011You
we shouldn't do this.
yeah, but we shouldn't do a lot of things. What's the worst that can actually happen?
well, they might get mad at us. or upset. we never know quite where the unspoken boundaries are. isn't it better to stay well away from them?
and never take a risk ever again? all the shit we've written recently was a risk. some of it has made people happy. hell, it made us happy.
you're right, the worst that can go wrong is that we upset people, and thats fuckin scary. but the best that can happen is that we make them laugh for a moment. Isn't that worth it?
you know we've already decided to write it regardless, so I guess we'll find out. this is all just showmanship anyway.
damn right. and you know you enjoy it.
...
- - - - -
last night you had the silly idea to give up on your pretenses of passive osmosis and copy someone's style quite directly. you started drafting the above exchange in your head, a rather dramatic (but not inaccurate) representation of the battle that always seems to be happening behind your eyes, over one thing or another.
you weren't sure exactly what to write about at the time though, short of the concept/style itself. and you were getting quite tired, so you drifted off with half-formed paragraphs and vague fears sloshing around in your grey matter.
for all that, you were comfortable. it had been a weird but quite fucking good day.
and then you woke up, and some things happened, and then your partner who is overseas woke up, and some more things happened, and then you discovered that she'd somehow had exactly the same idea, and executed it before you could.
this made you laugh, and also curl up a little inside. You'd been excited to fuck around and find out, and now any attempt would just come across... trite. A copy of a copy (of a copy).
you thought about it some more. you re-read her post. the draft in your head shifted by 20 degrees.
you decided to fuckin' do it anyway. this was already a risk; why not raise the stakes?
- - - - -
so, you having fun yet?
a little, yeah. fuck you.
...but yeah. its fun, seeing it all bleed together. we haven't managed to successfully copy anyone, have we?
nah. not anyone. it's a little bit of all of 'em.
- - - - -
About a week ago, you wrote a post that was the emotional and moral opposite of this one. It eschewed any form of self- or other-reference: no yous, no Is, no we or us or me. The smallest nod you gave was the occasional 'they'; and only then as a reference to the faceless crowds, the people walking past who only barely brushed against the story. Trying to describe the concept to your partner later, you called it '4th person' - a dumbass term that doesn't really make sense.
The point was to have as little presence in the narrative as possible. Observing, unobserved. A chain of events, delivered with emotion but no attribution. It is, you think, one of your favourite pieces of writing you've done since April. Even if it's hiding something a little rotten.
This is the opposite. Just as they did, you are inserting yourself as strongly into the narrative as possible. Opening your mind up for a little while, letting people step inside. You're struggling to censor as little as you can, to write in a way that you never could if it wasn't so disconnected and yet paradoxically personal.
The little plural intermissions are a part of that. They seem seperate from the narrative, some meta-layer, but they're really just another part of you. you stole that concept too - it was executed beautifully by the original practitioner of this idea, at least amongst your friends.
You steal all your best ideas, and you're slowly not feeling ashamed of that anymore.
- - - - -
she's talking about us? she's talking about us. aren't we outside the narrative?
she? I thought we were using 'they' now. Or... it?
we haven't really decided, have we? you know that. you're part of it.
yeah well, maybe I'm the confused part. Why'd you say 'she', if you knew we're not using that anymore? not on the outside, anyway.
like I said, we haven't really decided. maybe I'm the part who thinks its a stupid idea.
you know we're sending so many mixed messages with this, right?
yeah, and I don't care. hey, weren't you supposed to be the brash one? the cocky lesbian with the big ideas and no fear?
fuck you! I get scared too, asshole. just of different things than you. and... stop pretending like there's any fucking cohesion to this. we're supposed to be being honest.
I am being honest! we had a plan to do this bit!
you know the plan ran out at the end of the first paragraph. stop trying to cling to something that's not there, and just... let us talk. this intermission has gone way longer than it was meant to.
has it now? you just contradicted the fuck out of yourself, you know that?
one of our best fucking talents, isn't it? shut up.
