Anette Olzon vs. Garrison's Autism

 

I didn't actually go to a Q&A hosted by Anette Olzon, but I do rack up a lot of chuckles by refusing to speak.

Shoot Your Shot

Shoot your shot, you’ve got nothing to lose

Except your self-esteem when she says, “I refuse”

Except a lawsuit where you never stood a chance

It's a permanent ban from a life of romance

 

I never took the time to show you how to do it

Flirting should come naturally, but you never knew it

Everything you know about the birds and the bees

Comes from online porn and erotic fantasies

 

I thought you would’ve learned from all your interactions

In your math classes while you’re learning subtraction

In your chemistry course about magnetic attraction

But you kept to yourself to protect your mental health

 

It’s not like you grew up with some Pulitzer winners

Who would ever invite you to a Met Gala dinner

They were bullies who punched down as a source of laughter

Why interact with people when it’s peace that you’re after?

 

You graduated college, but you don’t have any knowledge

On matters of the heart, because you don’t know where to start

You have to start somewhere, but you can’t find the bottom

Except in economic status and apartments so rotten

 

It used to be easy when the chemicals in their brains

Made the girls hot and horny, absolutely insane

It’s a little harder now that you don’t have social status

The ladies raced to the top and they were always the fastest

 

I bet you wish more people tried to understand

That it’s hard as hell to hold another woman’s hand

You could be movie star handsome and funny as fuck

But if she says no, then you’re shit out of luck

 

Now I understand why there’s a lock on your door

On the world wide web, you can’t be ignored

Press the play button and checkmark the loop

Nothing can stop you from shooting dude soup

 

You jokingly call it DIY lovemaking

When it comes to virginity, no volunteers are taking

You want something done right, you do it yourself

Hyper-independence comes from traumatized hell

Limerence

“…”

Do you hear that? That is the sound of absolutely nobody being shocked by the news that I experience limerence on a daily basis. It is a condition defined as obsessively imagining romance with someone I have a crush on. Cigarettes taste like shit. Alcohol tastes like an entire outhouse. Heroin and cocaine are even worse for the brain than those two things put together. Limerence is my drug of choice because it costs nothing and it helps me cope with the stresses of life, whether it’s the pandemic blues or schizophrenia eating me alive long before that. Instead of traumatic memories, limerence gives me lovey-dovey scenarios to think about. One of these things is not like the other. A night of laying my head in a woman’s lap while she strokes my hair is very much preferable over reliving every insult that’s ever been said to me.

Who am I currently experiencing limerence for? A lot of women, not just one or two. I feel much more comfortable saying the names of super-famous celebrities than I do of You Tubers and people I know online. Celebrities don’t have time to read my social media posts whereas a You Tuber will know exactly who I am and will hit that block button with cat-like reflexes. To be fair to the You Tubers, how would you feel if you learned that a three hundred pound man who lives with his parents and is currently unemployed thought of you in an obsessively romantic way? While beauty is always in the eye of the beholder, I have a feeling it would be creepy no matter who I was. I could have flowing blond locks and abs that would make a great bulletproof vest. I could be a billionaire who cheats on my taxes, but never on my limerent object. It would still be creepy as fuck.

But what about the celebrities who have no time for me? What about the fictional characters who will never be offended by my romantic thoughts because they’re not even real? Well, that depends on what time period you’re talking about. In the late 90’s, it was Cammy White from Super Street Fighter II. In the mid 2000’s, it was Motoko Kusanagi from Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex. For the rest of the 2000’s, it was Tarja Turunen, the ex-lead singer from Nightwish. In 2018, it was Sarah-Jane Redmond, the actress who played Lucy Butler from Millennium. In the present day, it’s a bunch of lovely You Tubers whose names will go unchecked due to the fact that they might be reading this.

I’m sure none of you want to Google the names I did mentioned. After all, I’m supposed to be showing instead of telling when I write these nonfiction pieces. But there are many common threads among the women I’ve named and haven’t named. They’re beautiful, of course, but not just physically. They have something about them that keeps my limerent mind coming back for more. It could be the intelligence of political discourse, giving safe spaces and love in equal measures. It could be the wisdom of passionate fairytale storytelling, the paladin conquering the ogre and the dragons protecting the elven kingdoms. It could be the talent of singing like an angel from heaven itself, turning the phone book into sensual lyrics. It could be the strength of a warrior who will protect and mother any man she falls in love with. It could be the uncanny knack of seducing men just by being themselves, declaring love and giving kisses to calm the most nervous of men.

Anybody can be physically attractive. Anybody can have ruby red lips that taste like cherry pie, skin that’s soft and arousing to the touch, and hair that when stroked would leave both of your scalps tingling with pleasure. But if someone is physically attractive whilst being a shallow jerk, then that’s a huge turn-off. Nicole Arbour is physically attractive, but because of her fat-shaming rhetoric (“sweating Crisco” and “being unhealthy”), abusive behavior towards past boyfriends (punching faces and isolation from friends and family), and right-wing ignorance (white victimhood and minority bashing), she angers instead of seduces.

Another common thread among my limerent women is that none of my romantic fantasies about them have ever turned sexual. I would never want to taint them in that way. So instead, I imagine them squeezing my shoulders in a relaxing massage, sending tingles throughout my body. I imagine laying my head in their lap while they play with my hair, sending even more tingles throughout my body. I would do the same for them occasionally and earn a few swooning moans. I imagine giving them foot massages that make them close their eyes and drift off into dreamland, probably dreaming about being fed strawberries and cream like a goddess. I imagine laying in bed next to them, not for sex, but for the warmth of cuddling and the peacefulness of sleep. We could even have “A Pillow of Winds” by Pink Floyd playing in the background to accentuate this moment of love. 

These fantasies are especially important to me during moments of sadness and schizophrenic torment. Who wouldn’t want Chun Li from Street Fighter II squeezing their shoulders and lifting them up from a pit of despair? Mild, inoffensive touching at its finest. We could even hold hands together while walking through the desolate streets of either Port Orchard or Seattle. The warmth of her hand and the softness of her fingers would definitely feel good to me when I’m nervous at night. Of course, I would still be nervous about this beautiful lady wanting anything to do with me, but it’s not the same as feeling the danger of Seattle’s cyberpunk atmosphere.

I held off on talking about this topic as long as I could. I’ve already mentioned not wanting to gross anybody out with my lovey-dovey thoughts. But more importantly than that, I didn’t want to be written off as a whiny incel. For all intents and purposes, someone like me would fit in nicely with that clique. I’m overweight, a shy virgin, unemployed, and a lifelong tenant with my parents. I check all the boxes except for one: I’m not a misogynist who believes I’m entitled to free sex. Women owe me absolutely nothing. If they like me, fine. If not, then there’s nothing I can do about it. I certainly would never go on a shooting spree at a lingerie store or yoga studio. I wouldn’t run over random pedestrians with a van over my inability to be attractive. That’s just a LITTLE extreme, in my opinion.

