Saturday, June 27, 2009

What Would You Like to Talk About?

Friday, 30th May 2008

I'd like to talk about books and the way they make me feel. The way Tuesdays With Morrie made me feel, the way I cried at the end because it was beautiful and it made me think about everything. The way I cried after reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower and the way I felt lonely when I finished Life of Pi. The way some of the books I read might be overrated but I still adore them. They really do mean something to me. The way I almost obsessively locate similarities between me and the protagonists of the books I read. The way that there usually are similarities, but also very big differences. I can't comprehend differences. I never really feel like a different person. I accept and know and can see that everyone I know is different, not one of them is alike in more than one or two ways. As for me, I'm a carbon copy of one of them, all of them. Funny the way the head works.

I want to talk about the head, and the way it works. I want to make up new metaphors and talk to someone about them, without sounding like I'm repeating myself or am full of shite. I want someone to think as much as I do, genuinely. And to tell me what they think. But not be angry. Some people really do have a lot of anger swirling around their veins. I have annoyance, but not anger. I know one girl, and if someone looks at her funny, she'll seethe for the rest of the day. Maybe it's because I have a bad memory that those kinds of grudges don't hold with me. You know what I'm really scared of? That they do and I just don't notice. That other people notice and read this and go, 'She really is full of shite...' I am really scared of not knowing things. I think a lot in order to be aware of as much as possible. Sort of like, it doesn't matter what you say about me, because I've already thought it about myself. And I have. That's why I'm scared of people thinking things about these blogs, things I haven't. There's little you could think that hasn't already occurred to me. I think I'm full of shite too, you know.

I want to talk about relationships and how amazingly strenuous they are. Silly institutions for sixteen year olds to be in, if you ask me. When it comes to the brink, where you are hanging on for nothing... What is the point? You're young. And I'm only speaking from experience, honestly. So much heartache and headache and for what exactly? Love? Hardly. 'People accept the love they think they deserve'. I feel pretentious quoting that. But it is true. And I am speaking from experience. I'm saying it neutrally, too, you know. I'm not bitter. Not at all. I get sad sometimes. Mostly thinking of a phenomenal waste of time. But I'm not bitter. There's no point at all. I'm far too forgetful to hold grudges... It puts things into perspective to think about married couples, grown ups who have been together for years and are happy at present. I know it's all relative anyway. But thinking about all the ups and downs in a sixteen-year-old's eight month relationship ... just, what's the point at all? I suppose it's all training for when you're ready to be with someone for ever and create and procreate. But really. I don't know. I find it hard to get my head around ... Some people's fights are really fucking stupid, that's all.

Also, I want to talk about life. 'All say, 'How hard it is that we have to die' - a strange complaint to come from the mouths of those who have had to live'. And Mark Twain said that. Usually, the Marks of the world are the clever ones. The people with something in their heads and their hearts that really means something and really will change things. That's really very important.

I want to talk about priorities and the way I simply can't alter mine. And there are so very few. I don't want to talk about my priorities because they really are very private and very personal. I'm not very good at sticking to them. I'm not very good at anything, come to think of it. In fact, every good thing that I do seems like a complete fluke. And flukes are difficult to keep going. Which is why I fuck things up so beautifully. I really don't mean to, you should know.

I want to talk about emotion and the way it's the only thing I really understand. The way music and books conjure up these images and stories and little films in my head and they turn and twist and become real life in my head. Which isn't psychosis. I'm just very sensitive to those kinds of things, especially books. It's really odd, I find, that a decision seems like a Good Decision at the time, and you mull it over for such a long time. But as soon as it's over, as soon as it's come to pass, you still think everything's okay and it really was a Good Decision, the aftermath hits you. Suddenly, it really wasn't a Good Decision. It was a really Ill-Informed and Silly Decision. You really never can tell until it's done and filed away. But then you're hit with a boatload of emotion. A Lucky Bag of emotion. You won't have anticipated it but suddenly shame, worry and a small bit of depression are raining down on you from some malign being on a perpetual Cloud Over Your Head™, some entity who's laughing at your naivety. Not God. Of course not God. Something's that in your head, above your head. That's not psychosis either; I just use strange analogies sometimes.

I want to talk about God. Sometimes he's there, working small miracles on my life. Other times, he's somewhere else, looking after someone else. I really do believe in God. And I think He does His best. My concept of God isn't very detailed, it doesn't need to be. Don't ask me what God is, if He's all-powerful. Don't ask me why there's so much suffering in the world. Don't ask me what happens when you die. I don't know. I really don't know. I kind of think of God as a friend lookin' out for me. To be honest, that's enough right now. Ya can't really ask much more than that, can you?

I want to talk about miniature disasters. Things that happen on the other side of the world are important to me but I can't think about them for long without feeling the intense need to be sick. Maybe I'm just being selfish but sometimes I have about enough to contend with in my own small part of the world. Because whatever about global catastrophes, everybody experiences their own disaster every now and again. And ya might feel guilty or selfish to admit it when there's so much pain on a much bigger scale elsewhere but I think you should just feel how you feel and let that be it. Because your disaster is still a disaster, even if only for you. And it's all relative anyway. I understand when people talk about the Great Scheme of Things. I'm a great believer in the Great Scheme of Things. You're only one small part of a really big picture but I don't think that means that your woes and worries and triumphs amount to nothing. If they didn't, what would be the point at all? I think a lot about 'the point'. I assume other people do too. Sometimes I just don't see it. In anything. Sometimes I spend weeks searching for it, zero returns. Other times it's plain as day. It's like a Where's Waldo? book.

It really is all relative. But sometimes there's no one to talk about relativity with because everyone's busy getting on with their lives, trying to cope with their miniature disasters. I don't know. I really don't. I won't pretend I know because, as ever, I am flamboyantly bewildered. I have no delusions of wisdom or knowledge, don't worry; this is just what I think.