so inverse to yourself, so you kinda just fit into it, something that broke down all the barriers, and owned you to the point where it still owns you today. Have you ever heard another band like The Eurythmics?
It's pretty obvious my favourite music comes from these days.
It has a very special place in my life, it reminds me of the days when I was relatively carefree (at least by comparison). Back when I could listen to Bruce Springsteen and just dig it, as opposed to listening to Bruce Springsteen now, and relating to it to the point where I feel like he's speaking for me sometimes.
And so, in Hell's karaoke bar, in between the divas belting out Mariah (pretty goddamn convincingly, I'll admit), somebody would get up and destroy a Talking Heads song, or cum all over your face singing Wham!, or depress everyone by attempting Sly and Robbie. And I thought, "You know what? If you want the 80's, I WILL GIVE YOU THE MOTHERFUCKING 80'S!!!", so I walked up to the DJ and and got him to play a Steve Perry (from Journey) song.
Oh Sherry.
If you've never heard of it, i want you to punch yourself in the face really hard, right now. I'm serious. The rest of us are gonna sit here and wait for you. Hurry up.
So, I wait my turn, and after some utter fuckmaster totally obliterates one of the only good songs U2 ever did, I walk up and drop some serious 80's shit on everyone in attendance.
And it was so cool, because if I had've done 'Good Times' by Jimmy Barnes and INXS, everyone would have known what was going on. If I dropped 'I wanna Rock' by Twisted Sister, they would have sat back and gone "Oh yeah, this one...let's have it!"
But no.
I'm up there under the budget light show, with my fully sleeved arms tattooed to maximum capacity, and I've got these tight jeans on that I never wear, but it's laundry day, and all around me this swirling tinkly synthesizer is starting up, and everyone is just sitting there going "What exactly the fuck is this?"
And then I sing it.
"You should've been gone!
Knowing how I made you feel,
And I should've been gone!
After all your words of steel.
Oh I must've been a dreamer,
And I must've been someone else,
And we should've been over.
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on"
And this song is so angsty and mental, it's so dense and huge, the drummer is doing these insane hi hat warp speed manoeuvres, and the guitar solo has all those 'wow wow wow' things in it, and you can imagine Steve wrote it with like, sixty bazillion arrows sticking out of his back, just singing his guts out, not giving a flying fuck whether or not Sherry's Dad hears him and backs the family Dodge over him, because he fucking LOVES SHERRY, but he knows it will never work, and he's gone through so much hurt and heartache he really doesn't give a shit if someone hits him with 2 tonnes of Detroit steel.
It's so wrong it's right. It's what Bon Jovi wished they could pull off, it's so Industrial America, and it rules because it's HONEST.
If you're a guy, and you haven't felt like Steve Perry, you're like, six years old, or a paedophile. And if you're a girl and you didn't want to be Sherry, even though Steve rocked the biggest mullet you've ever seen, and had a nose that Julius Caesar would have approved of, then you're a frigid bitch.
There, I said it.
And I'm singing my guts out. I'm shredding the living shit out of my uvula, and I love it. I am feeling every word of it, and exorcising all the demons this shitheap of a month has dumped over me. All the pain and rejection, and hope, and lost hope, and desire, and confusion, and wait a minute, who is that girl?
"But I want to let go
You'll go on hurtin' me
You'd be better off alone
If I'm not who you thought I'd be"
She's sitting at the end of the bar, and she's looking at me like a cat looks at cat food. She's got these laser beam eyes, she's got these legs and that torso, and...well, a head with hair on it, and it all looks A-1 awesome, top quality, Grade A distraction material. She's kinda smiling, but it looks more like it hurts than a smile.
She had freckles, and they were programmed to just destroy you instantly.
"But you know that there's a fever
Oh that you'll never find nowhere else
Can't you feel it burnin' on and on
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on"
And the guitar solo kicks in, and is all 'wow wow wow' like I told you already, and I take the opportunity to walk right up to her and kiss her dead on the mouth.
""But I should've been gone
Long ago, far away
And you should've been gone
Now I know just why you stay
Oh Sherry, our love
Holds on, holds on""
So yeah, I do that, and she kisses me back. Right there in the karaoke bar from Hell. And I see the security guys elbowing each other in the ribs, like "Did you just see that?", and I'm standing on the top of my own personal mountain as I say, and she's blowing parts of my face off with those laser beam eyes, because they're open again, and now my moment has passed I am overcome with nervous energy and self defeating thoughts, so I go sit down back where I was before, and my back is to her.
And three more people get up and waste their time because no one was going to be able to top Steve Perry. Not in a million years. Not even Steve Perry stood a chance.
And then I ate my words, because right then I see this pair of legs walk by, and the carpet is bursting into flames, and that girl is grabbing the mic and strangling it like there's no tomorrow, and after what came next, I wouldn't care if there wasn't.
These huge chords kick in, and she tosses her hair to one side, because she's got one of those Chrissy Amphlett fringes that is all in her eyes, and all of a sudden she takes a deep breath in and lets out the biggest "Whooooah" you have ever heard, and if you know Patty Smyth, and her song 'Warrior', you know exactly what I'm trying to tell you here.
Seriously, i could go on for about six hours regarding how amazing it felt to have that song hit me in the chest and brain and cock, but let's cut to the chase...
...she sang the damn song, and she sang it AT ME.
"You run, run, run away.
It's your heart that you betray.
Feeding on your hungry eyes,
I bet you're not so civilized.
Isn't love primitive?
A wild gift you wanna give...
Break out of captivity!
And follow me stereo jungle child!
Love is the kill, your heart's still wild!
Shootin' at the walls of heartache...
Bang, bang, I am the warrior!
Yes I am the warrior!
And heart to heart you win,
If you survive...
The warrior, the warrior.
You talk, talk, talk to me.
Your eyes touch me physically.
Stay with me, we'll take the night.
As passion takes another bite.
Oh, who's the hunter?
Who's the game?
I feel the beat call your name.
I'll hold you close in victory.
I don't wanna tame your animal style!
You won't be caged!
From the call of the wild!
Shootin' at the walls of heartache,
Bang, bang, I am the warrior.
Yes I am the warrior,
And VICTORY IS MINE!!!!"
...and with every "Bang bang", she thrust her hips at me like she had a tail like a horse, and was whipping me in the face with it. And that would have so been just fine.
And when she sang "Victory is miiiiine!", she couldn't have been more right, with her left arm straight up in the air, pulling a massive devil sign with that chipped chrome nail polish, and a tattoo of the ace of spades on her inner wrist.
Rock beats scissors, scissors beat paper, and Patty Smyth beats Steve Perry. Hands down.
Still, if you were born in the 80's, you probably missed out on these, two of the greatest songs ever written and performed, in the entire history of music. Seriously, who fucks to Bach? Tell me.
"Yes yes, but what happened next!?" you breathlessly intone...
Well, as soon as the song was over, she brushed her black hair out of her face, and went to sit down right next to me. Of course I said "Oh no you don't", and took her by the hand, and down into that elevator and out of the building stat.
And that's all you're getting, because this blog post is all about the music.
Go find it. If it doesn't change your life, you're dead already.
"Bang bang!"
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Tear it down and start again.
Here's a totally unsurprising fact...I am very insecure.
At least, very insecure about some things, generally things that don't matter. Like how I look. Actually, that's about it really.
I think I'm pretty good at a bunch of things that do matter, because they are how I make a living. Things like writing, building things, arty stuff (at times), playing instruments, creative endeavors. I also work very hard, and I like that about me.
Recently I did hit an iceberg in one respect though, and that was when my business partner decided to...Well...not be my business partner any more. I came up with this concept of bringing chopper bicycles to Australia, and making our own, and generally being the first in this part of the world to make a name for ourselves as a hub for chopper culture. If we grow enough, I have always wanted to move into motorcycles also. I just love these bikes, and I always have, so there is longevity in it for me, unlike something that is more phase-based.
So when you tell someone about your concept, and they act excited, and want to be in on it, and then after five months, suddenly it doesn't seem like a good idea any more...it kinda dents you in the side a bit. OK, a lot.
Like, your biggest source of encouragement, the person that makes you feel like you're not crazy for wanting to do this, suddenly they think it's a stupid idea, and not worth being involved in for one more minute.
And it makes you think "Shit- what if they're RIGHT?!"
And it's in those times I have an objective think.
In America and Europe, choppers RULE. The market is enormous, and the populations involved certainly don't hurt. Even a minute percentage of millions is still hundreds of thousands. Thing is, they love the design of a good chopper, and aren't hung up in the way Australians are, that if you ride a bicycle (and you're a "grown-ass man", as they say in VICE), then you're a fucking loser. Australia is, was, and always will be about four years behind the USA, so to be realistic we're on the verge of a major chopper bicycle renaissance over here. The guys from O.C.C. (Discovery Channel's 'American Chopper' series) are coming over at the end of this year, and if all goes to plan, Hellbourne Choppers (me) will be in on that action representing the pushie end of the subculture. Things are starting to move fast around here, it's exciting, and to be honest quite intimidating, in that suddenly I'm being contacted by people (like O.C.C.) who I never realistically thought I'd talk to let alone hang out with. Orders are rising, and coming from all corners of Australia, a tiny amount of action out of South-East Asia, and the possibility of quite a major push into New Zealand (where bikes are very well accepted, thank you very much!) Suddenly everyone wants a chopper in their window display, so I'm starting to get free advertising all over the show, and just returning the bikes to the distributor after a month of having them on display, at no cost to me. I'm talking major retail chains in the biggest malls in the country here. We even have a bike in the latest Jeans West TV campaign. And best of all, I'm meeting lovely people and making new friends, and being invited to come hang out and play because all of a sudden what I'm doing is cool and different and meaningful and fun and even a bit sexy, and all these peeps want a slice of that, and the guy who thought it up.
And then I go back to work energised and happy, in the belief that if enough people find out about us, we're gonna not only do fine, but possibly extremely well indeed. And that makes working seven days and six nights a week worthwhile, thinking that if this business comes off, I'm not only going to be able to afford to live like a normal person, but that I can grow my business and expand it in any way my extremely curious and concept-laden mind thinks is necessary.
One hundred positive people drown out the voice of a lone naysayer.
I have to get back to work :)
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
At least, very insecure about some things, generally things that don't matter. Like how I look. Actually, that's about it really.
I think I'm pretty good at a bunch of things that do matter, because they are how I make a living. Things like writing, building things, arty stuff (at times), playing instruments, creative endeavors. I also work very hard, and I like that about me.
