Pretense & Circumstance

  • jonathan l. seagull – sampha

    Before we start getting into this, I know… I’m late on a potential wish-list for what I want in the year. I did my reflection about a week ago. But now it’s time to focus on the new. My last post talked about my depression. I can’t beat it in a year. That’s way too lofty of a goal. But to focus on little things. Things I want to accomplish, things I can do, and perhaps some loftier goals. First things first though on the list:

    – It’s one day at a time. Tackle each day as it’s own day. No more stacking for what will come. Each day will be a battle.

    Okay, here are things I want to accomplish.
    – Losing weight. 180 lbs. That is the specified number I want to get to (only 15-17 pounds away!)
    – More movies. 100 movies logged in letterboxd (and I want them to be new, but that is a bit lofty)
    – More albums. 50 albums logged on Neverendingchartrendering (might want to prioritize 2024 albums, but will log older albums I think)
    – Make a new friend. I guess my accomplishment is to get someone I didn’t know previously’s phone number. Doesn’t have to be a dating sitch, just a phone number
    – Take a personal trip somewhere. Take a weekend to travel, by myself. Do something
    – Finish some sort of writing project (could be a short story collection, poem collection, play, something!)
    – Take a class

    Things I can do.
    – Finish moving back in
    – Set up my room
    – Go to the gym
    – Keep working
    – Travel

    Okay so here are some loftier goals I have in the back of my mind…
    – Finally have a romantic partnership, or fling of some sort
    – Have visible abs/look aesthetic
    – Finish my long-standing play, Dana, Barron & The Countdown to Midnight
    – Finish a feature-length script for a movie
    – Start production on either a short-film or pilot
    – Get back into theatre/acting… somehow
    – Take a long extended trip
    – Start and finish Infinite Jest
    – Get a job outside of Arizona

    That’s it these are the things I wanna accomplish, things I know I can/will do, and lofty goals that we’ll see. I’ll leave it at that.

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  • headspace – benjamin earl turner

    I am depressed. I probably should have led with that. I am so depressed that most days, I see no point in getting out of bed. I also work a full-time job. So… not getting out of bed, being a full-time job haver, and with a good family, you would think good things, right? Wrong. I am still depressed.

    Depression isn’t just feeling sad all of the time (although some days it’s how I feel), it’s the absence of light. The absence of positivity. It’s like looking into the cauldron of the good life you seek, and being unable to fathom it. Things are barely out of reach. In view, mocking you.

    I have friends. But they all went sour on me. Probably because I am such a negative influence, people can feel it. Like when the debbie downer shows up at the party. You just feel the vibes of the night die. That’s me, baby. I am the one who brings down the vibes. I don’t talk to people. I wish I could. They try to talk to me, but I either ignore it, or kill the conversation through my blunders. I am not dating. I am single. I wish I wasn’t. But no person in their right mind will be willing to date me. At least, they shouldn’t. I have a variety of health issues, I’m overweight, and no person is willing to be with me for fear that I will just kill their lives in simple swoop.

    Why should I have led with my depression? After all, people say “put your best foot forward” or “make a good first impression”. Because I haven’t been honest about it. Honesty is the best policy. And I haven’t been honest. So for one last time, let me say it here:

    I am depressed.

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  • why does the earth give us people to love – kara jackson

    I have decided on writing again. Something that is long overdue in my opinion. I have regretted going away from writing, trying to become someone I am not, “improving myself”. But it hasn’t worked.

    2023 was one of the years of all time. I came into it thinking I would blossom into a new man. Someone to be proud of. I am more proud of myself going into 2024 in the sense that I have become a lot more open to pain. Something that I felt like I had been ignoring in the past years of my life. I just… I thought that it being the year of the rabbit (my year), things would have been different. I got knocked off my pedestal. Humbled as the kids would say. I want to say that it was someone else’s fault. That’d be the easy way out. But it wasn’t. I didn’t do the things I wanted to. I also neglected the opportunities that were presented to me. It was just a struggle year for me.

    I caught feelings >:((( and didn’t resolve it. Just add it to the pile of regrets of my life. I didn’t make the friends I wanted to. I also am further away from satisfying my dream of leaving Arizona.

