Thoughts of a Lunatic, and Other Things.

Of being sad.

Of being tired.

Of being down.

Of being defeated.

Time to change things up. 

Not the 17th. Goddamn it. 

52.14 Weeks

365 Days

8760 Hours

525,600 Minutes

3.154 E7 Seconds

Not enough time to say what I feel. 

I can’t help but think about that image from Majora’s Mask “It is the Dawn of the Third Day” this morning.

Anywho, to the point. 

Is it so bad to believe that we are all on the inside a certain degree of sad at all times? Even when we think we have found the person with who we want to spend the rest of our lives with, do we not still have a certain longing in our life for sadness? To make martyrs of ourselves?

What’s interesting though is what some people do with sadness. Some people drink to find solace. Others sleep around like sluts to momentarily feel a high from another person validating them, only to find that it is something transient and that the cold void in their heart won’t be filled by how many dicks they sleep with. Others brush it off and focus on their career and work because it is far more important t them than their sanity and far easier to suppress the sadness, than accepting the sadness and working on it. Others fill the void with material things, buying things that make them perceive themselves as better people, and as superior privileged people that have more resources than you. 

Some do almost all of these things or many other things to get momentarily get rid of the sadness, to suppress it, to make everything better, because of their inability to cope with it. 

It never goes away though.

I build. I create. I melt things, burn things, design things, make things, destroy things, and I give away my creations. 

The reason I do this is because it keeps the voices in my head at bay. I know I’m not a good person, but I want to be one. I want to come to terms with this incredible sadness I feel inside on a regular basis, and especially right now. I get to think and let my mind go free when I build. 

I know my sadness will always be here and won’t go away either, but I refuse to suppress it or indulge it. Rather I just want to accept it so as to no live in a constant search for my next euphoria. 

Now to reevaluate my life.

Ready to eject soul in 3, 2, 1…

1. Working with metal is fun, until you run out of propane.
2. I keep looking at my phone, expecting it to ring.
3. Good to know that I’m not totally crazy.
4. Love isn’t a switch.
5. There must come a time when we submit or stand for ourselves.
6. I have a Superman story I’d love to pitch to DC, namely Geoff Johns.
7. Gotta keep moving. No time to be sad. 
8. “Some people care too much. I think it’s called Love” -A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh.
9. Tomorrow i’m going to get propane, and I’m going to cast the rough ingot of silver. From there I’ll probably take a week before the finished product.
10. I promise to wear goggles so I don’t mess up my other eye.

Well that’s all for now kids, remember: never play leap frog with unicorns or minotaurs. They’re cheaters. 

Many a times I’ve been called a good man. A good person. A wonderful person. Someone worth looking up to. A goddamn treasure.

That I don’t appreciate myself or value myself as much as I should.

I like to think I try to be a good man. I have a set of morals, rules, and senses. Things that make me want to be a better person than the person I was yesterday. To learn more everyday. To ease the suffering of others. To give without asking in return. To be the best I can be. 

But then there comes a crossroads. A point where I ask: what if I’m not really a good person? 

What if I started off as a good person but after the disillusionment of constantly getting thrown away, of constantly becoming a second, of constantly being disenfranchised of something I’ve worked so hard for, and of being an option I just became embittered with the world and no longer the good person I have strived to be but rather a grotesque twisted embodiment of what I wanted to be. 

Life is one sick joke. 

Maybe I’m not a good person. Maybe I’m so warped that even though I give the illusion of being a good person, I am so fed up with this life that at any given moment the facade will come crashing down and I turn out to be a ruthless and heartless monster incapable of being good. Of hoping. Of living. Of loving. 

That’s the joke that Life seems to play on us. 

Take a good man. Someone who tries. Who doesn’t ask for anything in return. 

Then make him into a cruel parody of himself. 

Don’t test him. Break him. 

I know I’m not perfect. The world isn’t perfect. Maybe my flaw is that I always try to be more, and in the end I end up being NOTHING.

It’s a cruel joke I tell you. 

I wish I were a bad person somedays, then again maybe I already got my wish.