Recently I did hit an iceberg in one respect though, and that was when my business partner decided to...Well...not be my business partner any more. I came up with this concept of bringing chopper bicycles to Australia, and making our own, and generally being the first in this part of the world to make a name for ourselves as a hub for chopper culture. If we grow enough, I have always wanted to move into motorcycles also. I just love these bikes, and I always have, so there is longevity in it for me, unlike something that is more phase-based.
So when you tell someone about your concept, and they act excited, and want to be in on it, and then after five months, suddenly it doesn't seem like a good idea any more...it kinda dents you in the side a bit. OK, a lot.
Like, your biggest source of encouragement, the person that makes you feel like you're not crazy for wanting to do this, suddenly they think it's a stupid idea, and not worth being involved in for one more minute.
And it makes you think "Shit- what if they're RIGHT?!"
And it's in those times I have an objective think.
In America and Europe, choppers RULE. The market is enormous, and the populations involved certainly don't hurt. Even a minute percentage of millions is still hundreds of thousands. Thing is, they love the design of a good chopper, and aren't hung up in the way Australians are, that if you ride a bicycle (and you're a "grown-ass man", as they say in VICE), then you're a fucking loser. Australia is, was, and always will be about four years behind the USA, so to be realistic we're on the verge of a major chopper bicycle renaissance over here. The guys from O.C.C. (Discovery Channel's 'American Chopper' series) are coming over at the end of this year, and if all goes to plan, Hellbourne Choppers (me) will be in on that action representing the pushie end of the subculture. Things are starting to move fast around here, it's exciting, and to be honest quite intimidating, in that suddenly I'm being contacted by people (like O.C.C.) who I never realistically thought I'd talk to let alone hang out with. Orders are rising, and coming from all corners of Australia, a tiny amount of action out of South-East Asia, and the possibility of quite a major push into New Zealand (where bikes are very well accepted, thank you very much!) Suddenly everyone wants a chopper in their window display, so I'm starting to get free advertising all over the show, and just returning the bikes to the distributor after a month of having them on display, at no cost to me. I'm talking major retail chains in the biggest malls in the country here. We even have a bike in the latest Jeans West TV campaign. And best of all, I'm meeting lovely people and making new friends, and being invited to come hang out and play because all of a sudden what I'm doing is cool and different and meaningful and fun and even a bit sexy, and all these peeps want a slice of that, and the guy who thought it up.
And then I go back to work energised and happy, in the belief that if enough people find out about us, we're gonna not only do fine, but possibly extremely well indeed. And that makes working seven days and six nights a week worthwhile, thinking that if this business comes off, I'm not only going to be able to afford to live like a normal person, but that I can grow my business and expand it in any way my extremely curious and concept-laden mind thinks is necessary.
One hundred positive people drown out the voice of a lone naysayer.
I have to get back to work :)
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Ha Ha, etc...
What a night-and-a-half!
First up, I had my wee party at the Ding Dong Lounge last night, and I'll be god-damned if it didn't go off! I had no idea I had that many friends, all of whom came out of the woodwork to listen to the bands, but also to take part in the raffle (someone won a bright yellow chopper). I had a fantastic time, and the venue thought it went so well they suggested we do it once every three months. The bands were awesome, especially Moscow Schoolboy, who played the show even though they had been spending stupid hours in the studio all week. Top kids.
I met a bunch of people too, and enjoyed the hell out of them all, for varying reasons. It was so "awesome" and "fuck yeah" to see a room full of people going apeshit over bikes me made. Of course by the end of the night all bets were off, and said bikes were being ridden very hard and very fast by some very intoxicated people around the bar, but that's why the room is so big. Isn't it?
But the very best part was reconnecting with a couple of people from my past, who I thought were incredible when I met them, but I also felt the time wasn't right for us to grow closer. But tonight felt right, and we all felt it. So I spent quite a lot of time with each of them in turn, getting down to the meat and potatoes of who they are, and getting excited about what we're going to be to each other from now on. I have dinner dates for every night next week. I like dinner, and I love dates, so I'm pretty happy right now.
And of course, getting a massive wad of money at the end of the night didn't hurt either. Putting bands on is pretty fucking lucrative, isn't it? That should keep the wolves at bay for a while longer!
I'm sorry, I know this post is boring and shit. I usually hold myself to a higher standard, but I just feel good, and want to crow about it. Of course, even though I am (supposedly) "fucking hot" and "covered in hot girls all the time", I came home alone, because attention is good and all, but I'm not ready to take that step into the bedroom with anyone who isn't...welll...me yet. But it doesn't hurt to get a firm idea of just where I stand in the desirability stakes, that's for sure. I'd be the worlds biggest liar if I pretended I didn't soak up every second of attention I got tonight. I deserve it, I think, after way too much time perpetuating a bad mistake, and therefore missing out on actual positivity, (as opposed to just hoping it would one day manifest itself in the situation I was stupid enough to have put up with for so long.)
That was a very long sentence.
Better out than in I always say!
So in short, last night was one of the very best ones.
Thank you Shelena, Bree, Nikki, Kellie, Cal, Sunny, Eva, Jelena, Jovona, Greg, Petri, Tim, Tum, Ute, Loz, Dougie, Johnny, Justine, Keturah, Dell, Paul, Bec, Jesse, Pledge, Jordan, Jess and Moscow Schoolboy, Jules, Sonia Belle, Ashe, that security guy from Cherry who's name escapes me, but who is always total gold to me, Renee Ruin, and most importantly TOBY, Mr total awesomeness himself.
I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight. And that's a nice change.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
First up, I had my wee party at the Ding Dong Lounge last night, and I'll be god-damned if it didn't go off! I had no idea I had that many friends, all of whom came out of the woodwork to listen to the bands, but also to take part in the raffle (someone won a bright yellow chopper). I had a fantastic time, and the venue thought it went so well they suggested we do it once every three months. The bands were awesome, especially Moscow Schoolboy, who played the show even though they had been spending stupid hours in the studio all week. Top kids.
I met a bunch of people too, and enjoyed the hell out of them all, for varying reasons. It was so "awesome" and "fuck yeah" to see a room full of people going apeshit over bikes me made. Of course by the end of the night all bets were off, and said bikes were being ridden very hard and very fast by some very intoxicated people around the bar, but that's why the room is so big. Isn't it?
But the very best part was reconnecting with a couple of people from my past, who I thought were incredible when I met them, but I also felt the time wasn't right for us to grow closer. But tonight felt right, and we all felt it. So I spent quite a lot of time with each of them in turn, getting down to the meat and potatoes of who they are, and getting excited about what we're going to be to each other from now on. I have dinner dates for every night next week. I like dinner, and I love dates, so I'm pretty happy right now.
And of course, getting a massive wad of money at the end of the night didn't hurt either. Putting bands on is pretty fucking lucrative, isn't it? That should keep the wolves at bay for a while longer!
I'm sorry, I know this post is boring and shit. I usually hold myself to a higher standard, but I just feel good, and want to crow about it. Of course, even though I am (supposedly) "fucking hot" and "covered in hot girls all the time", I came home alone, because attention is good and all, but I'm not ready to take that step into the bedroom with anyone who isn't...welll...me yet. But it doesn't hurt to get a firm idea of just where I stand in the desirability stakes, that's for sure. I'd be the worlds biggest liar if I pretended I didn't soak up every second of attention I got tonight. I deserve it, I think, after way too much time perpetuating a bad mistake, and therefore missing out on actual positivity, (as opposed to just hoping it would one day manifest itself in the situation I was stupid enough to have put up with for so long.)
That was a very long sentence.
Better out than in I always say!
So in short, last night was one of the very best ones.
Thank you Shelena, Bree, Nikki, Kellie, Cal, Sunny, Eva, Jelena, Jovona, Greg, Petri, Tim, Tum, Ute, Loz, Dougie, Johnny, Justine, Keturah, Dell, Paul, Bec, Jesse, Pledge, Jordan, Jess and Moscow Schoolboy, Jules, Sonia Belle, Ashe, that security guy from Cherry who's name escapes me, but who is always total gold to me, Renee Ruin, and most importantly TOBY, Mr total awesomeness himself.
I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight. And that's a nice change.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
14th of November, 2005.
Well, wasn't that last entry fun?!
Like I sometimes say, I have to shut the rest of you out of this blog every now and then, and just confess what it's like to be me. Now that that's done, I can concentrate on the usual observational crapola from planet knifey.
I took quite a long hiatus from this blog, and wasn't sure I would return. I was having a relationship (or destroying someone else's life, depending on who you ask), and starting a business (or having my ass wiped for me, again, depending on who you ask). So now I'm back and sniffing around my old posts, trying to get a feel for what it was exactly I used to do here.
And I'll tell you something...I'm very happy with this blog.
I'm very happy that I could be so honest about my experience here, and that I held nothng back. I'm happy other people from other places came to read it, and sometimes to leave me their view also. I think I made a few funnies too, and I like that.
But something is tripping me out like crazy right now...
I was reading a post from almost a year ago, about how I deal with loneliness, and being single, and I realised I could just as easily have written 95% of it tonight. I thought I was meant to grow and develop over time, not be more the same? But clearly I am the same, because the words I wrote resonated through me as if my blood were bells.
So if you're one of those people who likes to read about how I feel, all alone in a little shop in West Melbourne at twenty to one on a Tuesday morning (and it never ceases to amaze me how many of you there are!), here it is:
http://knifey-knifeyard.blogspot.com/2005/11/meandering.html
For those of you who are in the Great State of Victoria, Australia, this Thursday night, I am putting on a wee party for my tiny little store with a whole lot of heart- Hellbourne Choppers. I'm hosting 3 of the best bands in Australia right now, one rock beast of a DJ, and a chopper raffle where you can ride away on a bright yellow and chrome machine for the cost of a $5 raffle ticket. Please come along.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Like I sometimes say, I have to shut the rest of you out of this blog every now and then, and just confess what it's like to be me. Now that that's done, I can concentrate on the usual observational crapola from planet knifey.
I took quite a long hiatus from this blog, and wasn't sure I would return. I was having a relationship (or destroying someone else's life, depending on who you ask), and starting a business (or having my ass wiped for me, again, depending on who you ask). So now I'm back and sniffing around my old posts, trying to get a feel for what it was exactly I used to do here.
And I'll tell you something...I'm very happy with this blog.
I'm very happy that I could be so honest about my experience here, and that I held nothng back. I'm happy other people from other places came to read it, and sometimes to leave me their view also. I think I made a few funnies too, and I like that.
But something is tripping me out like crazy right now...