Sometimes limerence is only a fantasy that will never come true. Sometimes we have to accept that we’re not right for everyone. Not everybody deserves a lifetime of cuddling and hot sex with Wonder Woman. Not everybody deserves a shoulder massage and passionate kisses from Tifa Lockhart. And you know what? That’s okay. If we got whatever we wanted all day every day, life would be boring as hell. There’d be no excitement or realism. If everybody is sexy, nobody is sexy. If everything is romantic, nothing is romantic. All the good things in life will come in moderation, which seems cliché to say until you do take it to the extreme and completely fuck up your life because of it. You hear that, Jake Davison? Of course you don’t, because you’re dead.

So why do I have limerent fantasies about people I don’t stand a chance with? Wouldn’t it be easier just for me to go out and meet somebody, pandemic aside? Well, that’s where the shyness and lack of confidence comes in. I don’t enjoy being creepy and I can see if me flirting with a woman would be perceived that way, no matter how mild or harmless it may seem. Being rejected by someone who thinks I’m creepy sounds like the worst kind of pain there is. It’s actually been scientifically proven that romantic rejection activates the same receptors of the brain as physical pain. It’s not as easy as moving onto the next one. It hurts. It can hurt for weeks, months, even years, especially if you’re like me and you’re neurodivergent. Autistic people generally feel pain at a higher capacity than neurotypicals. Criticism and rejection are both necessary parts of life, but goddamn, do they hurt worse than getting kicked in the testicles.

So what do I do about this? Stay in the shadows and partake in the drug known as limerence, of course. What else would I do? Why bother with someone who’s guaranteed to hate me when I’ve got Anette Olzon scratching her nails down my back and setting off my ASMR triggers? Why put myself through unnecessary pain when I’ve got Amy Lee slow-dancing with me at the prom, whispering sweetness in my ear and kissing my cheeks while doing so? Not a tough decision, as you can see. While loneliness may suck and limerence will always be fake, it beats the emotional trauma of rejection any day of the week. This makes me sound like an incel, I’m sure, but mark my words: I despise that ideology and want nothing to do with people who conform to that label. Maybe I’m not that creepy after all? Nah! Of course I am! Lzzy Hale, here I come! What flavor of ice cream sandwich do you want: vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, or all three at once?

Other People

VERSE 1

Your bank account is birth control

Can’t make up for it with heart and soul

Love doesn’t put food on the table

And so ends the romantic fable

CHORUS

You can’t have love, it belongs to other people

No, not you, you could never be their equal

No, no, no, no, no

I said so

VERSE 2

If you complain, they call you an incel

The preacher man damns you to hell

Throw in the towel, you’re now MGTOW

You set fire to the whole damn town

EXTENDED CHORUS 1

You can’t have love, it belongs to other people

No, not you, you could never be their equal

No, no, no, no, no

I said so

You can’t move on, that’s only for other people

No, not you, you must always stay evil

No, no, no, no, no

I said so

BRIDGE

They’re unwritten rules, I don’t make them up

The one who did drinks from a golden cup

Blindly believe and shut your damn mouth

Smile and fake it, don’t bitch and pout

EXTENDED CHORUS 2

You can’t have fame, it belongs to other people

You’re to blame and there’ll never be a sequel

No, no, no, no, no

I said so

You can’t live life, that’s only for other people

Grab the knife, ‘cause you know your fate is sealed

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

The death blow

Couch Potato Salad

Running late to a party where I don’t belong
What’s the fucking point in staying so strong?
What’s the point in coming out of the shadows?
Small talk never got past the point of shallow

Laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling
Forgetting about my brokenhearted feelings
Forgetting that there are strangers all around me
I’d enter their social circles if they allowed me

Couch potato salad is what I’ve become
Lazy, dead inside, and comfortably numb
I didn’t have to suck down a single beer
To feel like sleeping forever in here

There’s a Denny’s only a few blocks away
Hopefully they’re open twenty-four hours a day
Pancakes and syrup to kill the loneliness
My body’s a temple and I’m his holiness

Nobody noticed that I got off the couch
Not a “goodbye” or “wait up” out of their mouths
That’s okay, they’re invisible to me as well
What about the waitress? Can she even tell?

Walking down the street with my head hung low
Keeping my pace so agonizingly slow
I don’t notice when someone tells me to move
To impatient strangers, I’ve nothing to prove

Another night of waffles and emptiness
Another night of squandered friendliness
Another night of being socially envious
Another night of depressive endlessness

When will I learn to stay home for the night?
When will I admit that I could never be right?
No more philosophy, just syrup and batter
It’s not like any of this even fucking matters

A happy Buddha belly and a frozen heart
This is how the next morning will start
Another day of wishing for bravery
And chowing down on steaks so savory

Head Over Heels

I can’t ignore you any longer

My attraction to you is stronger

Lord knows I’ve tried to run

Lord knows I was all but done

To say my crush never happened

Doesn’t give me satisfaction

Doesn’t bring me mental peace

Cure my sadness in the least

By being honest with myself

I’m taking control of my health

Isn’t that what love is all about?

Why plant the seeds of doubt?

Because it feels so damn wrong?

It doesn’t make a good song?

People can’t stop laughing?

It’s a sin to just be happy?

I’m sick of lying to myself

Pretending to be someone else

I’m allowed to say, “I love you”

I know these words to be true

Head over heels and unashamed

Nothing can ever be the same

Broken heart can always restart

Even when ripped clean apart

One of these days I’ll say it to you

I’ve got nothing left inside to lose

Yes or no? Please think about it

Even if your answer is to shout it

Only then will I figure it out

Was it right of me to doubt?

Were my feelings valid all along?

Or have I always been so wrong?

You Hate Me 'Cause I Love You

VERSE 1

If I put this out into the universe

Will you be the one who hurts?

If I say this to your lovely face

Would it invade your personal space?

If I told you I loved you until the end

Would you cease to be my best friend?

Is it worth taking the biggest chance

Or will I fumble and fall on my ass?

CHORUS 1

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to walk out of sight

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to call it a night

VERSE 2

I’m sorry if I’ve offended you

But everything I said was true

I don’t take any of my words back

I’ll take them deep into the black

CHORUS 2

You hate me ‘cause I love you

You choose to end the whole thing

You hate me ‘cause I love you

My broken heart forever sings

VERSE 3

My eyes are open, yet full of tears

Planned this confession for many years

Went against my instincts and worst fears

I see it all, it’s now so vivid and clear

I should have kept this to myself

Loneliness is no good for my health

Got desperate and made a mistake

Watched you cry, watched your heart break

CHORUS 3

You hate me ‘cause I love you

I’ll pack my bags and fuck off

You hate me ‘cause I love you

How could I be so damn soft?

You hate me ‘cause I love you

I’ll get my ass on an airplane

You hate me ‘cause I love you

Anything to keep you sane

"Truth Is Fragmentary" by Gabrielle Bell

BOOK TITLE: Truth Is Fragmentary

AUTHOR: Gabrielle Bell

YEAR: 2014

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Travel Memoir

GRADE: Pass

Gabrielle Bell is a struggling comic book artist who puts herself on a schedule to draw every day despite her mental exhaustion. Her travels around the world give her more than enough creative fuel for an autobiography, both because of the experiences and the exhaustion. She specifically travels to places where other comic book artists meet, as a way to not only better her own style, but to market herself to the public. With a shy personality and an emotionally wrecked mind, putting herself out there becomes increasingly difficult as the graphic novel marches on.

