Sliding

I wonder about if I am a good person. If I do things that even though they don’t induce feelings of guilt or moral wrongness or sad, if the things that I have done make me a good person. It’s complicated.

The scale of good or bad is an incredibly personal one that changes from day to minute to hour to year. It is constantly in flux, depending on our feelings for that day it might be wholly changed from where it was just a few days ago even. Events that normally would be shouted down in the senate of my brain suddenly stand their grounds, their arguments are suddenly more enlightened, more profound than previously thought. The rate at which the arguments begin to sound reasonable, sound adds to the terrifying mess that occurs later on.

After this apex, the climax of bad decision making (though it isn’t necessarily bad but rather emotional and knee jerk) when the cards have fallen, when the chips fall in their respective places that the question of am I good person makes it’s first appearance.

The question, unlike others in it’s family (What have I done, who is this, why do I have that road sign) is insidious in it’s approach. It approaches innocently enough, normally when you’re feeling well enough. You’re feeling hopeful, strong, like everything is amazing and awesome then it inches into your cortex. It begins to steep, slowly turning those feelings into traitors.

After it has infiltrated enough, it then turns to gaze at you, staring down into your soul. Am I good person, it asks quizzically, eye brow raised slightly bemused. I couldn’t quite tell if it has a serpentine voice or one schooled by corporate public relations coaches.

I am a good person, I say back. In my minds eye I am standing there, in a steam punk sky pirate apparel with a rapier held out. This is who I am, when I need to have fights with myself I arm myself up. I make myself into the person I would love to be, that I am slowly turning myself into since my mind and the insidious question can take whatever form they wish.

I am a good person because I am trying to better myself, that I am constantly evolving to be the best that I can be. I know where my boundaries are, that I don’t give in or turn a blind eye to things that I find or feel are wrong. I uphold my own sense of right and wrong, while aided by what society deems is morally right or wrong while seeing the blind spots within it.

It’s just a little complicated sometimes. And that’s where we find out who we are, in the complications.

À bien tôt!

Zed

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Of far away places and half told lies

When it rains I am an intensely happy creature. I can feel the rain waiting to escape the clouds, the cloud bloated with raindrops large and dark, cool breezes running past you whispering the rain is coming, the rain is near. The water droplets come to replenish the parched earth, fill water tables, feed vegetation, symbolically wash away all of the dirty, terrible that has come to coat you. Raindrops absolve me or at least aid in the process of the absolution.

Redemption is a strange concept to some people. Do you need to believe in a deity, a spiritual force or something bigger than yourself in order for the concept of being redeemed to work? Do you have to believe that somewhere, somehow deep within yourself there is something worth saving?-Maybe. Is redemption something limited to those who believe in some kind of supernatural force, no, not at all. That’s what I believe. There are things within us that could save us, if we wanted to or allowed them to save us.

But from what?-Or who? What does absolution and redemption have to do with anything?

Everything.

Everything.

I re examine my life, the choices I’ve made up to this point in time at least a few times a year. I go back over the good, the terrible, the now terribly hilarious in the worst kind of way but was originally world destroying, and the mediocre. I look at the places where I might not have been true to myself, that my sense of self was wearing thin or altogether gone. I shine the light on the parts where I am so myself, that I was so sure of myself that now in the present I still get a shiver down my spine and want to fist pump myself to go : yes you are awesome, fantastic and your own person. Fuck yeah. The complete opposite of that is when I have done things that make me cringe even though I’ve had time to smooth over the edges, to rationalize why I made x decision.

I am afraid that my life will be defined by those moments.  Those moments where I was dishonest with myself, dishonest with the people I was around, dishonest with my life. I am afraid that I will choose something that might not be what I want because it’s expected of me or because it’s what I am supposed to do. Without a doubt, without any sort of posturing or lying it is something that I need to work on more. I need to be more truthful to myself.

You see this is my absolution and my redemption. I am worthy of being able to accept redemption, of being able to grant it to myself. I don’t need someone else to tell me that I’m worthy of being a save able human being. I don’t need or want or require or long for someone else’s “gift” of salvation. I am an intensely independent creature. I do not like it when  someone tries to gift me with that. For some strange reason it makes me feel like they are trying to reduce me, trying to make me less than what I am and shove me into a box that they’ve picked out for me. Yes the box may be pretty but I sure as hell didn’t pick it. Or in most cases consent to it.