I was reading a post from almost a year ago, about how I deal with loneliness, and being single, and I realised I could just as easily have written 95% of it tonight. I thought I was meant to grow and develop over time, not be more the same? But clearly I am the same, because the words I wrote resonated through me as if my blood were bells.
So if you're one of those people who likes to read about how I feel, all alone in a little shop in West Melbourne at twenty to one on a Tuesday morning (and it never ceases to amaze me how many of you there are!), here it is:
http://knifey-knifeyard.blogspot.com/2005/11/meandering.html
For those of you who are in the Great State of Victoria, Australia, this Thursday night, I am putting on a wee party for my tiny little store with a whole lot of heart- Hellbourne Choppers. I'm hosting 3 of the best bands in Australia right now, one rock beast of a DJ, and a chopper raffle where you can ride away on a bright yellow and chrome machine for the cost of a $5 raffle ticket. Please come along.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Letting go.
I imagine that my heart is one thousand feet high.
I imagine my heart has a door in it.
My heart has a door in it, and on the other side of this door, is 'her'.
I imagine her face, that face that holds so many memories. I imagine it there, through that enormous doorway.
And I imagine that heaviest of doors, with its many locks and bars, and layers.
And I imagine myself closing that door, shutting out that face.
I'm locking it.
It's closed.
For the last few weeks, no matter how ugly things became, I always told myself that we could find a way back. I believed we could take each other by the hand, and find a way to recapture all that love, and to exorcise all the fighting. Forgive, and move on.
But we can't, because it's only me that wanted to.
She wants to escape me totally. I feel like a disease. I feel like a disgusting, worthless, all-corrupting malaise that has infected her and made her sick and angry. I feel like a word from me is like a virus, and it only serves to make her more ill.
I feel like my love is a poison, or worse still, just worthless excrement. I bring it to her, and she looks at it with disgust. "Why would I want that?"
It's so maddening to think of all the women I have been close to, and how many of them fought so hard to gain access to this love I never had for them. And the one time I truly gave it all up, and let someone have it, it's worthless and septic.
So I get the message.
This girl I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, wants nothing more to do with me. She wants me to get out of her life, and take my love with me. She doesn't want to keep in contact. She doesn't care what I do, or where I go, or what I think or how I feel. If I disappear completely, she will only be relieved.
So I'm closing that door.
And every creak of the hinges tears my heart open, because something inside me keeps saying that it's only now, and that if I can deal with the uncertainty and insecurity of never-knowing, if I can just hang in there somehow, that we can make everything beautiful. And I don't know where that voice is coming from, because it's not coming from her.
But I can't hold on any more. I want to, but I can't. Not when all I hear is "I don't love you", and "We are never going to be good friends." Not when the phone never rings, and every time she says we'll catch up, she never comes. Not when the people I know tell me how she's out all the time, in the worst sleaze pits this city has on offer.
I have to give her what she wants, a total absence of me.
And I have to give myself what I need...to cut myself off from this person who makes me feel like waste.
I'm not waste, I'm a person. I'm a person that made mistakes, as many as she did. At least I didn't give up on her. At least I stayed committed to the future we had planned, even after she decided to stop taking my calls. Would a bastard do that? At least no matter how bad our fights became, I never walked out and said "no more." I had faith we could get it right, with help from outside of ourselves. I promised her I wouldn't leave her, and I didn't.
But she left me, and I've had enough sleepless nights to think about it. I'm through worrying if she got home okay, from whatever meat market she left at 7 in the morning. I'm through wondering how she'll cope when she realises the people she's relying on right now don't have one ounce of actual love for her, or they wouldn't treat her the way they do. I'm over wanting to be there, waiting, still in love, when she realises that we went through far too much to just walk away and act like you can forget something like that and simply move on.
I know I'll never get over her. I know I will always wonder how she could become so heartless, against the one person in her entire life that supported her and loved her, and didn't always have one eye open for the next step up. How she could give up on the one person that never gave up on her. But that's my problem, not hers. I can't ask her anything any more. I have no access to her life. She's not even a friend to me. Unlike every other major relationship in my life, this one doesn't want to know me.
She's adamant I have no answers for her, no insight, nothing of worth or use.
I feel the bolt slide home, and crack closed.
And I feel no better than before.
But I have to remain positive, and there's no way I can do that, continually reaching out for someone who hates my hand.
So I have made my mind up, and my mind is "No more." No more thinking about her. No more concern for her. No more curiosity about her. No more her at all.
Ten months of my life, the promise of my future, my heart, and my hopes, I let them all go.
I am a new person.
"Onward and upward..."
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
I imagine my heart has a door in it.
My heart has a door in it, and on the other side of this door, is 'her'.
I imagine her face, that face that holds so many memories. I imagine it there, through that enormous doorway.
And I imagine that heaviest of doors, with its many locks and bars, and layers.
And I imagine myself closing that door, shutting out that face.
I'm locking it.
It's closed.
For the last few weeks, no matter how ugly things became, I always told myself that we could find a way back. I believed we could take each other by the hand, and find a way to recapture all that love, and to exorcise all the fighting. Forgive, and move on.
But we can't, because it's only me that wanted to.
She wants to escape me totally. I feel like a disease. I feel like a disgusting, worthless, all-corrupting malaise that has infected her and made her sick and angry. I feel like a word from me is like a virus, and it only serves to make her more ill.
I feel like my love is a poison, or worse still, just worthless excrement. I bring it to her, and she looks at it with disgust. "Why would I want that?"
It's so maddening to think of all the women I have been close to, and how many of them fought so hard to gain access to this love I never had for them. And the one time I truly gave it all up, and let someone have it, it's worthless and septic.
So I get the message.
This girl I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, wants nothing more to do with me. She wants me to get out of her life, and take my love with me. She doesn't want to keep in contact. She doesn't care what I do, or where I go, or what I think or how I feel. If I disappear completely, she will only be relieved.
So I'm closing that door.
And every creak of the hinges tears my heart open, because something inside me keeps saying that it's only now, and that if I can deal with the uncertainty and insecurity of never-knowing, if I can just hang in there somehow, that we can make everything beautiful. And I don't know where that voice is coming from, because it's not coming from her.
But I can't hold on any more. I want to, but I can't. Not when all I hear is "I don't love you", and "We are never going to be good friends." Not when the phone never rings, and every time she says we'll catch up, she never comes. Not when the people I know tell me how she's out all the time, in the worst sleaze pits this city has on offer.
I have to give her what she wants, a total absence of me.
And I have to give myself what I need...to cut myself off from this person who makes me feel like waste.
I'm not waste, I'm a person. I'm a person that made mistakes, as many as she did. At least I didn't give up on her. At least I stayed committed to the future we had planned, even after she decided to stop taking my calls. Would a bastard do that? At least no matter how bad our fights became, I never walked out and said "no more." I had faith we could get it right, with help from outside of ourselves. I promised her I wouldn't leave her, and I didn't.
But she left me, and I've had enough sleepless nights to think about it. I'm through worrying if she got home okay, from whatever meat market she left at 7 in the morning. I'm through wondering how she'll cope when she realises the people she's relying on right now don't have one ounce of actual love for her, or they wouldn't treat her the way they do. I'm over wanting to be there, waiting, still in love, when she realises that we went through far too much to just walk away and act like you can forget something like that and simply move on.
I know I'll never get over her. I know I will always wonder how she could become so heartless, against the one person in her entire life that supported her and loved her, and didn't always have one eye open for the next step up. How she could give up on the one person that never gave up on her. But that's my problem, not hers. I can't ask her anything any more. I have no access to her life. She's not even a friend to me. Unlike every other major relationship in my life, this one doesn't want to know me.
She's adamant I have no answers for her, no insight, nothing of worth or use.
I feel the bolt slide home, and crack closed.
And I feel no better than before.
But I have to remain positive, and there's no way I can do that, continually reaching out for someone who hates my hand.
So I have made my mind up, and my mind is "No more." No more thinking about her. No more concern for her. No more curiosity about her. No more her at all.
Ten months of my life, the promise of my future, my heart, and my hopes, I let them all go.
I am a new person.
"Onward and upward..."
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Opposites attract, & like attracts like...huh?
Do you ever feel like you're going crazy?
Your brain belongs to you, correct? But if it does, why is it so easy for other people to fill it up and take over your thoughts til you're so full of them you have no idea where the 'you' part is? Who's driving this thing? I've been jacked.
My relationship ended a week ago. She packed her things, moved out of our shop, and went to stay with a friend. She's not coming back she says, and I for one believe her. She's very angry, to the point where I no longer recognise the girl she's become. Instead of dancing with me in the kitchen in our underwear, she's somewhere else, doing things I'll never know, with I have no idea who. It's probably for the best, that way. She made it clear she's not in love with me any more, and if I had've been able to read her mind, I would have seen it coming. I knew she was unhappy. And I would have done anything I could to change that. But our communication was the worst, it still is.
She: (Asks question.)
He: (Answers.)
She: (Makes up her own answer, then says "How could you say that?!")
He: (Gets increasingly frustrated, as he never said "That".)
She: (Brings up something else he never said.)
He (Loses his mind.)
She has so many stresses in her life, it's not easy for her. And I would love to see her dreams come true, for her to attain her goals. She's a rising star, there's no doubt about that. But I'll have to read about her in the papers, just like you.
She wants to be friends. I think she'll change her mind about that. Suddenly I never hear from her any more, she's a ghost. An insanely beautiful, angry, cold ghost.
And now I'm looking at a future I'm not ready for- without her. Tunnel vision...
I'd like to think things like "Great! The future is full of endless possibilities!", and other optimistic thoughts, but my mind is more concerned with this crushing loneliness, fear no one is ever going to want me again, or even more frightening, that I'm not going to want anyone else. It takes a lot for me to let someone in. And I don't want to go back to sleeping around and acting like it's valid for me. I want to love someone, I'm very much geared toward it now. I don't want to replace emptiness with more emptiness. She was always convinced I would eventually replace her with someone better, that I was never really all about her. And now she's gone, she can't see just how I can't get past her, how she was the one girl I wanted.
I've met a few girls since last week. Girls that say "Take my number", and try to kiss me in bars. Pretty girls, maybe even interesting girls. But I have no spark with these girls, and don't want to date them, or pretend to be interested for the sake of sex. I don't want sex. I want love.
I don't want to replace her. But I don't want the new her either. I want my girl back, the one I fell for. The one that fell for me. Not the one who doesn't want to realise that the only thing standing between us, and the dreams we had, is her. She thinks it's impossible for us to relate. I agree. But of the two of us, I'm the only one who believes that can change if we want it to. If we seek help, work it through, and help each other. Apparently it's easier to give up, and hate the other person. And to create a totally fictitious belief system around what we had- as an extremely negative, possibly even abusive cycle leading to insanity. All we needed to do was talk, want to talk, commit to talking. But that was before she slammed the door and nailed it shut, without telling me she was doing it. I wish i could do that. Hate doesn't hurt like loss. Either way, I don't want to get back together either. I couldn't love who she is now. I'll leave it at that.