The themes of shyness, stress, and depression are all relatable topics that most readers can get behind. The ways in which Miss Bell shows them are creative and razor-sharp, to say the least. For example, when asked about her shyness, the next panel shows Miss Bell morphing into a two-headed creature as she wracks her brain thinking of an answer. Being stressed out also takes its toll on her as evidenced by her sarcastic “cat riding” vacation photos. It gets so maddening at times for her that she pops Xanax on airplane rides and chews cocaine leaves just to numb the pain. While I don’t recommend going too hardcore with the medication you take, it’s certainly understandable.

Of all the places Gabrielle has traveled to, her visit to Columbia has to be the most eye-opening. We all have this image of Columbia being a corrupt place where guys like Pablo Escobar can run roughshod over everyone while the police do nothing about it. To some extent, that could very well be the case. But Gabrielle also knows that beneath all the violence and drugs, there’s a spark of humanity and a cry for help. As an open-minded liberal, she knows not to judge an entire culture based on the actions of a few people. That’s a lesson we all need to understand at some point, especially with our current politics the way they are now with the Donald in charge.

If there’s one complaint I have about this graphic novel, it’s that the themes I care about the most took too long to kick in. At first it seemed like Gabrielle was having a good time with all the traveling she did. Then you scratch beneath the surface and find that nothing is okay and she needs help. I wish that was more prevalent in the opening chapters of the book. Maybe it was already there and I missed it, but it just seemed to be a deviation from the near end of the story. If you don’t have a lot of patience as a reader, I can see how this would be a turn-off. But I must advise you to keep going until the very end. I did and I’m grateful for it.

It’s easy to tell that Truth Is Fragmentary was a labor of love for Gabrielle Bell and she should be rewarded for soldiering through the stress and depression. Buy a copy of her book and give her your undivided attention. If you like what you see, keep buying her works. She’ll be grateful for any attention she gets, as are many up-and-coming writers and artists. That’s what you have to remember as you go through this book: everybody starts somewhere and it’s the journey, not the destination, that matters the most. Thank you, Gabrielle Bell, for giving me something worthwhile to read! A passing grade for you, my dear!

Skin On Skin

VERSE 1

A squeeze of her shoulder, a ruffle of her hair

Let her know that you’ll always be there

A scratch of her back, a hold of her hand

Comfort your lover any way that you can

A kiss of her face, the gentlest of hugs

Gets her high like the strongest of drugs

It’s better than spending another minute alone

No such connection can be found on your phone

CHORUS

Skin on skin is never a sin

Her heart is yours to win

Skin on skin is never a sin

Her heart is yours to win

VERSE 2

I know you’re scared, somewhat unprepared

I know it’s not fair when it’s truth or dare

I know you think what you touch turns to ash

I know that mirror is all but yours to smash

What do you do when she calls your name?

Walk away? It’s just like more of the same?

What do you do when she wants your touch?

Can you find it within you to love and trust?

CHORUS

Skin on skin is never a sin

Her heart is yours to win

Skin on skin is never a sin

Her heart is yours to win

VERSE 3

Take a walk together on the beach’s dockside

Lose track of the time as it passes clockwise

You can talk for hours on what love truly is

Sooner or later, she’ll want to sneak a kiss

Will you curl on the ground as your heart pounds?

Or will you listen to her voice’s sweet sounds?

Make the right call, your back’s against the wall

When it comes to love, how hard will you fall?

CHORUS

Skin on skin is never a sin

Her heart is yours to win

Skin on skin is never a sin

Her heart is yours to win

Things That Scare Me

***THINGS THAT SCARE ME***

It seems as though you can’t go anywhere on the internet without seeing inspirational memes telling you to “do what scares you”. I’m not talking about overcoming phobias like spiders and snakes. I’m not talking about watching the scene in Tales From the Hood where they stick straws up Crazy K’s nose. I’m not even talking about the idea of being flirted with by the demon chick Lucy Butler from Millennium. I’m talking about bigger fears than that. I’m talking about the little things in life that everyone else takes for granted. Since I spent most of my day zombie-walking around and watching WWE Raw, I figured I’d salvage the early dark of morning by writing a blog entry about what scares me more than having a bucket of tarantulas poured over my head. Starting with…

***MARKETING MY BOOKS***

Since I love to write so much, it should stand to reason that I’d want to commit to this career full time, which entails marketing the shit out of my books. But to hear other authors describe how much they have to do, you’d swear they were having a 24/7 root canal. I must confess that I’m only dimly aware of what marketers go through on a day-to-day basis. Being social media savvy, dealing with trolls, giving interviews, and being away from your family are only some of the responsibilities I’ve heard. At least two of those things scare me more than the rest, and I don’t even know what the other steps are. They say “treat this like a real job”. Well, I’ve had a writing job before and it lasted less than a full day. During that internet job, I was so fucking stressed out that I snapped at my family members while wrapping my head around how to write one stupid article about my Coby MP3 player. So many rules…so much shattered creativity…Is it any wonder that I went postal? What if the actual job of marketing makes me even angrier with the people I love? What if it makes me angry at total strangers? Ugh…

***SCHIZOPHRENIC ATTACKS***

Speaking of stress, have you ever wondered why I don’t write blog entries about my schizophrenia anymore? It’s because from 2015 on, I’ve been living a stress-free life. The less stress a schizophrenic has, the less likely he is to experience hallucinations. Being stress-free is important no matter what Penn & Teller say on Showtime. It’s part of the reason why schizophrenics qualify for social security. If they had stressful employment, they’d fall to pieces within seconds. It’s not about being a “snowflake”. It’s biology. It’s psychology. It’s natural fucking brain chemistry. If you feel uncomfortable at the idea of your tax dollars paying for a schizophrenic’s living expenses, maybe YOU’RE the one who needs to have your head examined. When a schizophrenic experiences hallucinations, you don’t know when those hallucinations are going away. Sometimes they go on for days. Sometimes they go on for weeks. Months. Half a year. There’s no timetable for recovery. And in case you’ve ever wondered why I write so many angry songs and stories, it’s because schizophrenics are easily irritated. I throw screaming fits whenever the phone rings or someone’s knocking at the door. Brain chemistry, people.