My absolution lies in the fact of how I treat people leaves me wanting to be better. To do more. I sometimes do not treat people in the manner they deserve to be treated in. It really varies. Some people get more lee way through the fact that I feel sorry for them, or I feel like I should let them get away with more simply because they’ve worn down some of my defenses. They’ve been tenacious, they refuse to let go or budge, they try to buy me, try to offer the salvation they so want to grant me. They want me to become their creature.They want my autonomy.

And so we come back to the beginning of the circle. Of why I need to give myself redemption, absolution. I can’t be torn in two different directions all of the time. I don’t need to feel like I can just shelf myself or put myself on the back burner because someone who offers “salvation” wants me to behave in a certain manner. It exist in a certain manner. It is no good.

I shouldn’t have to be someone else. I shouldn’t have to feel as though I owe you more than what I’m willing to give because you keep thrusting salvation at me. I shouldn’t have to explain why I am angry when you say or do things that so obviously annoy me, that bother me or just explain you know I’m joking or don’t really believe that. No. No. No. If you have to qualify whatever you’re trying  to say with that, then no. I really don’t have the time, patience or want to be around you.

There are better things that I could spend doing with my time. There are more interesting things I could be learning, that I could be doing instead of being annoyed by you or trolled by you or feeling that my emotions are just things that could be bought.

I am not for sale.

I don’t know how many other times I’ll have to shout it at the world but I am not for sale. Not now, not in the past, not  in the future. It induces feelings of rage when you say that you’re such a nice guy because really you’re not. You make me feel like somehow I’m the fuck up when you sir are a despicable human being.

This is why I grant myself absolution. I can’t carry this any longer. The only person I am responsible for is myself. I do not require another liar ship to be complete as a human being. I just require being true to myself.

Ideally, for the next few months this will carry me into being a better human being. I am changing like always. I need to be myself. I need to be truthful to myself.

À bein tôt

Zed

Ghosts

When I listen to happy hardcore I am reminded of you. When I listen to Zeromancer, another ghost of lover’s past comes to greet me, remind me of my transgressions then when Rush comes to the party I’m left questioning why I didn’t leave you sooner. Metallic brings me a hollow empty disappointed feeling, why did I ever care enough about you to think that I was special, that you were a decent human being.

And then it comes to me in a screamo cover of Eminem’s “Love the Way You Lie”. It’s because I loved all you despite all of the lies we lived in, loved in. Loving me is extremely difficult, it’s not a walk in the park, there is nothing idyllic about it.

It’s manic, full of passion, feeling, anger, fire. There’s nothing in the middle, it’s either all in or out. It’s something that I’ve figured out about myself, that I really do lack a middle ground. I am the hard guitar riff from a three chord punk song. I am that metal song that is so complicated musically, that gets lost in it and it’s sequences that people call it pretentious. Nobody can really agree what makes it more awesome than pretentious but they all agree it is something neat. Something special.

I am hard to love. It’s true.

I’m going to marry the dark.

À bein tôt!

Zed

 

Say your name, try to speak as clearly as you can.

I’ve been feeling kinda sore lately. Almost as if my spine is being compressed while I’m awake, while I’m moving and walking. It’s been cold lately, so maybe the lack of activity could be it. In fact I’m almost certain of it.

I don’t walk as much here as I did before. It’s been cold and I’ve just escaped out of a slump recently. So yeah. I’m pretty sure that lack of any kind of activity is it. On the plus side I’m thinking about trying out yoga. I would like to be more flexible. And I do like stretching a lot.

Other than that I’ve just been doing some thinking recently. About where I want to go. About who I am and people I associate with. I’ve been thinking about how I really love my minor. Like. I love it. I am so happy with it. I’m rethinking about the potential move to being an English major. I love english. I’m good at. I just have some reservations about it. The 4th year course about intersectionality is fucking brilliant and caught my eye for wanting to change majors. I mean I would be happy being an History major, it’s something that I would enjoy. It’s just.

I don’t know. I see the practical sides for picking english over history and history over english.

I am confident in my decision to take summer classes. It helps pick up the pieces that I dropped last semester. I want to finish my degree so that I can either get a job where I don’t feel like it’s below what I should be doing, given my qualifications or go onto grad school. Those are the two choices I am looking at right now, that’s about it. So what if my degree isn’t as marketable as being a rig pig or working in an industry, at least I could get a foothold in a career or career experience in something that I will not hate.

