Black heart
I'm conceited and selfish and sometimes distracted.
I'm self diagnosed with attention deficit disorder when it comes to people. What seems great one day is simply a ruse that one part of my Sybillious personality has used to distract the other guy living in my head enough so that he can take over and drive the life a little like Thing Number 1 and Thing Number 2. Not to admit that I am schizophrenic, far from it, I refuse to entertain my mental multiplicity because any employer I swear fealty to will only pay me once.
So you get one Jed, who shifts around and generally makes life a living hell for all those people who would like to keep him near. I don't emotionally shiv people intentionally, I'm just living a life I choose to lead. Strangely enough it's the other misfits, my brother, a couple of really nutty actors, one really rich and fucking perverse director, and Drew that hang on. Sometimes I look back in my wake and see them all tied to the ankles with fishing wire while I drag the old jeep out of second into third and really test the way skin peels off their sardonically smiling faces sparking on the asphalt when dragged down the highway.
Poor Drew, you know I love the guy, it's hard not to, but he relies on me and it's quite possibly the most painful constant in my life. Of course nothing beats my memories for pleasure and pain. So I'm having a hard time working out whether Estella's penchant for violent controlling sex was mostly painful or mostly pleasurable, or the way I've fucked up people's lives by not being who I am today and making subtle underhanded promises to be someone I'm clearly not. Hey, it's the lot of an artist to shift colors and be who they're not, although I'm not really an artist anymore.
I know that Pre-Estella I was worse.
I have been getting a lot of feedback about what I am writing here, most of it hate mail. I'm not sorry one bit for the details exposed. What you read here, I'll likely spit out if the moment takes me and that bottle of J&B is on the homestretch to the landfill. I might recite Lelandisms and parodies of those assholes who choose to cling to me if I find you're interested, or if I could capture an audience. It's mostly because I'm probably the prettiest and sexiest singing and dancing monkey you'll ever meet.
Pre-Estella I was 100% ego, and it was in overdrive.
There was a time when you could not find fault in me. There were no gaps or guilt or face values that I had violated. You could watch me cut someone off in traffic and by the time I'm done with you it's clearly their fault. You'd come to me with a problem, it would be about my conduct and you'd work for Paramount HR and be intelligent and experienced and emphatically full of piss and vinegar about what's right and what's wrong, but at the end of our warning meeting you'd be convinced that I was the one being abused.
Pre-Estella I was a rampaging sex addict.
Sometimes aspiring ingénues or up and coming cinematic visionaries would work with me, or work me. They'd be utterly delightful and smart and articulate and witty and gorgeous. They'd be carrying around with them the stuff of life that magicked everything they touched. They'd circle around me, a tainted black hole and be fascinated by my ability to ignore it and them and every lovely thing their parents had told them they were. I'd be that one person they'd met that was totally non-plussed by their amazing raw energy and spirit and they'd be on a mission to conquer me where they'd ignore those saps who continued to breast feed them praise.
Pre-Estella I was callous and cruel.
I'll let you in on a secret that is probably not too deeply hidden, if you'd care to peel back the layers. My ambivalence was a ruse. Inside I was testing the structural integrity of my Calvin Klien boxers with my hidden desire to consume their bubbly beautiful souls. I wanted to take that little pop-tart and her sculptured tits and come-fuck-me purity and make a scratch mark of their effigy still burning on my headboard. I wanted take their smiling self-esteem filled grins and use their mouths to drain my balls like they were too heavy to carry around.
Well, I'm still a bastard dog asshole with a black heart and a taste for destruction. Like I tell most everyone nowadays, you probably won't like me, but so long as you can follow along maybe you'll be entertained.
Of course, why Estella is a post fact in my life is another story.
I'm self diagnosed with attention deficit disorder when it comes to people. What seems great one day is simply a ruse that one part of my Sybillious personality has used to distract the other guy living in my head enough so that he can take over and drive the life a little like Thing Number 1 and Thing Number 2. Not to admit that I am schizophrenic, far from it, I refuse to entertain my mental multiplicity because any employer I swear fealty to will only pay me once.
So you get one Jed, who shifts around and generally makes life a living hell for all those people who would like to keep him near. I don't emotionally shiv people intentionally, I'm just living a life I choose to lead. Strangely enough it's the other misfits, my brother, a couple of really nutty actors, one really rich and fucking perverse director, and Drew that hang on. Sometimes I look back in my wake and see them all tied to the ankles with fishing wire while I drag the old jeep out of second into third and really test the way skin peels off their sardonically smiling faces sparking on the asphalt when dragged down the highway.
Poor Drew, you know I love the guy, it's hard not to, but he relies on me and it's quite possibly the most painful constant in my life. Of course nothing beats my memories for pleasure and pain. So I'm having a hard time working out whether Estella's penchant for violent controlling sex was mostly painful or mostly pleasurable, or the way I've fucked up people's lives by not being who I am today and making subtle underhanded promises to be someone I'm clearly not. Hey, it's the lot of an artist to shift colors and be who they're not, although I'm not really an artist anymore.
I know that Pre-Estella I was worse.
I have been getting a lot of feedback about what I am writing here, most of it hate mail. I'm not sorry one bit for the details exposed. What you read here, I'll likely spit out if the moment takes me and that bottle of J&B is on the homestretch to the landfill. I might recite Lelandisms and parodies of those assholes who choose to cling to me if I find you're interested, or if I could capture an audience. It's mostly because I'm probably the prettiest and sexiest singing and dancing monkey you'll ever meet.