***LEAVING MY COMFORT ZONE***

They say the comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. So what happens when you venture outside the comfort zone and you fall on your ass? Do you still grow? Was the lesson worth the pain? Will the hallucinations come more frequently because of your colossal failure? Is coasting the answer? I asked an old college friend about this and her advice was to leave my comfort zone a little bit at a time. Don’t rush into making big decisions. Take time t think about it and edge slowly towards the outer reaches. While that sounds like great advice to a healthy-minded person, I on the other hand have no idea what slowly testing the waters would entail. Okay, so I leave my comfort zone and market my books. Then what? Do I join one new social media site at a time? Do I film one You Tube video and allow it to be complete shit? What is it? Maybe if I had a mentor to show me the way…

***TALKING TO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN***

As I write this next paragraph, I’m going to try my best not to sound like a desperate creep. That’s not who I am. In fact, the reason I stay away from women to begin with is because I DON’T like making them feel uncomfortable. Even saying hi to someone might be enough to make them turn the other way. Maybe it’s my lack of social skills. Maybe it’s my looks. Maybe it’s my economic status. But whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s not what women want. Having my actions rejected in a harsh manner would hurt much more than staying in the shadows and being my shy self. It might even result in a…I don’t know….schizophrenic attack! (Gasp) It’s true! I could be so embarrassed and humiliated at rejection that my hallucinations laugh at me for three months straight. Good god almighty…

***PUBLIC SPEAKING***

I mentioned shooting You Tube videos earlier in this blog. Well, that would mean having an audience. Even though the audience isn’t right there in front of me, knowing the judging eyes are watching me is frightening to me. Sometimes when I’d give presentations in school or college, I’d stumble over my words because I was too fucking nervous. Well, I think I’ve come up with a nice gimmick that will set the record straight. Before any public presentation, I will hold out my hand, place two Xanax tablets in them, say to my audience, “You’re making me do this!”, and then swallow them with Perrier. This is what it takes for me to feel comfortable around these people. It’s about time they feel the way that I feel every time I get up there. Yeah!

***CRYING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE***

If you’ve read my first draft novel Beautiful Monster or Jenna Moreci’s fully-published book The Savior’s Champion, you know how powerful of a gesture it is to be able to show weakness in front of another person. It’s a sign of trust. It’s a sign of love. But being vulnerable in front of others is yet another thing that scares me. What if after the crying spell is over they want to talk about the incident some more? What if during these new conversations…you guessed it, a schizophrenic attack happens? Talking about bad shit doesn’t make a schizophrenic feel better. It makes him feel worse. I haven’t cried since 2007. Don’t make me break my record. Please?

***BEING AROUND AGGRESSIVE PEOPLE***

When I say aggressive people, I don’t mean psychopaths who wield knives and punch people in the face. I’m talking about socially aggressive people. The loud ones. The crazy ones. The ones who invade your space and think nothing of it (even if they’re trying to be “friendly”). These people annoy me. They also scare me. I had to sit next to a drunken moron at Pain in the Grass 2016 and he fit this bill to a fault. I was secretly hoping security would arrest him for public intoxication, but I’m not aware of his fate at this moment. And then there was a guy who walked into Quizno’s bragging loudly and vulgarly about how he was going to get a sandwich with all these certain trimmings on it after a hard day of work. Shut the fuck up! Take your sandwich and fuck off! And don’t get me started on the drunken Seahawks fans I had to ride a night train with in 2008. I could have strangled every last one of them with my massive hands. Lesson of the day: be humble or fuck off!

***TRAVELING***

Ever since I took a “vacation” in 2009 to Pennsylvania, I’ve had this fear of traveling because of all the things that could go wrong. What if my airplane ride has a drunken lunatic or a loud baby onboard? What if I forget my medicine? What if I have to sit for six hours straight and have a painful ass and spine afterwards? As much as I love my international friends, there’s no way I’m getting on an airplane for god knows how long just to see them. There better be soft beds and soundproof booths on that flight or there’s no deal. Traveling wouldn’t be so bad if I could just teleport from place to place, but that’ll never happen, because we’re too busy building our own Space Force. Ugh….

***CONCLUSION***

So basically what all of these fears boil down to is that I need to take good care of my schizophrenic/autistic brain. I don’t drink caffeine. I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t do drugs. And most importantly, I don’t do stressful shit that could send me down a dark path. Is it wrong? Is it right? Does it even matter? Is coasting the answer? Am I eventually going to have to be forced into making these big decisions in my life? I could be screaming into the abyss here, but…I’m going to keep asking these questions for as long as I have to. I’m Garrison Kelly and…fuck it.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Sick and tired of living with this grief. Done with all the sorrow and the pain. Asphyxiated, can no longer breathe. Anesthetized until I’ve gone insane. So carry all this baggage when you leave. Swallow all those bitter pills you take. Blame it on the world, blame it on me. Tolerated too much of your game. A change of weather comes around too much. A sign of a deeper cut. Lying dormant on a bed of nails. Without warning, violently erupt. So bleed the molten river from my veins. Collapse upon myself, disintegrate. Shame upon the world and shame on me. Hate the player, but don’t hate the game. So condescend and patronize my lead. Persecute the innocent again. Rain down on the world and rain on me. Ticking like a bomb that’s got your name. Temperamental, unpredictable. The sky turns black when I exhale.”

-Death Angel singing “Volcanic”-

Sex Surrogate

VERSE 1

It’s been forever since our last session

Not much going on that’s worth mention

I still coast through life at a turtle’s pace

I still have my famous Resting Bitch Face

Should’ve called you when I had the chance

Not much happening in the way of romance

How many more sessions am I allowed to have?

Can we still meet for at least an hour and a half?

VERSE 2

I’m sorry I’m late, but traffic was a mess

I’m sorry for these excuses I must confess

I got cold feet and stalled for a while

I might as well be walking the green mile

We all know how this session will end

I can’t be cured, but I can make amends

I’m sorry I’m not who you want me to be

Whether in bed or in life, nothing is free

VERSE 3

I must admit that I’m starting to like you

I’m sorry if this confession frightens you

I know we can’t have romantic feelings

But it’s a desire which I’ve been feeding

You’re married and happy, I understand

Reciprocation isn’t something I demand

I just had to get it all off my chest today

What a wonderful time to feel so brave

VERSE 4

This isn’t working, give me back my pills

This never ending pain is mine to kill

Sedated and jaded, everything has faded

Nothing left after my ego has deflated

The comfort zone is calling my name

It tells me to stop playing these sex games

It tells me that taking risks is foolish

Maybe I’ll listen until the day I’m ghoulish

Wrestling With My Mind

***WRESTLING WITH MY MIND***

One day of creative inactivity is unacceptable to me, let alone four. Creating blueprints for my next novel idea doesn’t count, because that shit was too easy. I’m so close to putting the finishing touches on Silent Warrior. Only four more chapters to go and my racecar ran out of gas. I know I originally said three more chapters, but I’ve decided to add another one to make sure all of my loose ends are tied up. You want to know what I’ve been doing during those four days of inactivity aside from creating blueprints? Wrestling with my mind. It wasn’t a schizophrenic attack, but rather a creative struggle within my soul.

Wrestling with your creativity can be good for coming up with story ideas, but when it takes the place of actual work, that’s not a good thing. I used to do this all the time when I was a teenager. I’d wrestle with my mind and never get around to writing something that would amount to a Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex fan fiction. Back then I wanted to do a self-insert fic where I was the subject of unrequited love for Makoto Kusanagi. I ran a bunch of different scenarios through my head and eventually popped something tangible out. Looking back now, it’s not very good, but at least some good came from the constant inner turmoil.

