i show affection in a way only those i show affection to know about

romance is the seed to heartbreak - though the silly girls love it as it makes them feel their on a winner - the guys like it as it's an excuse to actually show emotion and care without copping too much abuse from their generalised and stereotypical friends - and he can always fall back on the excuse that he only acted that way in order to get her into bed - which will happen a lot

but romance at it's core is a lie - at least to the vast majority of us - it's playing a role we weren't meant to play - it's telling someone elses story - it's life imitating bubble-gum movies staring guys with nauseating but adorable hair and confusion, and quirky girls stoned on their independence - it makes us feel we're on the right track, living the good life that's spewed-out in the cinemas like hand soap

people go out on their own and tell us they're looking for themselves, and tell us about their spirituality - but it's a lie - a friend and i were walking along the streets of old delhi when we spotted an obvious backpacker sitting on a ledge, looking into the sunset, soaking up the sounds and smells and bullshit - "another pretentious, self-indulgent blog in the making" my friend pointed out to me - (this observation was one of the highlights of my trip) - in reality, people go out on their own looking for themselves only to find themselves in a different reality, but not the romantic one, thinking "now what?" - (it's only when you realise that now-nothing, can you move on, and from their you won't want to talk to anyone about anything) - it's an act and it's romantic and it's false

simple maths - we are all individuals - we're all supposed to be anyway - but we're not - why? - because people subscribe to these romantic notions of love and life that because they think that's the way it is - that's what love is - that's what spirituality is - that's what a girlfriend is - that's what a boyfriend is - that's what individuality and freedom is - that's what affection is - that's happiness and that;s the good life - if we are all individuals, then these romantic ideas cannot be adopted and surely cannot fit perfectly with all of us

i show affection in a way only those i show affection to know about

furthermore, if we're all individuals then therefore every single relationship between two or more people has to be unique and individual also - and if this is the case, romance between a boy and a girl is meaningless - a waste of time - an act acting like someone you're not - couples will sign up to romantic relationships only to find a vastly different reality

a couple in love spend their honeymoon on a romote beach in thailand, drinking cocktails over candlelit dinners without a care in the world - that doesn't mean that the couple drinking bottled water in the alleyways of india surrounded by shit and feces aren't in love - they are - it's just not your romantic vision of what a honeymoon is

the best piece of advice a couple can discover is this: do what you want - both of you - and then you'll both be happy, because you're both happy

but you won't be happy having to force someone to be someone they're not, and that's what romance does - chocolates and flowers on valentines day? - fuck off - breakfast in bed? - it's uncomfortable and to put it simply, inconvenient - dinner and a movie? - easily forgettable - long walks on the beach? - repetitive - a dvd with a bottle wine on the couch? - a waste of time

you can't make someone do something they don't want to do naturally for a long period of time - and, why would you want to?

romance may be nice and cosey for now, but it's a sown seed of heartbreak - in enforcing it, or part-taking in it, you're tainting your relationship into something it wouldn't be if left alone to develop naturally - which is something true, honest, believable, unique and ultimately - real

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Fifty-Three

the humiliation I felt when I realised I was loathing someone for enjoying their medial job for a dominating dishonest company was a major realisation for me – god bless him – and god help me – it was his enthusiasm that irritated me at first, and the way the public seemed to find this funny and cute – I couldn’t understand it, and I don’t think I ever will - but that’s my problem

he became known by regulars and everybody loved him – in my eyes it was just an act, and an obvious one – I could see straight through it – the over-the-top greetings and farewells, syruped with blind-positivity – and because people didn’t see people act like this every day, they thought he was doing something and making a difference – my issue with it lay within my struggle in being able to make a real difference with people, as opposed to one that could be swallowed like a jelly-bean-smile – the struggle to affect the mechanics of people's outview, and their thinking and their lives and world, without trying to change their minds or opinions – my struggle lay within the fact that I didn’t see much positivity in day-to-day life, and therefore anyone who did, was fooling themselves

