Losing Friends and Alternating People

Ugh.

How does one put into words, an idea that has all but no clarity?  The whiff of a fart of an idea.  That tug, right in the back of my (your?) head, trying to tell you... Something. 

What?! 

What...?  I dunno.  Like I said:  Fart of an idea.  Stinky and transient.  Pretty sure it has something to do with the constant struggle to "relate."  I try, believe me, I try.  That in itself is something special (for me), no doubt. 
However, I guess I wonder if anyone is trying to relate to me...?

(SELFISH!  STUPID!  ASS!)

Not that I'm looking for that.  But I am.

(SELF-INTERESTED ASS!)

Not that I'd know what to do with it if I had it, and that's not to say I don't get it, from time to time;  but I guess, I don't know what to do with it.  Or something.  Shit, I know I sound like a jerk, but I'm not sure how else to put it:  I just don't relate to 95% percent of humanity.  That goes for you.  Sorry.

(MISANTHROPIC JERK!)

Damn straight.

(Yes, I realize the title of this is wonky.  I think I just like the sound of "alternating" people.)

I'm kind of an asshole.

Ugh.

People make me crazy.  They're inconsiderate, selfish, thoughtless, and occasionally dillusional.  What makes me crazier, is the awful realization that despite tremendous personal effort, I am just as bad, if not worse.  Just another member of the People Club, with all of the flaws listed above.  Acutely developed.

An asshole.

This I consider as I chug my grape-flavored Rockstar (which is delicious) and smoke (which is satisfying) outside of the Goodwill (which was disappointing).

Despite possessing a nigh-invulnerable, sociopathic-level ego, its the personal realizations, the "moments of clarity" that stick in my head and make for my favorite of all emotional states:  cathartic frustration.

So, the question is, having acknowledged the problems, how do I become less of an asshole?  Nobody appreciates an asshole, and I don't want to be an unappreciated asshole.  Unappreciated, fine; that I can handle, piece of cake.  Asshole?  Not okay with being an asshole.  (I have to add:  while it isn't okay to be an asshole, it is okay to type asshole.  Extremely gratifying.)

So, what then is the answer?  Fuck if I know; I thought I was doing a good job!  This, I need to point out, is a classic trait of mine:  Not paying enough fucking attention.  (Which, along with being an asshole, I am very good at doing.)  I thought that I was, turns out I wasn't.  I suppose that my ignorance is the answer.  Pay MORE fucking attention.  If you think its enough; its not, and you're being an asshole.  One must constantly struggle to give a shit.  If you don't, well, than you're just an asshole.

At least I'm not a jerk. 

(And I have never written "asshole" as many times in one sitting in my life.  I could do it all day!)

Oh yeah...I have a blog...

"There's more than one or two base-level geniuses out there who have no fame, who live like rats, who sustain themselves - like old ladies eating cat food - on woefully minor levels of appreciation.  If people like you and I don't make an effort, no one will.  And they will go on, invisible, while careerist creeps crank out Hollywood snot, and rabble continue to suck it down, gulping this goop like cheap champagne, never knowing the psychic price we all pay for it in the end.  What's worse, the culture based around the proliferation and support of renegades is itself often terminally disinterested in the very best work happening.  The underground is a fucking lie, friends, it has been for many years.  Make your own if you want the hot action."  -Gene Gregorits

I suppose this is as good a way to start this as any. 

What started as an attempt to post the above as a quote on Facebook (What?  Too long?  I've seen novels posted on peoples lil' snot-nosed offspring, Farmville nonsense, bothersome Starbucks experiences... But I digress), turned into the usual frustration and anger over a simple problem.  However, determination being a personal strength, and today being one full of lazy-ambitions, I decided that this bit from the introduction to Midnight Mavericks (the single most personally inspiring book I've read in years) would be the opening salvo of my... I hate the word "blog," so let's call these my "musings," or "mental diarrhea."

I make absolutely no promises to keep up with this, or to make any real attempts at coherent ideas, or to strive for any intellectual points.  The only promises I keep are to myself:  Be honest to myself, no matter who or what may get offended or turned off along the way.  So there.

Next installment:  The many virtues of necro-beastiality at work and play.

So, now I have a blog.

And why?  Who knows.  Perhaps the reasoning will show itself eventualy.