    I did do good things though. I travelled, and found a passion in it. I have become a lot better at my job. I am also more confident in leaving my current employment with proper experience. I got closer to the friends that I have. I am truly appreciative for them. I also finally got out of the vice grip that is social media. I still check things from time-to-time and procrastinate quite a bit, but at least it isn’t on Instagram reels lol.

    Going into 2024. I have accepted that things may not change. It is okay. Perhaps 2023 was a year of shifts and change. It’s just upsetting. Outside of 2022, every year since 2016 has been a whirlwind. Something changes, something goes awry, and something ends. My happiness has been lower than ever realizing that just ahead of me, there are no milestones that are preprogrammed for me. I have to make my milestones. I have to create my destiny. That’s so fucking scary, dude.

    But who knows. I hope things will change, but expect them to not. It’s how I’m built, I guess.

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  • jonny – faye webster

    “You met me at a very strange time in my life…”

    I decided to get out of the apartment. Get a breath. She tried to smother me with love for this whole time that we were together. I always reminded myself she did it out of a sense of loneliness. I was nothing more than a warm body for her. I had no evidence for this, of course. I had no evidence for anything.

    I have a tough time with love. I am the hopeless romantic. The one who loves too hard, but never gets love back. I thought that was my endless fate. To fall in love desperately, but never get loved back. I always wondered where that stemmed from. Maybe my parents never quite showed me love in the same way. Who knows.

    It was tough loving her back. There was a risk. That she’d find me repulsive. Gross. Unlovable. That’s how I felt inside any way. Did you know people are good at reading you? People know your entire essence within the first 2 minutes of knowing you. That’s what I read any way. I tried to circumvent that by being fake cool. I wanted to come off as cool. But I wasn’t. I try. A bit too hard.

    It wasn’t the fact that I was in love that hurt. No, I never regretted that. I resent that I loved her. That was my problem clearly. I could never be emotionally honest enough to realize that. I just wanted to be in love. That’s all I wanted. But I didn’t choose the right person.

    I started to realize something. The moment I opened myself up to love, peace, anything. It immediately was met with apprehension. I was never welcomed into it. I have tried to be vulnerable in the past. But it never bore fruit. So I figured what was the point. What’s the point of opening a door if no one will enter? They see inside that there is nothing there, the floorboards are rotting.

    I wanted her back in the apartment at least. To just sit with me. Exist with me. But she hated that. The only intimacy we knew was sleeping in the same bed. I wanted to make tea. She always liked tea. What would change this time?

    She wanted me back in. I think. She always forgave easily. But that’s the problem. I wanted to be scolded. I want her to finally admit to herself that I didn’t deserve her. Why would she stay this time?

    It my fault for falling in love. I just wish they could say the same.

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  • top picks for you – injury reserve

    I am coming to a point of realization/rationalization with myself. As someone who proclaims the desire to write and stuff, I am wondering a lot about the world. I have seen an overwhelming amount of people who want a fictionalized relationship (including myself). Something about men written by women and its inverse. People proclaiming that they will never be satisfied unless they end up with some sort of fictional character. It seems that we have scared ourselves into a delusional state. There’s a bit of delusion that comes with consuming fiction (or at the very least a suspension of disbelief). It’s to the writer’s benefit most of the time, but it has a detrimental effect on people I think. Because we keep seeking this “perfect” person. The one who is right for us. But often times… they do not exist.

    I think falling in love with a fictional character is easy. Loving the people around us aren’t. Because the reality of that person is ugly, nonsensical, hypocritical, and awful. But that fictional character (despite how imperfect they are portrayed) has no flaws. We don’t see their reality. Their day-to-day. How they truthfully live. And that’s an issue. Because people will trick themselves to fall in love with someone they perceive as their “match.” Without even knowing the truth of how they really are.

    Sometimes I’d like to think that the so-called “U-Haul Lesbians” are the best of us all when it comes to love. You can never know someone in and out, until you live together for an extended period. And the “U-Haulers” figure out quickly if they are meant to be. Sure, logistically, it makes little sense. But for whatever reason, I find those lesbians to be the most emotionally honest, communicative, and happiest overall. I am not saying we should all immediately move in with our little fling, but it’s something to think about.

    I, personally, never felt like I fell in love with a fictional character. Because I know that that’s fiction, not reality. But I have daydreamed myself into loving people who do not exist. Or at least, an idea, an essence of a person. Without ever knowing their full selves. That is probably more delusional. But that’s a discussion for a different time.