that’s not to say i was a complete pessimist and depressive – give me three days with nothing to do and I’ll see the most in-depth beauty this world and universe has to offer – give me some time alone at a bar, and I’ll see the best kind of love and affection between groups of friends sitting and walking around – the laughing groups of old time friends – the couple having an average run-of-the-mill and forgettable night and dinner out on the town – the two nerdy social-outcasts, in ill-fitting jeans, cheap sneakers and a jumper their mother gave them for their birthday, who have found each other and share their particular interests with one another – the lonely, yet happy, man sitting in the pokie-drenched local pub drinking his time away with eight others doing the exact same thing – give me a night under the stars and I’ll see an amazing life on earth that we’ve somehow stumbled into, against infinite odds, and therefore a life on earth that cannot be wasted – give me everyday and I’ll see one more day closer to death, and therefore one more day worth living

his act seemed cheap and hollow to me - animated facial features - crisp mornings and the bright side of life – I couldn’t understand it any other way other than simply finding a fucking quirky way to tolerate a pathetic and pointless life – but while this was happening, I would feel the need to be overtly appreciative to people working as office and toilet cleaners – I wanted them to know that I appreciated the work they did, and that I wasn’t like the rest - i went too far out of my way to say a simple thank you to too many people – yet after work, there I was mentally criticising this poor man for enjoying his stupid job

maybe I was upset that he didn’t need my recognition to feel good about what he was doing - he was happy enough

I realised my contradiction and hypercriticism – I still see this man every second day, usually when im at my most emotional – first thing in the morning, or walking home from work – I’ve taken to giving him a nod – something I usually reserve for any of my look-a-likes out there on the streets, bar-friends, and people who work at cd-stores

my view of this world is my fault and my redemption – it’s easy to be depressed about the world, fun too – but it’s the effort in seeing something positive that makes this world... bearable, at least - and that's the most you'll get from me

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Fifty-Two

welcome away – gone home now – owned space – my air – my couch – my bed waiting for my sleepies – who is this place? – I sit down on the couch and turn on the cricket, thinking of the rotting-man taunted by unthinkable diseases lying on the footpath outside a glass-windowed jeans fashion superstore in new delhi – the only energy the diseases allowed him was one hand to tap an empty cup – I gave him two weeks to live, so he’ll most likely be dead now

our house was spotless and clean, and I forgot we did that but im glad we did – it was an hour before we had clothes and sew on badges sprawled over the stained carpet – presents we’d forgotten we’d brought ourselves – a music box that plays the theme to the godfather that makes me with a tiny tink-a-bell would dance every time I played it – I play it to drown out the sound of the dying dog we hit while driving in like mad-sane-men in bhutan – I heard and felt the bump, and the stressed out – shit – from the driver despite the fact I was listening to the music in my ears- lady-elle turned around to look at me from the front seat with a nervous smile on her face, which told me to wasn’t a child we hit, which it very well could’ve been – the howls sounded almost human – they didn’t sound like dog – it sounded like it was desperately gasping for life from the unknown hell – oh god – I said to myself, putting my hands over my ears – the other stray dogs in the area came running to see what had happened – I dared not look back – I can’t allow myself to see the dying dog’s companions standing around, circling, as the dying dog screamed deeper into death – some local farmers signaled to the driver to keep driving – don’t worry – and so we kept driving along the dirt-road-rollercoaster, hoping the farmers put it out of our misery as soon as possible

the power had been turned off somehow while we were gone – meaning the fridge was full of a stale stench and melted meats – one foul scoop and it’s gone – a good chance to clean the fridge and so i’m mopping up enough scum and blood to turn anyone off food for three days – it was the ganges, one of the most holy and oldest places on earth – I saw cows walk up and down stairs – I saw their bloated corpses float down the river as the locals bathed and washed the linen – I saw burning human bodies on my way to the restaurant for dinner – I smelt the rotting flesh satan’s raped son, Damien – I sat down and ordered carefully – some soup and some naan bread – I barely touched it – constantly put off my food by this most amazing and holy place on earth – only on earth, so close to god – it was the same place a fourteen year old boy rowed us down the ganges, a job he’d been doing since he was eight – so handsome with a smile that made you want to be his friend – when asked what he did when he wasnt working, he beautifully replied – sleep, and kite... I love to kite