- - - - -
...you feel like you spaced out for a minute there.
You've noticed yourself being a bit... rougher around the edges lately. Swearing a little more, with words you'd been too afraid to use before. You're not quite sure if you were scared of what other people would think of you... or scared of what you'd think of yourself.
You strongly suspect it's the latter, though. Somewhere recently, you've stopped caring so much about that.
Yesterday you sent your best friend, who is currently overseas, the message: "morning. miss u cunt." - along with a picture of you smoking a cigarette.
You're still not sure why the fuck you did this. It just felt like the right thing to do in the moment, in spite of knowing in your gut that leaving her alone while she's overseas is also the right thing to do.
either way, its not something you would have done a week ago. you'd have spent half an hour overthinking the word choices and whether you were making some terrible mistake, and the cigarette would have burned down to nothing and the ash would have settled in your stomach and left you feeling hollow with missed potential.
you're fuckin' tired of overthinking these things. she seemed to respond well to it, and then you didn't talk again for the rest of the day. both halves of that felt... oddly good. correct. you stopped thinking about it almost immediately, until now.
- - - - -
oh my god. do they know that this is going to be interpreted in all sorts of ways we don't mean? I was right, this is a terrible goddamn idea.
nah, fuck off. we don't know that. we don't know shit. fam, we don't even know if she still reads these. probably for the best if we don't find out, either.
if this ends in some new, fucked up catastrophe, I'm blaming you. "best friend", seriously? we barely talk. you think she wants that label?
we're the same person, idiot. you'd be blaming yourself. and besides, it's not a label - it's... a description, I guess. What else are we gonna call her? we're not gonna name-drop in a public post. She's not our dog, hell no. she's our friend, but not just 'a friend'. We've called her 'housemate' before, and that's always felt weird and inconsiderate. what the fuck else is there?
fine, whatever. 'best friend' it is. you better hope that doesn't piss her off. or anyone else, for that matter.
...she still calls us her dog, sometimes. you think she means it? or is it just to make us happy?
not a fuckin' clue. but it works, doesn't it? if she's just trying to make us happy, I mean. it works. so stop fuckin questioning shit.
...yeah. okay.
- - - - -
You often feel like the voices in your head can't ever come to a consensus on things.
You've written about that before, maybe even more than any other single topic. It's hard to present any kind of stable, unified front when you know that the foundation of your psyche is constantly shifting, wracked by emotional tectonics. Things said a few days prior no longer ring true, but next week they'll feel real again. You can't count the number of times you've pledged yourself to some internal moral cause, only to get run through with doubt a few hours later.
You wonder if everybody feels this way. Are you broken, or just more aware of everybody's inherent instability? Either option feels hubristic. Maybe there's not a right answer.
It's why you've always acted in the moment. No point making plans for tomorrow, not when it'll be somebody else carrying out those plans, someone you can't really predict. Better to just act now, on whatever information you have, whatever feeling feels real right now.
Doesn't matter if you'll never accomplish anything long-lasting. You've learned to enjoy what's right in front of you - or to hate it, which is sometimes just as enjoyable. Not healthy. Not fair. But a fucked-up kind of enjoyable, at least.
- - - - -
god, do we ever get to the point? do we really think anyone is going to read a post that rambles on like this?
shut up, this was your idea in the first place. Anyway, I think we're getting there. I think we're about to say something really fucking stupid.
oh, fuck yes-!
- - - - -
...Lately though, you have noticed a shift in the patterns of your brain. Feeling happy has become easier again. You feel less caught up in the muck of your own emotions, less inclined to be swept away uncontrollably into jealousy or fear or anger. Less inclined to act like a massive cunt.
It's been really nice. You've enjoyed being happy for your friends, genuinely, with nothing to taint it for once. You've been talking a lot to one of those friends lately, sharing in little moments of her happiness, and it feels intoxicating.
