visionary loser

an alternative to ennui

Tag Archives: life

am i happy now i am now happy.

I’m not good at writing when I’m happy. Maybe it’s because I use it as an emotional release for all the tension and anger I feel. But doesn’t that give such emotions more power and control? Why don’t I write when things are good and blissful and I feel so full and content? Will it dispel these beautiful feelings I feel?

I’m much better now

I realize I have no one. I lost my best friend when I ripped out his heart and fed it to the wolf. I keep thinking the wolf is domesticated and won’t hurt me. But the creature snarls every time I get too close. At 12:10AM I have no one but myself. And she’s poor company.

On December 30 you told me you were thinking about me. On January 24 you didn’t recognize my number. On February 10 you messaged me for the last time. It’s June and you don’t answer me. Ever. I wish you could see me. Maybe then you’d care. Sean, I think I’m going crazy.

I’ll never fight with you again. I’ll get a noose tattooed around my neck. The more we fight, the more knots it acquires. So that when it looks tight and thick, I’ll have chocked myself into being good.

 

Is this a realization?

March 24, 2017.

I can simplify anything. Overly complicated issues are a product of irrational, emotional people – they cannot see the way amidst the fog. It goes as follows: matters of the heart are complex and emerge from a sad place. You can romanticize longing and that feeling after sex when your worries melt away and all that you see are those brown eyes filled with… something. Begging me to know what that something is. But all I see is sympathy and compassion. Otherwise, everything else is enveloped in a thread-bare blanket. Mislead, I believe in its false protection and warmth. For that blanket is falling apart before my very eyes and I am too stubborn to let it go.

At Peace

One day –

you will cease these false promises.

One day –

I will stop believing.

One day –

we will make it.

One day –

you will let me grow.

One day –

I will learn to.

One day –

we will be happy in our quiet tranquility.

Creative Integrity

Creatively jacking each other off,

I saw them demonize the intellectual –

the rational, the sane.

All that matters is Art,

and with that comes suffering

Only from darkness can creativity reign supreme.

 

The paintbrush caresses the canvas,

The pen strokes the paper,

all trying to get each other off.

These phallic instruments clutched tightly in clenched fists,

Vigorously pumping away

and what comes is —

 

What fucked up / sad / insecure place does this stem from?

To speak on things which you don’t understand.

 

Creative merit isn’t doled out by those with rough hands,

Nor by those with degrees,

it comes from people who want to do it.

Almost anything can be Art,

but it all boils down to intent –

 

why have you the right to express your contemptuousness

on what an individual finds valid and valuable

to tell a story about.

 

Antidote to Bereavement

we the underbelly –

cowering in the dark amongst the filthy,

our pockets filled with mud and shit

pissing away at the manicured suits

cocaine nightmares

dusted and busted

there’s no other choice.

slitting our throats,

we hang ourselves amongst the living

spilling blood in the streets

as hollowed eyes watch,

in sick sad amusement

fucked by millions of tiny cocks

spitting threats and dreams in our mouths

that dissipate and butcher.

manipulative usurping cunts

casting us in fiery disarray

longing for that sliver of beauty

our innards spill in a pool

of sunken lullabies.

We set ourselves on fire

A brazen, blazing passion

igniting such codependency

that they burned all the same.

By stoking this love

it had become as volatile as an inferno

threatening too much, they ended it.

Naughty little rendezvous

in the embers of what was

but ultimately, it needed to be tamed.

Put out before it devoured too much

for it had

it consumed his heart.

Fiery tempers and hot words

a jealousy that bloomed

and turned to ash.

They built a pyre

to sacrifice such sweet nostalgia

leaving behind an echo of incandescence.

Now he’s drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle

swimming through salt and gasoline

such fervent ill-thoughts.

He lights a cigarette

and watches the smoke twist and dance –

There’s no extinguishing this bond.

Eskimo

Oct. 10, 2016.

This is a new kind of love.

I have experienced romantic love once before –

A pale, bony hand gripping my heart.

This physical manifestation trying to choke the beauty out of it,

Making me shudder violently with the pain of unabashed emotion.

This caring too much is driving me crazy.

My head taken from my shoulders and battered around like a fucking baseball.

My whole body disintegrating around me until all that’s left is my heart,

Pulsing with the illusion of us together.

I know you’ll choose her.

Every fibre of my being says so.

And yet, I still wait in anticipation hoping it could be me.

But would I really want it to be me?

I know it’s a complicated situation,

But would I want to be chosen between two?

To be chosen amongst millions makes me feel unique and special,

But to be chosen against one is…

Well, it just is.

And that sucks.

I love you and I want to protect you.

If that means doing as I am now, so be it.

It’ll be hard to see you with her,

But I’m stronger than I look.

Ultimately, your happiness outweighs mine.

I deserve nothing.

Sick Sad Love

As we embraced,

You put your hands on my waist,

And I felt myself sink into you.

 

My body responds to your touch –

striving for that electric pull,

Spark extinguished.

 

Floundering under the weight of memory –

rose coloured and golden,

I want it to be pure.

