[344] Fork Me Running

Sometimes I think people can only count to one. As if every moment exists in a vacuum. It's one thing to know nothing about history in general and stumble through to the future. It's entirely another to ignore the fingers on your own hands.

One thing I'm perpetually confused about is when someone tells me “I don't believe that” when I say something true. More so, when I qualify it and say “which has been my experience thus far” or “what I've consistently heard across any number of instances.” My thought is that they don't believe me because they think I'm trying to sell them something they think can be obtained for free. Surely, there are as many ways to happiness or contentment as there are people, but it doesn't make what seems to make sense, most of the time, any less true. Not what you remember most, not what “feels the most,” just what adds up to the most.

Like, the easiest example I could talk about would be my crazy ass mother. There's a distinctive way that I go about “handling” her that my brother doesn't. After years of not talking, actively degrading her, and finally provoking a restraining order, I no longer have the stress and drama of dealing with my mother. It's 100/1 easy negative to positive things I could say or reflect upon thinking about her. Please save cliches about “but it's your mother!” for someone who's planning to blame their children for existing.

My brother is different. He kept going back for Christmas. He kept calling her and letting her into his life. He tried to stay with her when he had an internship in Indy. Throughout it all, he's lost money, been actively degraded and judged, come back time and time again to what seems like the brink of disassociating. He's, in my view, arguably causing more harm than good because he can't count.

Now what if we counted all the bad feelings, of everyone everywhere, who've done something we're about to do? There might even be statistics on the matter! Exciting. The idea isn't that you should live your life according what seems likely, but perhaps better appreciate why the numbers look the way they do. I have nothing to gain in trying to persuade you of anything you hold so dear, but the chance to converse more eloquently. My argument centers on honesty, very little stress, and an arguably more positive thought pattern. Where's the kick to regard these as terribly wrong guidelines come from? Cliches should make you stop and think, not bust out the polish for a comfort zone bubble.

What if we counted and listed and categorized everyone we knew? Pro tip, I'd argue that we already do, facebook just doesn't have enough data for a pretty algorithm. But what if it was more concrete, like a scoring system on a big white board that everyone you interacted with could check in with daily to see how they rank in your life. How much of your dialogue would you have to change to accurately reflect what someone means to your life? How many pleasantries and excuses and abuses could you no longer pursue? What if the best people, with the best advice, netted you cash? What if your life depended on them?

It's the devilish details. It's not “3 years” it's 1 month of nothing but crying, 2 months of arguing. 3 weeks of “pleasant” talks,  400 hours of excuses and very reasonable doubts if you ran them end to end. Or maybe it's a handful of wonderful nights, many months of “well-enough,” and 3 years of pseudo safety because no one feels like risking their relationship with you over criticizing. Because at that point, you're “just being mean” right? Or jealous maybe. You certainly wouldn't understand, I can tell you that much.

1 time has a close friend violated trust against hundreds of act of utility over years. Potentially violent Nick P. came very close to throwing that away until I let the numbers speak. 99% of conversations I have with Kristen aren't louder than a TV show perhaps running in the background, and the other 1% she's probably at the other end of a Frisbee field. I could count on one hand how many times we “argue.” The number of times I make people laugh instead of cry helps dictate how often jokes get made. The number of shitty, or absences, of thoughts verses smiles helps filter facebook friends and me to forget to send out a text or invite.

People are good for you for different things at different times, in deeply personal ways, and for ever evolving reasons. Just let them be that person. Don't reduce to a label or something laboriously physical. If it's supposed to go there, why does it feel like you're forcing it?

I make pains to not point too sharp a finger so when I slip I don't cut myself and bleed out. But being passive aggressive here is different than the kind of screwball dream worlds we help maintain around people we claim to care about. That doesn't mean come in like a wrecking ball, but you shouldn't offer to cradle the balls of the dick forced into your mouth.

[345] YOU, You Got What I Neeed

I think one of the biggest mistakes you can make when it comes to reading my utterly scattered thoughts is to think I'm coming from a place of finality.