In the case of my most recent four days of nothingness, this running of the gauntlet was a long time coming. It began in mid-February when I researched an episode of Millennium called “A Room with No View” due to nostalgic curiosity. I’ve beaten this topic to death with a lead pipe, so to give you the Cliff’s Notes version of why that episode was upsetting to me, it was a unique version of the kidnapping trope, this time a beautiful woman kidnapping a handsome high school boy and giving him lovey-dovey treatment while in captivity. I saw the Wikipedia article for this episode and figured, I want to do a story like that too, though with my own spin on it. Thus a novel synopsis for “Beautiful Monster” was born. But blueprints aren’t anywhere near as valuable as an actual novel, so it’ll have to be shelved for now.

Less than a week later, I went to see Pop Evil at El Corazon, a nightclub in Seattle. The music was good and dancing to it was a lot of fun. Here’s what I didn’t tell you guys. While Black Map (one of the opening acts) was performing onstage, a cute stocky black chick tried dancing with me. She had her hand in mine. She had her hand on my shoulder. She was twirling around. For all intents and purposes, since I’m apparently so lovesick, I should be making moves on her too. But no. I was terrified. I just stood there frozen like Walt Disney while this chick was giving me sugar and love. It didn’t help matters that she shoved another woman with her elbow and got herself ejected from the building, but that’s beside the point.

I spent the next two days wrestling with the awkwardness and then the following Wednesday I saw Starset at the same venue without incident. But think about this for a minute: an episode of Millennium, an embarrassing moment at a concert, and a childhood of rejecting girls as a reaction to my father’s divorce troubles. Bad timing aside, don’t you think this makes for some emotionally raw creative fuel? You’re damn right it does. The creative fuel helped get me through ten more chapters of Silent Warrior, which is a story about an unconfident high schooler named Scott George getting into an unfamiliar romance with a younger woman. Pay attention to the theme of lacking confidence around women, because that’ll come into play multiple times during my creative journey.

Because of this creative fuel swirling in my brain, I became obsessed with certain songs in my music library. You all know about “Beautiful Monster” by Otherwise, but I also listened to a lot of “This Love” by Pantera. I also listened to a lot of heavy metal songs to bring me back down into bathos territory. And then I start watching Final Fantasy videos on You Tube and finding even more vicarious romances to set my mind on fire. Squall Leonhart and Cloud Strife are both emotionally distant characters who are colder than Walt Disney (man, I’m really laying that shit on thick!). When they went on dates with their respective love interests, I felt the terror building up in my stomach yet again.

And then the scenarios swirled in my head once more. I actually imagined Squall, Cloud, and Landon Bryce (Millennium) joining a group therapy session to get in touch with their feelings, y’all (as Dr. Phil would oftentimes say). And then I imagined myself in a college class introducing myself as someone who doesn’t open up easily. And then I imagined having a schizophrenic episode in the middle of a WWE ring with the girls of Absolution screaming for paramedics.

And while all of this nonstop nonsense is going on, I still have two novel ideas floating around in my head. One of them is Beautiful Monster as I’ve mentioned before. The other is Booger the Clown. Let’s compare and contrast the main characters of both stories. Windham Xavier is an elf paladin who gets kidnapped by a beautiful vampire named Shelly Atwood so that the two of them can have a black wedding together. Booger the Clown (real name Private Andrew Gale) is a depressed birthday performer who picks fights with orcs because he secretly wants to die. Both main characters are snarky. They’re both emotionally fucked up for life. They’re both being pursued by beautiful women. And whatever happy ending they achieve, they’re going to have to earn it through fire and fury.

Keep in mind that these ideas and dream scenarios are all invading my mind right when I’m ready to pull the trigger on Silent Warrior. Four chapters left. Four fucking chapters left, all of which I’ve played out in my mind many times before and therefore have a solid foundation for how I’m going to write them. Two chapters are going to be told through Tom Simpson’s point of view, one chapter is going to be told through Scott George’s POV, and the other one goes to Alan Young. You won’t get many spoilers beyond that, so cool your jets, as my mother once told me.

But let’s go back to this theme of being unconfident and afraid around beautiful women. This is a curse that has followed me for pretty much all of my life. Even when I was dating a Bremerton woman named Brianna, I could never bring myself out of the shadows for fear of offending the other person. I’ve been offended by women in the past and I don’t want to put anybody else through that. So in order to keep the peace between us, I give them a shield from my lovey-dovey behavior. Even if they don’t give me a shield, I give them a shield. Though the peace treaty is intact, our hearts are not. Careless overconfidence can lead to awkwardness. Nobody needs that. Shyness, on the other hand, is the greatest defense I’ll ever have.

But instead of rolling over and playing dead for a cold world, I use sexual inadequacy as creative fuel for my emotionally rawest stories. William Butler Yeats was once told by his crush that if they got together, he’d have nothing to write about. That doesn’t mean I don’t intend to date again when the opportunity presents itself. It just means I’m going to focus my broken heart on getting things done rather than being a perpetual angsty mope. Like I said, Silent Warrior is four chapters away from completion. I may write the twenty-fifth chapter today, depending on whether or not my brain wants to cooperate. I think it will. It’s cooperated with me long enough to get this blog entry out, so I think I’m good to go for Silent Warrior’s twenty-fifth chapter. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***NOVEL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I know it isn’t fair. I know how hard you try. But if you want love and affection in this world, you have to earn it by being a good person, not by throwing a fit.”

-Windham Xavier to Shelly Atwood-

Silent Warrior, Chapter 6

“I was beginning to think you actually served your thirty minutes with my dad,” said Adrienne with a cute smile as she held Scott’s sweaty hand in hers. While the two of them walked down the street together like a cuddly couple, Scott’s hand wouldn’t stop perspiring and his face wouldn’t stop glowing with strawberry redness. The more embarrassed he looked, the more Adrienne held onto his hand and smiled at him. “You don’t need to be nervous around me, Scott.”

“I know, I know…it’s just that…” Scott sighed as he searched for his words. “It’s been a while since somebody held me hand like this. I mean, are we…uh…what are we, exactly?”

“We can be anything you want, Scotty-Boy. We can be friends. We can be good friends. We can be really, really, really good friends. For all the world knows, we could be dating right now.” That last sentence really brightened up Scott’s tomato-colored cheeks. “You’ve never had a girlfriend before, have you?”

“Actually, I had three of them before you,” explained Scott, his eyes tucked low and not meeting Adrienne’s. “They didn’t work out too well, though. They were a lot like your dad in the sense that they didn’t give a crap about my introversion. Either that or they didn’t know it was a real thing. Constant phone calls, twenty-four seven, right in the middle of homework.” Adrienne gave him an accusatory look and placed one hand on her right hip. “That doesn’t mean that…” Scott stuttered. “I mean, you can call anytime you…oh, no…”

“I’m just screwing with you, Scott, you can relax now,” said Adrienne while swinging Scott’s liquefied hand. “Truth be told, I actually get a lot of what you’re saying. Sometimes you’ve just got to have your space, that’s all. But even with all that space, there still can’t be secrets between us. You have to find a balance between those things, you know?” A beat of awkward silence hung between them. “So tell me the truth, Scott: did you have anything to eat today?”

He sighed, “No, I didn’t. That’s part of the reason why I didn’t show up for our walk right away. I was at the gas station eating a microwavable pizza.”