I've learned so much about me from this breakup. So in that sense, it's been good. But it feels pointless too. I'm sure that will make sense to someone out there. I've been concentrating on focussing solely on the positive, and a lot of the time I feel ok. But grief comes in waves, so just when I think I'm on the rise, that the worst part is over, I capsize.
She became my best friend, my confidante of choice, which is why I'm writing to cyberspace right now. I have no one to talk to. I'm so lonely, and I don't understand it. I used to LOVE solitude, I craved it. I defended it. Right now I am terrified of it...the seconds like minutes, the minutes like hours...
...and all the insecurity that comes with being abandoned.
I wonder what she's doing now?
I wonder if she thinks about me?
I wonder why she hates me so much, when all i wanted to do was make our dreams come to life?
I'll never know the answers.
I'm circling here...there's something I want to say, but I don't know how to access it. maybe I can telll you a story?
When I used to be a guitar tech, I'd tour with bands around the country or the world. You'd ride with them, sleep with them (on the smaller tours anyways), eat with them, all that. But you were never one of them. This was illustrated by the lonely hours you'd spend in the venue, all alone in your part of the world, making those guitars sing, while they'd be doing press, groupies, or fun stuff.
There may be other techs/crew around, but they'd be away in their areas, and you'd be in yours. For hours and hours. Then the show would start, and you'd be alone at the side of the stage, doing your job, out of sight (usually). There would be a wall of sound, lights going off everywhere, screaming fans, and in amongst it all, you feeling a state of loneliness I just can't describe. Surrounded by people, yet utterly alone. Luckily, you were busy, but you still felt it.
Then, after the show was packed down, you'd drive the the next city, that long black highway, the very epitome of loneliness, like the sound of trucks at the edge of town, bunked down in a one star motel.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have known loneliness before. A few different breeds of it. I've even known this particular strain before. But it never gets easier. I'm really sick of being lonely. I think that's what I want to say.
If the people around me are to be believed, I'm a bit of an inspirational-type person. I make things happen, a lot of different things. They say I'm talented (I don't buy it though), that I'm interesting, fun, hell, apparently I'm even pretty good looking. So if all that is true, I hope it isn't too much of a fantasy to ask this:
I want a pair of eyes to look into. A pair of eyes that captivate me, that shine happiness on me, that want to see me. I want hands that I can hold, hands I can hold whenever they are by my side, wherever we are going. I want a voice that will tell me how it feels, what it thinks, what it wants. A voice that won't lie to me. A voice that doesn't tell me what I want to hear, but has the courage and self-belief to declare who it is to me, and be proud of it. I want a mind that thinks about what it is, and what it does, and its place in the world. I want a mind that wants to know who I really am, not a concept it makes for itself. A mind that can accept my love, instead of always thinking that I am just settling for less. I want ears that will hear me when I speak my truth. Ears that don't block me out, only to believe insecure or paranoid beliefs to make it easier to keep distance. And I want a body. A body that pines when it is not near to me, or at least thrills at the prospect of being near to me again. A body I can wrap up with my body, and hold close, and treasure for as long as I have a body to treasure it with. I want to be in love. And I want to trust that love, and know that even if things are hard, that if both people really love each other and want to understand each other and talk it through, they can. I want to trust, laugh, grow, and rise with someone.
And most of all, I want to lose that feeling I had until a week ago, that the person I was with wasn't truly in it. That all of their jealousy and paranoia was somehow my fault, when I was rock solid in my commitment to her, and had no intention of that changing. That I was to blame for their belief that I was emotionally unavailable, when the real situation was that they wouldn't let themself be loved by me.
I was crazy to think I'd feel better by letting this out.
Now I get to turn out the lights, and lie wide-eyed in bed til it's time to start work, tortured by questions I'll never know the answers to, and terrified that this is my new life, just like this.
She doesn't think I'm worth loving. I believe I am. Please Universe, prove me right.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Your brain belongs to you, correct? But if it does, why is it so easy for other people to fill it up and take over your thoughts til you're so full of them you have no idea where the 'you' part is? Who's driving this thing? I've been jacked.
My relationship ended a week ago. She packed her things, moved out of our shop, and went to stay with a friend. She's not coming back she says, and I for one believe her. She's very angry, to the point where I no longer recognise the girl she's become. Instead of dancing with me in the kitchen in our underwear, she's somewhere else, doing things I'll never know, with I have no idea who. It's probably for the best, that way. She made it clear she's not in love with me any more, and if I had've been able to read her mind, I would have seen it coming. I knew she was unhappy. And I would have done anything I could to change that. But our communication was the worst, it still is.
She: (Asks question.)
He: (Answers.)
She: (Makes up her own answer, then says "How could you say that?!")
He: (Gets increasingly frustrated, as he never said "That".)
She: (Brings up something else he never said.)
He (Loses his mind.)
She has so many stresses in her life, it's not easy for her. And I would love to see her dreams come true, for her to attain her goals. She's a rising star, there's no doubt about that. But I'll have to read about her in the papers, just like you.
She wants to be friends. I think she'll change her mind about that. Suddenly I never hear from her any more, she's a ghost. An insanely beautiful, angry, cold ghost.
And now I'm looking at a future I'm not ready for- without her. Tunnel vision...
I'd like to think things like "Great! The future is full of endless possibilities!", and other optimistic thoughts, but my mind is more concerned with this crushing loneliness, fear no one is ever going to want me again, or even more frightening, that I'm not going to want anyone else. It takes a lot for me to let someone in. And I don't want to go back to sleeping around and acting like it's valid for me. I want to love someone, I'm very much geared toward it now. I don't want to replace emptiness with more emptiness. She was always convinced I would eventually replace her with someone better, that I was never really all about her. And now she's gone, she can't see just how I can't get past her, how she was the one girl I wanted.
I've met a few girls since last week. Girls that say "Take my number", and try to kiss me in bars. Pretty girls, maybe even interesting girls. But I have no spark with these girls, and don't want to date them, or pretend to be interested for the sake of sex. I don't want sex. I want love.
I don't want to replace her. But I don't want the new her either. I want my girl back, the one I fell for. The one that fell for me. Not the one who doesn't want to realise that the only thing standing between us, and the dreams we had, is her. She thinks it's impossible for us to relate. I agree. But of the two of us, I'm the only one who believes that can change if we want it to. If we seek help, work it through, and help each other. Apparently it's easier to give up, and hate the other person. And to create a totally fictitious belief system around what we had- as an extremely negative, possibly even abusive cycle leading to insanity. All we needed to do was talk, want to talk, commit to talking. But that was before she slammed the door and nailed it shut, without telling me she was doing it. I wish i could do that. Hate doesn't hurt like loss. Either way, I don't want to get back together either. I couldn't love who she is now. I'll leave it at that.
I've learned so much about me from this breakup. So in that sense, it's been good. But it feels pointless too. I'm sure that will make sense to someone out there. I've been concentrating on focussing solely on the positive, and a lot of the time I feel ok. But grief comes in waves, so just when I think I'm on the rise, that the worst part is over, I capsize.
She became my best friend, my confidante of choice, which is why I'm writing to cyberspace right now. I have no one to talk to. I'm so lonely, and I don't understand it. I used to LOVE solitude, I craved it. I defended it. Right now I am terrified of it...the seconds like minutes, the minutes like hours...
...and all the insecurity that comes with being abandoned.
I wonder what she's doing now?
I wonder if she thinks about me?
I wonder why she hates me so much, when all i wanted to do was make our dreams come to life?
I'll never know the answers.
I'm circling here...there's something I want to say, but I don't know how to access it. maybe I can telll you a story?
When I used to be a guitar tech, I'd tour with bands around the country or the world. You'd ride with them, sleep with them (on the smaller tours anyways), eat with them, all that. But you were never one of them. This was illustrated by the lonely hours you'd spend in the venue, all alone in your part of the world, making those guitars sing, while they'd be doing press, groupies, or fun stuff.
There may be other techs/crew around, but they'd be away in their areas, and you'd be in yours. For hours and hours. Then the show would start, and you'd be alone at the side of the stage, doing your job, out of sight (usually). There would be a wall of sound, lights going off everywhere, screaming fans, and in amongst it all, you feeling a state of loneliness I just can't describe. Surrounded by people, yet utterly alone. Luckily, you were busy, but you still felt it.
Then, after the show was packed down, you'd drive the the next city, that long black highway, the very epitome of loneliness, like the sound of trucks at the edge of town, bunked down in a one star motel.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have known loneliness before. A few different breeds of it. I've even known this particular strain before. But it never gets easier. I'm really sick of being lonely. I think that's what I want to say.
If the people around me are to be believed, I'm a bit of an inspirational-type person. I make things happen, a lot of different things. They say I'm talented (I don't buy it though), that I'm interesting, fun, hell, apparently I'm even pretty good looking. So if all that is true, I hope it isn't too much of a fantasy to ask this:
I want a pair of eyes to look into. A pair of eyes that captivate me, that shine happiness on me, that want to see me. I want hands that I can hold, hands I can hold whenever they are by my side, wherever we are going. I want a voice that will tell me how it feels, what it thinks, what it wants. A voice that won't lie to me. A voice that doesn't tell me what I want to hear, but has the courage and self-belief to declare who it is to me, and be proud of it. I want a mind that thinks about what it is, and what it does, and its place in the world. I want a mind that wants to know who I really am, not a concept it makes for itself. A mind that can accept my love, instead of always thinking that I am just settling for less. I want ears that will hear me when I speak my truth. Ears that don't block me out, only to believe insecure or paranoid beliefs to make it easier to keep distance. And I want a body. A body that pines when it is not near to me, or at least thrills at the prospect of being near to me again. A body I can wrap up with my body, and hold close, and treasure for as long as I have a body to treasure it with. I want to be in love. And I want to trust that love, and know that even if things are hard, that if both people really love each other and want to understand each other and talk it through, they can. I want to trust, laugh, grow, and rise with someone.
And most of all, I want to lose that feeling I had until a week ago, that the person I was with wasn't truly in it. That all of their jealousy and paranoia was somehow my fault, when I was rock solid in my commitment to her, and had no intention of that changing. That I was to blame for their belief that I was emotionally unavailable, when the real situation was that they wouldn't let themself be loved by me.
