Home > thoughts > let’s go into the other room and make it work.

let’s go into the other room and make it work.

There are a couple of things I intend to say in this post, but I don’t know if I’ll manage to say them how I want to say them. Right now everything’s really just a whole load of jumbled, confused thoughts and sentences without any sort of coherent structure. Of course, I get the feeling that someone else would just shit it all out, but me? Well…

What I am is just too fucking hard on myself. I have this nagging feeling that if my musical, literary and other creative work was actually someone else’s, I’d really like them. But since they’re mine, well…


It’s not like I want perfection. It’s not like I want to sound like Drumcorps, it’s not like I want to write like Ken Bruen, it’s not like I want to take photos like, eh… nevermind. But I’m just never really satisfied by my own work. People like it, they do. Just not me. Of course, it’s all fine and dandy if I was the type of person that constantly challenged himself and tried to put himself in uncomfortable, unfamiliar positions to see what he could come up with.

But I’m not. Far from it.

I hardly ever try and challenge myself. I’m content to plow the same old boring fields without regard to whether the soil is fertile or not.

I have some dreams, but to me they’re always just too fantastic to be acted upon. Of course, there’s a large possiblity that they aren’t, knowing me and my ways. But then again…

When I read about how some people invest all their emotion into writing or music it just mystifies me. I guess I can understand why, but I just don’t see how. My music and writing has always been very, very, very detached from myself. I’ve never been able to express any sort of emotion in any of my creative output (except for anger, and even then I have a feeling it just came out as trite, angsty teenage bullshit). And, even if I somehow manage to sound angry, it’s probably just due to the distortion and 200+ bpm tempos.

Perhaps it’s just because of how fucking apprehensive I naturally am.

It’s like… routine. Open up FL, lay down a beat, mess around with synths, add some more patterns, repeat ad nauseam. I feel so very detached from the whole creative process, like I’m doing it because I need to, instead of because I want to.

And, perhaps I do need to, because I’m bored most of the time.

And lonely.

I don’t really have any friends. It’s kinda fun being a loner, yes, but the simple fact is that I had real close friends, and now, well… none in sight. The people I’ve gotten to know here are just too… different. Sure, I can hang out and whatnot, but if given a choice between doing things alone and doing them with friends, I’ll nearly always choose the former. I don’t seem to know anyone who really shares my interests, which really just sucks. There are things I want to do, things I dream of doing, that need a team effort (mainly because I am so FUCKING HORRIBLE at anything that invovles real-world skills like, uh… well… anything aside from the creative side of things), but since I don’t know anyone that’d be into that shit, I guess I’m shit outta luck.

Even in my (currently dormant) punk/hardcore band I’m not happy. I thought I’d like it, and I did… for a while. The fact is I’m just never satisfied playing standard, typical stuff. Sure, it’s a rush, but after a couple of practice sessions I just get… bored.

Right now I’m on a Bolt Thrower kick. I’m sure that if I find myself playing Bolt Thrower songs in a band, I’ll get bored sooner than I can say “where next to conquer?”

This shit really hasn’t helped much. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know how.

I got the idea in my head of involving myself in more stuff, getting out more, getting to know people, shit like that. It seemed interesting for a while. Then I started doubting myself, the usual feelings of apprehension coming over me like a tidal wave. I’d probably enjoy that shit, but I just… don’t want to. I don’t like being forced into situations I don’t like. I don’t like… people. Especially if it involves learning shit like art or whatever. The first thing I usually think of is “how the fuck do I avoid embarassing myself?”

Simple, really. Either do nothing at all (which is what I do in most of my classes) or don’t even bother to show up.

Sometimes I go for the latter. Maybe I’ll go for a teh tarik at a restaurant instead. Much more fun. And tasty.

Perhaps I like being depressed and angsty. Certainly it reminds me that I’m fucking alive and shit. It helps me feel. It’s like a hand endlessly pinching me to remind myself that I’m not in some fucking dream world or some shit like that.

Really, what’s the use in writing all of this shit when it makes me feel even more unsatisfied because I just couldn’t… articulate things well enough for my liking?


Fuck this shit, man. I need to do something about this.

But what?

It’s like an Agatha Christie whodunnit, except without a satisfying resolution anywhere in fucking sight.

Haha, this hasn’t helped one bit.

What is this, the third time I typed that?

Holy fuck.

Not only am I perpetually depressed and unhappy, but I am also prone to fits of nervousness and tension that manifest themselves as a complete inability to sit still, a desire to smash everything in sight, endless leg-twitching and generally just my simulation of a quivering, slobbering, twitching nervous fucking wreck.



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