sad romanticism

Next in the series. You can really see the longing here I think, hee hee.

Next in the series. You can really see the longing here, hee hee. I think she had fallen asleep against the window in an ideal romantic way, if it had been me doing that I would have drool hanging out of my mouth and would probably snore. People have told me I snore. I have yet to hear it so I don’t believe them.
This is a small excerpt from my journalish thing of the time -
Oppressive loneliness clamps my heart and makes me cold cold cold. I have paint on my face and scars on my wrists. And neck. And shoulders. And chest.
It’s raining so I feel obliged to switch from my depressing music to my really depressing music. There is a happy couple across from me that I am going to have to kill soon.
I’m so sick of hooks and jibes. I am an object of ridicule. I am. Ill-disguised contempt and hypocritical lust. Blind rage. Freefall into hatred.
It is such a waste of energy and emotion. Makes me sad, and appalled at myself for needing social contact so much like an evangelist leper.
I’m not nearly as vicious as everyone else. I lack conviction. I need to work on my world-hating and malice.
I am not feeling as angry as I sound. I guess it is just habit. Should probably turn that frown upside down. I’m going to stop now because I am colouring myself black.
And I don’t want to be black. Not anymore.


	SAD ROMANTICISM Available For Sale; Black Pen on Paper. The text reads – ‘Boy sees girl on train. boy sketches girl on train. Girl gets off at different stop. Futile.’ I stopped drinking (I am a dry alcoholic. Not a drop since 1998) and suddenly my sex drive returned to what it had been before I started poisoning it. It was a pretty nagging consistently even then. When I quit drinking I realised that perhaps 99% of my sexual encounters with women had at least been first initiated WHILE I WAS OFF MY FACE. And suddenly I was as sober as a really really sober person who has spent their entire life on a wagon and are bound by their Olympic standard coordination never to even come close to falling off one. At the same time I watched with amazement as the fluid drained from my face and it went back into shape. This resulted in what I believe to be a reasonably attractive Paul, certainly attractive in comparison to the Paul who was perpetually drunk and hence slurred stank and passed out rather often. But I had NO IDEA how to ask a woman out. At all. So I would obsess with clawing visceral loneliness and omnipresent HORNINESS upon every attractive woman who passed my startlingly and suddenly clear blue-eyed gaze. I drew lots of them. Which didn’t help as I just paid closer and closer attention to glowing feminine skin and got into trouble for staring. When they were really good sketches, I would must muster muster courage and then! I would walk up and give them the sketch. But you see I only ever did this as they were about to leave so there was no chance of having to talk to them cuz I was so a-scared. This is one of them.
Next in the series. You can really see the longing here I think, hee hee. Next in the series. You can really see the longing here, hee hee. I think she had fallen asleep against the window in an ideal romantic way, if it had been me doing that I would have drool hanging out of my mouth and would probably snore. People have told me I snore. I have yet to hear it so I don’t believe them. This is a small excerpt from my journalish thing of the time - Oppressive loneliness clamps my heart and makes me cold cold cold. I have paint on my face and scars on my wrists. And neck. And shoulders. And chest. It’s raining so I feel obliged to switch from my depressing music to my really depressing music. There is a happy couple across from me that I am going to have to kill soon. I’m so sick of hooks and jibes. I am an object of ridicule. I am. Ill-disguised contempt and hypocritical lust. Blind rage. Freefall into hatred. It is such a waste of energy and emotion. Makes me sad, and appalled at myself for needing social contact so much like an evangelist leper. I’m not nearly as vicious as everyone else. I lack conviction. I need to work on my world-hating and malice. I am not feeling as angry as I sound. I guess it is just habit. Should probably turn that frown upside down. I’m going to stop now because I am colouring myself black. And I don’t want to be black. Not anymore.

		Ah innocence,Ah, innocence. Enthusiasm. Whilst at uni and craving attention so deeply, I kept on seeing either young people who had never seen anything like what I have seen, or older hippies. Who may have but would never admit that it wasn’t part of some dumb irrational world-consciousness bullshit. Of course neither of these things made me stop wanting to sleep with them. Yeh. Oh well.