Sober Thoughts

I'm lucid to you

I love London, probably because I don't live there. It gives me the feeling of the centre of everything. Its streets are a global collaboration, pieces of everything human. A London is everything that's now, with a sliver of tomorrow. There's a fuckton of poverty and baby faced posh boys drinking in pubs. Time to go.

Stories are not by their nature fictional. The contentious definition of truth isn't the only reason news isn't just recited facts. News is always curated with an agenda, although with varying degrees of bias. A narrative is always made up, unlike my mind which teeters continuously. And the next story. I think I'm being watched. My fiction is a scarf and my facts are morning dew.

No no no to the onslaught of another thing I don't want to hear. Last night's dream defined how I wish things to be. It's hard to accept anything less.

Help help help against the things I cannot bear to read. WiFi and mobile internet are turned off on my phone. I'm drafting this on notepad, posting tomorrow.

Left left left go my eyeballs. How's a young boy like me able to cope without the internet? I might explode or attempt to prematurely sleep.

TAKE A LOOK AT THESE HANDS

I'm finally back home tomorrow after Christmas with the family and I can't wait. The first thing to do is to have sex. No idea if it'll make me feel better. Probably not but

I'M A TUMBLER

I can be such a delight to myself when I'm on form. I can admire myself like I can no one else. Admiration for other people seems to translate as jealousy very easily. I don't like that.

ALL I WANT IS TO BREATH

I was considering doing a post about how privilege manifests through overly entitled, wanna-be-working-class, sad, culturally engaged, 20 somethings (my friends). But it's too specific a group to be audience-relevant and I don't like getting angry or overly sociological🎈

DON'T YOU MISS IT

I'm considering sacrificing something in my writing by ending all sentences with the balloon🎈 It would be a big step towards creating a recognisable brand🎈I used to dislike emojis but now I think they're a huge avenue of language that can be used in really interesting ways🎈

Good day🎈

I'm simply quite bored at the moment. I miscalculated how much time I wanted back at the parent's house. Taking a total of two weeks at Christmas now seems very excessive. I can't see girls or friends as comfortably as normal so I'm finding myself with not much to do. Anticipate some more blog posts with not much to say. I'm actually looking forward to going back to work 🙄

Surely there must be something online to get angstdignant over! ;–)

The internet is too big, I don't like it. I've already consumed quite a bit of good content from her today. I feel like I have now a bit of an opening for some e-communication. Anything slow paced though is not my speciality as I'm a slow replier to the point it becomes more like a task than recreation. Which is why I enjoyed the intensity of Omegle as a teen. I spoke to a lot of people back then.

I upgraded my membership here to pro. It was mainly out of stupidity, because adding static pages to my blog isn't worth the additional dollars. Actually, only now am I realising that it costs less in £, so it's not as much as I originally thought. I'm happy to support this place and I've already been going for a year, so it likely isn't a fad that I'll get bored of in 2020.

I start thinking about whether the chosen topic is consistent with past topics. I get caught in thinking posts have to be a certain length. And it goes on

I had this problem when I first started blogging. I created a separate blog for non consistent content. With less restrictions, the new blog turned out to aide creativity far better than the original. For me, I'm not too keen on any identity I have becoming a brand.

In January I fell down a dark hole.

February was a mixed bag. I had a delicious cup of tea but also descended into madness.

Things improved in March. I met a wonderful dentist.

I wrote my will in April. I'll be leaving most of my wealth to global conglomerates. The remainder will be divided between oligopoly perpetraters.

I don't remember much of May. It passed quickly, like a holding midfielder.

I'll remember June forever due to the prevalence of the Gregorian calendar.

July felt not like a month, but a river that flows not downstream, but sideways. A strange but promising trench of muddy water.

Sunny, sweaty August. Oh how you lit me up and spat me out like a marzipan candle with a stone centre.

I'm looking forward to September. I can't believe we missed it the first time around.

My grandad's birthday was in October this year. But I shouldn't be publishing this because his birthdate is the code for the burglar alarm at my parent's house.

Remember remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot. I know of no reason why my birthday season should ever be forgot.

And finally December! It was great to be home with the family again even if it was a bit stressful with all the Christmas shopping! As we sat down for Christmas dinner, smiles on our faces, we reflected on the year of 2019. And what a year it was! We reminded each other that whilst Christmas presents are important, the gift of love cannot fit in any wrapping paper.

Let's hope 2020 is filled with even more joy!

Happy new year everyone!

I have two headaches, some unread messages and a bottle of water that's three quarters empty. Nose is crinkling thinking.

Whatever

Said my mother. I've pissed her off again.

I have a dog's funeral and I'm not joking

Said the groupchat.

It's pinot grigio

I said last night, in reply.

You don't remember anything

Accused the girl who stole my eight year old heart.

That is the question. The scene is that there are four girls. Three of them want me unequivocally. One of them continues to see me but diffuses sexual tension. Guess which one I'm interested in. This might actually be the nearest to heartbreak I've ever got and I hate it.

Girl 1: I could say anything and she'd love it.

Girl 2: lives within a narrow world view which has a lot in common with mine. I could say anything within that large intersection and she'd love it.

Girl 3: she does most of the talking and is not overly taken by things I say but is still easily impressed with my lifestyle and good nature.

Girl 4: Has no obvious interest in finding out more about me.

I don't know grief or heartbreak.

ok cool pal

I've not experienced pain or oppression.

Maybe I did but I don't remember

I'm not persecuted and I reject rejection.

Lol I realise I'm overly safe

Two youths approached me as I locked up my bike. They warned me how easy it was to break locks and that the city centre isn't a safe place to leave your bike. They demonstrated the ability of their feet by dislodging some wheels that were apparently better than mine, due to their suspension.

Not one for aggro, I smiled and engaged in some banter, jokingly asking them not to steal my bike. I was trying to mix mature poise with some youthful cheek. Of course, they could outdo me on the latter. After all, I was undeniably the owner of a midrange commuter bike.

I should have just hopped back on and parked it somewhere else. Pride is a strange thing, I thought as I walked away from my locked bike, almost certain that they would soon pleasure in its demise.

I was meeting a girl at the pub, intending to break up with her after a couple of months of seeing each other. “If my bike dies, so be it, I deserve it,” I thought as I avoided the pressing subject, and her eyes.

This is horrible, I thought as we hugged on the street. It was cold and there was potentially a long walk home. “This girl is hurt because of me”, I thought as we walked in opposite directions away from each other forever.

The good news was I soon found my bike seemingly untouched. I felt relief cycling home, on two counts. As I showered before work the following day, I thought about things like upsell and cross-sell. It was a big day coming up in the office.

True story.

I ask myself when my blogging is at it's most fucking prolific. Only in melancholic moments with undertones of sexual frustration do I even seem capable of noticing the crevices and chasms supposedly in my life.