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  • take me inside – sampha

    Are we predestined in this life?

    That thought lingers in my mind sometimes. Through the myriad of situations I find myself living in. That trapped feeling, as if things were meant to fall into place. Any new person I encounter, any new setback I experience, any new triumph. I wonder if I was locked into this. That I have no control.

    I start talking to a girl. She shows some sort of interest. And then, I get tongue-tied. The brain ceases to work. As if an outside voice tells me that I can’t continue anymore. What does it mean? Is there something out there that keeps my whims at check? I don’t know.

    I was fairly old when I realized that I am predestined to end up unhappy. Somewhere in between the choppy introduction I told to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met and with the recent news that she will be marrying my brother. Somewhere in between the last broken hook-up and hangout. It just hit me like a truck. I cannot end up satisfied. I’ve given it the old college try on numerous occasions. Only to end up dissatisfied with every person I meet.

    When I was young, I knew I’d end up in an unhappy marriage. Leading to a messy, shaky divorce. Something about the life I had been living to that point made me realize that. It was the soft-acceptance of what life had thrown at me. From being in the best shape of my life, and immediately injuring my leg. Knocking me out for months. It was inevitable it seemed. Like I couldn’t afford to be happy, even if I tried.

    Maybe we will mosey and wander into love. But I am not holding my breath for that moment. I’ve come to expect failure.

  • haunted – laufey

    Kind of hurt myself today… emotionally. That kind of heartache that you can only inflict upon yourself. I am going to tell a story. Perhaps it has bearing and meaning, perhaps it does not. But it is a story, and I just need to tell it.

    We were nothing more than friends. Never more. We made passes toward each other, but we always made passes with everyone else. It was just the kind of people we were. The flirts. But the passes kept getting more and more serious. To the point where it became harder to recognize what it was. But we kept it strictly platonic. Or so I thought.

    At every party, things would get more intense. We would do things that most wouldn’t say was strictly platonic. But I kept trying to define it. I didn’t think it was real. I do wonder if that was my downfall… I never considered myself attractive. It was hard to parse what reality was telling me. That insecurity never faded…

    I wrote a letter. I always did. But this last one… I don’t think it was good. I addressed it as friend… friend… fucking friend. Maybe I wasn’t being honest with myself. Maybe I wasn’t being honest with anyone. It doesn’t matter anyway. We were going to remain that way.

    We have a promise to get married someday if we were both single. But I know that those pacts never go through. They never get fulfilled. At least, not in a way you envision when you make the promise. I just know that someday, I’ll look out into the world and see happiness. While I will look in the mirror and see nothing.

    It was never meant to be this way. We knew we were friends. But it snuck up on me. I didn’t realize I was falling until I sat up at night awaiting a reply. I guess that’s why they call it falling in love. You never intend to fall down the stairs, something else, some other force makes you do it.

    What will I do? Let it sit and boil over? Or finally turn off the stove? What will put out the fire in the kitchen? I can’t lose this friendship. I just can’t. But I know I will no matter what I do, and that’s what haunts me the most.

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  • broken cd – beabadoobee

    There was a moment in Rome I can’t get out of my head for whatever reason. It has been hardwired into my brain… a core memory if you will. On a city bike trip through the historic streets of Rome, I was riding along this back stretch of street on the way over to the Vatican City. No cars, no people, just a quiet Roman street where people live. It was around 6:00 PM, the golden hour. There was breeze in my jacket as Rome was beginning to warm-up after spring, still cold at night but warm during the day. I looked at the sun waning away from view, the light just hitting the buildings at the right place. I was standing on my pedals like when I was a kid biking around. Going so fast, probably too fast. I look behind me and normally my family would follow right after me, but in this moment they were out of view. In front of me, the two people who went on this ride with us and the guide were gone as well. The only sound I heard was of the gears of my bike changing ever so slightly like winding a toy soldier for Christmas. The bike tires glided along the cobblestone streets. For the first time since I ever knew what my memories were like, I felt free. Unchained. Like I finally transcended.

    I always thought that my life would be a bit different. I worry a lot about the paths I could have taken (and maybe should have). I have mad anxiety about everything, a serial overworrier, since I was just a child. But that moment, that slight moment of freedom is what we all search for. To no longer be beholden, to be held back, to be free.

