Jan. 23rd, 2006

oneirophrenia: (Girl I Like Bear 2)
Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] eolh for pointing me toward the newest Nada Surf album, The Weight is a Gift--mainly for the song "Concrete Bed," which describes me at the end of last year PERFECTLY:

The world's locked up in your head

You've been pouring in a concrete bed

Your habits ossified

You don't realize you're fried, so fried

To find someone you love

You gotta be someone you love

The reason's somewhere in the timber

It takes years till it sinks in

You've used up the easy streets,

And you lost your taste for treats

You're so fried

To find someone you love

You gotta be someone you love

Stay high if you have to

Do whatever it asks you

You got another calling

Don't let it pass you

You know it cause you wrote it

You just didnt think you'd actually do it

It's just another wish you wished in a very long list

To find someone you love

You gotta be someone you love

To find someone you love

You gotta call your own bluff

I called my own bluff the day I first went out with Kirsten. I can't exactly say I particularly love myself--what I am--but I'm satisfied with myself for probably the first time this milennium.
oneirophrenia: (Creegan)
I was at the Uniontown Mall with my mother and my dead grandmother. There was a convenience store or a 7-11 or something like that in the Mall, and we all went in to get beverages and assorted snacks, and my pseudo-ex Jessica was there. I did my best to avoid her, but she started talking to my mother and grandma like she knew them, and eventually I ran into her and had to talk to her. She was phenomenally nice and apologized almost nonstop for how shittily she'd treated me way back when, and then tried to get me to go out with her again. To my unutterable shame, I almost agreed...but then I took her out into the corridor and around a corner to sit on a bench and explain to her that there wasn't any way in fucking heaven and/or hell I'd go out with her again--and furthermore, I was walking with a cane, and I wanted to crack it over her fool head. But just as sat down, this guy dressed kind of like one of the Cyclos from Battlefield Earth came by and started shouting some kind of crazy shit into his cellphone. I had no idea what the hell he was saying, but suddenly we were surrounded by dudes dressed like Klingons and I realized the first guy was dressed as a Klingon to, and was speaking Klingon! They all were, because they were a bunch of hardcore Trekkies out for the day! They tried to talk to us in Klingon and acted all threatening, but I looked at them and said, "Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra!" That settled them down until Jessica said something like, "Tembo getting it up the ass" and we had to flee before the faux-Klingons killed us with their papier-mache battleths.

Then, mom and grandma and I were walking through the Mall and Jessica was tagging along...and somehow I got separated from them--which sucked, because I was scared shitless that Jessica was going to warp their minds with falsehoods and crazy tales. And then I noticed I was bare-ass naked. And didn't have my walking stick anymore, so I couldn't even beat anyone--if I wanted to administer necessary beatdowns, I would have to use my wang! (Seriously: this was my dream-logic.) But I got self-conscious--and cold--so I ran over to this weird hippie/occult store that seemed to sell various forms of clothing. I went in and asked the lady behind the counter, "I need clothes! What kind you got?" I tried on a prom dress and some kind of silly scarf, until I saw a bunch of "Christian wraps" in a pile by the counter. "What're these?" I asked...and it turned out they were something like ponchos, and something like sarapes. They were really comfortable and warm, though, and I picked an awesome black one that had a hood and a clump of golden-brown pheasant's tailfeathers on one shoulder.

As I donned it, I suddenly became aware that this was a dream and entered a solid lucid-dreaming state, where I managed to notice a wide range of elements that don't really bear repeating here, simply because they're very personal and it would take a thousand years to explain them all. The lucid state passed, though, and I left the store to look for my relatives and that damned girl in a really ritzy, swank store.

But then I became a cyborg space ninja and was chased through the store onto the roof and all around by an alien assassinoid that got pissed at me because I tried to steal an old bundle of papers for some reason. The battle was very similar to something you'd encounter in a video game, of course, and there were chickens involved at some point. I've no idea why. But it was cool, because I got to use a gun that looked like some kind of organic soldering iron but shot gigawatt beams of Pure Awesome(tm). The sad thing is, I scored four hits on the assassinoid and knew I had to hit him a fifth time to beat that level but I fucking woke up before I could get the high score.

Yes. This is how my brain works when I'm not holding the reins.
oneirophrenia: (Cylon 1)
Wow. Talk about the difference a year makes. I was just scrabbling through LJ entries from early last year (February and March, to be exact), looking for my story of the Spoon-Boy of Uniontown to revise for inclusion in the ongoing work of NONFICTION! Well, I found it, but not after digging through about a thousand fucking entries...most of which dealt, it seems, with relationship drama and bullshit. My. God. Was. I. Fucking. Stupid. Reading between the lines of the "OMFGWTBBQ Jessica is so awesome" spew I can easily see the blatant fact that I knew I was heading into trouble but just kept on rolling like a bull on the streets of Pamplona. Why? Desperation, folks. Sheer desperation.

Well...that experience burnt out all the desperation in me. It also taught me to trust my instincts and to just be aware of my issues--not to gloss them over and try to bury them so that they come back 10,000 times stronger. To just acknowledge they're present and fucking deal with 'em...which is what I spent the last five or six months doing. Like the Nada Surf song said, I was fried. And I'm still fried--but, goddamn it, at least now I know that I can work with being fried. It's not a permanent state. I'm covered in scars and wounds that still bleed sometime, but so fucking what? Who isn't? I'm no worse off than anyone else and that whole self-loathing racket is just flat-out gone. Of course, I'm still terrified of screwing up something good again, but that fear is pretty ordinary and common, and without that whole "I'm guaranteed to fuck this up because I'm useless" schitck rattling around in my head, it has no power.

I know exactly how I got to this point, too: by giving up. By just letting all that shit go. I owe [livejournal.com profile] siliconedreamer for the twenty trillion times he told me to do just that. I have an inordinately thick skull, and it takes some things years to sink through it....But that one finally did. Christ, how much effort I put into tearing myself apart last year was just amazing. Not to say I don't still suffer a bit from that, but it doesn't dominate my consciousness these days. Hell, most of the time, it's barely even there.

Funk dat!
oneirophrenia: (Hahaha)
OMFG, today's Alien Loves Predator episode is the funniest goddamned thing in the universe.

Read it to yourself imagining my voice for the alien's, and aRvin's for the Predator. Seriously.
oneirophrenia: (Contemplative Doctor)
It just never is.


oneirophrenia: (Default)

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