SELF AND PITY ON WEEEKENDS @lastwordstyped
By Darius Rodrigues
In my head, there is a checklist. Behind the guilty feeling and next to arrogance. This checklist notes any damage done.
I wrote three posts to help me get into SCA, ‘Porn and mountain climbing’ ‘Coffee in 2043’ and another one which was a rehash of something I’d written a hundred times.
Today I think it would be more useful to write the truth. Whether that’s for my benefit or your benefit is the point I’m working around here.
Therapy is bad.
There are locks in the brain which keep you on the surface or in the moment. To unlock them, you need a collision, between you and someone else or something.
Begin with empathy. Enter into a you vs. world discourse, where things aren’t taken for face value. But the teacher has the professional distance. Everyone becomes your listener. Putting yourself in people’s shoes in the first place is what made you introspective, now there’s…
Okay, let’s try again. A few hours later now.
Sometimes the sun is just something that gets in your eyes.
I feel nervous and no amount of unlicensed premises will solve it.
I’m full of premeditations preconceptions and trained in waiting for inspiration. How full of shit am I?
Stuck in the conscious shoes don’t fit highlighting for the sake of the crowd.
Trying to be more essential. The trying might be the problem. Would like to talk to the world but have to tighten the target first.
Starting to talk in a whole new language and its thwarting old friends expecting old conversations.
No matter how much I bash you for your FOMO I get it too.
Who are you? It’s important, that if you’re not my mate, I don’t call you my mate. You too, to me. Otherwise, how will we know where we stand. How will we tender each other into moments where we clash and change each other.
Lucky Luciano wanted power and some days I think I’ve just been copying his scars. I write but I don’t read.
I don’t get anything from the group notes. I don’t think it’s useful to design all kinds of information and messages. Now I will go through the year and make my own set, but I will still contribute to it, because I think at some point I will realise the reason.
I wrote a script called Thunderball recently which is fucking decent and I need to finish.
I want to know the moment where money mattered. The other night I was out of myself and completely comfortable in my own skin when my fingers started to look different, just pink objects I had never seen and didn’t know what they were for. It would been cool to have said I then sculpted something with those hands but I didn’t, I turned over and fell asleep with the lights on.
Being and becoming is a concern and I don’t like how it bothers me. Sometimes I don’t like how important it is to me that I am important. When I say important, I don’t mean big bank accounts or even recognition, I mean respect in the rooms I move through and whispers on the walls outside. Changes in conversation. After all, most wars start through people not talking to each other and most finish by people talking to each other.
I want the world to end like the frogs in Magnolia. Life and death is also a big thing. Obviously. My thinking is why attack any subject less than that? When I have so much time and so much working to do.
I never thought of myself as a vampire or a serial killer but I’m starting to get the jokes now. I’m a method actor.
I have to write more or else.