Not Again and Maybe A Few Words If I Feel Like Writing (Yes, that's a real post title.)

in #life6 years ago

I'm not sure if I feel like ruining another art post.
Too honest, sometimes.  Too much of a handful.  I'm too hard on myself.

NoNamesLeftToUse - Not Again.jpeg
Not Again

Some Say

They "suffer" from depression.

I don't get that.

Suffer?  How?

For me, it's more like an uncontrollable and sporadic burst of I don't give a fuck about anything.

Impossible to suffer, if one simply does not care.  Then it's gone, until next time.

It's easy to become distracted by the inside voice who so eagerly feels like reminding me of the time I screwed up, years ago.  Then if that memory isn't enough, the inside voice seems to want to talk about all of the other devastating experience points obtained over the span of more than three decades.  Maybe not giving a fuck is the best defense, so I'm glad not giving a fuck comes naturally to me.

Sometimes not giving a fuck makes getting through the day incredibly difficult.  It's hard to get things done when I don't give a fuck about anything.

Since when is a vacation a form of suffering?

I think some of these folks just want people to feel sorry for them.

They give people like me a bad name.  Weak.

There's no sadness in this depression.  I simply don't give a fuck.  It'll be gone tomorrow, maybe the day after.  Then I'll wake up full of piss and vinegar again, ready to take on, whatever.

Most folks seem to fear talking about being down and out.  I think it's normal to feel shitty.  It's unnatural to feel good all the time.  There's definitely some kind of a chemical imbalance going on inside of the noggin if you're smiling and thinking happy thoughts as someone takes a shit on the hood of your car at a red light.

The reason people get away with shitting on hoods of cars at red lights these days is because so many fear being naturally angry, as if being normal is wrong.

Sitting inside the mobile safe space, doors locked, attempting to stay calm on the phone with the emergency dispatcher.

Since when do we need to stay calm!

There's someone taking a shit on the hood of your car!

There's no better time to freak out and go batshit crazy than now!

But then there's always someone gawking, recording your every move.

You step out of the vehicle, freak out, start mopping up the shit with that dude's face, and some moron on the other side of the intersection is yelling, "World Star!"

Then you go freak out on them for recording you as you throw feces all over their vehicle, and that's the part that goes viral all over social media.

Then it's Monday and your boss calls you into the office.  "We heard rumors of a video online.  We saw the video and unfortunately, we're going to have to let you go.  You're fired."

That guy was shitting on the hood of my car so I took care of him in front of a crowd who decided to mock me for not wanting to put up with this shit and you're firing me now!

Well, yes.  You were supposed to just sit in your car and take it up the ass like any other highly medicated good citizen on this planet.  You're supposed to let the police handle it because we, as good law abiding people, are not qualified to handle life on our own.  We are useless, we need help, and that's why we have helpers with guns.  Know your role and learn how to smile away your worst days otherwise people will think there's something wrong with you.  Aren't you concerned about what everyone else thinks?  You should be.  It's them who matter the most, not you.  What you did was selfish!  That's why you're fired!  We don't need people who take care of shit themselves!  Those cops have kittens that need food and you're trying to take that away from them?!

How dare you!


All of this rambling.

It reminds me of a time I was relaxing on the beach in front of the cabin.

I was relaxing in front of the cabin, on the beach, in August, while I was away from the internet.

What a good day that was.  Nobody was out shitting on hoods of cars that day.  Nope, just me, the sun, a chair, some cigarettes, a lighter, some beer, sunflower seeds, a knife, and a small piece of driftwood I felt like carving into something that resembled my life that day.

Thanks, brain, for reminding me of the time someone called the cops because they saw a man with a knife drinking beer on the beach.  You asshole.

Why can't people just stay calm in these situations?  They got it all backwards.  They stay clam when there's shit going down; freak right out and call the cops just because some dude on the beach is half drunk, watching people walk by.  Of course they didn't see the carving part.  All they saw was a man with a beer in one hand and knife in the other, staring at them, because they were staring at me.

