Today, I got hurt. For the last year I have been emotionally manipulated and used by a younger woman for... What I can only describe as "shits and giggles." Her anguished declaration of "like" two nights prior was just a gambit in her scheme to anger her ex (who, yes, is your standard issue definition of a "bad boy," but I call bullshit on anyone who makes the "nice guys finish last" argument, so I won't make it here). This is not a new phenomenon.
The first time I ever "fell in love" with anyone, it was a particularly comely maid with psychological stability comparable to a stack of cards in a gale force wind. For four years she built me up and broke me down with such finesse and efficiency that I simultaneously applaud her for her skill and myself for my gullability and unerring faith in mankind.
She now sleeps with her cousin.
But seriously. I'm not even mad at them. I would drop whatever I'm doing and run to them till my feet bled if they ever claimed to "need me," even if I knew in my heart that it was a lie. I am an utter pushover, I actively WANT to be somebody's bitch, or whipped (I don't know how to write that sound effect phonetically) as it were. I am an on call doormat, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I acknowledge that this is a serious psychological problem... and I don't care.
I may be a pushover, but I refuse to change that. Ever. People may shit on me, may abuse my "kindness" (I've placed that in quotation marks because I am NOT glorifying my behaviour, I see it for how stupid it truly is). For every user out there, there is another person in genuine need of help. If you give up on the rest of humanity just because one or two bad apples have broken your heart, then... Well...
You're kind of an idiot.
(But I'll still give you a hug)
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Saturday, 19 November 2011
I Have a New Favourite Song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Jtpf8N5IDE&ob=av3n
While sitting on a bus one Thursday afternoon, returning home for a weekend away from the insomnia inducing cacophony that is my flatmates smoking outside into the early hours of the morning (I love them really, splendid fellows... all of them -ticks off another Doctor Who reference from his daily quota-), I looked back over the songs I'd been playing in order to keep me occupied, and realized two things.
1. Not being interested in anyone romantically removes any guilt that accompanies listening to soppy music. The list included such guilty pleasures as Runaway by the Corrs (that song is my musical equivalent of comfort food... it always seemed to be on the radio when I was a wee lad... good lord I wish I was Scottish and could pull that off), I Will Always Return by Bryan Adams (which I once came across via a Harry x Hermione fan video... go figure), and Love is a Matter of Distance by Will Young (my love for his music being one of the many things I'm happy to inherit from my mother, even if it does cause me to stop and ponder the implications of the majority of my favourite celebrities being gay).
2. I didn't have enough Queen (YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH QUEEN).
For some reason, everytime I listen to this song, I imagine a soldier (medieval, ALWAYS medieval) in glorious combat, refusing to lay down and succumb to his injuries before he gets a chance to see his wife and child again.
That, and it reminds of someone. A hero of mine. Dearly missed.
While sitting on a bus one Thursday afternoon, returning home for a weekend away from the insomnia inducing cacophony that is my flatmates smoking outside into the early hours of the morning (I love them really, splendid fellows... all of them -ticks off another Doctor Who reference from his daily quota-), I looked back over the songs I'd been playing in order to keep me occupied, and realized two things.
1. Not being interested in anyone romantically removes any guilt that accompanies listening to soppy music. The list included such guilty pleasures as Runaway by the Corrs (that song is my musical equivalent of comfort food... it always seemed to be on the radio when I was a wee lad... good lord I wish I was Scottish and could pull that off), I Will Always Return by Bryan Adams (which I once came across via a Harry x Hermione fan video... go figure), and Love is a Matter of Distance by Will Young (my love for his music being one of the many things I'm happy to inherit from my mother, even if it does cause me to stop and ponder the implications of the majority of my favourite celebrities being gay).
2. I didn't have enough Queen (YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH QUEEN).
For some reason, everytime I listen to this song, I imagine a soldier (medieval, ALWAYS medieval) in glorious combat, refusing to lay down and succumb to his injuries before he gets a chance to see his wife and child again.
That, and it reminds of someone. A hero of mine. Dearly missed.
Sunday, 13 November 2011
True or False
While sitting in the pool room (a bit of a misnomer, considering how infrequently anyone actually plays pool in there these days) last night, casually sipping at a bottle of pear Kopparberg (the greatest alcoholic beverage known to man, and a far more "masculine" drink than my former trademark Tia Maria/Kahlua and Coke... though that is countered by how rosy it makes my cheeks), a housemate posed me a question, as he pointed to the computer screen, on which a song called "Romance is Dead" was playing (I forget the band).