Pre-Estella I was 100% ego, and it was in overdrive.
There was a time when you could not find fault in me. There were no gaps or guilt or face values that I had violated. You could watch me cut someone off in traffic and by the time I'm done with you it's clearly their fault. You'd come to me with a problem, it would be about my conduct and you'd work for Paramount HR and be intelligent and experienced and emphatically full of piss and vinegar about what's right and what's wrong, but at the end of our warning meeting you'd be convinced that I was the one being abused.
Pre-Estella I was a rampaging sex addict.
Sometimes aspiring ingénues or up and coming cinematic visionaries would work with me, or work me. They'd be utterly delightful and smart and articulate and witty and gorgeous. They'd be carrying around with them the stuff of life that magicked everything they touched. They'd circle around me, a tainted black hole and be fascinated by my ability to ignore it and them and every lovely thing their parents had told them they were. I'd be that one person they'd met that was totally non-plussed by their amazing raw energy and spirit and they'd be on a mission to conquer me where they'd ignore those saps who continued to breast feed them praise.
Pre-Estella I was callous and cruel.
I'll let you in on a secret that is probably not too deeply hidden, if you'd care to peel back the layers. My ambivalence was a ruse. Inside I was testing the structural integrity of my Calvin Klien boxers with my hidden desire to consume their bubbly beautiful souls. I wanted to take that little pop-tart and her sculptured tits and come-fuck-me purity and make a scratch mark of their effigy still burning on my headboard. I wanted take their smiling self-esteem filled grins and use their mouths to drain my balls like they were too heavy to carry around.
Well, I'm still a bastard dog asshole with a black heart and a taste for destruction. Like I tell most everyone nowadays, you probably won't like me, but so long as you can follow along maybe you'll be entertained.
Of course, why Estella is a post fact in my life is another story.
posted by J at 2:44 PM
10 Comments:
So do you know Rick Bota?
I'm happy being a shitty freelance writer/journalist for a shitty magazine, on a shitty income.
I haven't been happy for a long, long time, years. My sister is a prostitute, my Dad kicked me out for no reason when I was younger...
Make it simple, don't think too much and you'll be happy.
and PS: It's all about perspective, you're playing the bitter, broken, bad boy character and now you are the bitter, broken bad boy. You need to re write the script.
Sheryl... sure, Rick's a very talented cinematographer among other things, and he's had a number of killer 'staches over the years.
JBJ... not quite done yet on this memory/pity trip, but thanks for the tips ;-)
J
My friends recently described me as a "the sun of my own solar system". Ten years ago my friends described me as a "tenacious pit bull you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley."
People change is all I'm sayin and really, I didn't have to sell my soul or prostitute myself to get happy, I just had to open up.
But then again, life is much better when you don't have to live in a car.
By the way, very funny, here;
"I might recite Lelandisms and parodies of those assholes who choose to cling to me if I find you're interested, or if I could capture an audience. It's mostly because I'm probably the prettiest and sexiest singing and dancing monkey you'll ever meet."
This is the dark personality I was referring to. It’s the dark side of alphaness. It’s the character of Tyler Durden in Fight Club. You’re so angry at how the world works and how everyone’s apparent happiness is so fake and fragile. You’re angry because nobody seems to understand things your way. So, to suck people in your reality, you want to destroy their innocence, their misconceptions, their artificial paradises. You get the red eye. It’s the look punks give you when you pass them in the street, when you’re looking happy and holding hands with your bubblegum girlfriend (like mine). You can see how they’d love to beat the crap out of you.
It seems some girls are drawn to this type of person (the badboy) like moths to the flame. Alphaness is so rare that even a destructive alpha will find girls eager to “tame” him (if he’s not beyond redemption yet). Of course, it never works out that way. He’s just angrier that there are girls willing to fuck him even if he mistreats them. Consequently, he loses pretty much all respect for them. I think that’s what happened to Jed.
The cure is to understand that it’s useless to try to change others or the society. No matter how many things or people you can break, destroy or corrupt, it won’t help you heal your own wounds. Real happiness must come from within. It’s a choice, not something that can be given to you. Jobs, relationships and money can only give temporary or fake happiness. When you become your own source of happiness, you have an endless supply of it and you can radiate it to others.
Interesting stuff, Jed. But I think that, sometimes, we're all guilty of constructing a personality that suits our purposes, or at least our purposes at the time.
Throughout my life, I've "wanted" to be one thing or another, and for a while I was that thing. But, ultimately, who I really am would always come to the surface. You can't keep a down man good. I mean a good man down.
WDKY... I am an onion, but am I really rotten in the core or have you just found a couple of damaged peels on your way through it?
Ohhhhh quit playing the brooding bad boy and using onion metaphors to describe your damaged wounds that just need a good licking. Enough with the wounded bird complex. Put your wing in a sling and get typing - I have no life and I need someone to turn me on already.
More porn please.....or at least something about your life. Why don't you want kids ? Is it because your scared they will be baby onions ???
hahahaha I'm hilarious.
Well I like you. Why? Cause you are honest and I admire your writing abilty. So even if you really are a bastard dog asshole with a black heart and a taste for destruction I think your pretty cool.
Oh and I do hope you'll tell us what happened to Estella.
hugs
Des
Post a Comment
<< Home