If you choose, once I put it all together, to read where my mind has been from front to back up to this blog, you should readily believe that I don't know shit! That I've never known shit. That I will continue to strive to even believe I have a grasp on what shit even smells like. It's sort of the nature of the game.

I believe in the ongoing conversation. I think you are allowed to show your most belligerent ridiculous point and then move right along to refining how and why you got there. I think if you settle on one idea, you're really missing the point of putting yourself out there for new ideas. How many times have I said I seek to be challenged? I can't help it if my closest friends are still bitch nigga pussies. I suppose that's just part of the game as well, you bitch nigga pussies.

It really is mind blowing to read old thoughts. It's amazing to feel so on point with something that happened years ago and I may as well have written it yesterday. I love seeing something that I haven't worked out and realizing that I did it better the next time. I'd like to say it's humbling, but it's more like work that's paid off. It's more like looking like a fucking retard for long enough that you finally get to net something positive after endlessly spewing bullshit about where you previously came from.

I think it's interesting how dramatic I've sounded. To relegate what's seemingly the most intense feeling to words in the abyss of facebook has to be a practice in humility, right? I never expect people to get it most of the time. I don't expect fans. I smile for days when someone decides to reveal they're crazy about what I write. I secretly think the people who may follow my shit the most will never reveal themselves. Who wants to say “I was that fucking crazy too!” or “holy shit, you wouldn't believe the irrational lengths I went to justifying that stupid ass position as well!

I've run the gauntlet. It's amazing to me to think about the myriad topics I've hit. It's hard to believe that somehow I haven't considered “x” with relation to “y” at least when it comes to relationships or how we conduct ourselves in life. It's hard to believe there will be more to say, but I think it's pretty obvious there will be.

I just hope it does things for you as it has for me. Sometimes, what I put out or how I phrase something is so...embarrassing. Like, who in their right mind says shit like that? That I simply must believe in the capacity for empathy over my ability to start giving a fuck what you think. That sounds harsh, but I'd be doing a really bad job of explaining anything if I capitulated to your bastardized conceptions of where I was coming from. Never take it personally.

I guess I just want to help. I wouldn't mind people being “like me,” but more so I'd like them to really get where they're coming from. I think whatever ridiculous stupid shit I go through, the best thing I can do is relate it as honestly as it seems to cut. Why would I take any pride or purpose in “ranting” if not to hijack your brain for a second and make you realize that to one degree or another I'm likely right there with you?

I'll keep talking if you're listening. As it goes with everything else, I rely on you to explain when I've over-stayed my welcome. In one vein, who am I to offer even the remotest advice? I've certainly said before you likely have to live somethings for yourself and figure it out the hard way. In the other vein, please just don't be fucking retarded. It really makes the struggle and words feel futile. It wholly reduces intent and perspective to naïve speculation. It just becomes sad.

[343] Trust Me

You know what's kind of the worst thing ever? It's not just feeling alone, but preparing yourself for what's seemingly inevitable loneliness.

I go on and on about manipulation. You'd think that was the paramount achievement of my personality. I can't escape it even if I tried. So what prompts me to try?

My feelings are fleeting...at best. Whether I'm angry or sad or orgasmically elated, if you don't consider it fleeting, you've really missed the point. So I made the mistake of relating my “sadness” feeling to someone I care about, and it kinda went to shit. The take away is that I don't blame her. It really stands to reason where she's coming from. But it doesn't speak any less to the proverbial amount of shit I feel shat upon.

It's hard to explain exhaustion without anger. I don't blame. I don't want her to change. I just want to believe in communication. And, realistically, I'd be willing to capitulate to all sorts of shit I didn't find that true in order to keep her happy. Call that being a pussy ass bitch, but whatever. It's really less important than maintaining a dynamic I love and respect.

Of course you could argue that being able to discuss any and all issues is why I've been able to develop such a dynamic, then I have to go, “fuck you asshole, making me have to explain shit in detail and shit, fucker.”