"Don't you agree that that is the truest statement ever?"
My... Not so diplomatic response...
"No, romance will never die, and fuck you for saying that it has."
That and another comment I made earlier that evening prove that I should have been born a woman.
Me: (I may be paraphrasing, I'm not quite as eloquent when I speak) I don't see the appeal in watching lesbians.
Friend: There's that part of you that looks at them and wishes for a threesome.
Me: You see, that would just be awkward for me, 'cause then I'd have to get up and make two sandwiches.
Where's Dr. Cox when you need him? I have some man cards that have to be taken away.
"Don't you agree that that is the truest statement ever?"
My... Not so diplomatic response...
"No, romance will never die, and fuck you for saying that it has."
That and another comment I made earlier that evening prove that I should have been born a woman.
Me: (I may be paraphrasing, I'm not quite as eloquent when I speak) I don't see the appeal in watching lesbians.
Friend: There's that part of you that looks at them and wishes for a threesome.
Me: You see, that would just be awkward for me, 'cause then I'd have to get up and make two sandwiches.
Where's Dr. Cox when you need him? I have some man cards that have to be taken away.
Friday, 28 October 2011
And So It Begins
Well... I finally got around to it. I've gone and acquired myself one of these wretched things they (whomever "they" may be... plebeians, I'd call them, if my inferiority complex were to somehow transform into a sense of arrogance within the next paragraph or so) call a "blog." Not that I consider people who maintain one to be particularly abhorrent, I'm just not what you'd consider to be particularly skilled when it comes to sharing my personal feelings.
But, alas (may I never use that word again, lest I begin starting every other sentence with "lo," like any given Tolkien extract... incidentally, one of my favourite authors), I'm on a Writing course, therefore I need to get into the habit of actually writing. Plus, we all have to submit ourself to a bit of scathing criticism at some point, and the internet is likely the best place to do so.
The above is probably a far more acceptable reason than the true one... I just wrote a poem, and wish to archive it somewhere it can remain hidden from my friends while still being somewhat available to public scrutiny.
A piece for you,
Inside my heart,
Though unrenewed,
And far apart
A piece for you,
Since that day,
Although we drew,
So far away
A piece for you,
Until the end,
It will not rue,
But may never mend
A piece for you,
I'll always miss,
You wish I knew,
How to forget your kiss
Such saccharine drivel, I'm well aware. But, I guess we all have those moments when someone we think we're over finds their way back into our thoughts. My subconscious is a rather sadistic beast... Here's one I wrote that wasn't directed at a specific woman, and actually got a positive review from a member of that glorious gender.
Sleep my dear,
In my embrace,
Just keep me near,
Your tender face
Sleep my dear,
In soft repose,
Take flight from fear,
And doubts disposed
Sleep my dear,
Within my heart,
Remaining here,
When we part
Sleep my dear,
Until the dawn,
Don't shed a tear,
When I am gone
My sincerest apologies for subjecting you to that. She was probably humouring me.
But, alas (may I never use that word again, lest I begin starting every other sentence with "lo," like any given Tolkien extract... incidentally, one of my favourite authors), I'm on a Writing course, therefore I need to get into the habit of actually writing. Plus, we all have to submit ourself to a bit of scathing criticism at some point, and the internet is likely the best place to do so.
The above is probably a far more acceptable reason than the true one... I just wrote a poem, and wish to archive it somewhere it can remain hidden from my friends while still being somewhat available to public scrutiny.
A piece for you,
Inside my heart,
Though unrenewed,
And far apart
A piece for you,
Since that day,
Although we drew,
So far away
A piece for you,
Until the end,
It will not rue,
But may never mend
A piece for you,
I'll always miss,
You wish I knew,
How to forget your kiss
Such saccharine drivel, I'm well aware. But, I guess we all have those moments when someone we think we're over finds their way back into our thoughts. My subconscious is a rather sadistic beast... Here's one I wrote that wasn't directed at a specific woman, and actually got a positive review from a member of that glorious gender.
Sleep my dear,
In my embrace,
Just keep me near,
Your tender face
Sleep my dear,
In soft repose,
Take flight from fear,
And doubts disposed
Sleep my dear,
Within my heart,
Remaining here,
When we part
Sleep my dear,
Until the dawn,
Don't shed a tear,
When I am gone
My sincerest apologies for subjecting you to that. She was probably humouring me.
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