Rise, Lazerus, rise!

"As the cheerless towns pass my window
I can see a washed out moon through the fog

And then a voice inside my head, breaks the analogue

And says... "

"Another Blog?!", no one asks.

"Yes, another", Ryan spoke while staring at my reflection painted in the rear-window of my house "You see, I'm in that mood I call 'the Juggernaut' ... the mood where I inexplicable begin to feel aweful*. OCD sets in and I begin acting irrationally until I'm asleep and forget."

"Oh Ryan! Enough of that! Stop playing with the Christmas Tree and the dishes! Stop pacing. Stop being selfish!" replied no one in the same tone as always.

"Yes. Okay", Ryan muttered "only if you listen to me."

Aweful*

Awesome is good. Aweful is bad.

Why is some awe good while being full of awe is bad? Is it like an overdose?

Reason for this Blog; ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

I was watching television, a show about a murder was one. A woman was killed by a man she had never met. The last thing she saw was his eyes. A colony of wasps were living in her skull. Bugs where the mind used to be. I placed my hands on the sides of my head and closed my eyes and imagined it. That set me off.

I'm now in Juggernaut mode and I can't stop feeling like I'm damp. I reread every comment I've recieved on this blog. Most if not all praise me, one said "I expect big things from you in the future" and that made it worse. I don't think I'll actually amount to much. I guess many people feel the same. I don't want a statue. I want a calling.

It reminded me of my parents. Dad was too accepting. I guess he had nothing else to hold. He read to me and taught me. He taught me film and I taught him photography. He taught me Lennon. Only, he never helped me. He was my friend and more than my Dad. He never asked about homework or troubles. He asked how I liked my eggs and if I was thirsty. He rarely yelled and when he did, I cried. He never hurt me and offered strange advice. I often told my friends "my father is insane" and they'd laugh.

Mum left when I was four and I can't remember when she came back. She sent me a coconut once. And stickers. I never used the stickers. I broke the coconut on the steps out the front. She asked if I needed money for school. If Dad was looking after us. She'd organise to meet us at midday and be 2 hours late. I'd stand in the front garden waiting and cry into the lounge when I thought she'd leave again, expecting a second coconut with a note saying "To my Sweet-Pea. In off again. Is your father caring for you? That mans an idiot. xxx"

She'd turn up.

I noticed, even now, I feed off acceptance. I feel bad when adults don't like me. I thrived to befriend most teachers I had. For the most part, it worked. I've always had a lot of friends over all demographics at school. I don't fight. I just worry and build. And write.

I remember when Caitlin called me selfish. I remember being lost for words so I just slumped on my bed and pretended to be interested it the light, cut by the curtain, centimetres from my face on my purple bedroom wall. She called me selfish twice after that, on different occasions, once when I thought I didn't deserve it. I've probably insulted her more than I realise. Its my nature. I don't find truths offensive, usually. Most people are used to it. I hope she is.

I worry no one reads this any more. Comments have lulled to ZERO. Views average on less than 2 per post. I guess I'm vein. Meglomatic? Egotistical? Selfish.

I need positive reinforcement. Gaaaaaaaah! I'm stupid.

Adios.

You know, that means "To God". Have I said that. I mean it as good bye.

Adios.