“Lift up your shirt, Scott,” demanded Adrienne. Scott swallowed a nervous gulp and questioned his girlfriend before she asked him again to lift up his shirt. When he did so, he revealed that his ribcage was slightly visible. “I knew it,” she said. “You’re not getting enough to eat these days. That’s not good for you, honey.”

“Thanks, Mom,” snickered Scott.

“Scott, I’m serious. Didn’t you take health class in middle school? You would have learned all about anorexia if you actually paid attention.”

“I’m not anorexic!” snapped Scott, to which Adrienne’s accusatory eyes widened. “Sorry about that. You’re right. I should be eating more often than I do. It’s just that…it’s this goddamn dream I keep having every night. It won’t go away.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s like…having an acid trip every night. There’s this puppet teacher and she’s always covered in worms. So are her students. And every time I try to take a bite of food, all I an see are those worms just crawling around on my plate. It took all the strength I had just to eat that gas station pizza. Goddamn, what the fuck is wrong with me?” Scott placed his head in his free hand and rubbed his temples, as if the face massage would actually ease his permanent pain.

Adrienne let go of Scott’s goopy hand and instead wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “I get it, Scott. School is a shitty place to be. It always has been. But if you don’t eat on a regular basis, you could die. And don’t even try telling me that’s a better option than living.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Every time I have something to eat, it’s just worms and maggots. I can’t put it out of my mind. I can’t see a shrink or else they’ll lock me up in a loony bin.” A little tear splash plopped onto the sidewalk, Scott hurrying to wipe his eyes away.

“I have an idea. How about instead of worms, you imagine something else over it. It’s like mental censorship. If you’re eating mashed potatoes, imagine gravy instead of worms. If you’re eating pizza, imagine more cheese and pepperoni instead of maggots. It takes a lot of time to master, but that’s true with pretty much any skill. That’s what being healthy is, Scott: a skill. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

Scott let out a deep sigh and said, “Okay, I’ll give it a try. If it’ll keep me out of the nuthouse, I’ll do it. By the way, how do you know all about this?”

“I see a therapist every Sunday morning.” Scott’s dewy eyes widened as if this therapist was a true alternative to the nuthouse he saw in Terminator 2: Judgment Day. “It’s true, Scott,” said Adrienne. “You get to sit on a comfy couch and talk about your feelings for an hour or so. It’s good for the soul.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute…You always seem so happy all the time. I mean, why would you…you know…”

“You of all people should know that what happens on the outside has little to do with what happens on the inside. My therapist got me through the divorce proceedings between my mom and dad. There was nothing happy or joyful about any of what happened between those two. I’m still hurting over it. I get that my dad can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s still my dad. He should have protected me…”

A small tear welled up in Adrienne’s eye and Scott gently wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. He said, “Now we’re even,” referencing their shared moment in the cafeteria. She gave him a little smile and his heart pulsated with life once more. For the next twenty minutes, the two of them walked together in silence, just admiring each other’s company.

Scott still couldn’t help looking down at Adrienne’s bare feet in those sandals. He tried his damnedest not to get a boner in front of her as he admired those pink-painted toenails of hers. He even titled his head backwards so that he could see her soft and silky soles, which were his favorite part of the female foot. Adrienne thought he was staring at her ass and playfully swiped him away before giggling.

“Is this your house?” Adrienne asked. Scott nodded and the two of them stopped in the lawn while holding each other’s hands. They gazed in each other’s eyes and Adrienne couldn’t help but giggle again, while Scott’s shy guy smile was a little more attractive than his slasher smile in the locker hallways. “I had fun walking with you today. I learned a lot about you.”

“Yeah, uh…same here…heh…”

“Goodnight, Scott. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” Adrienne grinned sweetly at Scott before slowly bringing her face closer to his and planting a kiss on his already flaming cheek. The senior’s eye’s widened as his newfound girlfriend kissed him on the lips and swirled her tongue around his mouth. For good measure, she kicked off one of her sandals and rubbed her sole against his calf while kissing him deeper and deeper.

This was the first time in a long time that Scott’s oral activities didn’t involve worms and maggots. Adrienne’s lips and tongue tasted more heavenly than Crème Brule despite the fact that she had eaten a crappy school lunch just hours before. This was Scott’s instant vacation from reality, if only for a few seconds. He could stay in this beautiful kiss forever. He thought to himself, Fuck you, Mrs. Striker! Fuck you, Mr. Simpson! Fuck you, Alan! Fuck everybody…

“Oh my god!” said Adrienne as she broke the kiss with shocked wide-eyes. Scott began to kick himself once again as he assumed he was talking out loud the whole time. But how could he form a coherent sentence with another woman’s tongue in his mouth? And then Adrienne pointed down at Scott’s crotch and the offender stood proudly in the air.

Scott used his backpack to cover up his aroused manhood and profusely apologized to Adrienne, who just stood there not knowing what the hell to do. Any smile she once had was minimal at best. Instead of throwing more useless, “I’m sorrys” her way, Scott ran inside his house and bolted upstairs to his bedroom, where he threw the backpack on his bed and locked the door. He hoped in all of that turbo-charged madness that his own mother didn’t notice the wood jutting through his sweatpants. Otherwise, he’d have to kick himself even harder than before.

Scott placed a hand on his chest and kept telling himself to settle down before taking a seat on the bed and breathing heavily. “It’s just a boner. It’ll go away. They always do.” His breathing intensified as he laid back in his bed and pounded the mattress with his fists. “Goddamn it, why did I have to be so stupid!” He tried to say it softly enough so that his mother didn’t hear him. Lord knows she didn’t need to see Scott giving her a one-gun salute after a hard day of work. “I’m so fucking embarrassed,” he whispered while his breathing intensified yet again. He wiped the sweat off of his face and hands and closed his eyes for a while, hoping the boner would flatten sooner than later.

Quicksand Dance Floor

VERSE 1

When you stand next to her, you start to shiver

You feel the coldness of a raging white river

You feel the illness of a rollercoaster rider

You feel the depression, you’re sick and tired

Shrug it off; it’s just a first world problem

You and the world have nothing in common

Put it in perspective, because it works every time

Ignore the heartache and the tears in your eyes

CHORUS 1

This is your life for the next thirty years

This is your sadness for the next hundred tears

Welcome to the quicksand dance floor, my friend

You lost your soul to a coming of age trend

VERSE 2

You missed your chance to be a bona fide stud

Now everyone is laughing at you like Elmer Fudd

Dante could never survive this brutal comedy

You could never survive this mental sodomy

You kick yourself repeatedly for never being brave

To your own disaster, you are the humble slave

Don’t worry, you wouldn’t want her anyways

She’ll scream in your ear every night and every day

CHORUS 2

This is your life until you’re old and cold

You always did as your detractors told

Welcome to the quicksand dance floor, old man

The corner is there, do something with your hands

BRIDGE

It’s too late to take her hand

It’s too late to join her band

It’s too late to rise from the sand

Your magnum opus was critically panned

VERSE 3

Turn back the clock to the very last hour

Before you kicked the bouquet and became sour

A simple question for the lovely lady

Yes or no? You could settle for maybe

CHORUS 3

This is your life with your newfound wife

You’re wearing a suit, she’s wearing white

Turn your back to the quicksand dance floor

Run wild and free while asking for more

In the Corner

VERSE 1

Sitting in the corner with my headphones blasting

How much longer is this party going to be lasting?

