Never Censored

It sucks being different. I've tried to be the same, and every time I've tried to fit in, somehow I fuck it up. In all reality, I think I'm destined to stand outside of the candy shop for the rest of my life, looking in and wishing that had fates been better, I, too, would be able to sip from the nectars that others are free to take delight in eating— bitter and sweet treats alike.

I blame myself for trying to fake it. Every day I try to fit in by making jokes and trying to keep people happy so as to mask the abject dejection that I can't but feel when I look at the nasty shit that makes the cogs of society spin. When I find something I can latch on to— hold like a blanket to distract me from that horrible reminder— I get caught up in it, thinking somehow... somehow if I can just do this one thing maybe I'll get closer to healing it all. At least I'd be able to justify it as helping someone, somewhere to live a better life.

So I tried to fake it. I should have never tried to be an actor— I should have never emerged from my backstage home to try to be something I'm not.

It's lonely working behind the scenes. It's a lonely, thankless job that'll net you, at best, a few words in a forgettable program. I guess I don't really have a choice, though. I mean, in the end, I'll always botch something when I'm on-stage. I'll forget a date, miss a cue, break character, or somehow make others remember that I'm not the person they expect me to be, and instead of being what they need, I'll just be some random person. ... and then it all hits me again. Faced with rejection from my facade, I lose grasp of my distractor, and all of the things I've tried to forget about the world come rushing back to mind, and I cry. Withdrawing from the light, I never want to set foot in it again.

... but give me the option to be myself— to return backstage where I truly can make magic and none will be the wiser— and I'm able to once again quiet the din of the world.

So I guess I'll just be alone. That's probably why, when you hear about all of the people like me in history, they pretty much all had dysfunctional relationships with society. I understand that now, and I'm increasingly coming to terms with that.

I long so much for someone to love— truly love— who actually does understand me. However, like my predecessors, I don't really know if that's ever going to happen. Nobody falls in love with guys like me. They fall in love with actors— they fall in love with guys pretending to be guys like me, because guys like me, despite our shitty attempts at acting when we force ourselves to do so, are too shy to approach the audience. We prefer, instead, to sit from afar and watch others enjoying the show we know in and out— almost wishing that we didn't know the next punchline by heart, so that we, too, could hinge on it and, once delivered, finally sigh laughter like everyone else.

I'm not sure where to go from here. You'd think the choice would be simple: do what's in your heart, right? Well, what's in my heart right now is withdrawal— giving up— living a life of solitude. Otherwise, I'm probably just going to continue to fuck up attempts at trying to be someone I'm not in hopes that I might finally fool someone into a meaningful relationship that is, essentially, built on a meaningless foundation. I always figured that the latter was the only real option, because it seemed like the most practical compromise between the two extremes: on one extreme, being myself would denote that I would spend relatively little time in the public eye and would thus minimize the chances of finding love; on the other extreme, not being myself would denote that I would spend proportionately greater time in the public eye and would thus maximize the chances of finding love, yet that love would be fundamentally built on a persona of someone I'm not.

So I'm fucked either way. The problem is that in the latter condition— playing the game by acting the role, it's clear that I might accidentally cause hurt to another person. That doesn't sit well with me. I can't justify even temporarily hurting someone if I can at all control it, and pretending to be someone I'm not in order to find love is potentially emotionally dangerous for those that cross my path; so, by logical deduction, I think I'll just skip out on it all together. I'd rather feel miserable for the rest of my life than make someone else feel the same way.

Yeah, it's a raw deal. I suppose that's the "perk" of being me. By the way, if you're one of the few out there who truly is a good person, let no one ever tell you that knowledge is power. It's not. It's only powerful for those that abuse it. On the kind person, however, it has crippling effect of imparting... nothing. No, worse than nothing. It takes away all that was once unknown in the world and replaces it with all of the correct answers— almost none of which are the ones you had desperately longed for.

Trust me, it'll be much easier for you at the end of your life to go, "oh wow, everything I know is wrong" than to realize it early in life. At least when you're in a nursing home you can blame it on being young and stupid, and you'll be free to bask in hindsight.

I'm living proof that no old person should ever be cursed with being young again. It's cruel and unusual punishment, and it's a trap to assume that being "young'n'sexy" or some other delusion will ever be worth it. You'll feel emptier than you've ever felt in your entire life, and since you've likely already experienced love, you'll quickly remember that sex is just plain boring without it. But, it'll be too late. You'll start to wonder if you'll ever be able to find the love you once had, and soon you'll be back where you started— dying in a nursing home, relieved that you don't have to worry about it any more.

... and I'll envy you.

Until then, you'll find me behind the curtain. Heh, actually, I lie— you'll probably find me perpetually behind you (since that's where the lighting console probably is), wearing all black while staring at the back of your head, but saying that I'll always be staring at the back of your head while wearing all black sounds wayyyy too spooky, so if it helps, you can instead continue to imagine that I'm just behind the curtain. :P

Forget liability waivers, lawyers, or legalese. This nature preserve has the absolute best and most honest disclaimer ever. It's the disclaimer to end all disclaimers.My favorite part:

By entering the Preserve, you are agreeing that we owe you no duty of care or any other duty. We promise you nothing. We do not and will not even try to keep the premises safe for any purpose. The premises are not safe for any purpose. This is no joke. We won't even try to warn you about any dangerous or hazardous condition, whether we know about it or not. If we do decide to warn you about something, that doesn't mean we will try to warn you about anything else. If we do make an effort to fix an unsafe condition, we may not try to correct any others, and we may make matters worse! We and our employees or agents may do things that are unwise and dangerous. Sorry, we're not responsible. We may give you bad advice. Don't listen to us. In short, ENTER AND USE THE PRESERVE AT YOUR OWN RISK. And have fun!

Cheers.

I heard this movie was going to be some sort of sci-fi film, so I went in with low expectations of nerd humor, average directing, average writing, and some silly twist. At worst, I'd be Villaged. Alas, even my low expectations for movies could not prepare me for this crapfest. Mind you, this is coming from someone who can always find something fun, silly, or stupid about a movie and still walk away and go, "meh, it wasn't that bad." The Golden Compass, however, has redefined the world as I know it.

I think this is how it went down in the writing room:

Larry: silence... typing on the keyboard
Curly: silence... writing
Mo: silence... brainstorming

All silence. Why? Because if they would have talked, they would have realized that I, as well as my friend, heard the phrase "ball sac" at least a dozen times. I honestly don't know to what they were referring, but I think it was a city of some sort. I was laughing too frequently at its occurrence to figure it out.

On top of that, there was another memorable zinger uttered by some polar bear: "you want to— ride me?" By that point, I had already been primed by the thought of traveling to a city of "ball sacs" that I lost it when I heard one about "riding me." Clearly, these writers were retards.

It gets better.

So as of today, Australia has now ratified the Kyoto Protocol— the thing that tells countries to progressively limit their carbon emissions. You know... so we don't all boil.

Anyway, that now makes 91% percent of the world. A few countries haven't even said anything about it, but one has vehemently denied even considering it: The United States of America. Yep, the US is the only country in the world that has overtly said, "fuck off" to the United Nations.

Of those who haven't taken a stance yet, well, I'll give you some of the highlights:

I was browsing through the USPS Postal Money Order Security Features reference card thinggy and realized that it was lacking in a few of the more intricate features. So, I figured I'd detail the more extended list here for all who are security freaks like me. Plus, it always helps to not get screwed out of money :P.