I spent Friday night realizing that I’m bound to have a lot on my mind these next few weeks.  The idea of having the ‘tireless soul of an artist’ might come to realization soon.  Some people might say that running away is obviously a coward’s key to living; I fully agree.  But I never claimed to be a brave bear, although I have to admit that I should rightfully see what I’ve started to the bitter end — if only because it’s righteous.

[I usually hide my non-existent Christianty by harping about how I don't have to show God how much I love Him because living righteously is a great way of giving Him the slip.]

I’m rather happy that I still have the urge…strike that…I’m quite happy that I still have the will to want to make a change.  I’d usually be a complacent cow and take things as they are, but the fact that I’m flirting with the thought of reining in a catalyst for change is a sign that I’m starting to really think.

I only wish that I could think like that more often.  It’s getting easier for me to get swayed by a consensus, rather than my conscience; it doesn’t help that my conscience is seldom clear.

So, yeah: why don’t I throw a prospective curveball into the mix and see how it goes?

** * * * * * *

I saw a quick recap on the news about this.  The source of the report may be a bit biased, but focus more on the story than who’s behind it.

I think I’m growing old in a sense that it outright saddens me to take a look at conflict between different people.  The EDL have every right to state their case and represent their fears, but some might see it as scarily extremist behaviour.  It’s very iffy.  I’m always behind a moderate stance [fencesitting is a smart Chinese thing to do!], so I can only say that the Leftists have every right to be miffed at the EDL.  Is the EDL a league full of fear mongerers, or is their case really justified?

After all, when your doors are open wide, anyone can come in.  You don’t even need to place a Welcome mat.

The times are not changing.  Not anytime soon.

I want to start a fight with myself.  I hope that on a fine weekend morning in the near future, I awaken to find my evil twin at the foot of my bed, mocking me.  He’d berate me for all the things that I find lacking in myself.

Fickle.

Slow.

Dawdling.

Fidgety.

Impatient.

A list.  A list would spew forth from his mouth, and then he’d charge at me and push me through the wall, into my neighbour’s soon-to-be-completed monstrousity of a renovated landed property.  We’d battle it out in this skeleton of a home.  I’d take him by the scruff of his neck, and repeatedly crush him into the pillars, thus destroying the foundation of the house and having the ceiling collapse on top of us.

When the dust would settle, we’d duke it out for a little while longer, before he’d have the upper hand and use leverage against me, pulling me over and impaling me on a protruding pylon.

He’d then take my identity, and be the guy that I never could be.

I wish this would happen.  Because I look at myself now and I feel incredibly confused.  And if the clone can set things straight, then be it as it may.  Take my name and make me great.

You’re going to make a king of me.

Supersonic actuators are slowly building a crescendo in my head.

I was happier then, when my mind was at ease and my balls were firmly connected to my pelvis.

Now, every day seems surreal. Driving to work has become an adventure in itself. The people I know and the people I meet remind me of cardboard cutouts that sprang to life from some strange quarry in the back of my mind.

Then it repeats itself. An incredibly sickening, overplayed mantra that rings true for every one of us: ‘there’s got to be more than this’.

Some people can be incredibly satisfied with what they have. Some people are more than happy to settle for less. Some people know what they want. Some people know what they don’t want.

I don’t want to go thru each day like it doesn’t exist. But I think I’ve come to a point where it doesn’t really make a difference anymore.

I’m so tired.

Living for the moment still seems to be a far better alternative to drawing up a road map.

There is no plan. There’s no method to the madness.

You do what you want because you feel that it’s right.

You do what you want because you feel that you want to.

You do what you want because you feel that you can.

We don’t get many chances to be swept up in whatever moments we find ourselves in.

Maybe it’s time we changed all that.

Having a game plan terrifies me, most probably because of the effort required to draw one up. I’d sooner just throw something into the wind, wing it from there, and see where it takes me. I suppose it’s this particular approach to things that’ve gotten me into this hole in the first place.

To be fair, it’s not really a ‘hole’ as much as it is a giant Sasquatch footprint; something that doesn’t really exist, yet you can’t totally disprove. I do have a problem; I can easily choose to happily ignore it, but there’s the risk of it always being there.

But, as usual, I digress.

I’ve drawn up a strange schematic that might actually resemble a game plan, and it terrifies me. Being called into action is one thing; after all, you can’t run away from conscription (unless you exile yourself to Canada). But willingly submitting to something as proper as a plan only makes things harder for you — you do so many things with the risk of them not being appreciated.

