Friday, December 12, 2008

[Chapter 4] Envy.

Perspective construes reality. It is an inevitable force that is unable to be faltered. Each passing moment of each passing day of each passing year, each changes the course of my future, the course of your future, and the course of our future as we adjust to accommodate to its obstinate errand. It has the propensity to force us all to qualify our life decisions at will.


Here I am.

Here I am, I’m leaning. I’m leaning over the same old counter, in the same old house, unable to stand upon my same old feet.

I’m staring absently into this cracked old mirror. I wonder how this mirror came to be cracked. I’m sure it did nothing to deserve such a morbid penance. Some asshole like me indubitably threw his fist in a fit of rage as he helplessly watched his reflection mock him from the other side. Mocking him for being such a failure. Mocking him for his loneliness.

The grass really must be greener.

My hands hurt. My palms on both of my hands hurt. The sharp edge of this cheap plastic laminate digs deep into my skin, but in a way it feels good. It feels good to feel. After all, emptiness succumbs to pain.

This has all become so visceral.

Two days ago my best friend of my distant youth had a baby. He had a beautiful baby girl. He had a beautiful baby girl with a beautiful Mrs. Best-Friend-to-be.

He’s always held it together.
He’s always kept his cool.
He’s always been the man that I’ve longed to be.

Lover at 22. Father at 23.

I don’t want a child. In fact I’d be willing to endorse Trojan right here in my own little blogging world, as long as they threw me some advertising dollars; or some free condoms.

I’m not fit to be a father. At 23 I’m not fit to take care of anyone. At 23, I’m not fit to take care of myself.

I don’t want a baby. I’m still not sure if I want to deal with the encumbrance of a romantic relationship.

I’m lonely. I’m lonely and my best friend just had a baby.

It’d be easier for me to host a conference on chaos theory for a group of physicists than it would be to wrap my head around fathering another human life.

I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know how he stays so calm. I don’t know how his demeanor is so confident and his swagger so cool.

Everyone loves him. I wish everyone loved me. I wish someone loved me.


My perspective changes every day. My perspective on life changes every day. My perspective on love, it changes every day. My perspective of my body, my perspective of my body changes. I am a self-loathing narcissist. I can look at myself in the mirror and wish that my abs were harder, my penis was bigger, and my face, well I can wish that my face wasn’t my own. I can also look in the mirror and think I’m the sexiest man alive. I can change my hair, throw on some new clothes and I can think, I can know, that a new piece of ass will be waiting for me at the door.

My perspective changes.

I love blogging. I love microblogging. I love social media. I love social media because of its boundless efficacy.

@Carolyn helped change my perspective. As quoted in the comment section of [Chapter 3] Muse from Objectivity is Dead:
“So, T, what is it that you're looking for that you are so firmly convinced you will never find? Methinks you may be a ‘petrarchan lover’…

…Or, is it merely that your standards are so unjust that no human could ever fill this void you lug around?

Perhaps a bit of both?

Don't take yourself (or life) so seriously…”
It’s like taking punches and not being able to say stop. All I need to do is say stop and the pain goes away. All I need to do is say stop. I can’t say stop. Does this feel good? Does it feel good to feel?

Oh my God. I am a masochist.

My standards are smothering me. My back aches from lugging this burden around. No one will ever be good enough for you. I’ll never have a chance with her. Don’t let yourself get close to her. I can’t hurt her again.

It’s the chase. I’ve figured it out! It’s the chase that I love. My mind is a paradox. I don’t want to be lonely, but I know once I break down her wall of subconscious I won’t want a fucking thing to do with her. It’s a dangerous game I play. I can’t have what I don’t want, and I don’t want what I can’t have.

I’m fucked in the head. Don’t try to convince me otherwise. Either we’re all fucked, or I’m the only one. There is no happy medium. There is no common ground. There is no shade of grey.


Here I am.
I’m staring at the same old mirror.
This mirror is cracked, and his hands are bleeding.

It hurts.

“There is no life without love, none worth having anyway.” -Hank Moody, Californication

Trey -AKA- The Mad Wordsmith