diary of a fuckup
Apr. 16th, 2003 03:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deathboyThis is going to be as clean as I can make it log of the important thoughts that run through my head this evening. Fuck knows if I'll have the balls to post it.
* Woke up really groggy. Whitby has taken it's toll and I'm still on the run-down come-down from the things I did and took. Had a shave and washed with weird minty shit to wake me up. Started drinking.
* Had a nice chat with Sexbat while 'warming up' (i.e. listening to hard, nasty music to get me raring to go). I really love that man. In a non-idolising way, I very much hope to retain as many of my faculties and warmth *and* vitriol when I've got a few (not that many) more years down the line. One of the people I'm chuffed to know. Made me grin some.
* Started flicking through sounds. I had this whole fucking track in my head on the train ride back from kings cross after whitby only to get home to a dead PC. So that fucker was stillborn. Entertained ideas of pulling it back out of my head, but, as ever, if I don't smash it down while the muse is wrecking up my head, I can only grasp faint elements of what had me worked up only a day ago. Decided to go my normal route of 'playing around with sounds until I find some nice ones and a melody sings itself out of the synth to me'. Fuck it. Planning a track makes it sterile 9 times out of 10.
* Got this nice echoey sound that reminds me of Suburbia by the Pet Shop Boys running. Added a little obligatory tweakiness on the Juno. Breakbeat time.
* Randomly clicked on a breakbeat. As ever, my Dread Lord Bel Sham H'Roth guides my hand. Out of 1000s of breaks, I pick the one I call "Yeahbop" that I've used since I was 17. I reckon fate intends me to use this breakbeat, so in it goes.
* Flick through some more breaks. A particularly fat (phatt?) one turns up. Over amp it and EQ it. Sounds good. Chop it to fuck so there's some (dare I say) funky variation to it (I hate using a loop unadulterated). Nice.
* Feel the need for guitar. Have a huge problem finding the right leads and, in the process of hooking up the guitar, rip out several cables in a drunken lurch by trying to go to the toilet with my guitar still on me (and still wired in). Become rather depressed at the carnage I've caused. I've also spilled my drink all across my keyboard. This is nothing new. I do it all the while. But it really gets me down. I'm such a fucking mess.
* Manage to go to the loo, realising how drunk I now am. And how fucking rancidly, hollowly, vision-tearingly lonely. Oh, and angry. Very fucking angry. Wish I was a girl so I could spend my time feeding off the life-energy of someone who just wants to feel like he belongs in exchange for a life of fuel. Realise I'm also rather mysogynistic as a part of my current psychic backlash. Bah.
* Clean up, refit, re-lead, get the fucking guitar working. Play something a little like the intro to hellisontheway. Tune the guitar up to a big power-chord because I feel lazy. Get some chords working. Get bored. Put guitar away. I have the sound in my head now. I can play it in later if I need to. Microphone time.
* Oop. Haven't updated in a good hour or so... I feel like death warmed up. The major feeling here is lonely. Desperately, horrifically lonely. The logical implication I always draw from the fact that whenever I feel so enormously low and there is never anyone near to help or care or even talk to is that I must be pretty fucking horriffic as a person. I know I am. I just wish against all hope that I wasn't. Because if I could just be someone that anyone thought was worth a few seconds of caring... if just someone would tell me I'm alright... just once... I could prolly sort myself out. There actually was one person who thought it was worth it to see if I was ok. Once. I've managed to alienate them, too now. So I'm back to this. Fortunately, this state of mind is the closest I come to a warm blanket over me. I'm used to the hatred. It makes me feel... not warm... but ... well, *home*, I spose. 'Close as I can come. Back to the music.
* Starting to wish I had some kind of talent or something. It's all feeling desperately cliche. Fuck it. I need this out of my system. EJECT.
* Got the chorus down. Kept imagining John Interlock was standing there, giving me the finger, telling me I could do more. We talked about this at whitby. Hopefully, John's going to come and give me the rodding I need to push myself... well... past breaking point. So no-one says I was holding back anymore. So the track sounds ace and there's just this fucked up me on the floor. Anyway. The thought of someone critiquing me is enough make me yell a bit.
* Got the guitar out. Made it squeal some. Things are coming together in the track. However, my head is falling apart. I can't sort this shit out tonight. Often, I can use the hatred and pain and that to bang me through to finishing shit off. Not tonight. It's sounding good. I can sort this out later. If I can manage to peel myself out of bed. I'm lacking a reason to get things done. I'm lacking a reason to breathe at the moment. God, I need someone.
enemy mine - deathboy - unfinished
---
Why is everyone so high
When all I want to do is die.