I was crazy to think I'd feel better by letting this out.
Now I get to turn out the lights, and lie wide-eyed in bed til it's time to start work, tortured by questions I'll never know the answers to, and terrified that this is my new life, just like this.
She doesn't think I'm worth loving. I believe I am. Please Universe, prove me right.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
All Tomorrows Parties.
Imagine if you will, somewhere quiet, where you can hear the creak and tread of boots or shoes across old boards. A man is there, up in the attic say, and he hasn't been there in a very long time. Let's say, thirty years.
Say it with me- "Thirty years."
And he's dusting off an old guitar case, and pulling out a never forgotten, but not played on forever guitar. Life, gets in the way you see, makes you forget sometimes. He looks it over, and falls in love again, with the curves, and the colours, and the manly tough parts like the old humbucker in the bridge, and his whammy bar. He plugs it into an old noisy amplifier, hears the buzz and crack as the line goes live, and he starts to play.
As his fingers drum across the fretboard, so too, do my fingers on this keyboard.
And in exactly the same way as his music may be great, or it may be bad, so too may my words be. But it feels so good to play it again, privately, in this dusty creaky attic, of abandoned cyberspace.
I don't know if this means I'm back, it's been such a long time. And I have to let a few of you down and tell you all this post has nothing at all to do with William Gibson, other than to gush a little about how great and inspirational his writing is. And now I've said that, we're done with him.
I haven't been back here on purpose. I haven't read your blogs either, and I have to admit, when I read about 'this' or 'that' blog in the newspaper of a Sunday, I kind of grunt to myself, like "Blogs...how pathetic." But really I mean, "How do people keep up a head of steam like that...just keep going?" I'm impressed, I really am.
I was scared to come and write. Sounds stupid, I know, but there it is. Like, knifey can turn a simple blog post into a melodramatic opus. At least in my own mind! In a way I think it's because the person I am isn't much like the old one, in a lot of ways. In a lot of ways that matter. Maybe time was my way of punctuating my behaviour? Like, a tangible sort of dot-dot-dot, so you might take me more seriously? I'm not sure. But I have been busy, I do know that.
I have a Rhodesian Ridgeback, and an Egyptian Mountain Goat, and a Portuguese woman to do my cooking, have sex with, and live in my house with me. I guess you could say we're together, then. Of course that's not an easy thing to maintain, especially as we've been together since Christmas last year. I say 'especially because", because the longer a thing goes on for, the less I am inclined to keep up. But I'm doing my best, because she really is the best sort of person, and I don't ever want to find another. I've settled down. My guitars have all been gathering dust, I never touch them any more. As a teenager I would have been horrified, had I been able to glance into the future and see myself. But what do teenagers know anyhow? I did have a guitar student for a while, but to tell you the truth, I had to stop teaching her, as she was so hard to reach. I had foreboding thoughts of being so old 'the kids' can't talk to me any more, and that thought was way too much, too early. I figure I'll cross that road if I have a daughter, and even then a good ten years after the fact.
I opened a shop, of all things. We sell choppers, of course. It's called Hellbourne Choppers, and we sell all the cool bikes, and make or fix the rest. It's going incredibly well, and I'm doing my best to build it sensibly, so it can grow into something a bit bigger and better than the original idea was, so I don't get bored, or have to go work for anyone else again. I even have staff. How utterly alien. Now that I have said all that, my identity will be google-able to all the people I didn't want to ever read this blog, like young cousins, ex girlfriends, and horrified aunts. But hey, a new beginning, right?
I guess the spirit that moved me to write again though, was that I didn't just want to leave this as it was. If no-one ever read it, that would be fine I guess, but now I'm in the National Archive forever and ever, it ups the ante a little, and I'm just the kind of person to care about what some random person may think of me ten thousand years from now. (Hi if you're reading this!)
I have written endlessly about being lost, despite the best of intentions. I have written a lot about hope, too. And red guts honest things like rage, and heartbreak, and other emotions your little sister may frequent. I tried to keep it honest, and be warts-and-all about it. And I think what I came here to say, was maybe a little Fatherly-type advice.
I know I had connected with a lot of people through this medium, because on some level or other they were able to relate to, at least parts of, what I had to write. And so with that in mind, I'd just like to write something here, and those kinds of people can read it, and the rest of you can be awesome and generous, and just kinda twiddle your thumbs for a minute. If you're not sure how, just wing it. Who knows? You may come up with something even better!
So here it is...
Find.
Happiness.
That's it. Instead of stressing out and turning purple trying to get this or that done on time, have a think about what would make you happy instead. And on a deeper level, instead of simply reacting to situations, look a few moves ahead, and work out what's going to make you happy further up that road. Life is so short, and there's no guarantee you'll get to live as long as your friends, or as long as you might like. Your life is yours, not anyone else's, so find YOUR happiness. Don't just walk past the things that may have made you happy once. Don't let that guitar gather dust, if you're not finished with it. Don't fall out of love with your dreams. Don't forget to go swimming in the ocean, just because it's tax time. Pat a dog. Close your eyes on the toilet and remember 'that time when...' Talk to your Mum.
Because if you can't find it, no one else will be able to, and no one will ever walk up and just hand it to you. The only way to maintain joy in life, is to reconnect with it regularly, by keeping focus on those things that bring you joy.
When I die, I don't mind any more if no one comes to see me off. I don't mind if I'm buried or burned, or where. I just want to know, that when I'm dying, I can know that I was EXCELLENT.
Just that one word.
Rich or poor, unknown or celebrated, old or suddenly, that I was the best person I could have been, in my time with you.
And I think if we all went in that same direction, well...I don't even need to say it.
Let's give that one a try.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Say it with me- "Thirty years."
And he's dusting off an old guitar case, and pulling out a never forgotten, but not played on forever guitar. Life, gets in the way you see, makes you forget sometimes. He looks it over, and falls in love again, with the curves, and the colours, and the manly tough parts like the old humbucker in the bridge, and his whammy bar. He plugs it into an old noisy amplifier, hears the buzz and crack as the line goes live, and he starts to play.
As his fingers drum across the fretboard, so too, do my fingers on this keyboard.
And in exactly the same way as his music may be great, or it may be bad, so too may my words be. But it feels so good to play it again, privately, in this dusty creaky attic, of abandoned cyberspace.
I don't know if this means I'm back, it's been such a long time. And I have to let a few of you down and tell you all this post has nothing at all to do with William Gibson, other than to gush a little about how great and inspirational his writing is. And now I've said that, we're done with him.
I haven't been back here on purpose. I haven't read your blogs either, and I have to admit, when I read about 'this' or 'that' blog in the newspaper of a Sunday, I kind of grunt to myself, like "Blogs...how pathetic." But really I mean, "How do people keep up a head of steam like that...just keep going?" I'm impressed, I really am.
I was scared to come and write. Sounds stupid, I know, but there it is. Like, knifey can turn a simple blog post into a melodramatic opus. At least in my own mind! In a way I think it's because the person I am isn't much like the old one, in a lot of ways. In a lot of ways that matter. Maybe time was my way of punctuating my behaviour? Like, a tangible sort of dot-dot-dot, so you might take me more seriously? I'm not sure. But I have been busy, I do know that.
I have a Rhodesian Ridgeback, and an Egyptian Mountain Goat, and a Portuguese woman to do my cooking, have sex with, and live in my house with me. I guess you could say we're together, then. Of course that's not an easy thing to maintain, especially as we've been together since Christmas last year. I say 'especially because", because the longer a thing goes on for, the less I am inclined to keep up. But I'm doing my best, because she really is the best sort of person, and I don't ever want to find another. I've settled down. My guitars have all been gathering dust, I never touch them any more. As a teenager I would have been horrified, had I been able to glance into the future and see myself. But what do teenagers know anyhow? I did have a guitar student for a while, but to tell you the truth, I had to stop teaching her, as she was so hard to reach. I had foreboding thoughts of being so old 'the kids' can't talk to me any more, and that thought was way too much, too early. I figure I'll cross that road if I have a daughter, and even then a good ten years after the fact.
I opened a shop, of all things. We sell choppers, of course. It's called Hellbourne Choppers, and we sell all the cool bikes, and make or fix the rest. It's going incredibly well, and I'm doing my best to build it sensibly, so it can grow into something a bit bigger and better than the original idea was, so I don't get bored, or have to go work for anyone else again. I even have staff. How utterly alien. Now that I have said all that, my identity will be google-able to all the people I didn't want to ever read this blog, like young cousins, ex girlfriends, and horrified aunts. But hey, a new beginning, right?
I guess the spirit that moved me to write again though, was that I didn't just want to leave this as it was. If no-one ever read it, that would be fine I guess, but now I'm in the National Archive forever and ever, it ups the ante a little, and I'm just the kind of person to care about what some random person may think of me ten thousand years from now. (Hi if you're reading this!)
I have written endlessly about being lost, despite the best of intentions. I have written a lot about hope, too. And red guts honest things like rage, and heartbreak, and other emotions your little sister may frequent. I tried to keep it honest, and be warts-and-all about it. And I think what I came here to say, was maybe a little Fatherly-type advice.
I know I had connected with a lot of people through this medium, because on some level or other they were able to relate to, at least parts of, what I had to write. And so with that in mind, I'd just like to write something here, and those kinds of people can read it, and the rest of you can be awesome and generous, and just kinda twiddle your thumbs for a minute. If you're not sure how, just wing it. Who knows? You may come up with something even better!
So here it is...
Find.
Happiness.
That's it. Instead of stressing out and turning purple trying to get this or that done on time, have a think about what would make you happy instead. And on a deeper level, instead of simply reacting to situations, look a few moves ahead, and work out what's going to make you happy further up that road. Life is so short, and there's no guarantee you'll get to live as long as your friends, or as long as you might like. Your life is yours, not anyone else's, so find YOUR happiness. Don't just walk past the things that may have made you happy once. Don't let that guitar gather dust, if you're not finished with it. Don't fall out of love with your dreams. Don't forget to go swimming in the ocean, just because it's tax time. Pat a dog. Close your eyes on the toilet and remember 'that time when...' Talk to your Mum.
Because if you can't find it, no one else will be able to, and no one will ever walk up and just hand it to you. The only way to maintain joy in life, is to reconnect with it regularly, by keeping focus on those things that bring you joy.
When I die, I don't mind any more if no one comes to see me off. I don't mind if I'm buried or burned, or where. I just want to know, that when I'm dying, I can know that I was EXCELLENT.
Just that one word.
Rich or poor, unknown or celebrated, old or suddenly, that I was the best person I could have been, in my time with you.
