It is still freezing. Which is why I'm still not blogging the way I'm supposed to. I still don't have a roommate, so my room is slowly degrading into a slum of nuclear proportions. I should have cleaned it up a little today it's my day off, but the rest of me wanted a day off too.
I got a friend request the other day on facebook, apparently he's a fan of my blog. 
I'm sorry Jimmy that I couldn't add you. Because of the amount of information I give out on my facebook I do have a "people I've actually met" policy. Plus then you'll see all the classy(crass) photos and that would tarnish your glowing image of me.
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The following is a muddled jumble of fly-by self pity party, proceed with care:
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The numbness I'd been feeling in the last year or so is shedding away little by little. It's mostly uncomfortable, but nice to know that within these frozen limbs, emotions still dwell. The last six months especially has been an exercise in loneliness as a crowd experience. Slowly grasping at, and fingering, feeling my way through the parameters of my comfort zone. Rediscovering that I'm not just a set of digestive and sexual organs, that I can feel things as myself, and not some version that I'd like others to see.
Hopefully this signals a return to form. Over the years, even my prose has turned far more direct, sharp, bitter, and all that is left of the humour, biting. Meanwhile my head had become a bag of jelly, the mushy Aeroplane kind. If it is not aesthetics analysis, it refused to produce an opinion. A vessel of receptors waiting for that instant gratification, shameless contradictions of moral values, and self indulgence. Repetition, repetition, repetition, never letting the senses rest. Videos, sounds, music, movies, images, just don't let it stop, play several at once, I know everything backwards already but just don't let it stop, let my mind shut out any thought that needs to be dealt with, just don't let it stop. Relentless saturation of anything devoid of neurological nourishment. I reach out my hand for anything that is safe, old ideas, old conversations, old encouragements. It's an easy high, you ride it fast and it fizzles out, that's why you need the constant injection. Simulated emotions, play acting, anyone could do this, anyone could be me.
One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi... The constant frustration, over the past, the future, regrets, helplessness, my life, all collapsing on me in spasms tightening my entire body. My hands were clamped, my feet jerked the way they do when I come. I couldn't move or breathe, I could only laugh because suddenly I was not doing a Meisner exercise in class anymore, I was fucking my last two years of existence into the ground. Was I okay? Well I needed more than just a drink of fucking water that's for sure. I want a re-write.
But at least I author my own disaster
Back to the point I was making, I can feel flickerings of past excitements, before I became a shell of external gestures. It's an embarrassingly small shift, coming from the least likely of experiences, but it's hopeful. I can choose to nurture this into a healthy flame and try and steer it away from the madwoman in the attic territory, or just let it go because it would be nice to see the fire before the house burns down. This could mean more shockingly revealing blog posts that are basically romanticised graphic self portraits of wrist slitting. This could be embarrassing for everyone around me. I will try to use pseudonyms wherever possible, (past pseudonyms have included G, Sandwich boy, and Damian Assface. THIS COULD BE YOU!!) but basically anything that you have said, related, showed, or done to me is fair game. I will attempt to be as raw as my dwindling work ethic allows. This is merely a warning, I am giving everyone a week to front up and submit censorship applications. That being said, I change my mind so freaking much that by this time tomorrow I could be off this idea entirely. My Fuck-It Manifesto never took off, but this is an extension. Feel free to express your opinions below, whether on the facebook copy or the original blog.
theme music of this post: The Past Is A Grotesque Animal - Of Montreal
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