I've overwhelmingly downplayed emotionality. I think you can feel something, and behave otherwise. It's the key component to combating people who would otherwise manipulate you. If you can assume someone's got an agenda, but yours is louder, it doesn't matter, therefore we get along. This does not mean I denigrate emotionality. It simply means there's an opportunity to make a choice.

I'm really good at making it bad. I'm perhaps too comfortable with being prepared for everything to go to shit. It's a bias. I can't really think it's terribly helpful, but it's a sort of professional nihilism.

See, I want it to be easy. I know how to make it easy. I'm really good at creating a world in which the decisions flow and your place makes sense. I just don't have it right now. And that's frustrating. If there's one area in which I'd like to take pride in social manipulation, it'd be this.

I can't win. The game I'm playing means that I will always end up with the short end of the stick. I'll try. I'll be a wordy mother fucker. I'll subtly tweek this or that for years on end and wake up practically where I starter. This I don't find disheartening. It's when I explain this to people I trust who in turn think I'm applying it to them that I get kicked in the balls. Shit. Really, fucking shit.

You can say “oh well” or you can persist and cross your fingers. I think it would be an unnecessary indictment of people I decide to care about to write them off and throw my hands up. So then you get to struggle with their skepticism and perpetual doubt whilst maintaining “hey nigga, you're a real friend” dialogue. It's ever so fun. (No the fuck it isn't)

I don't want you to believe in in a moment. I want you to look at my overall behavior. Moments lie even when you don't want them to. It's so easy to take a compelling reaction from someone and paint their personality. It's hard to remember everything they've been or purported to be for you. I'm lost if you take a snapshot.

I'm always going to get fucked by my propensity to take chances. You can't not give a fuck and also be afraid of letting it all lay out. I'd rather do that. I literally want you to feel how bottom my stomach goes. I want you as empty as I care about what you think. But fuck me if I don't want you to appreciate you as much as I do in all the things I don't think or do when I think about you. It's too easy for me to write people off. It's too easy for you not to matter for a fucking second. Like, fuck you if you make me play that game with our relationship.

[342] Part Deux

There's something I find very troublesome about being human. It's worse than troublesome, but I'm hoping to keep a more jovial tone. It's not something I think can be helped, nor is it necessarily malicious. It's opportunistic. And I'm hard-pressed to not avoid using the word naïve. I've gone with the word “selfish” in the past, which has had a double meaning depending on context. But I think this is more nuanced. This isn't a bratty child nor being objectively involved in your long term well-being, as I would ascribe selfish. This thing is a word I hope to find by the end.

Perhaps it's a form of self-indulgence. There's a certain amount of pleasure one gains from dictating their next move. Being arbiter of your own fate, so to speak, even if that fate is just leading you towards the refrigerator. Granting yourself a delicious reward for exercising your legs and putting your idea in motion. You understood yourself to be hungry, now revel in the ability to so quickly and effectively meet your need. Good show.

Perhaps it's a form of empathy. It can be awesome to be illuminated by the light of someone else. Follow sports? None of your players are even from the city you cheer for, sometimes neither are you, but dammed if you don't all feel good under the same banner if they win a championship. So far, you've indulged in an opportunistic chance to empathize with a sense of purpose or pride that, by all accounts, isn't really yours to have but for your ability to feel in spite of your circumstances. Lucky you.

Perhaps you couldn't possibly help yourself. Without these systems for reward and happiness, where would we find the strength to continue on? If I'm not after a fix, what's my guide? Surely I feel this way for a reason, no less! And why would you sound like you're trying to make my good feelings bad? What shame or guilt lies in my investment of sport or comfort food? Quite the chore trying to adequately surmise what either means particularly to you, I'd say.

Perhaps it's flatly ignorant. You get nowhere thinking about the people who can't eat while you're eating, so of course remain ignorant to the real extent of the plight. You don't want to worry about commercialism, waste, or exploitation when the next game comes on or all-star player's history is depicted in such a compelling way you're getting his name tattooed next to your heart. The world gets easier with a singular focus and many would argue you're quite happy and healthy “doing whatever it is the thing you do.”