And I think if we all went in that same direction, well...I don't even need to say it.
Let's give that one a try.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Ghost Exhibition.
Wow! It's ME!!!!
I've been gone so long I feel like I've hacked into someone else's blog and am just taking over. It feeels deliciously naughty. I've been doing all kinds of new things, like making choppers, teaching young children, and having diarrhoea. Awesome!
But this post is a tiny taste of a project that, apart from through this, you will never see in person.
A while back I was contacted by a gallery who shall remain nameless (Why? I don't know! Intrigue? Or maybe I've lost my badass backbone lately. I'm cool either way), who asked if I would like to participate in a group exhibition opening on March 15 (the day before my birthday). Being a classic overachiever, I decided it would be a sterling idea to cram one extra thing into my year before I turn 35...I mean, 25. So I replied "yes".
And I thought to be different, I should avoid doing a canvas like everyone else. Seeing as I like guitars and cool stuff that rules, I figured I'd paint up a guitar. So I took one from this:
To this:
(Don't hate me for my shit photography. There are so many better reasons).
Anyways, to cut a long story short ("Too late!" you cry as one voice!), I sanded it down, and filled in the holes, and painted it up, and got it all ready, and put a neck on it, electronics in it, and some strings on it, and...I never heard back from the gallery.
And you thought ROCK AND ROLL was a fast-paced, take-no-prisoners-, balls-to-the-wall, fast express train to Hell?! That's got nuthin' on THE ART WORLD!
I would have cried, if I had a heart.
Speaking of which, and in totally unrelated news, I'd just like to say I totally disagree with the current cult of personality surrounding Melbourne's Lord Mayor, John So. "SO WHAT?" - that's my slogan. Everyone seems to have forgotten what the Mayor does- he runs the council! The council, seeing as you have all forgotten, along with the State Government, is the entity which takes your rates/tax $, and spends them on ridiculous things you never wanted (likeThe Commonwealth Games, which made it impossible to get to work for 12 days), all the while making it as hard as possible to open a business due to their ridiculous zoning laws, or take down that rotting awning from the front of your heritage listed building, without a work permit, a demolition plan, and about six other forms which cost hundreds of dollars.
Besides, if Andrew Bolt likes the giggling little bee-hotch, I HATE HIM. Come down AC/DC Lane again any time soon, and I'll kick your ass all the way back to Hong Kong, with a demolition application stapled to my high tops. "Let there be rock" indeed. Rock all up in your ass.
Ahhh, I feel 100% better! Thanks readers!
Did you know, my Word Verification field says "v6g1na"? Today is going to be incredible...
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
I've been gone so long I feel like I've hacked into someone else's blog and am just taking over. It feeels deliciously naughty. I've been doing all kinds of new things, like making choppers, teaching young children, and having diarrhoea. Awesome!
But this post is a tiny taste of a project that, apart from through this, you will never see in person.
A while back I was contacted by a gallery who shall remain nameless (Why? I don't know! Intrigue? Or maybe I've lost my badass backbone lately. I'm cool either way), who asked if I would like to participate in a group exhibition opening on March 15 (the day before my birthday). Being a classic overachiever, I decided it would be a sterling idea to cram one extra thing into my year before I turn 35...I mean, 25. So I replied "yes".
And I thought to be different, I should avoid doing a canvas like everyone else. Seeing as I like guitars and cool stuff that rules, I figured I'd paint up a guitar. So I took one from this:
To this:
(Don't hate me for my shit photography. There are so many better reasons).
Anyways, to cut a long story short ("Too late!" you cry as one voice!), I sanded it down, and filled in the holes, and painted it up, and got it all ready, and put a neck on it, electronics in it, and some strings on it, and...I never heard back from the gallery.
And you thought ROCK AND ROLL was a fast-paced, take-no-prisoners-, balls-to-the-wall, fast express train to Hell?! That's got nuthin' on THE ART WORLD!
I would have cried, if I had a heart.
Speaking of which, and in totally unrelated news, I'd just like to say I totally disagree with the current cult of personality surrounding Melbourne's Lord Mayor, John So. "SO WHAT?" - that's my slogan. Everyone seems to have forgotten what the Mayor does- he runs the council! The council, seeing as you have all forgotten, along with the State Government, is the entity which takes your rates/tax $, and spends them on ridiculous things you never wanted (likeThe Commonwealth Games, which made it impossible to get to work for 12 days), all the while making it as hard as possible to open a business due to their ridiculous zoning laws, or take down that rotting awning from the front of your heritage listed building, without a work permit, a demolition plan, and about six other forms which cost hundreds of dollars.
Besides, if Andrew Bolt likes the giggling little bee-hotch, I HATE HIM. Come down AC/DC Lane again any time soon, and I'll kick your ass all the way back to Hong Kong, with a demolition application stapled to my high tops. "Let there be rock" indeed. Rock all up in your ass.
Ahhh, I feel 100% better! Thanks readers!
Did you know, my Word Verification field says "v6g1na"? Today is going to be incredible...
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
I'll talk, you listen.
When I was young and naiive, around 10 or 11, I had an ideal.
I believed that one day, when all us kids had grown up and become adults, we would repeal all the laws that the greedy industrialists had passed, and we would write new, better-for-the-planet-and-everyone-on-it laws.
Like i said, naiive.
Because instead of growing up and remaining idealistic and gliding upon the strong and supple left wing of youth, we too wanted to get paid, and screw whoever/whatever got in our way. Well, not all of us. There are still those people who ride to their work on the same ten speed they had in high school, and they've been recycling their own paper since 1987 and all that. And good on them too.
But most of us don't wanna be like that.
And so as we get a taste of getting rich, and we have some money to protect, we vote in (or keep hold of) the Government that best suits us. And that Government isn't gonna be too hip and down with what the kids think.
Fuck the kids.
And so, it is with great regret and surprise, that I too have to admit that I am not the young person I used to be. I am becoming increasingly conservative. And I can't see how I ever used to be so bleeding heart and caring. I am becoming the classic Australian stereotype of 'the grumpy old cunt from down the road'.
Usually called Neville, or Cecil, or something wildly retro and evocative of getting pregnant at the dance with U.S. servicemen (yankee cervixmen) before everyone shipped off to die or donate legs and arms to the beaches of Turkey, I have joined the ranks. I'm not quite at the stage where I stand out front at 6pm watering the roses, with the races blaring out of the stereophone in the lounge room. I'm not a homeowner, and we have water restrictions. But I have caught myself thinking things I would have been horrified to confess as a younger person.
When will someone podcast the racing?
When I was young, I actually thought junkies were people. I honestly believed smack addicts deserved the same rights and priveleges as the rest of us. When John Howard blocked the opening of shooting galleries in Sydney, I thought he was insane and stuck in the 50's, for not seeing the need for these poor innocent victims of hateful drug dealing syndicates to have a clean, controlled place in which to satiate their addiction, without fear of overdose or infection.
If your ball comes over my fence, I'm keeping it.
Now I think we should give addicts one choice- clean up, or we clean you up. Instead of providing methadone on the pharmaceutical benefits scheme, we should have mandatory rehab clinics in every state. And you don't get out until you are clean. If you go back on smack, you can go to prison.
Oh, but it's a sickness! You can't blame these poor victims!
I've actually heard this. Like it's okay for everyone else in society to pay for their smack habit, just not them. As if someone held a gun to their head and said "try this delicious smack, or you're dead". If you have followed my blog (all 3 of you), you will know I have a massive problem with the death of personal responsibility in this country. It's simple. If you did it, it's your fault. If you were drink or drug impaired, it's still your fault. If you did it in your sleep, I'd let you off, but I would recommend medical supervision and treatment where possible. If you're a werewolf, I won't blame you, but I'll still lock you up until a cure comes to light.
I have turned into Cecil.
I have this thing where I now automatically hate guys from India, and taxi drivers. If I come across one of either, they have to show me pretty thoroughly they're not like 'the others'. How fucking xenophobic and arrogant is that?! All because the percentage of utterly rude and obnoxious Indian men I have crossed paths with in Australia is in the high nineties. It's probably my fault for not seeking out the good ones. And pretty much every Indian I met in India was lovely. I'm trying to tell you I know it's wrong to be so intolerant. I'm holding myself up as an example of what not to do. I'm making a dunce's cap and going to stand in the back corner of the class with my face to the wall. Bad, bad, bad, and wrong, wrong, wrong.
Children should be seen, and not heard.
The thing is, I think, is that it's easy to chalk it up to behaviourism. Like, getting set in your ways. But we have learned, in this more enlightened age, that it pays to keep an open mind. It's important to not freeze over when it comes to issues of social justice. You gotta keep your eyes and heart open, even though we're all so bombarded by pleas for help and donation requests. I saw the guys from Amnesty International had set up a human cattle pen on Elizabeth street in the city the other day, so no matter which way you walked or where you looked, they were right there asking. And that's bad and impolite. But it also shows how desperate aid organisations are becoming, as we put the walls up higher.
I know I'm heading in the wrong direction, and it's so important for me to find a balance, where I maintain my own boundaries, but still leave room for others to move into. I have to pry my mind open, and see the world from an understanding perspective, as opposed to the bullet train from knee-jerk-a-sawa. Because you can teack an old dog new tricks, it just takes longer.
Now where's my garden hose?
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
I believed that one day, when all us kids had grown up and become adults, we would repeal all the laws that the greedy industrialists had passed, and we would write new, better-for-the-planet-and-everyone-on-it laws.
Like i said, naiive.
Because instead of growing up and remaining idealistic and gliding upon the strong and supple left wing of youth, we too wanted to get paid, and screw whoever/whatever got in our way. Well, not all of us. There are still those people who ride to their work on the same ten speed they had in high school, and they've been recycling their own paper since 1987 and all that. And good on them too.
But most of us don't wanna be like that.
And so as we get a taste of getting rich, and we have some money to protect, we vote in (or keep hold of) the Government that best suits us. And that Government isn't gonna be too hip and down with what the kids think.
Fuck the kids.
And so, it is with great regret and surprise, that I too have to admit that I am not the young person I used to be. I am becoming increasingly conservative. And I can't see how I ever used to be so bleeding heart and caring. I am becoming the classic Australian stereotype of 'the grumpy old cunt from down the road'.
Usually called Neville, or Cecil, or something wildly retro and evocative of getting pregnant at the dance with U.S. servicemen (yankee cervixmen) before everyone shipped off to die or donate legs and arms to the beaches of Turkey, I have joined the ranks. I'm not quite at the stage where I stand out front at 6pm watering the roses, with the races blaring out of the stereophone in the lounge room. I'm not a homeowner, and we have water restrictions. But I have caught myself thinking things I would have been horrified to confess as a younger person.
