Writing Monster (Blogheara)

Hello friends,

I am concerned. I am concerned because there has been an almost criminal dearth of comments on my most recent updates to KMB, and honestly readers...this hurts me where my heart is.

I think it may be psychological for you cats. Apparently the entry Night Writing made people too sad. I find this strange, seeing as there have been countless similarly disheartening dissertations on my still difficult to discern emotions. Maybe we just reached a critical mass, like it was all too much for my beloved readers. The omni-present bitching, regardless of how poignantly expressed, overwhelmed everyone's sympathy receptors.

The fact that I could potentially be writing to empty air, that no one might read this for months is, in a way, liberating. (also lonely). I could say whatever I cared and damn the consequences. This is usually the attitude I have when writing, but occasionally, i will refrain from being too eviscerating in the name of good taste and common empathy.

I am one of the angriest people I know, but no one is ever directly affronted by my rage. I like to spread it out, mail little packages to neutral parties, so that eventually only a shadow is left. But the shadow is just as dangerous. It colors my perception, influences my interaction, casts a pall on every sentence i speak, type, or text. I don't know why this is. I like to pretend it's out of sincere motives. That I don't confront people I care about because I don't want to risk losing that camaraderie. And I realize that's probably disingenuous and being a crappy friend, but maybe i'm just that caring. Or maybe I don't care enough. Or maybe I'm just a wiener.

I don't know team. I'm used to using my Magic as a sort of outlet. A way to express myself with thinly veiled messages.

And for the past year almost every message has been directed at one person.

But i want that to change.

I'm tired of trying to please this one person, I'm tired of this, as Jordan so eloquently put, "Fight Club type situation," defining me and defining how i see myself. I'm tired of trying to insert myself in someone else' story.

I think I turned a corner the other day. I think I may have, if not resolved, at least articulated how I feel and how I want to change.

But I'm turning a corner like a firetruck. I can't do it alone, and i'm worried, i'm downright scared that if the driver in the back doesn't help me get around this corner; then maybe history is doomed to repeat.

But this person, this passive aggressive little coward is not who I feel like I am. I'm an angry son of a gun, I'm like Bill Hicks, without the addictions. (Also I'm funny). (TAKE THAT BILL HICK'S ESTATE).

So now i'm apprehensive to be all up on front street in the Magic Blog, maybe it's time I started behaving like a man.

A few months ago, I wrote an entry called Checkmate. It was good.

When I wrote this, I listened to La La Lie on repeat, it took twenty-two listens. All I could think was "Guess what? I'm done."

I realize that maybe that wasn't the way I should do things. Maybe there's no such thing as all or nothing; maybe i shouldn't focus on one relationship so relentlessly. Maybe I should find fulfillment in something else, rather than this imaginary wonderland i've convinced myself would make my life ever so grand.

Maybe it's a process, maybe it's gradual, maybe hours of dialogue and honesty aren't enough. Maybe every problem can't be solved by slight of tongue. Maybe sometimes it just takes time?

I don't like things that take time readers. I don't especially like things that take action either. I pretty much just like to hear myself talk. I also like to overthink. I think the overthinking is what does me in. I analyze everything so much and I expect others to do the same, to devote a lot of time to hypothetical pursuits, when in reality they have much more productive and probably healthy things to spend their lonely times doing. So when that time comes, when i'm free to pontificate; it comes out in a rush thoughts upon thoughts upon thoughts, a tower of babble, if you will. And after i have flushed my brain, I expect the other person to feel this same sense of relief, to see it as this wonderfully cathartic experience. Maybe they don't see it as that, maybe it's just a step in the right direction, not the destination. (Dinosaur Comics has made me realize that we need new metaphors world, i'm tired of everthing being about traveling or playing sports).

This is where I err. People are not all me. Things take time. I think I'm ready to take time, I think I'm ready to spread myself out. I think I'm ready to find genuine fulfillment.

I think maybe my love letter ends here. This is the conclusion of the pages and pages, and maybe it's better that way.

Or maybe it's just the first step.

I love you readers, even if you're just me.

Song Lyrics (THEY MEAN SO MUCH!)

hello bloggersphere.


(I'll be the grapes fermented bottled and served with a table set in my finest suit like a perfect gentleman).

I decided to write tonight because I am a little bored and I took a rather extensive nap this afternoon and then drank a Red Bull to orient myself.

I think that I will forever enjoy that bubble-gummy tang of Red Bull, as I used to be known to chug a can at 6am before I went to work. This kept me sharp and focused when I was browsing the internet and looking disinterested.

I am done with my first year of college and now it's summertime.