But apart from being a morose motherfucker, I also pride myself on being incredibly stubborn once I set my mind to something. I can only call it a quality I possess that makes me all the more redeeming.

Of course, whereas some people might consider not taking any advice to be a sign of a higher degree of self-value than anything else, I consider not taking any advice to be a sign that you can stay straight and true to whatever silly objective you had in the first place.

After all, we won’t always get what our hearts desire. But we can surely, surely fucking try.

With that said, I’m about to embark on a relatively strange and alien trip to the center of my head. And I hope that this incredibly cliched passage of self-discovery ends with me being a happier person.

I’m just like Jerry; I know what completes me.

The path to getting it is the bitch.

This is life.

Life imitates art.

Or, at least, I’m hoping that it does.

There’s a scene that keeps repeating itself in my head.

Looking at it now, the closer I get to it, the less likely it’ll occur.

But I’ve still got to do it. It’s taking a leap of faith.

A massive leap; not as much faith.

Don’t worry…it’s no cause for concern on your part.

What I’m doing should only be saved for the schmaltziest of storylines.

Then again, this is life.

And life imitates art.

There’s no real surefire remedy for the blues.

So why feel better?

Should we let time run its race and take its course?

Nay.

Wallowing is good. Wallowing and being proactive is so much better. Wallowing and being proactive and getting the job done is a triple expresso.

Hang, on, Pigita, I’m coming for you.

Salut.

It’s been said to me today: I’m a lousy poker player because I can never hold on to all my chips. There’s nothing like the drama of going all in and making it known to the world…or at least, the perceived tension and drama that goes on in my head while doing so. The thrill of the plunge. The desire to know what the others are holding.

I’m proud to be part of the pack of idiots who have no clear understanding of the game, other than that patience, planning, foresight and a good dose of common sense are vital to winning a good round. But realizing these things doesn’t mean that we have to play with them in mind. Skirting on playing with plain irrationality might not be the smartest thing to do, but it’d be good, as Tyler would say, to let the chips fall where they may.

To thrift off from a song I know, chance is a kind of religion where you’re damned for plain hard luck.

No truer words, no?

Dive deep. And pray you don’t drown.

No matter what the situation is, crossing a line either takes a lot of courage, blind impulse, desperation, a calculative mind or a combination of all four. When a boundary is crossed, there’s usually a very good reason for it; Clint had to get the Firefox from the Russians, Mario had to save Peach, Spock had to sacrifice himself, Gwen had to die for editorial reasons and Dubya had to invade because of that pesky insatiable thirst for oil.

It comes down to how much you’re willing to give and what you’re willing to do in order to cross that hypothetical line. And whether or not you get what you want. However, I still don’t believe in ‘calculated’ risks.

I don’t usually walk around carrying high expectations, nor do I carry lowered expectations. I simply don’t care, because nonchalance won’t get me into trouble. But on a rare occasion, something comes along and I come alive. Not like a firecracker; but like an atom bomb.

I’m easily excitable, as is everybody else. But it takes a lot to retain, maintain and contain that excitement, much less twist and tease it to ginormous proportions. It plays with my mind. It drives me on incessantly.

It’s terrifying when that does happen, because it offers the perfect justification for flagrant line-crossing. I would know. I’ve done it before. And so have you. All of you. We’re all guilty. So why bother feeling it?

Maybe this is all a way to compensate for my wasted, sad youth that was spent mulling away at how bad a hand I’d been dealt. But there are some lines that we’d all be willing to cross because whatever is on the other side is worth it. Very much so.

Would it bring about a crisis of faith? Maybe.

But nonetheless, I feel better now.

Thank you.

There was no release after the crescendo — it quickly died before reaching a climatic finish.

And it stayed dead.

Fabulous. Feelings of inadequacy, obviously.

Anyway. I’m not one for astrology or the zodiac or horoscopes, but this is interesting filler material.

My Moon’s apparently in Gemini. Cue the bad jokes and puns!

1. I wonder how much he paid and how good it felt for him.
2. ‘That’s no Moon…that’s a (insert object of choice here)’.
3. ‘The Moon looks like a cookie, but you can’t eat it’ – The Cookie Monster.
4. Say, are you mooning me, or are you just happy to see me?

I slay myself. Nonetheless, the following is a description of what I am based on a combination of my Sun and Moon sign.