When will someone podcast the racing?
When I was young, I actually thought junkies were people. I honestly believed smack addicts deserved the same rights and priveleges as the rest of us. When John Howard blocked the opening of shooting galleries in Sydney, I thought he was insane and stuck in the 50's, for not seeing the need for these poor innocent victims of hateful drug dealing syndicates to have a clean, controlled place in which to satiate their addiction, without fear of overdose or infection.
If your ball comes over my fence, I'm keeping it.
Now I think we should give addicts one choice- clean up, or we clean you up. Instead of providing methadone on the pharmaceutical benefits scheme, we should have mandatory rehab clinics in every state. And you don't get out until you are clean. If you go back on smack, you can go to prison.
Oh, but it's a sickness! You can't blame these poor victims!
I've actually heard this. Like it's okay for everyone else in society to pay for their smack habit, just not them. As if someone held a gun to their head and said "try this delicious smack, or you're dead". If you have followed my blog (all 3 of you), you will know I have a massive problem with the death of personal responsibility in this country. It's simple. If you did it, it's your fault. If you were drink or drug impaired, it's still your fault. If you did it in your sleep, I'd let you off, but I would recommend medical supervision and treatment where possible. If you're a werewolf, I won't blame you, but I'll still lock you up until a cure comes to light.
I have turned into Cecil.
I have this thing where I now automatically hate guys from India, and taxi drivers. If I come across one of either, they have to show me pretty thoroughly they're not like 'the others'. How fucking xenophobic and arrogant is that?! All because the percentage of utterly rude and obnoxious Indian men I have crossed paths with in Australia is in the high nineties. It's probably my fault for not seeking out the good ones. And pretty much every Indian I met in India was lovely. I'm trying to tell you I know it's wrong to be so intolerant. I'm holding myself up as an example of what not to do. I'm making a dunce's cap and going to stand in the back corner of the class with my face to the wall. Bad, bad, bad, and wrong, wrong, wrong.
Children should be seen, and not heard.
The thing is, I think, is that it's easy to chalk it up to behaviourism. Like, getting set in your ways. But we have learned, in this more enlightened age, that it pays to keep an open mind. It's important to not freeze over when it comes to issues of social justice. You gotta keep your eyes and heart open, even though we're all so bombarded by pleas for help and donation requests. I saw the guys from Amnesty International had set up a human cattle pen on Elizabeth street in the city the other day, so no matter which way you walked or where you looked, they were right there asking. And that's bad and impolite. But it also shows how desperate aid organisations are becoming, as we put the walls up higher.
I know I'm heading in the wrong direction, and it's so important for me to find a balance, where I maintain my own boundaries, but still leave room for others to move into. I have to pry my mind open, and see the world from an understanding perspective, as opposed to the bullet train from knee-jerk-a-sawa. Because you can teack an old dog new tricks, it just takes longer.
Now where's my garden hose?
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
The Importance of Doing Right.
Life is full of concepts.
Some are simple, like 'stereo sound', others are complex, like 'me' or 'you'.
One of the concepts I think most about, is 'right'.
Plato's 'Republic' kicks so much ass because it's basically a conversation held by a bunch or guys who are way smarter not only than anyone we know, but probably anyone in the history of the human race. These guys happen to be Greek, and they're talking about the true nature of justice, and whether it's actually good for anything or not. And they're talking about rules.
Anyway, these rules help us all to coexist peacefully, so we can all be clear as to what is acceptable and not, for all of us citizens. Most of the time, these rules benefit the common good quite well. "Thou shalt not kill" is a great example of a rule it would be a big worry to lose. But clearly the collection of rules (or law) does not benefit everyone, all of the time.
"For mankind censure injustice, fearing that they may be the victims of it and not because they shrink from committing it". -Thrasymachus.
Like most things to do with 'the common good', majority rules, and the minority can picket and whinge as much as they like, it won't stop the powers that be from doing what they deem necessary.
That's democracy!
But when you're into having rules, the most all-consumingly important element, is truth.
Truths are the building blocks of facts, facts make up information, and information is carefully weighed out, considered (and generally discarded) when manufacturing a rule.
As with all things in the Universe/Omniverse, what's true for one is very much not true for another. Just ask my girlfriend. We disagree about everything except that we love each other, that's how it is with us. We absolutely cannot see anything else the same way between the two of us, we're just too different (emotionally, experientially, practically, you-name-it). We probably have differing views on what love is also, but for the purpose of my relationship remaining intact, and with a view to me enjoying sex on an ongoing basis, let's not look too deeply there.
So this leaves us in another situation, where all these rules and laws we all have to follow, are handed down to us by a majority who may very well be wrong, within the assumptions they employed to create the information, and the facts, and the truths of the rules. Just because a majority believes it, does not necessarily make a thing correct (like Chinese Communism for example).
"And the different forms of government make laws democratical, aristocratical, tyrannical, with a view to their several interests; and these laws, which are made by them for their own interests, are the justice which they deliver to their subjects, and him who transgresses them they punish as a breaker of the law, and unjust". -Thrasymachus again.
In fact, when it comes to concepts like 'consensus decision making', most intelligent people will find it not only serves to hinder the actual correctness of an action, but that it actually waters down the original intention in the interests of keeping diverse individual consensus decision makers happy, to the point where it is lost completely, and quite ineffective for anything except wasting time, paper, and most often, money. That's where trying to do the right thing by everybody gets you.
So I propose doing the 100% right thing by everybody isn't the best way to get things done, and that instead, trying to maximise the right factor for everyone involved as much as possible is a much cleverer way to handle the problem. Having one set of rules for everyone isn't gonna fly, we need more grey areas than that. We need distinctions and exceptions and contingencies.
I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking "this is yet another stupid twat of a first year politics undergrad, crapping on about a topic he has no real experience of outside of textbooks and the occasional anarchist collective picnic".
But you're wrong. This is about sex.
I don't want to change the world, but i do want to change myself.
I don't want to go through life believing my truth is the right truth, with no proof. And in order to obtain the relevant proof, I have to get my hands on rock solid facts. But how to get these facts? How to educate myself with the right facts, to gather information, to build the rules to live by?
Whenever I set out to do something, whether it's rewiring someone's house in 45 degree heat, writing a song, or even getting out of bed in the morning, I tend to ask myself "What's my motivation here?" This comes in very handy because I have the attention span of an amoeba, and it helps to know why I started doing something that halfway through seems utterly ridiculous, and a waste of time and energy (like getting out of bed).
And with this in mind, and the words of doubting Thrasymachus still fresh and crispy, I explore my motivation for doing right. Because as Thrasymachus says, we only really do right (uphold the law) when it suits us, and then only through a fear of being a victim of lawlessness ourselves. Proof? Speed cameras. When we're in a hurry, we (people) speed. It's dangerous, it's wrong, and no one cares (until the fine comes in). Having said that, when we see other people speeding, we're usually none too happy about it, as it puts us ourselves at risk of danger. In short, we are all horrific hypocrites.
Am I purely motivated by a fear of reprisal? No.
So why then? Because I want my world to be a happier and more positive place, not just for me, but for those who I surround myself with. And not merely so they will be nice back, but for the good feeling that comes from living gently. Now, don't get me wrong, when someone steps out of line (as has happened a bit lately), I'm not shy about dressing down those involved, or offering to give them a good old fashioned black eye should they continue. And technically, that's not very "gentle". But it is right, if you see what I mean (and a great motivator, I have found). When people are rude, deceitful, dishonest, or any other kind of shitful, my belief is that it is wrong to stand idly by and let them away with it. It is up to us to educate, support, and guide each other through life, and sometimes, that means intervening and being real, or cracking them one in extreme circumstances. I know I definitely expect the same, if I was flying off the rails. Tough love, ya heard?
And so it's probably important to outline the distinction between 'good' and 'right'.
I have a group on www.myspace.com called 'the good guys club'. http://groups.myspace.com/goodguyclub. I am the president and moderator of this club, and its purpose is so guys can get together and discuss issues pertaining to being a good guy in this world at this time. Women aren't members for the simple reason that women don't know how to be guys, just ask Thomas Nagel. We talk about the death of chivalry, and whether or not it is accceptable in this age of the modern empowered woman (supposedly), to hold the door open for a female. We're called the 'good guys club' and not the 'nice guys club', because good does not equal nice, and vice-versa.
Good = Doing the right thing, living by a moral code that impacts on others postively. Thinking about doing right. Standing up for your values. Not being an asshole.
Nice = Being socially welcoming, while not necessarily being real. Nice is a front, not a full body experience. A lot of nice people are weak.
So the distinction is, good is right, and nice is a wishy-washy and potentially fake social grace. That's my take anyway, and seeing as I'm the president of the myspace good guys club, and you aren't, you should bow down to my awesome power and intellect on this one (coherent and logical counter arguments always welcome!) I think if someone is an intolerable asshole, who makes excuses for their bad behaviour instead of trying to compromise, or heaven forbid- do the actual right thing, I reserve the right to unceremoniously dump them from my life, in order to keep life good. It's not nice, but it's my right, and I see no real damage or harm coming from it. They might even wake up and learn something.
So if it's my self appointed duty to support the people around me, in good times and in bad (contingent on their ongoing effort to contribute in a good way also), and to be honest when it's hard, and to be hard when it's necessary. And I seek to do this, because it feels better to do it than not. It feels like if life is actually for anything, and so far there's no real evidence that it is, then it's for living well, and making this big shared experience as enjoyable as possible for all concerned. Not out of some fear of reprisal, but out of another human concept that exists nowhere else in nature- decency. In Australia we call it "a fair go". This means we all have to make allowances for the differences between us, but generally act in a way that maximises our enjoyment, while minimising any detracting power over anyone else's.
We only get one shot at life, and it's not much fun when every one else is pissed off and/or miserable. So, as Jon Bongiovi sang in 'Livin' on a Prayer' - "We'll give it a shot". Or we should.
So the facts as I see them are that the more generally happy people are, then the more good things get. Happiness and goodness are inextricably linked concepts, unless you are a sadist or Napoleon. So in order to up the goodness levels, it is important to promote happiness within the largest amount of people possible. And the best way to get this off the ground is to work from an attitude of common decency, where everyone treats one another the same. Not as a law, but as a way of living, a free choice, a choice made from an educated and informed perspective. Making allowances. Meeting halfway. Swallowing pride. Leaving room for concessions. And most importantly, being honest.