I know
You never could have loved me.
I am so diseased without your touch
Cost of reprieve was far too much.
I know
Why nobody could love me.
DIE
We'll make you so
DIE
We'll make you know
DIE
We hate you so
DIE
When will you go
I know
You never could have loved me.
DIE
And be with me
DIE
And you will see
DIE
We'll let you be
DIE
We'll set you free
I know
Why nobody could love me.
---
I feel so utterly utterly faithless and distraught it's rattling against even MY rather hardcore ability to cope.
I don't want your words of fucking sympathy.
I want someone to come to me HERE AND FUCKING NOW and hold me tight and tell me it'll be ok.
Hey, you know?
I just realised.
No-one's EVER told me it'll be OK.
One person has come after me when I've run off, scared, upset, fucked up and unable to deal with it. ONCE.
And NO-ONE has ever sat me down, held me tight and told me it's OK.
*I* have done that for other people. Because I reckon that's what they've needed to get through.
But NO-ONE has EVER been fucking bothered enough to sit me down and give me some fucking love and tell me it'll be OK.
Yeah, well, I think I know the reason for that.
It's not going to be OK.
Not for me.
I'm not supposed to have it ever be ok.
I'm supposed to sit here and feel like hell all the fucking time because I'm too ugly to fucking love. Too apparently able to deal with it to ever have anyone sit me down and tell me I'm nice and stuff'll work out.
Too fucking big and strong and ugly to ever be worth telling I'm ok.
ever.
Fucking christ, none of you fuckers has a fucking clue how broken I am.
Ignore me and laugh at me until I just plain manage to get out of this whole fucked thing.
This isn't scott vs the world.
This is just me slowly falling apart.
at 135 bpm.
* Woke up really groggy. Whitby has taken it's toll and I'm still on the run-down come-down from the things I did and took. Had a shave and washed with weird minty shit to wake me up. Started drinking.
* Had a nice chat with Sexbat while 'warming up' (i.e. listening to hard, nasty music to get me raring to go). I really love that man. In a non-idolising way, I very much hope to retain as many of my faculties and warmth *and* vitriol when I've got a few (not that many) more years down the line. One of the people I'm chuffed to know. Made me grin some.
* Started flicking through sounds. I had this whole fucking track in my head on the train ride back from kings cross after whitby only to get home to a dead PC. So that fucker was stillborn. Entertained ideas of pulling it back out of my head, but, as ever, if I don't smash it down while the muse is wrecking up my head, I can only grasp faint elements of what had me worked up only a day ago. Decided to go my normal route of 'playing around with sounds until I find some nice ones and a melody sings itself out of the synth to me'. Fuck it. Planning a track makes it sterile 9 times out of 10.
* Got this nice echoey sound that reminds me of Suburbia by the Pet Shop Boys running. Added a little obligatory tweakiness on the Juno. Breakbeat time.
* Randomly clicked on a breakbeat. As ever, my Dread Lord Bel Sham H'Roth guides my hand. Out of 1000s of breaks, I pick the one I call "Yeahbop" that I've used since I was 17. I reckon fate intends me to use this breakbeat, so in it goes.
* Flick through some more breaks. A particularly fat (phatt?) one turns up. Over amp it and EQ it. Sounds good. Chop it to fuck so there's some (dare I say) funky variation to it (I hate using a loop unadulterated). Nice.
* Feel the need for guitar. Have a huge problem finding the right leads and, in the process of hooking up the guitar, rip out several cables in a drunken lurch by trying to go to the toilet with my guitar still on me (and still wired in). Become rather depressed at the carnage I've caused. I've also spilled my drink all across my keyboard. This is nothing new. I do it all the while. But it really gets me down. I'm such a fucking mess.
* Manage to go to the loo, realising how drunk I now am. And how fucking rancidly, hollowly, vision-tearingly lonely. Oh, and angry. Very fucking angry. Wish I was a girl so I could spend my time feeding off the life-energy of someone who just wants to feel like he belongs in exchange for a life of fuel. Realise I'm also rather mysogynistic as a part of my current psychic backlash. Bah.
* Clean up, refit, re-lead, get the fucking guitar working. Play something a little like the intro to hellisontheway. Tune the guitar up to a big power-chord because I feel lazy. Get some chords working. Get bored. Put guitar away. I have the sound in my head now. I can play it in later if I need to. Microphone time.
