inflictiondotorg

Friday August 23rd, 2002 - 04:15

I said something terrifically witty the other day.

I certainly don't remember what it was, but it was so witty that I literally stopped in my tracks and thought to myself, "Boy. Now that was witty."

I do this often. Talk to myself. I talk to other people, too, but for the most part they don't display any sign of really listening, so I mostly talk to myself. Or I pretend to talk to them when in actuality I'm talking in code to myself.

The best jokes are the ones that no one else but you get.

Or maybe the best jokes are the ones that no one else but you get, or so you think, and then someone - maybe that certain special someone - shows that they, in fact, got the joke as well, and my aren't you a witty individual?


I've been thinking a lot about special someones lately. Mostly because I'm a neurotic insomniac and really what else is there to do when you're in bed staring at the ceiling than think about people you loved, people you still do love, and people that maybe you'll love someday if they ever cancel the restraining order and go out to dinner with you.


A joke at the end of every paragraph will keep everyone laughing. For a long time.

Well, as long as there's paragraphs.

See, they can't laugh for ten minutes if there's only five minutes worth of paragraphs . . .


Aren't jokes just not funny at all when you have to explain them?

I know you have that one friend who just doesn't get half the shit you say and so you have to explain it to them, but about half-way through you're thinking to yourself that the joke just isn't even funny anymore because the timing is gone.

And timing.

Is.

Everything.


Speaking of timing. Why is it that I'm insane?

I guess that had nothing to do with timing at all, did it?

I feel almost *obligated* to write something. Not just here, but anywhere. I've been looking around the web and no one is writing anything anymore. There's maybe three people out of the typical fifty that I enjoy reading who are actually writing. And don't even get me started on the fucking livejournal thing. Jesus christ. I'm normally the guy who just plain avoids talking about whatever's "hot" this week or month or whatever, like if all the sudden some celebrity dies, you won't see me talking about it, but come the fuck on people. Everyone under the age of thirty sounds like a whiny, sniveling, eleven year old who didn't get his/her pony for their birthday on livejournal. And yes, this is a gross generalization, but I submit to you that I have not seen a single livejournal thing that didn't make me roll my eyes and say "oh come the fuck on" outloud. Literally. If I thought it would do any good at all, I'd fill a U-haul truck with petrol and drive it into their server farm. Except then U-haul would just somehow steal more of my fucking CDs and I've only got about three left at this point. Except for Steve's CDs. He left them here. But he comes back on Saturday, and so I assume he'll reclaim them.

Which helps me segue nicely into friendship. What the fuck is up with all you people these days? I swear to god there must be angeldust in the air during August. I don't know a single person, myself included, who isn't completely irrational and/or psychotic right now. I feel alienated from everyone I know. I feel like they're all imploding and I'm just sheilding my eyes and hoping there's enough leftover for all the kings horses and all the kings men to put them back together again.

James is still in Seattle, so he's no help. He calls and offers brief pieces of advice, but the thing I need the most is that person to laugh at the joke I just made, or even just look at me knowingly. Where's that connection? Steve is like that sometimes, and for that I value his friendship. But he's also marginally insane, so I wonder if he won't just pack his bags and wander off somewhere on a random day while I'm at work. Though I do respect that, certainly. Being marginally insane myself.

Or maybe a bit more than marginally.

Maybe those really big margins you use when you have to write a book report but you don't have enough shit to fill three or four pages like the teacher asked.

Not that I ever have an issue filling three or four pages with shit.

Nathan wants to set me up with some girl I've never met. There's this other girl I dated for less than a week who is becoming more of a handful everyday, and there's yet still other girls that I did or did not date who just keep making things increasingly bizarre.

If I didn't know any better I'd blame everything on women. But what does that solve? I should blame myself for lusting or loving the women. Goddamned emotions get in the way. I liked it better when I was in High School and more concerned with whatever the hell I was concerned with then. At least girls were nice, but not a neccesity. Now I feel like having a girlfriend is like having a bank account. Everyone else has one, and they certainly wouldn't know what to do without one. Except the girls, they have boybank accounts. Or something.

But everyone wants one. Everyone needs one. Everyone boasts about them and talks about how great they are, or how bad they are, but that seems to be all they talk about. What's so fucking awesome about bank accounts, anyway?

So now I'm under all this pressure. Should I go get one? Where do I find one? Why won't any of the bank accounts talk to me? Why am I using a bank account analogy?

What would Freud say about all of this?


Eric once said: "Freud never got to fuck his mother. If he did he wouldn't have been so goddamned neurotic."

I'm not sure of the validity of this statement (I didn't know Freud, so he very well may have fucked his mother), but it makes me wonder if maybe that's why I'm so neurotic.

Or maybe I'm so neurotic because I don't want to fuck my mother.

Or because I don't want to fuck everything that moves.

Every.

Ten.

Seconds.


See? It's all in the timing.

Seriously. I did that thing so long ago where I decided to not have sex for 30 days, and 90 days later I was certainly a bit insane, but I think that all in all it did me more good than harm. Everyone I know revolves their life around this sort of thing. All the time. Girls. Boys. Girls and Boys. Boys and Girls.

So am I so wacked because I don't think about it all the time? Because I *don't* want to have sex with every single girl I see?

Or am I so wacked because maybe I *do* want to have sex with every girl I see, but my brain is living in denial and telling the rest of my body that I don't?

And what's with Blockbuster Video, anyway? Shouldn't they maybe update their system so that if you owe one store money, you can't just go to a different store and rent videos? Because I'm positive that I owe the one in Quincy like thirty dollars, but I just rented a movie from the one on Mass Ave. You'd think with all the sophisticated technology we have these days that you'd fix that sort of thing.

Maybe it's all a scam. Maybe they do it so they can somehow, in some roundabout way, have sex with some boy or girl.


Because that's what this is all about, isn't it?


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