It is often said that being truly honest is a dangerous thing, and to a certain extent I agree. A lot of people "...can't handle the truth!", and so it damages them. But I have found that the more determined to be real you are, the more determined you are to actually see things as they are, and to leave your ego and expectations and desires and childish wants at the door, the better equipped you will be to see the truth, and to like it. My girl and I have this crazy thing where neither of us has secrets from each other. We're both serial confessors, and so we tell each other everything. And while at the beginning it was scary to tell someone you love so much about who you really are, what you really think, and even what I have actually done, after a while the fear of telling/hearing leaves, and is replaced by trust and even more love. It has been really hard to hear about some of the experiences she has had in her life, I have felt some horrible jealousy and inadequacy. And I know she feels the same. But having to confront the truth of it all, means you're forced to deal with it, and because we're both good people who have all the time in the world to talk to the other, we just got over it all. Why? Because the biggest truth of all has been the totally unbeatable love that has grown from and replaced the fear and the pain and the jealousy. The reality is, no matter how good things may have been before, we have each other NOW, and nothing from the past is relevant unless we bring it with us and make it so. I can't be jealous or threatened by something that happened three years ago, not when we spend every second we can together. And while logic dictates that what I just said is true, feelings have an amazing capacity to over ride common sense, and make us hurt over essentially nothing. Because we want to punish ourselves on some level, or justify our insecurity, or whatever.
Whoever said that telling the truth all the time is a bad idea was spineless.
Telling the truth is the right thing to do, hiding ourselves is not.
So come out all of you. Show yourself. Be yourself. Live this life thing for a while. And try to be good and right and real.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
Some are simple, like 'stereo sound', others are complex, like 'me' or 'you'.
One of the concepts I think most about, is 'right'.
Plato's 'Republic' kicks so much ass because it's basically a conversation held by a bunch or guys who are way smarter not only than anyone we know, but probably anyone in the history of the human race. These guys happen to be Greek, and they're talking about the true nature of justice, and whether it's actually good for anything or not. And they're talking about rules.
Anyway, these rules help us all to coexist peacefully, so we can all be clear as to what is acceptable and not, for all of us citizens. Most of the time, these rules benefit the common good quite well. "Thou shalt not kill" is a great example of a rule it would be a big worry to lose. But clearly the collection of rules (or law) does not benefit everyone, all of the time.
"For mankind censure injustice, fearing that they may be the victims of it and not because they shrink from committing it". -Thrasymachus.
Like most things to do with 'the common good', majority rules, and the minority can picket and whinge as much as they like, it won't stop the powers that be from doing what they deem necessary.
That's democracy!
But when you're into having rules, the most all-consumingly important element, is truth.
Truths are the building blocks of facts, facts make up information, and information is carefully weighed out, considered (and generally discarded) when manufacturing a rule.
As with all things in the Universe/Omniverse, what's true for one is very much not true for another. Just ask my girlfriend. We disagree about everything except that we love each other, that's how it is with us. We absolutely cannot see anything else the same way between the two of us, we're just too different (emotionally, experientially, practically, you-name-it). We probably have differing views on what love is also, but for the purpose of my relationship remaining intact, and with a view to me enjoying sex on an ongoing basis, let's not look too deeply there.
So this leaves us in another situation, where all these rules and laws we all have to follow, are handed down to us by a majority who may very well be wrong, within the assumptions they employed to create the information, and the facts, and the truths of the rules. Just because a majority believes it, does not necessarily make a thing correct (like Chinese Communism for example).
"And the different forms of government make laws democratical, aristocratical, tyrannical, with a view to their several interests; and these laws, which are made by them for their own interests, are the justice which they deliver to their subjects, and him who transgresses them they punish as a breaker of the law, and unjust". -Thrasymachus again.
In fact, when it comes to concepts like 'consensus decision making', most intelligent people will find it not only serves to hinder the actual correctness of an action, but that it actually waters down the original intention in the interests of keeping diverse individual consensus decision makers happy, to the point where it is lost completely, and quite ineffective for anything except wasting time, paper, and most often, money. That's where trying to do the right thing by everybody gets you.
So I propose doing the 100% right thing by everybody isn't the best way to get things done, and that instead, trying to maximise the right factor for everyone involved as much as possible is a much cleverer way to handle the problem. Having one set of rules for everyone isn't gonna fly, we need more grey areas than that. We need distinctions and exceptions and contingencies.
I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking "this is yet another stupid twat of a first year politics undergrad, crapping on about a topic he has no real experience of outside of textbooks and the occasional anarchist collective picnic".
But you're wrong. This is about sex.
I don't want to change the world, but i do want to change myself.
I don't want to go through life believing my truth is the right truth, with no proof. And in order to obtain the relevant proof, I have to get my hands on rock solid facts. But how to get these facts? How to educate myself with the right facts, to gather information, to build the rules to live by?
Whenever I set out to do something, whether it's rewiring someone's house in 45 degree heat, writing a song, or even getting out of bed in the morning, I tend to ask myself "What's my motivation here?" This comes in very handy because I have the attention span of an amoeba, and it helps to know why I started doing something that halfway through seems utterly ridiculous, and a waste of time and energy (like getting out of bed).
And with this in mind, and the words of doubting Thrasymachus still fresh and crispy, I explore my motivation for doing right. Because as Thrasymachus says, we only really do right (uphold the law) when it suits us, and then only through a fear of being a victim of lawlessness ourselves. Proof? Speed cameras. When we're in a hurry, we (people) speed. It's dangerous, it's wrong, and no one cares (until the fine comes in). Having said that, when we see other people speeding, we're usually none too happy about it, as it puts us ourselves at risk of danger. In short, we are all horrific hypocrites.
Am I purely motivated by a fear of reprisal? No.
So why then? Because I want my world to be a happier and more positive place, not just for me, but for those who I surround myself with. And not merely so they will be nice back, but for the good feeling that comes from living gently. Now, don't get me wrong, when someone steps out of line (as has happened a bit lately), I'm not shy about dressing down those involved, or offering to give them a good old fashioned black eye should they continue. And technically, that's not very "gentle". But it is right, if you see what I mean (and a great motivator, I have found). When people are rude, deceitful, dishonest, or any other kind of shitful, my belief is that it is wrong to stand idly by and let them away with it. It is up to us to educate, support, and guide each other through life, and sometimes, that means intervening and being real, or cracking them one in extreme circumstances. I know I definitely expect the same, if I was flying off the rails. Tough love, ya heard?
And so it's probably important to outline the distinction between 'good' and 'right'.
I have a group on www.myspace.com called 'the good guys club'. http://groups.myspace.com/goodguyclub. I am the president and moderator of this club, and its purpose is so guys can get together and discuss issues pertaining to being a good guy in this world at this time. Women aren't members for the simple reason that women don't know how to be guys, just ask Thomas Nagel. We talk about the death of chivalry, and whether or not it is accceptable in this age of the modern empowered woman (supposedly), to hold the door open for a female. We're called the 'good guys club' and not the 'nice guys club', because good does not equal nice, and vice-versa.
Good = Doing the right thing, living by a moral code that impacts on others postively. Thinking about doing right. Standing up for your values. Not being an asshole.
Nice = Being socially welcoming, while not necessarily being real. Nice is a front, not a full body experience. A lot of nice people are weak.
So the distinction is, good is right, and nice is a wishy-washy and potentially fake social grace. That's my take anyway, and seeing as I'm the president of the myspace good guys club, and you aren't, you should bow down to my awesome power and intellect on this one (coherent and logical counter arguments always welcome!) I think if someone is an intolerable asshole, who makes excuses for their bad behaviour instead of trying to compromise, or heaven forbid- do the actual right thing, I reserve the right to unceremoniously dump them from my life, in order to keep life good. It's not nice, but it's my right, and I see no real damage or harm coming from it. They might even wake up and learn something.
So if it's my self appointed duty to support the people around me, in good times and in bad (contingent on their ongoing effort to contribute in a good way also), and to be honest when it's hard, and to be hard when it's necessary. And I seek to do this, because it feels better to do it than not. It feels like if life is actually for anything, and so far there's no real evidence that it is, then it's for living well, and making this big shared experience as enjoyable as possible for all concerned. Not out of some fear of reprisal, but out of another human concept that exists nowhere else in nature- decency. In Australia we call it "a fair go". This means we all have to make allowances for the differences between us, but generally act in a way that maximises our enjoyment, while minimising any detracting power over anyone else's.
We only get one shot at life, and it's not much fun when every one else is pissed off and/or miserable. So, as Jon Bongiovi sang in 'Livin' on a Prayer' - "We'll give it a shot". Or we should.
So the facts as I see them are that the more generally happy people are, then the more good things get. Happiness and goodness are inextricably linked concepts, unless you are a sadist or Napoleon. So in order to up the goodness levels, it is important to promote happiness within the largest amount of people possible. And the best way to get this off the ground is to work from an attitude of common decency, where everyone treats one another the same. Not as a law, but as a way of living, a free choice, a choice made from an educated and informed perspective. Making allowances. Meeting halfway. Swallowing pride. Leaving room for concessions. And most importantly, being honest.
It is often said that being truly honest is a dangerous thing, and to a certain extent I agree. A lot of people "...can't handle the truth!", and so it damages them. But I have found that the more determined to be real you are, the more determined you are to actually see things as they are, and to leave your ego and expectations and desires and childish wants at the door, the better equipped you will be to see the truth, and to like it. My girl and I have this crazy thing where neither of us has secrets from each other. We're both serial confessors, and so we tell each other everything. And while at the beginning it was scary to tell someone you love so much about who you really are, what you really think, and even what I have actually done, after a while the fear of telling/hearing leaves, and is replaced by trust and even more love. It has been really hard to hear about some of the experiences she has had in her life, I have felt some horrible jealousy and inadequacy. And I know she feels the same. But having to confront the truth of it all, means you're forced to deal with it, and because we're both good people who have all the time in the world to talk to the other, we just got over it all. Why? Because the biggest truth of all has been the totally unbeatable love that has grown from and replaced the fear and the pain and the jealousy. The reality is, no matter how good things may have been before, we have each other NOW, and nothing from the past is relevant unless we bring it with us and make it so. I can't be jealous or threatened by something that happened three years ago, not when we spend every second we can together. And while logic dictates that what I just said is true, feelings have an amazing capacity to over ride common sense, and make us hurt over essentially nothing. Because we want to punish ourselves on some level, or justify our insecurity, or whatever.
Whoever said that telling the truth all the time is a bad idea was spineless.
Telling the truth is the right thing to do, hiding ourselves is not.
So come out all of you. Show yourself. Be yourself. Live this life thing for a while. And try to be good and right and real.
This is knifey, from 'the internet'.
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