How much longer must I sit alone in silence?

How much longer until I can close my eyelids?

I want to burn this fucker to the ground tonight

Run for the highlands until I’m well out of sight

Scream to the moon, the only one who will listen

And not pass judgment for my violent decision

CHORUS

All you partygoers look the same to me

Too busy with your drugs to talk to me

Too busy with your girls, I’m behind borders

So I’ll just go over here and sit in the corner

VERSE 2

The techno music makes my ears bleed buckets

My heavy metal music tells them all to suck it

Why did I come here in the first fucking place?

Was I that desperate for a smile on my face?

Was I so lonely that I needed a quick date?

When it comes to making sense, it’s too late

Getting up and leaving is my favorite option

But I like this corner, got my own party poppin’

CHORUS

All you partygoers look the same to me

Too busy with your drugs to talk to me

Too busy with your girls, I’m behind borders

So I’ll just go over here and sit in the corner

HOOK

It’s not enough, I need more

Being at home is such a bore

A room full of strangers galore

Is what this night has in store

VERSE 3

The cure for fifty of the coldest strangers

Is one friend who will share your danger

Someone to talk to in your darkest hour

Watch your alliance bloom like a flower

Fuck this party; I’ve had all I can stand

My own safe haven is what I demand

Walking home in the pale moon light

Feels good enough to call it a night

CHORUS

All you partygoers look the same to me

Too busy with your drugs to talk to me

Too busy with your girls, I’m behind borders

So I’ll just go over here and sit in the corner

Fan Boy Noob Stalker

CHORUS
Fan boy noob stalker! X4

VERSE 1
I never meant to hurt you the way I did
I was nothing more than a foolish kid
You deserve better than to be creeped out
I don’t blame you for wanting to shout
Flirting isn’t one of my strongest features
Touching is like acid to my delicate fingers
Shyness is protection for both me and you
Look to the future with a picturesque view

CHORUS
Fan boy noob stalker! X4

VERSE 2
For two long years of higher education
I stayed in the shadows of desperation
Just one comment on a woman’s beauty
Could make someone want to sue me
Even when it came to platonic friends
I knew my social life was near its end
I carried my shame even further than that
I sit at home stewing like a caged up rat

CHORUS
Fan boy noob stalker! X4

VERSE 3
The world is a safer place without my zeal
My single status continues to remain real
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a lonely life
You were all too willing to tell me goodbye
Are you happy now? You got what you wanted
My romantic dreams are nightmarishly haunted
I gave up on romance like I told you before
I gave you security, but it left me feeling sore

HOOK
You don’t owe me anything
But I still have the right to sing
A hard rock song about isolation
In a world known for intimidation

"The Girlfriend Wager" by Edward Davies

BOOK TITLE: The Girlfriend Wager
AUTHOR: Edward Davies
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Sex Drama-Comedy
GRADE: Pass


In 1990’s England, five college buddies, Rob, Kent, Adrian, Jim, and Hugh, get together in a bar one night and make a wager with each other. Whoever could keep a relationship with a girl for at least three months while having sex at least once would have the rest of the group pay for his drinks after the college year was over. Girl shyness, awkward behavior, previous lovers, and many other strange obstacles get in the way of determining a true victor. Hearts are broken, embarrassments happen, and the only escape for these five friends is a giant glass of cold beer. Is anybody really a winner in this story or are these five virgins just a group of sad sops?

I’m going to start with the biggest reason why this e-book gets a passing grade. The concepts of girl shyness, social awkwardness, virginity, and fear of rejection all resonate with me on a deep level. Yes, this is intended to be funny in some places, but that doesn’t stop the book from speaking the truth from time to time. When I went to high school and college, I was one of the wallflowers who stayed in the background while being protected from the emotional despair of romance. Everyone was always saying to me, “Just ask her out! It’s no big deal! If she says no, just move on to the next one!” If love was that easy, I’d have a whole harem of girls coming after me. But as I’ve found out both from my own experiences with dating and from reading this book, it’s complicated on so many levels. I want to love and be loved, but getting my foot in the door is harder for me than it is for the five friends, and that’s saying something.

Before I get too far into a rant, I have to discuss the other reason why this book gets a passing grade: the pacing. While it is true the book is 400-plus pages long, it reads so quickly that you won’t feel bogged down by too much description. Besides, most of the descriptions come from 90’s pop culture references that I actually understand, so the pacing is even better. If you’re an author and comedy is your intended genre, you don’t want to spend too much time on funny descriptions. The jokes were delivered with such rapid-fire wit that I basically blitzed through the entire story with no potholes or traffic lights along the way. It helps that the witty aspects of this book come from the author using a lot of British vernacular like “fancy” and “bullocks”. I swear it’s like listening to a CD by The Streets, except funnier…for the most part.

There would have been a time when I considered giving this book an extra credit grade, or five stars for all of you Good Reads and Amazon junkies. However, there are certain unforgivable flaws that keep me from doing so. Try as he might to edit this story down to its last detail, Mr. Davies left behind a few glaring mistakes, such as Becca calling Hugh “Paul” and a sentence that reads “Kent glared at Kent”. But these are things Edward Davies could fix on the fly and not break too much of a sweat.

But then you have the pornographic aspects of the book which make the story seem slightly unrealistic. Yes, it’s realistic in the sense that shyness and awkwardness get in the way of a lot of good relationships. But when I say pornographic aspects, I’m talking about all of the women having large breasts, giant asses, and an easy way to get to know them. Plus, there’s a lot of talk about sticking things in their vaginas and squeezing their titties, which are also things you’d find in a cheap porn movie. Granted, this book is somewhat based on Edward Davies’ past at college and a lot of his friends really did talk like that. But even with that background realness, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to take the book seriously or jack off to it like a Playboy magazine.

I’m not going to bring the hammer down too hard on Edward, because all in all, this book earned all four of its stars. While it is true the two of us are good friends online, I’m giving him the passing grade out of respect for his book, not out of service to our friendship. I firmly believe Edward Davies has what it takes to launch his literature into the mainstream one day. He just needs to spend a little quality time with the realism and grammatical aspects of his manuscript before sending it out. Before I read “The Girlfriend Wager”, I delved into “Divine Intervention”, another book by Mr. Davies. I’d definitely say “The Girlfriend Wager” is a huge improvement from his last effort, so you’re damn right there’s hope for him. Hell, it might be a sure thing that he becomes successful!

"My Heart Beats Pain" by Martin Kesici

I’ve always said that Martin Kesici is one of the most underrated rockers in the music industry today. You can’t find his music on iTunes, his Wikipedia page has next to nothing on it, and whenever you bring his name up in conversation to one of your buddies, they’ll look at you like you have vipers slithering out of your nose.