* Oop. Haven't updated in a good hour or so... I feel like death warmed up. The major feeling here is lonely. Desperately, horrifically lonely. The logical implication I always draw from the fact that whenever I feel so enormously low and there is never anyone near to help or care or even talk to is that I must be pretty fucking horriffic as a person. I know I am. I just wish against all hope that I wasn't. Because if I could just be someone that anyone thought was worth a few seconds of caring... if just someone would tell me I'm alright... just once... I could prolly sort myself out. There actually was one person who thought it was worth it to see if I was ok. Once. I've managed to alienate them, too now. So I'm back to this. Fortunately, this state of mind is the closest I come to a warm blanket over me. I'm used to the hatred. It makes me feel... not warm... but ... well, *home*, I spose. 'Close as I can come. Back to the music.
* Starting to wish I had some kind of talent or something. It's all feeling desperately cliche. Fuck it. I need this out of my system. EJECT.
* Got the chorus down. Kept imagining John Interlock was standing there, giving me the finger, telling me I could do more. We talked about this at whitby. Hopefully, John's going to come and give me the rodding I need to push myself... well... past breaking point. So no-one says I was holding back anymore. So the track sounds ace and there's just this fucked up me on the floor. Anyway. The thought of someone critiquing me is enough make me yell a bit.
* Got the guitar out. Made it squeal some. Things are coming together in the track. However, my head is falling apart. I can't sort this shit out tonight. Often, I can use the hatred and pain and that to bang me through to finishing shit off. Not tonight. It's sounding good. I can sort this out later. If I can manage to peel myself out of bed. I'm lacking a reason to get things done. I'm lacking a reason to breathe at the moment. God, I need someone.
enemy mine - deathboy - unfinished
---
Why is everyone so high
When all I want to do is die.
I know
You never could have loved me.
I am so diseased without your touch
Cost of reprieve was far too much.
I know
Why nobody could love me.
DIE
We'll make you so
DIE
We'll make you know
DIE
We hate you so
DIE
When will you go
I know
You never could have loved me.
DIE
And be with me
DIE
And you will see
DIE
We'll let you be
DIE
We'll set you free
I know
Why nobody could love me.
---
I feel so utterly utterly faithless and distraught it's rattling against even MY rather hardcore ability to cope.
I don't want your words of fucking sympathy.
I want someone to come to me HERE AND FUCKING NOW and hold me tight and tell me it'll be ok.
Hey, you know?
I just realised.
No-one's EVER told me it'll be OK.
One person has come after me when I've run off, scared, upset, fucked up and unable to deal with it. ONCE.
And NO-ONE has ever sat me down, held me tight and told me it's OK.
*I* have done that for other people. Because I reckon that's what they've needed to get through.
But NO-ONE has EVER been fucking bothered enough to sit me down and give me some fucking love and tell me it'll be OK.
Yeah, well, I think I know the reason for that.
It's not going to be OK.
Not for me.
I'm not supposed to have it ever be ok.
I'm supposed to sit here and feel like hell all the fucking time because I'm too ugly to fucking love. Too apparently able to deal with it to ever have anyone sit me down and tell me I'm nice and stuff'll work out.
Too fucking big and strong and ugly to ever be worth telling I'm ok.
ever.
Fucking christ, none of you fuckers has a fucking clue how broken I am.
Ignore me and laugh at me until I just plain manage to get out of this whole fucked thing.
This isn't scott vs the world.
This is just me slowly falling apart.
at 135 bpm.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-04-15 08:07 pm (UTC)*hugs*
*BIG MANLY HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2003-04-15 08:41 pm (UTC)Fucking tough, Not gonna happen.
There are those of us who care. We fit under the general description of "friends". Just look at how many people you have watching your LJ, or how many people say hello when you log onto #uk_goffs.
And as for yourself, I couldn't think of a guy quite as cool, friendly or thoughtful (if evil thoughts count :P) as you.
Dude, you rock!
If you wanna chat or fancy escaping to Shef, gimmie a shout. Anytime.
no subject
Date: 2003-04-15 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-15 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-16 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-16 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-16 05:39 am (UTC)Because maybe it won't...
Your friends aren't in the business of lying to you... unless you want them to...
I won't lie to you - i value you too much - but I can say that 99% of the time, if you can see through the shit, the answer's there staring you in the face...
I know it isn't always the answer, but...
Date: 2003-04-16 08:19 am (UTC)/joel