 

We are submerged in comfort and nostalgia,

Thrashing against chains that bind us,

Enslaved by this false Love.

 

You press your mouth to mine,

Sharing in the same substance that keeps us alive,

Can you tell my tears from ocean water?

 

The pressure builds,

My mind cloudy with blood and water,

And you like that it’s slowly killing us.

Being a pretty girl sucks

My friend told me I could write a book of my life. I don’t know if that book would be very interesting, but a post on a website may be.

Here’s a taste of the year so far: the company my parents worked for went bankrupt in December and my mother was forced out of a job she had been working 25 years a month later. My father is still working for the company, but as a day-to-day thing, and there’s no stability there. Thus my mom was forced to find a job in order to keep the household going by mid February. Sounds like an unfortunate scenario, right? Well, it gets worse. The company they worked for was founded by my grandfather – on my mother’s side – and it was brought to our attention that my mother was getting paid significantly less than her male siblings in the business and other employees who worked below her. Obviously, as a family business, you would expect her to be treated differently. Wrong. Nepotism apparently doesn’t float with my grandfather… Or it does, so long as the relative is male. I mean, most grandparents are sexist, right? They were brought up in a different time, yada yada. But for it to be so blatant in my mother’s pay grade was ridiculous. On top of the fact that other men in the company, who worked under her, were still paid more – it broke my mother’s heart. You have to understand, she does everything for her parents. But maybe, as the only female and the youngest of three, her sex determines their expectations and requirements. I know my mom secretly knew for many years that this was going on, but I think she wanted to believe that her father had her best interests at hand and was actively trying to help her, not hinder her. Obviously, this created even more bad blood on that side of the family, which I didn’t think possible.

But yes, to be working over 40 hours a week at an unpaid internship while freeloading at her parents’ home – makes a girl feel real guilty. Granted, I contributed what I could, yet with an hour’s commute to and from work throughout the week, I was limited to working just on weekends. Now, the crisis has subsided and my mother works for a company that truly values her hard work. Not to mention, pays her better than her previous job. It’s not the same though, and she’s still struggling to adjust. My father, on the other hand, has donned the title of entrepreneur. We’ll have to see how that pans out. So now everything at home has changed and certain benefits we reaped from the family business is no longer. The gas situation is a tough one. Tough in that we now have to pay for gas and thus need to budget it into our weekly spendings. Yes, I guess I was [am] a princess. Oh, and then when I realized there was no place for me at my internship, I had to make the decision to leave and find real employment. I was very fortunate and sent my resume to maybe three companies and interviewed with two. I got the second job and have been working there for four weeks now. Benefits kick in after my 90 day probationary period, I get eight paid sick days, two weeks vacation, and an actual salary – I have an adult job! My first adult job, to be honest. I did what a lot of kids do – I graduated high school, completed four years of undergrad, and found employment within the year after graduation. Although the time in between graduating and this job sparked a lot of existential thoughts, I’m pretty impressed with myself. And happy, which is the most important part.

Now that my home life has stabilized (albeit extended family drama, but who doesn’t have that?) and I’ve found a career-job, it’s time to plan flying the coup. But now I’m faced with questions I have never contemplated before: where do I want to live? How much rent do I want to pay/can I afford to pay? Who do I want to live with? Etc. This is a hard one since I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. What I do know is that I don’t want to live alone and I want to live walking distance from work. These two facets make everything a little more difficult though, since I have no friends who want/can move out with me and the housing market near my place of work is rather high… That’s not all. I want to become independent of my parents. Entirely. But what my dad has offered me, well, it seems like too good an opportunity to pass up. He’s suggested taking out a mortgage on our home and buying a condo on my behalf. I would then pay off his debt in monthly ‘rent’ installments until he completely owned the unit. And once we reach that end, we’d decide what to do next. But that means I’d still be under my parents thumb and I really don’t want that anymore…

On top of everything listed thus far, I have been exploring having a social life – something I didn’t really do when I was in school. And man, how exhausting. I started dating someone at the beginning of 2015 and we spent all our spare time together. As such, I neglected my friends and I’m really trying to make it up to them now. Something that only really dawned on me when I started seeing someone was the fact that the majority of my friends are male. Many of these male ‘friends’ had expressed interest in dating me before I had gotten together with my now ex-boyfriend. They respectfully kept their distance when I was seeing him, but now that I’ve been single – for roughly two months – they’re circling me again like vultures. This leads me to the title of this piece: being a pretty girl sucks. I have had many platonic relationships crumble because I did not reciprocate the romantic/sexual feelings of my ‘friends’. And yet I kept those guys around because it boosted my self-confidence and made me feel desirable, even though I did not want to be desired by them. Incidentally, their friendship is becoming a burden to me and it’s not the kind of relationship I want to have with my friends. Severing ties is difficult, but what’s the point of chasing after liquid? Once you catch it, it slips through your fingertips.

Now I’m caught up in a modern romance and seeing someone new. There seem to be many ‘rules’ that accompany this dating scene. And whether or not they’re a product of the times or a transition into something more adult-like, I’m struggling to understand it all.