"This Is For The Hopeless, The Homeless, The Brokest, The Dopest.."
“The smokers, the jokers on opiates and coke it’s,
Your choice, I won’t judge you tonight,
Cos I’m paralytic, I ain’t looking to lose a fight,
So put your hands up if you’re not to drunk to stand up,
If you bombing up the toilets put your man up,
And put your can up spray it in the air mate,
Check out my man, fuck its all going pear shaped,
They call me Suff when I’m drunk they call me fuck off,
Head under the bar trying to drink the run off,
I’m a one of a kind; I’ll rhyme till I’m cut off,
Or just to fucking blind to get one off,
Don’t call me son of a bitch; I’m the son of an angel,
When the sun of the morning hits it’s so painful,
These all nighters are killing me,
But it’s alright are you feeling me?”
God only knows how long it's been since I've updated this thing. Is there any significance in this? Not in the slightest. Has really anything happened worth documenting in this? Not quite. So, I’m sure as the reader, you’re wondering my sudden “outbreak” of a will to write. It’s now quarter to seven in the evening, and I figured this is better for me than doing really anything else. It’s at least more therapeutic than anything else. Stuck in a rut, with nowhere to go is somewhat of a feeling that has become more and more of an overwhelming issue. Ever since I was a wee-scout, I always knew I didn’t want to stay here. Have I fixed this? No. Will I fix this? I hope so. What happens if I don’t? Well, that’s not quite something I want to think about. You lock up an animal for so long, it loses all regard for life. I don’t think I need to say it, well, type it, but- I’m slowly getting to the point that the people I see on a daily basis are becoming more meaningless, here. I’m not saying that I have all of a sudden started to hate the people I see. I suppose I just want something new. Ah. Yes. New. A place that is foreign to me, but familiar to others. Kind of makes me wonder. Are the people in places I want to go feeling the same way? Thinking is what drives me to do half of the things I do. At least the things I do that have a real purpose.
Nevermind the fact that this post is just going to keep going on for what seems like decades. I suppose it just means that I have a lot more pent up inside of me than I’m willing to actually admit out loud. Maybe that’s part of my problem. Well, a few parts. I don’t accept help from others, especially when I know I need it. I’d rather wallow in my own damn pride than admit that I could use the help of another person. If I can’t do it myself, there is a good chance that I don’t need to be doing it. Open your eyes, Brent. See the world for all it’s worth. I’m tired of being optimistic. Optimism: Seeing the glass as half full. Pessimism: The glass if half empty. Realist: That glass still has something in it. Which one is me? Well, that’s the complicated bit. I would like to consider myself to be more of a realist than anything, but, optimism is one of the lies I’ve told myself for so long now, I’ve started accepting it as truth. We all have our pessimistic days, because well, sometimes people just drive you to it just because they’re cunts.
I figured this should have its own paragraph. There is a lot to say on this topic (or so I think. Who knows. I might lump a bunch of shit together here just so I don’t have to stop my mind from acting the way it is). The topic? Lies. I tell myself at least one everyday. Typically while looking myself right in the eyes. The kind of lies I tell are just to make my day seem a little brighter than what I know it’s going to be. Does it help? Not always. The kind of lies I tell myself include: “You have a purpose. Just wait.” “You may not think so, but, you will be happy one day.” “Eventually you’ll leave this place all behind.” I guess you could say that I’m trying to give myself a boost of self-esteem. Letting me know that everything is ok, because God knows no one here does that. If anything, everything/one around here is the reason I have to lie to myself in the first place. My emotional scars are so deep, they’re damn near visible. I was talking to a friend the other night, and I mentioned that I’m like a doormat. I take a lot of shit in day to day life. “Roll with the punches, Brent. There are still some good people in this world that won’t dick you around.” If only I could believe it. It’s much easier if I don’t say a fucking word about anything bothering me, lie to myself that it never happened, and move on. That all sounds fine and dandy, but eventually it all catches up. Like now. I’ve been so on edge, I’m almost waiting for someone to come along and light this “powder keg” and let the fireworks/explosion take place. I just hope it doesn’t happen unprovoked. I hate being the asshole. Maybe that’s why I never say anything. “Make yourself look good. Be the good guy. Nobody likes an asshole.” It’s all puppy dogs, and rainbows for me. I’m fucking sick of it. If I ever say something to offend someone, and I feel like I do now, there is no apology. There is no censoring myself. The things I have to say are typically opinions about topics that I have a strong feeling about. Either you’re with me, or against me. Love me, or hate me. There shall be no middle ground.
Streetlight Manifesto’s song is actually quite depressing. I didn’t feel like changing it, though. For the grim lyrics that are there, the music is upbeat and catchy. Girl gets diagnosed (with something) and the song is about her footsteps slowly fading out. Fucked, right? It seems that iTunes is just trying to get me to the point of wanting to scream. God only knows what song is to follow after a gem like this. CCR. Good deal. I know, I know. This seems really scatterbrained, and not very well thought out. However, this section has some pretty badass points if I do say so myself. Music. Everyone likes it different. Some of us fast, some of slow. Me? I’m “weird.” I have a song for every mood I could possibly feel in a lifetime, and then some. Most of it is for when I’m so pissed off I can’t see straight. “Music calms even the most savage of beast.” And tell you what. That is far more true than most people figure out. Sitting up in bed on a Friday morning pouring out what’s in my head onto a site that only one person really even knows exist. Well, at least that knows that I have one. Maybe I’m more crazy than I lead on. Maybe not.