But never forget that the definition of being underrated is that the person gets less credit than they deserve. When you hear the song “My Heart Beats Pain” by Martin Kesici for the first time, you’ll begin to question why he’s not a worldwide sensation already. It’s a gorgeous ballad about losing the one you love in the form of death.

I’ve only had two girlfriends my whole life and both of them are still living. So why then would I be able to relate to this beautiful piece of rock and roll music? For one, it’s beautiful, so that will get the artist brownie points with me. And two, because for my two ex-girlfriends and millions of crushes, it feels like they are dead.

I could just as easily bring them back to life by talking to them and letting them know how I feel. In order to do that, I have to have two things: a spinal cord and thick skin. I know I have a spinal cord because I can hear it cracking whenever I bend backwards. I know I have thick skin because all of my recent photographs make me look like I’m 400 lbs (I’m much lighter, by the way).

In the figurative sense, I have neither. It takes all the strength I have just to talk to a beautiful woman and I know it will take strength I never knew I possessed to mend my broken heart after they tell me “no”. I have this certainty within me that every girl I attempt to talk to will push me away because of my social awkwardness, my looks, the way I dress, or simply because they don’t feel like it. These are just excuses I use to stay away from lovely women, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be used against me.

My shyness is costing me relationships. My aggression will cost me relationships too. I need people in my life who accept me for who I am regardless of my faults. In the eyes of a stranger, the faults are my most noticeable features.

So whenever I need “My Heart Beats Pain” as creative fuel for my writing, I remember that shy guy romances are one of my favorite genres to work with. Whether or not the protagonists of these stories get what they want varies from story to story. You can’t win them all and when you lose them, you lose them forever. It’d be nice if the shy guys in my stories had a healthy relationship every now and then, but it doesn’t always turn out that way.

Martin Kesici doesn’t have to worry about these things because he’s a rock star. He’s an underrated rock star, but he’s a rock star nonetheless. He still found it within him to communicate the dark side of romance in this gorgeous piece of music known as “My Heart Beats Pain”.

And if you still can’t figure out how to pronounce his last name, it’s “KIZ-ih-chee”. He has a Turkish father and a German mother. Guess where he gets his last name from.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“My heart beats pain ever since that day life’s taken you away. But one day, I will be with you again.”

-Martin Kesici singing “My Heart Beats Pain”-

Strangers Kissing

Let’s face it, people: we live in a world where the lines of communication are open (because of smart phones and the internet), but nobody talks to each other. I’m not proud to say I’m guilty of this myself. I have god knows how many friends on Face Book, yet I can’t be bothered to talk directly to them. Part of it is because of my own shyness. I can’t get passed these barriers between myself and my friends (and family) because I don’t know how to break them down. That’s why when I watched the “20 Strangers Kiss for the First Time” video, a part of me died and went to romantic heaven. Twenty strangers means ten random couples altogether, eight heterosexual couples, one lesbian couple, and one gay couple. I can’t put enough emphasis on the idea that these people were complete strangers to each other. Naturally, they were a little shy at first when asked to kiss each other. But kiss each other they did. Some of them were pecks on the lips, others were full-on tongue kisses. Any barriers these “couples” had between them were knocked over with authority. When somebody kisses you that passionately for seemingly no reason, it doesn’t take away from the fact that they’re giving you something worth having: trust. These strangers weren’t forced into doing this. I don’t even know if they were paid for being actors in this video. With a barrier between them and a camera capturing their tender moment, they gave each other their trust. A lot of trust. That trust was well-deserved too. None of these people would have agreed to kiss each other if the other person was a sociopath or a jerk. Even though they were complete strangers, they saw something in each other’s eyes that made them want to kiss. Again, they could have opted out of the movie and they didn’t. Just watch the video on You Tube if you haven’t already. It’s a beautiful experience and will restore your faith in a humanity tainted by violence, shallowness, and evil. The video is only a few minutes long, but that’ll be long enough to melt your heart like a stick of butter. It’ll even make you want to be a part of this video. And while you’re feeling these emotions of vicarious romance, if you have any interest in preserving them, don’t read the comments underneath the video. Among the ignorant remarks include homophobic slurs toward the gay couple, accusations of the actors being hipsters, suggestions that it’s somehow fake, etc. You have to remember that You Tubers, while sometimes entertaining, are not always the sharpest bulbs in the drawer. Or is it the brightest knives? Aw, fuck, here we go again. Anyways, just go to You Tube and type “Strangers Kissing” in the search engine. It’ll make you jealous, but it’ll also break your heart. Maybe there will be a few tears in your eyes, you never know.

　

***FACE BOOK MEME OF THE DAY***

“You can’t jack off to lesbian porn hours a day and then say you’re against gay marriage.”

-Being Liberal-

"Every Breath You Take" by The Police

Whenever the song “Every Breath You Take” comes on the radio, I always make it a point to say I can relate to it because, like Sting, I’m willing to go that extra mile just to see how my honeys are doing. And yes, I can see the irony of a band called The Police performing a song about stalking, which is against the law. I like to kid and joke, but in all reality, I don’t have the means to be a stalker. I’ve had lots of crushes throughout my life, but no means to track them. My very first crush was a girl in high school named Shona. I had another one in my advanced computer applications class named Autumn. Two crushes in the days where Face Book and My Space weren’t even big deals yet. So how exactly would I have access to them? Oh sure, I could do the “manly” thing and actually ask them on dates. Not only was I too shy in those old days, but there was a reason for it. I somehow had it in me that if I get slapped in the face or laughed at as a result of asking a girl out, I deserved it. There was a separate girl I wanted absolutely no attention from, but got it anyways, named Julia. I felt like I had the right to turn her down the hard way if she tried to make advances on me (because let’s face it, when you’ve had PTSD before, anything can seem traumatic). This “human right” of being allowed to use rough means to turn down a date was one of the most harmful beliefs I could have had (even more harmful than the ones brought on by schizophrenia). From that point on, I kept my distance from the girls I liked because I didn’t want to offend them with traumatizing behavior. There were small moments in which I did flirt with girls, but the flirting was somehow interpreted as inappropriate and then I sank further into my shell. Now that I actually do have a girlfriend (her name is Brianna), I can’t come out of my passive shell long enough to make any major moves. There were even times when she was puzzled as to why I didn’t kiss her back when she kissed me first. Now that I’m this far in my life and haven’t participated in most of it, I feel like I can relate to “Every Breath You Take” even more. No, I don’t think of it as a stalking anthem, so don’t get any ideas of me being creepy. Notice how Sting says, “I’ll be watching you.” There’s a huge difference between watching and participating. In all of my relationships with girls, I’ve been a part of the audience instead of the main attraction. Whenever I tried to climb the audience barrier, security came and threw me out of the arena. What does any of this have to do with writing? It’s simple. If I can’t be the main attraction, I might as well start my own show with the romantic short stories and novels I write. There’s no point in denying my characters the love they deserve. Then again, as Stephen Chbosky once said, we get the love we think we deserve.

　

***HIGH SCHOOL DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

STUDENT: I think that girl likes you.

ME: I don’t blame her.

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You need to stop acting like Larry Flynt.”

-Todd Chrisley from “Chrisley Knows Best”-