Well...
I'm glad to say that this infatuation is finally over, I think. I had what could be called an epiphany; that it's better to finally give up my hopes that have quite blatantly been in vain, and to move on with the rest of my life. Ultimately, it was self-destructive, and I'm glad to get it over with.
In regards to the girl who was the center of this, I'm glad to be able to see her as a friend. Perhaps counter-intuitively, it would seem that now I am no longer emotionally involved (it's quite amusing to consider that she has no knowledge of this), I can open up to her more.
Ah well. Hopefully, from now on I should be feeling a lot better. Huzzah!
10/10/2007
Look out, Keats
Ah, the joys of adolescent love poetry. So many cringe-worthy lines, so many complex concepts brutally chopped to fit the impromptu and rubbish rhyme scheme...
Please, never speak of this again. At least I can only go upwards from here.
Please, never speak of this again. At least I can only go upwards from here.
Were that I was such a liar,
As to admit without impediment
The extent of my true desire.
Alas, it seems, I be not that
Instead my body is eroded long
For I remain in constant flux
'tween two conflicting sentiments.
(As do you, you alluring bitch)
Absolution is drawn away,
by those cruel tormentors of nerves and shame.
But I will never see the day
When I can speak without wrought bounds,
When I can make you understand my thoughts,
Upon that concept lies the crux.
You are the cause of all my pain.
(Yet you do not recognise it)
Hate is forceful and strong and bold.
An irony, then, that it consumes me,
Languishing in that love I hold.
A dichotomy inherent
Or so it would seem; I wish it were not.
Neglected are my wishes such,
Though you would never care to see.
(Amusing; through your rhetoric
You're correct- I am pathetic)
07/10/2007
Oh what?
No more German congratulation message after each post. It is indeed a sad day.
Ooh, brightened somewhat hesitantly by the fact that TopGear is back on. Huzzah!
Ooh, brightened somewhat hesitantly by the fact that TopGear is back on. Huzzah!
Discordia
Well, whent to a decent party last night at Jess's. Had a good time, all in all, although I found it a bit odd when Jess's mum's partner Mike started giving Adam some weed and smoking it in the kitchen. In front of everyone else.
Ah well, nothing to do with me.
Currently reading the most brilliant book(s) ever written; The Illuminatus Trilogy. It simultaeneously makes absolutely no sense and the most sense ever; moreover, it's funny. I need more funny stuff in my life.
It's also made me start applying a Discordian style of thinking to my life. I like it. I like it a lot.
I'm infatuated with this girl. To some, it's quite obvious who she is, but in the small, small chance that she is reading this (although, of course, Blogs are for people with no lives heh), I shall call her girl X.
So, this infatuation, right? It's quite simply tearing me apart. As much as I want her, the more I realise that I will never have her, and it hurts. It seems to me that it's a form of unrequited love, but that just sounds so pathetic.
But, look at it this way. Emotions are purely subjective. They are applicable to each person independantly. There is no way of knowing whether my version of 'love' is the same as her version of 'love'. Henceforth, even if I tell her I love her, she has no way of knowing what that truly means. And from this, problems arise, because a direct result of her inability to apply her concepts to mine will lead to her categorising me into a particular set. That's the way that we as a society are conditioned; everything that we cannot understand we group together in vague areas that we pretend we know. Of course, that's bullshit; what will happen is that in her eyes I will stop being a friend and be lumped into the box of 'Dipshit lover boys who can't keep their eyes off me'.
And, as might be somewhat evident, this will slightly hamper any chances I have of either:
a) Going out with her
b) Remaining friends with her
So, my dilema is this: Do I keep this internal conflict going, all the while growing even more depressed and introverted until I am completely obsessed by this and am unable to even articulate my feelings on the subject into an impersonal and detached form, vis a vis this blog, or do I eventuall crack and tell her how I'm feeling, which would essentially terminate our current standing as friends and either work amazingly well, or horribly, terribly badly.
Ultimately, it comes down to: Do I care more about myself, or about my relatoinship with her?
At the moment, I have no clear answer. How I wish she could just pick up on everything and say something...
Hmm, as of now, a plan emerges. Deliberately get myself completely pissed, reveal all to her, then fall asleep and pretend nothing ever happened.
Sounds like a plan; and Adams birthday party is soon, so who knows
Whatever, essentially whatever happens, I still look like a twat.
Awesome...
Oh, and apparently I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being. I think Jess likes me.
Ah well, nothing to do with me.
Currently reading the most brilliant book(s) ever written; The Illuminatus Trilogy. It simultaeneously makes absolutely no sense and the most sense ever; moreover, it's funny. I need more funny stuff in my life.
It's also made me start applying a Discordian style of thinking to my life. I like it. I like it a lot.
