Welp, it’s autumn and fuck me don’t we all know it. The heating here decided to follow the example of pretty much every fucking electronic device in my immediate surroundings, and die on me. Right now that I am refraining from eating to save money (for more overpriced electronics, you see), my electrical heater broke. Mother fucker.
This place is a drafthole and hard to keep clean, but you can’t beat its location. Not only am I two blocks away from the city center, but it’s quiet here and there’s a cute little park nearby. And that last thing, is what’s awesome around this time of year.
From one day to the next, the street is coated by a thick carpet of dry leaves (or wet leaves, eventually) as if an Ent passed by and took a shit on the pavement.
Just last year I felt like kicking them up instead of legging over them, and at that moment, an epiphany revealed itself to me in all its glory.
Just when did this child in us die? What told us that it’s not okay to consider the floor lava, or leaves should be kicked? If you think about it, it’s not so hard to put yourself in that child-like state of mind- or is that just me? Be honest. Do you remember when the world was a mystery to you? How the grown-ups seemed like they could do everything, and know all? How you didn’t get why we had to sit in that car for so many hours, just to end up in the Ardennes? How it didn’t make sense to have a tv screen in a hall, and it wasn’t playing cartoons?
Do you remember growing up? The warm comfort of no responsibility whatsoever; not a care in the world but the chalk on the pavement. The games we used to play, real games unlike those of today. The limitless fantasy we had, a world of good guys and bad guys and LEGO kung-fu (in my case).
Around the time when we hit puberty, we lost track of it with all the new worries. You remember, that night you couldn’t sleep because you had a crush. Yes you do. Suddenly forward became the way to go, and adulthood should be embraced as swiftly as possible. Graduate, graduate again, get a job where you were an intern, buy a car.
Next time you encounter a pile of leaves, just wade through. It’ll make you feel good, and make you wonder why the grown-ups no longer do.
Everybody knows you dance like you fuck,
You dance like you fuck,
you dance like you fuck.
Holy shit am I beat. You know it was good when your ears are ringing, your voice is sore and you’re as sober like Mother Theresa after she quit smoking. Or is that just me?
Amusing how, after seeing five years in the business worth of live acts, and studying as a stage technician who should have a relatively refined taste in music, I still find my entertainment in (besides the Silversun Pickups- so sue me) dark bars in the entirely wrong end of town, with chains hanging down from the ceiling and the entire eight pieces of Hellraiser on four widescreens on the wall. And did I mention the electro blasting through the speakers?
If you go through my entire, badly organized (since The Crash) MP3 collection, you might find a few on there of that particular genre because I happen to be a fan of VNV Nation. But other than that, I don’t care much about the whole cybergoth scene.
Except! They happen to build the best parties in town. There’s something about the music that triggers me, not to mention the BDSM atmosphere hanging there. Sitting in a corner chilling out is amusing in itself, watching the door and all the odd costumes walking through. All the clichés are there: There’s the pink bunnies, the cyber-outfitted dreadlocks with plastic tubing, cockteases with strategically placed gaps in their clothing, the sunglasses too cool to dance, and of course the dickweeds like me who don’t bother with the “scene” any more than necessary to be allowed in.
And yet, while at other events you get odd looks for dressing or walking different, they hardly give you a decent look-over here. Which is fine by me. Everybody looks like the Tron: Legacy trailer threw up on them and dances like a freak, and nobody is going to stare or point because you’re different. Put that on top of no-nonsense, scarily aggressive beats and you’ve got my kind of party. Standing among the freaks in a room lit by no more than four Double Derbys and two lasers, under mutilated baby dolls, is where I feel right at home.
What does that say about me, anyway? I chose not to care. What I can tell you is how badly I needed this yearly outlet.
In this finite life, we have to manually choose what to fill it with. For every little choice we make, there is one we did not. You win some, you loose some.
Lately I’ve been switching cynicism for optimism and distance for social contact, choices on conscious and subconscious levels that improved the quality of my life. But of course, there are things I have to leave behind for that: Death and Rebirth, no one escapes it but few are as acutely aware.