I don’t get jet lag – I live with it everyday – I never really know where I am or what’s going on – I don’t know if it’s day or night or somewhere inbetween – some time soon after landing back at this place, I set out and ran myself into summer’s sweat and a welcome pain – I want to endure – we were walking up small mountains in nepal and bhutan and struggling to breathe – the altitude higher than most – ten meters in any direction was enough to make me want to take a seat on the rock and suck in deep – it made us sleepy, and so we enjoyed a daily afternoon nap, forgetting what day it was and treating them all like the saturday’s when you’ve done enough to have a nap without feeling any guilt – living at such an altitude gives you vivid crystallised dreams every night – my himalayan visions often dealing with death and movement – conversation that only took place in my mind – dreams of songs and strangers invading my relationships and my travels as I moved my way through them - in bhutan we climbed a mountain through snow and fog and the thin thin air – at the top sat a statue of buddha, with his eternal stare into the blissful world hidden somewhere – it sat on the highest point, upon a large rock – as lady-elle sat and recovered, I pushed myself to sit with the buddha, and climbed the snowy rock dodging danger and fear – after making it I stood up to be overcome with a spacey light-head and hollow lungs – I knelt down and took whatever air I could find till the visions banished themselves to my sleep where they waited in dance - buddha told me to wait

Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Fifty One

one planet down, and now all that's left is one stretching and strained expanding universe - so high i can see it's curvature - so low i can see myself kickin stones down the rain stained alley-ways of Krakow - i walked around to find a bar, stopped periodically by sexy-ladies inviting me into strip-clubs - i find a place with a large neon sign outside that read, "bar" - inside, i'd been duped again, as it turned out to be another European beer-hall filled with people in leather jackets sitting at long tables. absurd in my eyes and experience - after one beer bought out of politeness, i hit the dark freezing streets again, intending to buy some beers from a corner shop, and finding a park bench to drink away the cold and embrace the deep night with a head full of songs - i was wearing my new black coat that i bought in an army store in berlin, so the cold didn't bother me - in fact, i taunted it - i sat down in the park on a damp park bench and sipped my beers - one in the hand, and the others at my feet

locals walked me by and didn't notice me as i couldn't possibly be a tourist - perhaps just silly - frost began to creep, stinging the night into a lonesome stillness - i felt my soul slot into true place - i felt connected, like a tree - eventually, a bottle and a half in, i had to take a leak, and begun scouting my surroundings for an obvious place for a drunk man to piss

behind me stood a cathedral of some sort, many hundreds of years old, and haunted by the history of human-spirit - nothing more than a tourist attraction these days - my eight sense told me no-one was around and it was okay to go - and so i moved across the black grass in my black coat and took a piss on this cathedral - no-one would ever notice and no-one would ever know - after a while i went a second time - and again, no-one would ever notice, and no-one would ever know - not even the police

they pulled up in front of me as i was half way through my last beer - i was polite and honest, and therefore they realised i was harmless - "what's your name?" - i told them - "write it down on this" - i wrote my name down on the piece of paper they handed me - "where are you from?" - i told them - the two cops began talking amongst themselves in polish – I assumed they were trying to scare me – a fine line between arrogance and my seventh sense - maybe i was lucky, and very close to spending the night in a Krakow prison cell - but i always knew they were going to let me go - "you cannot drink on the street in Poland" he told me, "pour that out now" - i poured out the remaining beer – a fair portion of it splashed onto my boots, a sign i'd probably drunk too much - i apologised and told them i'd walk back to the hotel - i did so, proud of myself – as proud as a drunk man can be at 2.30am anywhere in the world

trying not to wake up my girl, a particular sadness hugs my guilt - she was fast asleep and had been so since we left the bar earlier that night - always so peaceful and always so warm, the thought of disturbing her disturbed me - maybe that's why i stay out so late? – maybe that’s why I only go to sleep only when I have to – when im so tired it hurts – when im so tired I dream in reverse – I am beyond death

slipping under the blankets i thought about the heartbreak and confusion i would've caused if the police did take me in - i thought about her waking up, excited about our holiday – excited about another new day of new things to see and do – and then noticing an empty bed, not knowing where i was or what had happened to me - if i was hurt or dead - i thought about how unfair my place, my joy in this world, is to those around me – only to then melt into another dream dreamt in reverse