So, I want this to kind of talk about two things, and apologies in advance if it seems...kind of back and forth.
The first thought is that I think I'm a perfectly terrible friend.
The second thought is that.......jesus fucking christ I think I lost it.....fuck it was compelling on the drive home. Maybe I'll come to it again as I digress upon the first thought. We'll see.
The longer thought anyway is that I'm a perfectly terrible fucking friend. One reason is very obvious. Consider when I was told I was “negative.” I like when things go to shit, not because I actively enjoy or root for failure mind you, but because I like to live in the consequences of inevitable failure in general. I barely know shit about you, I poke my head in disingenuously, and I don't know, it's not like you do anything more than me to suggest you're better than me, but I still feel like I don't do enough to suggest what you mean to me.
In any event, that means I can't root for you. That means I'm not sorry for your loss.
I'm quick to cut you down because I don't speak the language of sympathy. I'll defend this idea until the day I die. I can know where you're coming from with having no inclination or justification for carrying on like what you choose to feel registers in my mind as correct. I get that you generally believe I'm just a sociopath. You're fucking wrong, and if you're an asshole, the more you'll pretend like you're not wrong. Fuck you deal with it. (Christ, you can tell the drunkenness at this point, right? I'll try to do better)
Nothing I do in life is, in my mind, by accident as far as I'm allowed to surmise. I don't shoot for an open relationship because I've somehow managed to quell feelings of jealousy. I don't call people friends had I not done anything less than sacrifice the amount of manipulative matter-of-fact plays into the future I might conjure about your behavior. I know what I'm giving up. I know what I could exploit.
You get that right? Like, when I'm crazy, it's probably part of a game. When I get fucking obliterated and try to defend drunk driving, the first instinct you should have is that I'm bored. I feel like I stress this in a way, but it doesn't always connect. Like, I'm not your suicidal friend. I'm not someone you should ever be convinced about. I play. I'm a fucking terrible asshole. I use words and impressions to give me reasons to feel marginally “in place” with regard to you and in life. Please, always allow yourself the leisure to fuck me the fuck off.
You're my friends because I think I can fuck with you. I think you can play my stupid game. Mind you, the game informs, but ultimately, I'm seeing if you can handle my egomania as it pertains to language and bullshit. Doesn't that feel vapid and empty? Of course it does! You're beginning to maybe see the fun!
Part of being cool with me is understanding my “essence.” It's grasping what drives me. It's knowing that behind the most fucked up thing I could ever say there's something you can rely on. I know I'm not going to kill myself, for example. The longer you pretend you don't know is your problem. Think about that. Really mother fucker, think about it. If I wrote a ten page digression tomorrow expressing the virtue or legitimacy and wisdom of suicide, I'm significantly more intrigued by your reaction to it than what “nothingness” holds for me as I bleed out in a fucking bathtub.
It struck me that the moment I scared the shit out of my dad I started getting more texts and likes to my statuses. I'm a fucking attention whore. It's fucking deplorable. I just want people to acknowledge they give a shit and my problems are themselves dismissed immediately. I can know logically there's always people there I can rely on, but the fact that they like the status or send me the “how you doing” text makes all the difference in the world. And I've even shitted on that idea in the past! Just to make it that much more confusing.
I guess you can call it a head nod to the “real shit.” My dad doesn't care if no one needs to like the last 7 stupid things I said on facebook. He cares that he was there for me. As do I. I don't mean to scare him or friends or whatever, I just try to impress upon them that I'm the sole ambassador for everyone I know who says anything fucking resembling anything fucking real. It sucks. I want you to talk and you fucking suck and you don't. Fuck you, friends. I fucking hate you for that.
If I were to parlay this into a discussion of relationships, I might speak to that second thought that escaped me
It's always going to go to shit. You can be the 20 year old infatuated with your high school sweetheart, or you can be the 50 year old with tales of your rapist and insane family members which colorized your contrasting “perfect” relationship today.
It's always going to go to shit.
I love this idea not for some horrible feeling it's supposed to arouse in you. I think people vastly and perpetually mistake my position on this to the length they're capable of feeling self-righteous and indignant.
“Love,” “trust,” “care,” “perfection,” “the dream,” “my one and only,” “fill in the blank something fucking Disney taught you” IS NOT REAL. Nor is the fucking complicated reality antithetical and opposite to those ideas. Should I really have to fucking state this shit at this point? Absolutely, because new idiots are born everyday.
My first thought when Kristen was like “peace!” was how relived are friends might be. How the fuck could I manage that for as long as I did? Well, if we pretend I didn't call it from about day one, it's as much a mock of VICE verses Disney. And fuck discussing the minutia, you just want her ass tapped by Gaston.
I'm cold. I'm boring when I'm boring. I bring up the para-glider who died by being a dumb-ass amateur flying over the trees as we're looking over the forest at the national park. I managed to drive myself into a place that can't escape “necessary consequences.” Every time I express some colloquial or matter-of-fact sentiment, I'm lying to you. I need to shut the fuck up and not play the “regular person” game or I'm disrespecting you. Kristen's grandma just died. What the fuck else do grandma's do? Mine certainly figured it out as well.
I “love” it.
I don't think people really get that. I love being right. I love seeing things coming. I love knowing that when I wish I could be an emotional wreck, I'm mostly just playing a game with myself. I love watching your excuses play out. I love knowing I'll be your coolest fucking friend on the planet when you and I are 35-40 after you've crashed and burned in your marriages or shitty kids. I love seeing things coming. I love holding my tongue for the conversation we'll have ten years from now.
It doesn't sound human. I'm not your friend because I don't believe the lies your parents taught you to engage in the shitty lives you lead right now. I sell my fucking body so I can tan and read and watch movies from pushing 100 years ago. I'm after every perspective that makes everything you or I say a fucking joke. You know so much about one thing. Bravo. I'm not saying you won't keep my ass alive when something goes terribly wrong. I just don't know if I want to live in a world where you forgot why getting fucked up with me was just as worthwhile when we're both going to die anyway.
I'm not sad. I'm not negative. I'm not the cynic. I'm not a reaper or wisher of terrible things. If you refuse to figure out what I am, I can't help you, and we're probably not friends. We'll certainly never be family as I have the inkling my dad knows the kind of fucked up I am regardless of what I write.
68. I have 68, less than what old tribes might have considered their villages, as my amount of friends. I'm basically too old and dead already. How long do you want to play the game of superficial facebook likes and brushes past each other every couple of years? How many times are we going to have the same stupid fucking conversations about our relationships? Where can we go if we all just choose to not suck and be honest?
I'll just be here watching you die failing as you read me bitching. It's really the best we can fucking hope for right? Lol I sound so angry.
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