I used to watch a lot. At events I would stay out of the way and while everyone else might have been having a better time than I did, I was quite satisfied simply standing by the sidelines. From when I was a child, I mostly just spent my time analyzing my peers and pretty much every situation I encountered.
I still do, but in the last couple years I’ve begun to actively participate. To ask questions once in a while, or simply shut down this endless wondering and just enjoy the moment. Not because I am no longer interested, but because the reward of social contact is infinitely more satisfying than merely observing it. As a long lost friend once said to me,
You’ve got sheep, herders and crows. Herders have the power but the responsibility, sheep have the comfort but the mindlessness, crows have the insight but the loneliness.
One can choose to lead, follow or observe. I am unsure which category I fall into now, but I do know the loneliness became too much of a factor.
At times like tonight though, I wish I would have just grown immune to it, and kept my nihilistic distance. I was talking to a friend moments ago, and one of “those” remarks I tend to make seemed to have hurt her. She left soon after.
Being inapproachable might have been a bleak existence, but at least it spared me and those close few, from this shit. I was one to come to, but who never came to them. Someone you could trust with your darkest secrets, but didn’t understand your feelings- since my priorities were elsewhere.
“Analyzing again?” Someone asked me not long ago, as I was staring at a group of partying students. To my own surprise, I had to say that no, I wasn’t- my mind was just elsewhere. Even though I still don’t relate to nights of heavy drinking and pointless chatter, I no longer wonder about those who do.
In one sense, I really miss that. But in all honesty, all things considered, it seems like an utter waste of energy to try and analyze the behavior of a flock of drunk students dead-simply having a good time.
But at least I didn’t hurt anyone with my distant behavior.
A six hour full analysis of my computer just failed. That’s right: Six hours of testing this bitch and nothing to show for it.
I’ll try again when it’s not 2.45am. The analysis is a trick the nice folks at Dell Customer Service taught me. Apparently this thing can analyze every single switch inside its body, from the cable ports to the little LED that tells me the webcam is working: everything is tested. I am insanely jealous.
The point is to generate an error code, which I am to call in and they will send me a replacement part. If it’s my hard disk as I suspected before, they will send me a new one, to arrive the next day. Note that this phone call took ten minutes and not once did they ask me what the fuck I had been doing with that poor device. They didn’t seem to care whether I dropped it, dunked it in my beer glass (impossible for several reasons anyway) or fucked its ethernet port (ditto for the same reasons). All they need to know is what’s wrong and how to fix it as snappy as possible. My kind of people.
Of course, if this thing would bother to fucking work enough to complete the simple task of spinning its CD-ROM (which is where it froze), we’d all be very happy.
That is to say! I was half expecting to have to turn in my laptop for several weeks, giving me a window of time enough to do some serious studying. Hell, in this mess alone I managed to look into two of the five courses I’ll be tested on next week.
When I was a kid, I was hooked on Prince of Persia. Later, Doom. Half-Life. Counter-Strike. And that is when the MUD-ing started.
I grew up addicted to computers, and while it’s been worse in the past, that addiction is still there. I can not sit in the same room as a computer and not be on it. It has to be malfunctioning pretty badly before I lose interest in it. Perhaps it’s because of that addiction, but I just need the input. Boredom is a hellish experience for me, you see, and I’ve been known to grow bored at the most impossible of times.
I sometimes wish I would spend a little more time and effort on meat-space (yes I went there) things. Take MUD-ing, for instance: Eight years at an average of six hours a day. Hell, I could have been the next Kirk Hammett by now, with better hair even. I do get a lot from it, but it’s a fine line between “scientific/intellectual/cultural research” and “utter waste of time and potential.” It’s kind of stupidly ironic, with the gobsmacking amount of time I must have spent in front of a screen by now, that my greatest accomplishments were elsewhere entirely.
I think I’ll focus the test on the hard disk alone and leave it running while I sleep.