I'm infatuated with this girl. To some, it's quite obvious who she is, but in the small, small chance that she is reading this (although, of course, Blogs are for people with no lives heh), I shall call her girl X.
So, this infatuation, right? It's quite simply tearing me apart. As much as I want her, the more I realise that I will never have her, and it hurts. It seems to me that it's a form of unrequited love, but that just sounds so pathetic.
But, look at it this way. Emotions are purely subjective. They are applicable to each person independantly. There is no way of knowing whether my version of 'love' is the same as her version of 'love'. Henceforth, even if I tell her I love her, she has no way of knowing what that truly means. And from this, problems arise, because a direct result of her inability to apply her concepts to mine will lead to her categorising me into a particular set. That's the way that we as a society are conditioned; everything that we cannot understand we group together in vague areas that we pretend we know. Of course, that's bullshit; what will happen is that in her eyes I will stop being a friend and be lumped into the box of 'Dipshit lover boys who can't keep their eyes off me'.
And, as might be somewhat evident, this will slightly hamper any chances I have of either:
a) Going out with her
b) Remaining friends with her
So, my dilema is this: Do I keep this internal conflict going, all the while growing even more depressed and introverted until I am completely obsessed by this and am unable to even articulate my feelings on the subject into an impersonal and detached form, vis a vis this blog, or do I eventuall crack and tell her how I'm feeling, which would essentially terminate our current standing as friends and either work amazingly well, or horribly, terribly badly.
Ultimately, it comes down to: Do I care more about myself, or about my relatoinship with her?
At the moment, I have no clear answer. How I wish she could just pick up on everything and say something...
Hmm, as of now, a plan emerges. Deliberately get myself completely pissed, reveal all to her, then fall asleep and pretend nothing ever happened.
Sounds like a plan; and Adams birthday party is soon, so who knows
Whatever, essentially whatever happens, I still look like a twat.
Awesome...
Oh, and apparently I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being. I think Jess likes me.
30/09/2007
Internal dichotomy
Fuck. I love you and I hate you and you are forever taunting me with the promise and allure of something that could be but which, deep down, I know will never come to be because you're so fucking wrapped up in your own petty and superficial discriminations that I will forever remain a friend and nothing more.
Jesus fucking christ, why is it that your persuit of an older boy leads you to completely ignore me? Why is it that you must make things SO FUCKING UNFAIR?
Of course, that's being silly. Dear Peter, you don't actually expect life to be fair, do you?
Of course I fucking don't but please, let me just have this one chance.
But, no, it doesn't work that way and never will because we all know that people such as me dont get chances. You get given what you've got and have to dance to the fucking tune.
Dance you fucker, dance.
Oh, I hate myself, how I love you and hate you.
Jesus fucking christ, why is it that your persuit of an older boy leads you to completely ignore me? Why is it that you must make things SO FUCKING UNFAIR?
Of course, that's being silly. Dear Peter, you don't actually expect life to be fair, do you?
Of course I fucking don't but please, let me just have this one chance.
But, no, it doesn't work that way and never will because we all know that people such as me dont get chances. You get given what you've got and have to dance to the fucking tune.
Dance you fucker, dance.
Oh, I hate myself, how I love you and hate you.
Inevitability. A work of fiction.
It's strange, but I woke up knowing that I have seven days to live. Don't ask me how I know. It seems to defy all logic, and those who know me will testify that I have no time for irrational ideas. Yet, somehow, I know that my death is impending in the near future.
What should I do? That was the question I asked myself. It seems to be the kind of thing that one plays with as a thought experiment; what would you do if you knew how long you had left? Would you tell someone you loved them? Reconcile any differences? Live life to the full?
Sadly, it just doesn't seem to work that way. I feel no drama or apprehension about my impending demise. It's as if I've accepted it as something natural, something that is beyond mere human concerns. In a way it is; no matter what I do, the outcome will be the same. So what did I do? Well, the first day I did what one would expect; I tried to enjoy every moment. I phoned up friends who I hadn't spoken to for years; I went out and had an extravagant dinner. I indulged in some petty crimes; of course, I made sure not to be caught- I didn't want to die in jail, after all.
The following second and third days I spent indulging in my own personal pleasures- relaxing in the sun, finishing books I had laid to rest weeks ago.
Of course, things like this never maintain such a perfect state. The equilibriam must be restored, and every man must have his fair share of troubles up until the day he dies. In my personal case, things started to go wrong when I told the girl I had liked for the past several months that I thought I loved her. She didn't recieve it particularly well, although it could have been worse; I shall spare the details, but suffice to say following that phone call I didn't speak to her again.