When I was a younger man, full of both vim and varying amounts of vigor, I used to very much anticipate and romanticize this particular season.

I used to have a playlist devoted to songs about summer. It was pretty rad.

Selections include, "Summertime" by Mae, "Warmth of the Sand" by Dashboard Confessional, "Summer Skin" by Death Cab, &c.

Back before I realized I was lacking some attributes necessary to be a musician (sex appeal, talent) I wanted to name my first EP "Songs about Summer" (applying both to the season and Rachel Bilson, I was a big O.C. fan).

Now that I am a college student and blogger (futurely famous) summer is not so exciting. It's basically the same as the school year, except with more work and platonic fake-dates.

(Right now, I am listening to Ben Gibbard, courtesy of NPR: Live Concerts, I can see why Zooey would marry him, even though he looks vaguely like a giant baby) .

My brain is sleepy right now, I can't really focus on anything, facebook chat, ichat, and itunes are all distracting me from the Magic Blog. I like the color blue, it brings out my eyes.

So, as you all probably know from following me on twitter/reading it on perez hilton, I am moving to Austin in August to attend the University of Texas.

I will miss my friends but I'm sure there are all new adventures to be had five hundred miles away. (Perhaps Spike Jonze will make a movie about it?).

I don't have much to say about it yet. I haven't really hit the emotional impact stage of processing this change yet. It's all just facts and organizing, cars and bikes and beds.

Sometimes, I wonder why I wanted to leave, others I feel spectacularly certain.

I don't really feel sad. I've just kind of accepted it passively, in the back of my brain, I know that leaving the BFC will be tough, but that is how life operates.

I can only hope that by leaving, I will gain an exotic sexiness that I can then use to manipulate female friends from Lubbock into kissing me with tongue.

(Ben is covering Nirvana)

I don't know that I think as much as I did when I started KMB(NAM), I used to just kind of mull things over in my brain until I pulped them into e-ink that I could transfer to mr. blogger. Now I'm just running on instinct, taking things as they come robotically.

I kind of imagine that on days I work, it will be like this, it's the only way to endure eight hours of pretty boring desk managing, and maybe i'll be super intellectual on my days off. (We can only hope).

KMB has kind of deviated from its central purpose. Which was to be openly and sickeningly honest with the e-denizens of Lubbock and beyond (Colorado).

I don't know if it's better or not. But I suppose I will drop a little honesty on my e-friends.

This week I am going to see Voldemort for the first time in a long time. I am conflicted about this. Not in the Mean Girls, catty sense of betrayal way that used to accompany my encounters with her, but in ways that I can't phrase eloquently.

I am very excited and happy to see her, and I appreciate the turn our relationship has taken into what I feel is more genuine territory.

But I am worried. What if, (apologies to my beloved susie) I fuck it up?

I am worried that I will go all were-idiot, and fall into my old selfish ways, bring back the whole "If I can't date you I will be an insufferable prick" motif I had rocking for a while. I used to think it was interesting and dramatic, but have recently realized it wasn't very nice.

It's hard to explain how you appreciate people. Sometimes you just have to write about it on the internet and hope they read it and pick up the paragraphs between the lines that you don't know how to articulate. (e-ticulate?)

(Brand New Colony makes me want to be a better person, which used to be my justification for a lot of things, including, being a dick, ironic, in an alanis morissete kind of way).

But as for my arrangment with the dark lord. There's something that concerns me almost more than acting like an idiot (which is fairly inevitable).

And it's something that's been nagging at me. (I wanna be the fire escape that's bolted to the ancient brick where you can sit and contemplate your day).

What if I decide that it's not worth it.

It's no secret that I have devoted inordinate amounts of time and emotional energy to one person. And, what's bugging me is, I really don't want to exert that effort again.

What if, in the presence of this person that galvanized this adolescent fire in me, i realize that I don't want to try it again.

Who is done with love at twenty?

At the same time, as I'm rediscovering my teenage years with the advance of summer (rejuveniling) I'm kind of feeling that cheesy, self sacrificial itch that songwriters can sing about but sounds retarded coming from anyone else.

I kind of want to be that guy again. I need to find some girl to force my self-sacrificial nature on.

I want to be the platform shoes that undo what heredity has done to you so you won't have to strain to look into my eyes (not necessary, i'm average height).

I blame the music, stop making heartache so appealing.

(I'll be the water wings that save you if you start drowning in an open tap when your judgment's on the brink)

I've been listening to the same forty-five seconds of the same postal service song for the past hour.

I like it, if nothing else, it's familiar, and not so roboty.