Still not dead yet.

24 hours later and I just got a phonecall. I’m sitting in a cybercafe full of people I don’t know so I guess I’ll just write it down here. Am I sad or what.

She broke up with me. The reason doesn’t (shouldn’t, anyway) matter but at least I know it’s not because I wasn’t man enough. Ha Ha I’m so funny I’m fucking killing myself. I could spend hours wondering if she meant anything she ever said, but that won’t do me any good, will it. The only thing I’m curious about right now is Why The Fucking HELL I Keep making an idiot of myself and getting caught up in retarded dreams. I start something, I’m all excited and happy about it, and then it just.. dies on me. In this case more than ever, she was who I turned to in situations like this.

One more fairy tale ends up onder the ground. Watch me closely, I’m not going to fucking cry over this. I’d say "lesson learned" but I learned jack shit. I’ll make the same mistakes next time if there will be a next time. Apparently I tend to dissappoint once up close.

Fuck you, too. So tired of this, this whole ordeal. Already tired of having to miss her.

 


 

Still not dead yet. Not even mutilated. Still got all my limbs, all my teeth, even. It’s a small miracle, come to think of it. Not that I expected otherwise, which is actually my mistake. Most people of my generation (including me) take their health for granted. We worry about other things: How to get more money off your parents, how to make more friends, be more popular. Never considering we might lose a limb in the process, and spend the rest of our lives looking for some ugly chick who would pityfuck us. Let’s just hope we can still masturbate. Dear God….

 

Okay, so why am I typing again. Got time on my hands and stuff on my mind. I should be asleep actually, but I slept this afternoon so I’m not tired. No I’m not lazy, I really was tired. Not from lack of sleep, but from work. A festival doesn’t build itself, you know. For others, Rock Werchter lasts 4 days, for me, a month. You’re welcome.

 

If I look to my left now, I see can see a piece of true art standing in the corner of the room. An electric guitar, Epiphone (although it says Gibson), one I just got from the singer of my friend’s band. I still don’t know what the hell happened. We were cleaning up after a rehearsal, and I saw it standing against the wall. I grabbed it and played a few notes on it, we were waiting for the elevator anyway. My friend said "you just lost a guitar", he was kidding! Apparently the singer thought otherwise and said "Sure, you can take it along if you want". My jaw just dropped and I said I’d bring it along next rehearsal. "Nah, keep it. If I need it again, I’ll ask." So now I got an electric guitar. Boom. Just like that. It’s got parts on it from a broken guitar from a Kiss gig. I mean, Kiss. The B&W painted face guys. Yes, the rock legends. I’m almost afraid to touch it, damnit.

 

I came home to a calm house today. I was a bit surprised at first, until I heard there was a fight this morning and one of them simply left. I didn’t get yelled at, apparently they were satisfied for today. God Damnit I swear I hate this. No matter how much sarcasm and cynicism I come up with, shit won’t change. I don’t get immune from it, I can’t ignore it or learn to live with it. I can only run from it, and even that has proven to be nearly impossible. Still no place of my own, still not anywhere close.

The one other place I’m still allowed and willing to stay is at my girlfriend’s. And I don’t know about that. She still scares the living crap out of me. Not that I think she doesn’t mean well. I just don’t know what to do with myself when I’m around her. Suddenly I’m unarmed. There is still an uneasy distance between us, which I kinda like. Keeps me from saying and doing stupid things again. From her point of view, the distance is there because she doesn’t trust guys. Can’t say I blame her: we are the most perverted, lying sons of bitches imaginable. Note that I didn’t say women are any better. I can only speak for the male lot, since, well, I’m born as one. Good excuse, means I can’t help it.

So can’t I be trusted? Time will tell. I want to say that I’ve proven that I can be, but first of all that was a long time ago and second I’ve done plenty of things that show I’m a regular asshole. But I’ve changed since then, and I’ll have to prove I’m worth some trust.

I’m sure there’s plenty of people wanting to tell me not to let all this blind me and just go for it, love is a beautiful thing and you haven’t lived without and yada yada. Open yourself up, love this and love that. Meh. I rather find that out for myself, I don’t believe in fairy tales. How love conquers all and they live happily ever after. There are no happy endings, and the story will better be worth the ending, or you’re better off without even starting.

 

Enough rambling for today. I’ll live, I always do. And keep my damn teeth, too. If this all reads as one fluid text to you, don’t blame me, blame my shit excuse for a computer. I’m thinking of hanging it from the ceiling and use it to catch flies with, maybe it’ll prove itself useful for a change. No it’s no good at catching flies, which is exactly my point. I know how to fix the text, I’ll get to it someday. Put some paragraphs in there. But, I need another computer. (Done now)

 

Also, Thanks for the support. You know who you are. Your feedback helped.

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One response

  1. Kwinten

    Hey,i\’m sorry i couldn\’t answer your calli\’m sorry i couldnt be a better friendbut know that i\’m still here if you want to talkthese situations have got to endwe need a place to call homei need to sleep againi\’m sorry, mantake care and i\’ll contact you

    6 August 2005 at 03:40

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