The cop was fine with it.  I'm allowed to drink on that property.  Once I showed her the pile of wood shavings and the little dinosaur I was trying to make that looked more like a half gopher, half turd; she was cool with the knife.  I even let her hold it.  She called it, "Snazzy."  I offered her a beer, she said she can't.  I said, "Don't worry, I won't call the cops."  She laughed and that was it.  I almost want to get in trouble again just so I could talk to her because I forgot to get her number.

Anyway

This was supposed to be an art post.

I guess I screwed that up, again.

Whatever; I hope you liked it.

Have a nice day.

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Credits:
All art and images seen here were produced digitally, by me.
NoNamesLeftToUse Outro.png

"I just don't give a fuck today."

© 2018 @NoNamesLeftToUse.  All rights reserved.

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This struck me like a tsunami

It's easy to become distracted by the inside voice who so eagerly feels like reminding me of the time I screwed up, years ago.

I call it the voice of falsehood, it tends to remind us of the number of times we failed, and tried and failed again. Like we were suppose to always win and become perfect and strong muscled man. It takes a much more stronger resolve to ignore this voice and realize that future succeses will happen regardless of past failures. That failing in a way is part of the success journey, and it's okay to fail sometimes and fail again. Well done @nonameslefttouse

Thanks for reading between the lines. I'll often hide words like yours within words like mine. That voice tries to a be a distraction. I don't give a fuck what it has to say. I won't be letting it bother me.

"It's easy to become distracted by the inside voice who so eagerly feels like reminding me of the time I screwed up, years ago."

Haha I get that too. It usually starts with "remember that time in eighth grade ..."

"It's unnatural to feel good all the time."

That is the truth and a lot of people don't understand it. I am pretty creeped out by that sort of constant, oppressive, happiness to be honest. It makes me wonder what horrors that the individual is trying to hide behind those fake smiles and forced laughs.

Why must it always be the shit from eighth grade?

And I think the one of main reasons people think they need to be happy is because of the fake reality we're all fed by the media. When was the last time someone tried to sell you a normal day pill or a book about self don't need help?

Eighth grade is peak awkwardness I think.

Haha yeah there is no money in telling people that they are fine so they have to create a problem. If I was going to run a scam, I think I would use that method or start a cult. They are kind of two sides of the same coin. Its just too bad I have all these damn ethics lol.

If I had a dollar for every time I got the cops called on me for walking around in public with a knife and a beer...

You'd have enough to pay open liquor tickets?

I'm going back college! What are you going to major in? Drawing and painting! What are you going to do with that? Make art posts on steemit! But steemit is a blogging site.

Oh, shit.

True story compressed in time and space from 1990 to 2018.

And then there was that time Shawn called me a tag a long in 6 grade because i had a crush on Landra and... where does this shit come from? Things i haven't remembered or thought of years suddenly appear and one leads to another and another and now it's snowballing out of control

I don't care if people think Steemit is a "blogging site." Then again, maybe I'm reinventing blogging too soon? That could be why 99% of my following now refuses to support my work. Hmm... Now I'm snowballing...

For me I walk that line of 'not caring/giving a darn' to 'focus and attempting stabs at producitivity for self'. I know if I allow my natural lazy and synical ways the upper hand, I can meld into a background and dissapear for longer than is good for me. I think, thank God, that art and daily drawing (which I am currently not able to do as I am in stasis/travel mode) helps to anchor me to 3d reality.

I fall right off the planet if I give up or give in to whatever forces that feel like holding me back. Music helps drown out that internal noise, and yeah, manipulating pixels; can't seem to get enough, helps me focus. Writing whatever in ramble form lets me get the crazies out.

Well, shit! Some people can't seem to keep their nose out of other peoples' business. They even walk around with their phone in camera mode hoping to catch someone doing something.

hahaa I'm in 'I just don't give a fuck today' mode as well. Fuck 'em!

I don't think your words ever ruin your art posts. They always compliment it with the artist's personality, which is a unique thing about this place.

I get the failure memories pop up all the time too. I'm always knocking them back. Interesting your description of depression. That isn't how I've experienced blips of depression, but I imagine everyone's experience is different. Mine was the blackness. Hopefully you don't get the blackness with the dont-give-a-fucks. I'm pretty sure they are similar, but different.