The fourth day saw me enter a depressive stage. As it dawned on me the magnitude of what would be happening, I gained a sense of urgency that had been hithero unknown in me. I withdrew all my money from my bank acounts. I tried to maximise the amount of time I spent awake; but it seemed that I just grew ever more tired as the hours went by.
I can barely remember the fifth day. I spent it dosed up on beer and drugs. For a brief period they alleviated the rising sense of horror I felt, but then I succumbed to the overwhelming feelings of abject misery. For hours I stayed awake, staring at the sunset, watching it slowly drip away into the horizon like some irretrievable part of me.
On the sixth day I tried to kill myself. At first I took an overdose; all that happened was that I was rendered unconcious on the bathroom floor for half an hour. I woke up to find myself covered in vomit that my stomach had brought up. Next I attempted to stab myself. The pain was intense, and for a short while it brought me back in tune with reality. But no matter how hard I tried, the pain would subside to a dull, throbbing ache that would rise to a crescendo and then fall again. It appeared that I could not die until the appointed hour.
That night I stayed outside. I didn't feel like sleeping- my body seemed numb. A feeling of apathy had gripped my body and held it tight, preventing me from caring about anything or anyone. From inside my house the phone rang, but I let it carry on until the sharp chime had subsided. I thought of the ones I would be leaving mehind, but no sorrow could be raised. I case my mind back to the girl I thought I had loved; I realised that I had merely been caught up with my own melodrama; it had only been an infatuation, nothing more.
I felt no regret, no sadness, nothing.
Looking at the stars, I wondered whether there would ever be a time when they would be reachable, or if they would remain forever as silent taunts, promising us a world we could never have.
I returned back inside, and entered my room. Earlier I had emptied it of everything; the clear white walls helped me to focus on myself. Closing the blinds and turning off the lights, I sat there, in the corner. I sat there awaiting my death.
What should I do? That was the question I asked myself. It seems to be the kind of thing that one plays with as a thought experiment; what would you do if you knew how long you had left? Would you tell someone you loved them? Reconcile any differences? Live life to the full?
Sadly, it just doesn't seem to work that way. I feel no drama or apprehension about my impending demise. It's as if I've accepted it as something natural, something that is beyond mere human concerns. In a way it is; no matter what I do, the outcome will be the same. So what did I do? Well, the first day I did what one would expect; I tried to enjoy every moment. I phoned up friends who I hadn't spoken to for years; I went out and had an extravagant dinner. I indulged in some petty crimes; of course, I made sure not to be caught- I didn't want to die in jail, after all.
The following second and third days I spent indulging in my own personal pleasures- relaxing in the sun, finishing books I had laid to rest weeks ago.
Of course, things like this never maintain such a perfect state. The equilibriam must be restored, and every man must have his fair share of troubles up until the day he dies. In my personal case, things started to go wrong when I told the girl I had liked for the past several months that I thought I loved her. She didn't recieve it particularly well, although it could have been worse; I shall spare the details, but suffice to say following that phone call I didn't speak to her again.
The fourth day saw me enter a depressive stage. As it dawned on me the magnitude of what would be happening, I gained a sense of urgency that had been hithero unknown in me. I withdrew all my money from my bank acounts. I tried to maximise the amount of time I spent awake; but it seemed that I just grew ever more tired as the hours went by.
I can barely remember the fifth day. I spent it dosed up on beer and drugs. For a brief period they alleviated the rising sense of horror I felt, but then I succumbed to the overwhelming feelings of abject misery. For hours I stayed awake, staring at the sunset, watching it slowly drip away into the horizon like some irretrievable part of me.
On the sixth day I tried to kill myself. At first I took an overdose; all that happened was that I was rendered unconcious on the bathroom floor for half an hour. I woke up to find myself covered in vomit that my stomach had brought up. Next I attempted to stab myself. The pain was intense, and for a short while it brought me back in tune with reality. But no matter how hard I tried, the pain would subside to a dull, throbbing ache that would rise to a crescendo and then fall again. It appeared that I could not die until the appointed hour.
That night I stayed outside. I didn't feel like sleeping- my body seemed numb. A feeling of apathy had gripped my body and held it tight, preventing me from caring about anything or anyone. From inside my house the phone rang, but I let it carry on until the sharp chime had subsided. I thought of the ones I would be leaving mehind, but no sorrow could be raised. I case my mind back to the girl I thought I had loved; I realised that I had merely been caught up with my own melodrama; it had only been an infatuation, nothing more.
I felt no regret, no sadness, nothing.
Looking at the stars, I wondered whether there would ever be a time when they would be reachable, or if they would remain forever as silent taunts, promising us a world we could never have.
I returned back inside, and entered my room. Earlier I had emptied it of everything; the clear white walls helped me to focus on myself. Closing the blinds and turning off the lights, I sat there, in the corner. I sat there awaiting my death.
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