Archive for September 5, 2009

The Game That Is Life

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 5, 2009 by Randomique Jester

Why can’t we keep our thoughts to ourselves?

We need twenty different aliases, seven other personalities, hundreds of facial expressions, thirty-five different reactions, three different names and at least two email accounts.

We’re spreading ourselves over uncharted territory but instead of celebrating our particular, complete personality we’re dividing it into little aspects of ourselves that can’t define us.

People who met me in person, my friends, the readers of my various blogs, co-workers and school-mates – are all familiar with distinct but separate aspects of my personality. And if they all got together in one room they would argue, vivaciously I’m sure, about the kind of person I truly am.

We tend to hide behind a facade that is particularly appropriate in a given situation. I mean, you can’t express how cool and cynical you are by making nonchalant comments to your boss; even though he might appreciate these traits in different circumstances.

I’m sure there are people who wear their hearts and personalities on their sleeve  and they act the same way as they would in the office, with their friends and at home. Doing just that requires confidence. You have to feel like there’s nothing about you that needs hiding or should be toned down. It also requires being monodimnesional.

Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe we were never meant to be cautious of what others might think of us. Maybe these social standards are impeding our expression. Maybe we should wave one big middle finger in the air and not worry about being imperfect.

Maybe, but his is impossible for me to do. As a perfectionist and self-critic I like the little barriers I build between me and the rest of the people in my life. And what I like the most is the beautiful, inspiring notion of being able to make a brand new impression on a new set of eyes.

I thrive on this notion because wherever my failed attempts at self-transformation lead me I feel like I can wipe the slate clean and be that perfect, admirable role-model to someone.

But I also lack any shred of hope that this might be true in any period of time. How can anyone be considered admirable or perfect? Even celebrities with their perfect bodies and million dollar smiles wear make-up and have a photoshop expert at hand. Their actions and behaviors are mostly amusing rather than reverence inspiring. And yet, we want. We want our neighbour’s grass and the gnomes that come with it.

Surely, anything could be better than this. Other people must have it easier with their white picket fences, their sparkling teeth and shiny hair, their trained dogs, their trophy spouses and their polished yachts sailing in waves of cash.

If only it were that easy.

We were programmed to want more. We were brewed to never be satisfied. It doesn’t matter what cards we were dealt with or how we got to our next venture and weather we have succeeded. The happiness and the satisfaction is momentary. Love is fleeting.

It is sadness and trauma that have a lasting effect. I don’t know about you but the first things that surge from my past are painful memories even though I have a tenfold more of happy ones. But the happy memories are vague and blurry and indistinguishable from past every day routine. While these little tragedies are so shocking to our systems that they are instantly engraved in our minds and dictate our lives from then on.

Wow. I’ve managed to depress even myself.

I’m hopeless and I live a bleak life.

But I do hope that in time I disprove myself, that I will be able to look at myself and look at my life and think that I could die tomorrow and wouldn’t have a single regret.

I wish it were true, that life was just a game and if you were ever loved – you most definitely win.


The Irony

Posted in Uncategorized on September 5, 2009 by Randomique Jester

I think it’s ironic how someone who craves attention so utterly would have a blog that has been swallowed in the vastness of the web blogging community. Ignored, lonely, odd, random and now neglected – such is my poor little Live-Journal blog.

Don’t get me wrong, it was personal and I would dread it if my mom stumbled upon it (by some cruel twist of fate) and discovered that instead of New Year’s resolutions her only child is writing angry poetry and discusses masturbation. But… for someone as opinionated as I am, being unheard is… unheard of!

I have no point. Nor does this blog really.

Or maybe there is?…

I haven’t written anything worth reading for years, maybe it’s time to rekindle my love for writing. Whatever trauma it was that inhibited me from pursuing anything recreational (except for drugs) has been crippling me for too long. I feel like I’m wasting away.

Food has lost its affect on me. I hate everything I write, draw. I never bothered buying that E string fro my electric. I dare not leave the house without makeup. I like to live my life mostly through noble TV characters; I identify with their neurosis, I defend their oddities, I celebrate their triumphs but I neglect my body (because I loathe it), I obsess over how society precieves me (which I rebel against) and I go against every grain of fundumental belief, every second of every minute of every day.

I am the all-American singing dancing crap of the world.

Why? As if it isn’t obvious. Fear. Say it with me, dear members of the jury. FEAR.

And it’s all your fucking fault.

Yes, I blame society. Because society has taught me to blame everyone else. The FDA, the senators, Bush, our parents, corrupt cops, bad doctors, alcoholics, murderers, scum of the earth. But there really aren’t any bad people are there? There aren’t any good people either. There are two polar sides and it’s up to you to take one. The blaming game is the basis of the legal system and it will always be part of human nature to be right, lazy and selfish.

Am I right or am I right? Well, I’m still lazy and slefish. Two out of three ain’t bad.

I think I need some ass kicking. I’m 21. Every little goal I’ve set myself and (quite miraculously) accomplished made me run the other way. Every time I was two steps away staring success in the face I… panicked, and the adrenaline rushed through me like poison and instead of remaining patrified (still, immobile) I took a turn the other way. I flunked, I failed, I made a scene, I’ve lost the best things I’ve ever had and then I got a stupid smile of satisfaction on my face. Now, my life is no longer a perfect, boring routine- I can start over, I can have something to do.

Problem is, I never did. I’ve remained in mourning. The memories and the regrets keep me chained to the floor. Now I lead an even more boring life; a hunchbacked hermit, with a patch and an alcohol problem…

Ok, I’m exaggerating now. I’m a writer goddamnit! Sorta. Kinda. Am I? Ha. I’ve ran so far into the other direction I am now unsure of who I really am and what I want to be. What is really ironic is that I’ve had my life planned out carefully since I was eight and the closer I got to university the more unsure I was of it all.

Am I good enough? – is something I keep asking myself. And my answer seems to be always “no”. My writing ‘skills’ are average at best, ameteurish. I’m probably average looking, putting aside my bf’s exclaims about the perfection of my ass, I’ll never do great things, or be someone… So why bother?

Excuses. A waste of my time while I should be doing something. I know all this yet all I can do is write this stupid blog post about a seemingly random topic: “irony”.

Isn’t that ironic?


Is it? Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think? Does the irnoy slap you in the face like a wet fish? Do you rage, do you pity my poor defenseless, senseless blog and its inevitable, tragic destiny? Do you feel like I’ve wasted five minutes of your life (go back to YouTube, asshole)? Do you wish you could stop reading this nonsense but you can’t, it’s like 9/11 all over again – horrifying but a very captivating subject that can be squeezed and dissected without merit?

Or do you wonder, is this but a ploy to get someone to read my LJ blog other than my bf when he’s trying to figure out my cryptic behaviour (and getting even more puzzlement instead)?

Do you find it ironic, perhaps, that nothing I have mentioned is in no way ironic?

What do you think of Alanis Morisette anyway?

– Randomique