That depression stuff is a battle. It puts me in some dark places but I never feel like I'm suffering. I'm not wounded, bleeding out. More like I'm in a hole and have to climb out even though I see no point. The thing is, I don't remember a time of my life where these issues didn't exist. Had it when I was kid, so to me, it's normal and just something I live with.

The fact that you've always had it now and then is probably protective from the suffering. I think the suffering comes from the extremes. The blips of full fledged depression I experienced I'd call suffering, based on how I am normally fairly happy, and experiencing the loss of what is normal for me definitely caused pain. I'd take physical pain over that any day.

We are all a bunch of complex creatures.

I could easily call it suffering, but to me that's only a name or a word for something that can't be described. It's different for everyone. Some people like to make their situations sound worse than everyone else's though, and that can get on my nerves, because they haven't been in my shoes. Some just want everyone else to feel sorry for them. Some of those folks don't even have a problem, they're just making a choice. I don't have that luxury. It comes, it goes; fight the inside voice that tries to make it worse.

I think similarly about depression. It's something I've accepted will always take over my brain from time to time. There is no curing it or getting rid of it. I know when it arrives I just need to retreat from the world until it passes. It always passes in a day or two. Sleep and just chilling in my room by myself is usually all I need. I started taking hemp pills for pain and they actually turn my depression off a lot quicker which is nice. I wouldn't take any drugs other than that though.

It's pretty nice you met a cool cop instead of a dick one. Where I live people still carry pocket knives. I have one. Comes in handy. As for the art I see a person's head laying against the ground. They look super skinny and I can see their ribs. The person seems pretty miserable.

I used to self medicate heavily. That means excessive amounts of beer and weed. I'd alternate, but then found myself mixing on a regular basis. All that really did was extend the feeling of shit for longer periods of time, but I wouldn't know while under a heavy buzz. In some ways, that helped, in other ways, it was just a waste of life. I'm glad I don't do that anymore. Then again, coffee and cigs heavy if I'm feeling like being away from the world for a few days.

Women cops here are usually nice. The dudes can be arrogant pricks, but not always.

Sheesh! I recognize that problem. Go get yourself a good men's vitamin. Get out in the fresh air. Do something that makes your palms sweat. We sit in front of our computers throwing off our circadian rhythms, feeling like crap, and having low energy as a result. Then there is too much time to listen to your voices. Also, fire your voices. You need better ones.

Coffee and cigarettes work as a vitamin? I used to play hockey online. That made my palms sweat ferociously. I thought something was wrong with me, had to keep paper towel, local. I stopped playing games for the most part, because I'm too busy pushing colors around. I've already finished another one since publishing this failure. Failure? Fucking voices...

Fire your voices! What sort of incompetent voices bring up grade 8 stuff? Surely, they have better things to torture you with since then.

If I could control my thoughts, this blog would be the epitome of perfect lifestyle choices and positive messages combined with everything else the general public wants to hear.

No way, we don't want that. This is where you let it all out and we watch and comment. It's called therapy.

You are under arrest for whittling in a non-whittling zone.

Next to my pocket knife I sometimes also carry a foldable saw with a 12" blade for getting material for my woodwork.

Mayhem.

Nothing in the law here about carrying a concealed saw, though.

We're allowed to carry knives here. People are just paranoid and watch too much television.

Same here. Only in the countryside are people still used to it.

I would be more concerned if you whittled with your fingernails.

Strange world. It wasn't long ago every man carried a blade. Now people see one outside of an eating establishment and think something is wrong with you. Oh well...

Damn is it ever dead here.

Where I grew up, every boy had a pocket knife from the age of about eight onwards. They were never used in fights, only for cutting rope, whittling, and a game called "landjepik", which I can't translate but which involved throwing knives into the sand, drawing lines, and cutting off areas of ground until someone had it all.

It is dead in here, yes. Stale and mouldy, apart from a few posters. You could do more whittling.

Which reminds me, if you're bored enough, maybe you could do your pareidoliac art thing with these, or use them in an advanced pareidolia course.

Always curious what others see in the fruits of my knife.

I haven't been having the best luck with pareidolia lately. The faces went on vacation.

Damn. Without prior written permission, I assume, as they are wont to do.

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