So I’m not who I used to be anymore. Not at all. I don’t drink as much, I’ve developed better coping mechanisms, better ideas of self worth and how I am valuable. I’ve gotten better since then. I’m always changing too. If anything I am not static, I am constantly reviewing, re tweeking, re caliberating how I work, what I think, who I am. It’s just been.

I am pretty sure that I will not ever be anyone’s ideal friendly person. I won’t be that warm fuzzy greeter who’s super loud or that super right off the bat trusting person. I don’t believe in rewarding people when they say look at this misery that has happened to me, revel in how fucked up I am and tell me I’m doing a good job in joining the community. I will not be that person.

Simply put I will not be that person. I will not be measured or admitted or have my worth as “friendly” in the community decided upon by how much I share of my own person hells. Or indecisions or bad life choices. I don’t think that people should be rewarded for poor choices ( by my defintion) however I respect their rights and abilities to make those poor choices. In fact it is an incredibly important facet to me,that in our society we have the right to make whatever choices we want regardless of how many people may disagree or frown upon them (granted they don’t hurt somebody living or are terribly illegal). Yes I have shared some of my own person hells and I wish I hadn’t.

I wish I had dealt with things less publicly and that I had stuck to trusting friends that I’ve known for years. Now some people feel as if they can judge me, de value me in their eyes based on the decisions that I have made.

I guess it should come as a relief to me though. If they are willing to give me less respect based upon an inability of theirs to honor and respect a choice I made, then they wouldn’t have made a good friend. They can be an aquaintence but if you’re willing to throw away a respect for me over that issue then no.

So. Yeah. That’s what I’ve been thinking of between writing summaries, skeletons of essays and learning about wind. In between figuring out if Antigone is an accurate represention of Greek women during that period or if I’m odd for being able to draw out circuits better than other people who are also just learning.

I am complicated, I am dark, I’m not all rainbows or kitties. I’m wonderful in the way that Lunar Park is wonderful, in the way that Fear of a Blank Planet speaks of isolation, in the way that as soon as you hear the power chord intro to “Don’t Stop Believing” you just want to belt it out regardless of where you are or if you can sing. I am a thousand amazing kisses and nine hundred paper cuts. I want more people to realize that. That I’m not always angry, that my anger is born out many things concerned with privellege, human rights, gender, sexism, class, money, and that it does not make me crazy for feeling strongly about the things I do. I do not always expect people to agree with me, I do expect you to enter a dialouge though about where each of us stand and why.

I am amazing in the way that french transforms phrases into something more, like the spirit of the staircase. I am a lot of things.

And I hope, dear reader ( if there is one) you are too.

À bientôt

❤ Zed

Snow flakes and neurosis

It’s a snowy afternoon here, it is much warmer than it had been earlier this week and it is a little more calm. I finished up with the workshop I went to because of how bad my GPA last semester was. As a workshop it was nice. It was a lot better than many of the workshops I’ve had to go / take part of in the last year.

It gave me time to think, to re evaluate. I like writing, I like english however something one of my friend’s said yesterday is kinda digging at me. She said that she had to give up English as a major, had to accept writing as a pipe dream because she has a child and needs to have a career after her undergrad. She’s majoring in psych so far.

It came off as very defeatist to me.

I don’t like defeatist things. There is a limit on how hard you should try for something and lines where defeat is acceptable however to me it should not be accepted right off the bat. It’s counter productive, it doesn’t help anything when you’ve already determined that you’re going to lose at something, that no matter how much you may want or believe in something that because you think you cannot do it, that it is futile any effort will be wasted. It bothers me more than it really should.

I dig in. I throw everything I can into the things I do, I run head long into the unknown sometimes. I jump before looking and I know that somehow I will land on my feet. That I am strong ,maybe a bit more lucky, enough to make my own luck and survive no matter what. So I have faith in my convictions, I have belief in what I believe to be right and what ideals I adhere to. I know that I am hard to deal with, that I am full of sharp edges and things that many people may not agree with. I know that I am complicated, that I am incredibly lucky and that many people would not to chose to go through life like how I have.

I know these things.

It still bothers me though. It’s almost like it’s a personal attack on me when people are incredibly defeatist, when they accept mediocricyinstead of wanting to be better. Do better, try harder, to change how they are perceived in the world and how their world is perceived by them. It shouldn’t but it does.

I am always, in the back of my mind, striving to be better. To be better at life, to be better at being myself and to someday be better off than I am now. It’s kind of self centered to say that I am the only who does this, I’m not. Lately it has just seemed that many people are fine to be trapped into a life where half assing it fine. Rewarded even and it grates at me.