Your choice, I won’t judge you tonight,
Cos I’m paralytic, I ain’t looking to lose a fight,
So put your hands up if you’re not to drunk to stand up,
If you bombing up the toilets put your man up,
And put your can up spray it in the air mate,
Check out my man, fuck its all going pear shaped,
They call me Suff when I’m drunk they call me fuck off,
Head under the bar trying to drink the run off,
I’m a one of a kind; I’ll rhyme till I’m cut off,
Or just to fucking blind to get one off,
Don’t call me son of a bitch; I’m the son of an angel,
When the sun of the morning hits it’s so painful,
These all nighters are killing me,
But it’s alright are you feeling me?”
God only knows how long it's been since I've updated this thing. Is there any significance in this? Not in the slightest. Has really anything happened worth documenting in this? Not quite. So, I’m sure as the reader, you’re wondering my sudden “outbreak” of a will to write. It’s now quarter to seven in the evening, and I figured this is better for me than doing really anything else. It’s at least more therapeutic than anything else. Stuck in a rut, with nowhere to go is somewhat of a feeling that has become more and more of an overwhelming issue. Ever since I was a wee-scout, I always knew I didn’t want to stay here. Have I fixed this? No. Will I fix this? I hope so. What happens if I don’t? Well, that’s not quite something I want to think about. You lock up an animal for so long, it loses all regard for life. I don’t think I need to say it, well, type it, but- I’m slowly getting to the point that the people I see on a daily basis are becoming more meaningless, here. I’m not saying that I have all of a sudden started to hate the people I see. I suppose I just want something new. Ah. Yes. New. A place that is foreign to me, but familiar to others. Kind of makes me wonder. Are the people in places I want to go feeling the same way? Thinking is what drives me to do half of the things I do. At least the things I do that have a real purpose.
Nevermind the fact that this post is just going to keep going on for what seems like decades. I suppose it just means that I have a lot more pent up inside of me than I’m willing to actually admit out loud. Maybe that’s part of my problem. Well, a few parts. I don’t accept help from others, especially when I know I need it. I’d rather wallow in my own damn pride than admit that I could use the help of another person. If I can’t do it myself, there is a good chance that I don’t need to be doing it. Open your eyes, Brent. See the world for all it’s worth. I’m tired of being optimistic. Optimism: Seeing the glass as half full. Pessimism: The glass if half empty. Realist: That glass still has something in it. Which one is me? Well, that’s the complicated bit. I would like to consider myself to be more of a realist than anything, but, optimism is one of the lies I’ve told myself for so long now, I’ve started accepting it as truth. We all have our pessimistic days, because well, sometimes people just drive you to it just because they’re cunts.
I figured this should have its own paragraph. There is a lot to say on this topic (or so I think. Who knows. I might lump a bunch of shit together here just so I don’t have to stop my mind from acting the way it is). The topic? Lies. I tell myself at least one everyday. Typically while looking myself right in the eyes. The kind of lies I tell are just to make my day seem a little brighter than what I know it’s going to be. Does it help? Not always. The kind of lies I tell myself include: “You have a purpose. Just wait.” “You may not think so, but, you will be happy one day.” “Eventually you’ll leave this place all behind.” I guess you could say that I’m trying to give myself a boost of self-esteem. Letting me know that everything is ok, because God knows no one here does that. If anything, everything/one around here is the reason I have to lie to myself in the first place. My emotional scars are so deep, they’re damn near visible. I was talking to a friend the other night, and I mentioned that I’m like a doormat. I take a lot of shit in day to day life. “Roll with the punches, Brent. There are still some good people in this world that won’t dick you around.” If only I could believe it. It’s much easier if I don’t say a fucking word about anything bothering me, lie to myself that it never happened, and move on. That all sounds fine and dandy, but eventually it all catches up. Like now. I’ve been so on edge, I’m almost waiting for someone to come along and light this “powder keg” and let the fireworks/explosion take place. I just hope it doesn’t happen unprovoked. I hate being the asshole. Maybe that’s why I never say anything. “Make yourself look good. Be the good guy. Nobody likes an asshole.” It’s all puppy dogs, and rainbows for me. I’m fucking sick of it. If I ever say something to offend someone, and I feel like I do now, there is no apology. There is no censoring myself. The things I have to say are typically opinions about topics that I have a strong feeling about. Either you’re with me, or against me. Love me, or hate me. There shall be no middle ground.
Streetlight Manifesto’s song is actually quite depressing. I didn’t feel like changing it, though. For the grim lyrics that are there, the music is upbeat and catchy. Girl gets diagnosed (with something) and the song is about her footsteps slowly fading out. Fucked, right? It seems that iTunes is just trying to get me to the point of wanting to scream. God only knows what song is to follow after a gem like this. CCR. Good deal. I know, I know. This seems really scatterbrained, and not very well thought out. However, this section has some pretty badass points if I do say so myself. Music. Everyone likes it different. Some of us fast, some of slow. Me? I’m “weird.” I have a song for every mood I could possibly feel in a lifetime, and then some. Most of it is for when I’m so pissed off I can’t see straight. “Music calms even the most savage of beast.” And tell you what. That is far more true than most people figure out. Sitting up in bed on a Friday morning pouring out what’s in my head onto a site that only one person really even knows exist. Well, at least that knows that I have one. Maybe I’m more crazy than I lead on. Maybe not.