    I wanted to write this down because I need to remind myself that this is what I seek. And for my therapist.

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  • all the flowers – angel olsen

    There was a long hallway to get across campus. The kind of hallway that stretches for an unimaginable amount of time. Where you get lost. The kind of hallway where if you were late to class, there was a real justification to just go “fuck it, I’m not going any more.”

    We always walked in this hallway, at the same time, in the same direction. He was the only other Vietnamese guy I had seen on campus outside of the club. We exchanged glances toward each other every once in a while. More in an acknowledgement of how long the fucking hallway was. But there’s an inherent connection you make with people of your creed, your race. Something that gives pause to the mind to go “he’s like me.”

    It was dead in the middle of October midterms. I was walking with a couple of my friends from class. They were in the middle of going over the elements on the periodic table (something that was going to be provided to us). As they talked, I took my regularly scheduled glance toward him. But this time he met me with a look of nerves, apprehension even. He was by himself, the white headphones on his ears contrasted his pale, almost red complexion. I just knew that this was the look of a guy who was dying to talk to me… and not in a very platonic way. He removed his headphones and touched his phone. He walked over to me.

    “Hi, I’m Jamie.” I immediately stopped in my tracks and opened.

    “Uh. Cool. I’m Ray.” He sat shocked and confused.

    My face must have been red, and my friends noticed it all. Out of the corner of my eye their stifled laughs were not making it any better. I thought that I had this all thought out in my head. We were going to exchange numbers… I thought. I don’t know.

    “What class are you going to?” He asked, easing my tense demeanor.

    “Chem 201.” I was less red.

    “201. Aren’t you a freshman?” He continued.

    Lucky guess? “How’d you know that?” I asked back.

    “You’re wearing your high school sweater. Class of 2019.” He looked down and my power move turned out to be a disaster.

    “Right. I thought it was a lucky guess.” I replied.

    “I’m class of 2018. I graduated from San Miguel.” He said back to me.

    San Miguel. The rich school. Not sure what to make of that yet.

    “I graduated from Sienna Ridge.” I snipped back.

    “Yup. Figured.” He smiled.

    Fuck. Forgot about the sweater. My face was burning me. It was as if hot coals were sitting right atop my cheekbones. I was grinning like a dog. My dumb face must have charmed him somehow. Cause next thing I knew he was handing me his phone.

    (zat is it for now ladies… will do something with it eventually)…

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  • girls like drugs – paris texas

    Back and forth the pendulum swings. Why can’t we all just be centrists???????? Why is there a left and right?????? Why can’t we meet in the middle?????

    I have been placing myself back in the hotbed of inter.net discourse. Sitting right on the battlefield in the middle of no man’s land. Except I am not fighting for either side, I am a dumb dumb, pea-brained, wittle guy sitting there wonder why “we can’t all be together on this?????????”

    I want to write my thoughts out on why we live in such a culture of division. So focused on on hating each other. But I often times wonder if that is even good enough. Why am I writing this? This isn’t the way it was supposed to go. I feel like a long time the internet was a nice and dandy place, filled with innovation and wonder. But I don’t think that’s the case. Instead of bringing us closer, we have drifted further and further until an ocean of division sits between us.

    What happened. What happened. What happened.

    I have stopped pointing fingers, as it is the opposite of productive to point the finger at any one thing in particular. No… lately I have been sitting in a position of questioning the apathetic. Since when has acting like you’re above discourse, debate, and culture seemed like it was the high ideal. And why do they act so damn smug all of the time. I want to talk a little bit about why it is so damn important to develop a sense of empathy, especially on this tormented plane of existence. We live in hell, I’m sure of it.

    Have you ever heard the tale of the Tower of Babel? Once the building of tower became so high that the top of the tower was inside the clouds, the foundation’s workers below could no longer communicate with the one’s on top. Eventually, the tower collapsed as no one could no longer talk to one another. The distance became too vast. Communication became obsolete. Eventually, the workers on top spoke a completely different language from those below. This myth has always been associated with the origin of language. But I think it has a lot to do with the story of distance. When you keep finding yourself in more niche and niche of spaces, soon people outside those spaces become less and less understandable…

    The overall lesson I choose to impart here is… go the fuck outside.

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