I’m not perfect. I do not have the answers.

However I do know that I can only do the best that I can. And at the end of the day, it’s something that I have to accept.

I am so rant-y in this.

I’ll write again soon!

À bientôt!

Zed

Greetings again!

I love this video so much right now. It puts into feelings, exposes better than I could. 

I’ve been putting off writing here for awhile. For a long time I just didn’t feel like it, like it wouldn’t make any kind of difference one way or another. Only, it does make a difference. I get better at typing out my thoughts, my ideas and in that I re examine why I believe those things. And how.

I believe that there are different ways to experience things. Which is kinda neat. I don’t think that this blog will ever get a larger readership; however it might have some people who check in from time to time. Maybe I’ll get much better at writing, at typing, at explaining and examining things and people will want to read it. Who knows.

I am hard to get a hold. I am slippery. I make plans and then sometimes social anxiety gets to me. It sucks but sometimes being surrounded by people is a frightening thing. Or the way in which I am dressed suddenly becomes reprehensible; how could I possibly imagine that this would be a good idea to wear. My confidence is fleeting at times. I do like socializing with some people, that’s the crux of all this. There are some people whom I would rather not socialize with though and the way/shape/form I socialize is odd.

I suck at picking up on body language. I know when something is wrong, sometimes with body language but still. It can be awkward when people crack a joke, when it’s encoded within sarcasm or black humor and I get part of it but still. People with body language is odd. Like I can pick up when people are happy and I’m doing what they want, it’s still odd.

I guess it’s like learning another language.

So this semester, along with getting a better GPA I am going to grow some confidence. That doesn’t try to flee at odd moments. What I do know and when I do get things, I get them. I’m that person sitting in the classroom who’s bored out of their skull when they understand what they’re doing, giving more complex answers than what’s warranted and that generally stops any kind of conversation or is so far outside the realm of conversation it’s kind of stupid. I am that person. The idiot savant. You would think that I’d be more self confident more of the time but it’s odd.

Anyways I’ve rambled quite a bit.

À bientôt!

I promise to write sooner again!

Zed ❤

Thirteen

Suddenly I see. I see how you see things, how you feel things and a deep sense of despair washes over me.

I am a fool. I am a fool for taking you back the first time and I am foolish for offering you something this time. I am more than foolish, I am somewhat self destructive you could say.

You destroy me.

Utterly. With a single glance, a word not spoken, a text message unanswered and by reminding me not so gently that I am wrong. Or that I have something wrong with me, namely this feeling I have towards you.

I want so badly to get what I want, to have you take some of my terms. Then I will still have you. I will have a warm body to sleep next to, to cuddle, to taste and to play with. I will have an entity that I am acquainted with but I still have more to learn about.

I will have part of my home restored.

Only I see what you see now. I see what I have been thrown into and it hurts. It claws at my soul, I shake when I see that someone has become much more important than me. And you’re letting them. You love it. You have become their pet and I am just this fool, this idiot who believes that maybe just maybe something can be salvaged.

That my heart won’t go through the blender again. Like it has been.

That somehow you will suddenly feel how I do for you and you will want this.

Only you won’t. Because you don’t feel that way at all.

I don’t know why I am clinging on. I should just let go. I should cut and run, I should run you out of my home and my life. I should not be crying as much as I do and I should not be ripping apart on the inside.

Hope is a great thing, however, it kills.

You cannot live on hope when you have facts, when you have feelings and just blatant statements that point to the decision not in favor of hope. Hope is a liar and whispers if you just hold out a little longer things will be okay. Things will work out how you want them to and then you will be happy.

It doesn’t work that way.  I am old enough to know that it doesn’t work that.

What happens is that you cling onto hope so hard that when it doesn’t turn out how you thought, when it’s not okay, you crash so hard dying seems like a fantastic option. That everything is grey, food has no taste and who needs to take care of themselves? A shower just becomes a place where you can be purged of the feelings of hopelessness through burning water and where snot doesn’t get stuck. You can breathe and be crying at the same time.

I see what you see. I get it. My hope is dying.

My dream is dying, it’s dying to the applause of me trying to be a good person, trying to support you as much as I can and being torn apart by myself with a side kick of you. I get it.

I get it.

I am not the person you want at all.

And it fucking kills me. Along with hope.

À bientôt