A Darker Me

Good morning. Good afternoon. Good evening. If you’re going to be angry, please be angry at the right things. Don’t hate things, hate the ideas behind things. Don’t hate places, hate the ideas behind places. Don’t hate people, hate the ideas the people can represent in your head.

I don’t hate my mom. I hate all the fear I’ve accrued toward her in my childhood. I don’t hate her b/f; I just hate his permanent asshole view of the world. (EVERYONE can be an asshole. Only Wayne Morris can do it 24/7. At least he’s consistent…) I don’t hate my brothers, or the rest of my family, for that matter. I just hate that we aren’t as cohesive as we should be. I don’t hate Philadelphia because everyone hates where they’re from; I hate this place because, like most urban sprawls, nothing about this city inspire hope anymore. I hate PA because It equates phoniness with leadership. I hate this country because we were founded in the trade of a drug and the blood of people who truly don’t exist anymore. And I hate this world because the beings who run are nothing but big brained little monkeys who are all trying to be something they just can’t be.

And as I sit here, typing and ordering a flame-ape to kill a ‘rat of unusual size’ in a digital game, I hate myself a little bit more. Because I am the most apathetic person I know. I’d rather watch the world burn in a hundred-million fires than move to try to save it all. I don’t have a reason. I look at it all sometimes and think, ‘One of these days, it’s all gonna burn. And there’s nothing any of us will be able to do about it.’ … … … Meh. I’ll make it the Aesop to a story of mine and be done with it. Make it a real Gainax Ending.

Alright, now that I’ve sufficiently depressed about 25% of the internet, how’s your day so far? Good, I hope. Better than mine, at least. This is why I don’t talk to people, you see. Not without a cup of tea to dampen it all down. Cogito ergo sum. ‘I think, therefore I am’, to the point where ‘I think, therefore I am not’. The more I think, the less important I seem to become to myself in the grand scheme of things. The less important i seem to myself the more I spiral spiral into the thinking you see above. The moral to all that? You want to make me kill myself? Destroy the world’s supply of tea.

Oh, grief, I am dark today. ‘The Dark Knight’, Joker-hanging-out-the-window-laughing-his-head-off-dark. *rushed to swallow the rest of her tea-swill so that the urge to talk like the guy from ‘V for Vendetta’ goes away…*

Well turn me over and call me done: TvTropes was calling my name. I confined my clicks to a single tab so that I didn’t become completely lost in it’s awesome. And I tripped upon the entry for “The Ace”. By definition, it’s the guy (or chick) that seems so crap-damned perfect that you KNOW something has to be askew. They have at least three drastically different talents, everyone likes them, and they boast at every turn. While sifting through the examples, it occurs to me… My little brother is an Ace. To the ‘T’. He’s a physical virtuoso, is an excellent DJ, plays FPS’s like a demon, and he’s the manager of a game store. He’s what every geek dreams to be; geek enough to pwn, but normal enough to get laid. He’s almost a genetic paradox. Why couldn’t some of those genes float my way? I blame my absentee-dad… … loser and his loser-genes… But that’s a sadder troper story for later… T_T…

Thank you, and have a nicer day than mine. Which is guaranteed.


You are here <— On the off-chance that you forgot.

The other place <— Because it’s a nicer shade of green.

My Laconic Version <— Because some of you are actually on this site, too, or so I heard.


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