Perhaps it's kind of embarrassing. You know how you said that thing, but you didn't really feel that thing, but you didn't quite have the words to clarify and your phone was off and you couldn't respond in time so you just figured that it would work itself out until you got that one text from so and so and you realize that shit, you probably should have paid more attention to your phone and told so and so that you were actually going to do that and actually meant that you were feeling like 20% this and 80% that, but it would have been totally cool were it not for if things went a different way. My bad.

Perhaps it's an excuse. Maybe you know full well, but can't admit it. Maybe you understand perfectly, but can't be bothered. Maybe it's so easy to form protracted prose in defense of oneself that the consequences of doing so have become so normalized as to become invisible.

I guess I'll just call it kinda sad.

There's something I find disturbingly reassuring in “bad” people. They have a purpose. They have a drive. You can rely on them, albeit to do that wrong thing, but dammit if you can't rely on them. Rely on their character. Rely on their motivation. Rely on their insubordination, immaturity, greed, treachery, or propensity to make your life a hassle in a few fairly predictable ways. You couldn't ask for more structure. What's the worst you have to look forward to? Them becoming good people? Well fuck, now you have to find another fuck-up and learn their ticks. Annoying, but manageable.

“Good people” are the problem. Good people take for granted. They're plagued by all the nuance and weirdness of the stuff above. Good people rely on their environment to keep a familiar structure in place that informs them that they are still, in fact, good...enough...people. You hear constantly that “most of the world is good.” Most people aren't killing each other or stealing or raping. Most people don't really give a shit these things are happening! Provided it's not to them. To me, it simply misses the point.

Statistics on murder rates or declines in violence don't speak to what it means to be human intrinsically. It's accounting for a kind of environment we're attempting to cultivate, half-assedly or accidentally, that tends to reflect in less murder, stealing, and rape as long as certain conditions are met. It's superficial. When shit hits the fan, everyone's a hoarder, potential murderer, or looking to get in one last score. The handful of angels that would rather die than adapt will surely be sitting at the right hand of the Father.

We're not guided by anything but a messy landscape of vague “morals” and behaviors that generally tend to not piss people off and generally satisfy our needs or at the very least keep us alive under whatever paradigm we're born into.

Breaking Bad anyone? How slowly can you blur the line until we're comfortable with being bad? This is why, for me, it's easier to just conceive that people “are.” I don't read into their motivation or speculate what they're getting out of what they're doing, so I'm not hats off and applause when things seem to go well nor terribly surprised or let down when they don't. At least not professionally.

This changes with a conception of friendship or family. You tend to believe these people have your well-being at heart. You don't think they're out to get you. You've been able to trust them with information or tasks that when left to their own devices still work in your benefit. And dammit! You would theirs as well. It's why you have to be careful about who you're letting into that family, as they may cause you to subtly change your perspective enough to blind you to what you've become or are justifying.

But I've had to carry on for so long as if we don't have a choice. When I believe we have a choice, my day is basically ruined. If everyone is actively doing and saying the things they do, in their most earnest, and this is the best we get, I don't think I can spend another night in this hotel. If we're meant to fly by the seat of our pants through this blob of ever-morphing concepts of self that seem to contradict and shit on everything around us...just ugh. It would be interesting, but that's provided you were actually trying to get somewhere.

I wear the badge of “bad person” as a kind of honor. I know when I can call upon the worst demons, of all of our nature, to get what I want, or at the very least, get done what seems necessary. I tend to do. I tend to mean what I say. I tend to feel it, and think it, and spend much time defending it. I choose. And I usually feel like I know why I'm choosing. It's why I feel like I know why I'm choosing to quit.

You may not even recognize a change, but for the discernible future, I'm done. I don't get depressed or anxious or suicidal, I detach. I can feel the pull of, whatever it is about other people that just seems “kinda sad.” It looks like selfish, it feels like dumb, IF ONLY it was explicitly either. I think I can see the end game. I think I understand that even when it's good, I just haven't finished reading the story. I can't take the headache of worrying about it. At least not right now. It's not an indictment, I'm not angry, it's just a choice.