Sunday, July 5, 2009

One tricky pony.

So I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. I’ve been thinking about my Stabface persona, the role he plays in my life, the reasons I have him, basically been asking myself the how and why and seeing if I can answer. And I don’t think I can. I was talking to someone the other day about how I feel I need to push myself to write confronting things, that I like to push myself to write something horrible, just so that I can feel revolted at myself. I floated the theory that perhaps I was trying to desensitize myself to all the awful things that I think, perhaps I am trying to make everyone sit up and look these terrors in the eye. But I do not think that is actually the reason. I am beginning to think that perhaps the reason is that I’m a one trick pony and my trick is being confronting. It’s not even a very good trick. Any fool can run up to someone who isn’t expecting it and yell “Vagina” or “Cock” or “Rape” or one of my many catch cries, but why? So someone can raise their eyebrows and heart rate for a few seconds? Where’s the point? Even I don’t like that sort of pointless frivolity.

I think the reason I take this plan of attack, this shocking ‘say things that no one else says’ vomiting of hate is because I’m trying to hide the fact that actually, I’m not very good. If people would look behind the words themselves they would see the skeletons of poorly formed ideas fleshed out in anger. I hid my inability for so long, perhaps if I confront it head on I can make something of it. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I fooled you all, none of this is any good and none of this is worth anything. To take something away from any of this is like trying to get your nourishment from the air itself. Empty empty calories wasted on saying hateful hateful things. Filling the air with bile, surely I could be more productive with my time?

I have trouble writing anything else though, I try and write touching and it comes out as touched and not good touched but bad touched. I try and write about the good times and it sounds like a blind man trying to describe something visual, something totally foreign to him.

It sounds like I'm about to finish this and go cut myself the whole time crying "why mummy why" but really I'm going to *insert off colour joke about masturbation here*.

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