You had a conversation yesterday, and when at one point you reacted in a mix of joy and fury, she misunderstood. She forbade you from acting on that feeling, asked you not to try manipulate things towards a certain end. You were told not to try and subtly influence the outcome - you are, after all, not actually very good at being subtle. You are far too earnest.
But you didn't have that in mind in the first place. You were only celebrating and grieving in equal parts - grieving that things couldn't be just a little more ideal, yes... but you had no intent to try and make them so.
You explained this. She seemed placated, or perhaps reassured, or perhaps neither of those things.
You thought about this interaction for hours afterwards though, turning it over in your head. Would you try and do that, given reason to?
Eventually, you think you decided on an answer: no. You would not try and be subtle. You would not try and bring things to a neat, clean ending, a happy outcome for everyone - though this is admittedly your usual mode of operation.
No.
You're tired of subtlety. You're tired of this carefully-arranged dance. You have, you think, come to a consensus.
Regardless of the consequences for you and everyone else, you'd tear your FRICKIN world apart just to see that happiness have a chance to flourish, if it came down to that. Fuck what's good, or right, or realistic. Fuck everything except that unapologetic happiness.
You don't really think this feeling will ever be relevant. You do not actually have the influence that would be required to shift those emotional continents. If not for this over-dramatic and poorly-planned post, that feeling would likely go unnoticed, forever. But it's important to you that you had it.
...'cause actually, the best part about this little tectonic shift you've experienced lately?
It means you get to choose when you're going to be a massive cunt.
- - - - -
...was that stupid? it was dramatic as hell, sure, but... everyone feels that urge to fuck the world up every now and then, right? especially for a reason like that.
yeah, I'm not sure. I think some people are normal, actually. god, we're gonna get in so much shit for this one.
nah, we've said worse. like, way worse. and we made it pretty clear we're not gonna actually do shit, right? it's all just feelings.
I hope so. I hope we have made it clear, and also I hope its actually true. you know how good we are at fucking everything up, after all. shouldn't tempt goddamn fate like this.
maybe. but hey, I think we've already indulged enough hubris in here. Don't be so quick to assume that this dumb bundle of words could do any damage in the first place. You know all our friends are pretty damn good at fucking everything up too, and I say that with all the love in the world. We're figuring it out, aren't we?
...yeah, I guess so. I guess we are. fuck you anyway.
fuck you too <3
hhhh no, I take it back. thats a little too incestuous. what the fuck.
you're not into it? damn.
fuck OFF.
- - - - -
You were going to write something at the end here about your gorgeous beautiful wonderful adorable lovely & darling wife who is currently overseas, but you've been at this for almost two hours already, in between distractions and whatever the heck is happening in the group chat. You think she actually deserves her own post, and thus will have to wait for another time - but you shoved as many compliments in there as a single sentence could reasonably fit, to make up for it.
You're really not sure about posting this fucker. It's so, so much longer than you anticipated, and the dumb meta-voices bit got... a little too vulnerable. You're still not sure how many people you are, some days. Doesn't matter, but not knowing annoys you.
Whether or not you post this matters, though. Is it going to serve a purpose, out in public? You could just leave it here in your drafts.
But you don't really want to. As much as it's vulnerable and dramatic and probably outrageous, it's also the most fun you've had making a piece of art for a while. And you think it is art.
Isn't art supposed to be vulnerable and dramatic and probably outrageous? In your mind, it is. That's the best kind.
Fuck it. Posting this is gonna make you happy. If that's a problem, you'll deal with that. They can come bite you about it.
One more proof read. One more glance at the clock. You realise you haven't eaten today, in the chaos of figuring out what you were gonna do with your wretched puppy life. Should probably do something about that.
Oh well, here goes nothing. Allons-y!
- - - - -
that didn't go at all how it was meant to, did it? like, this post being in someone else's style.
nah, not aside from the second-person perspective. thats okay though. it's made from enough little stolen pieces, so its close enough. Just like us.
yeah... wait, 'just like us'? you mean the stolen pieces thing, or being close enough?
Yeah. Take your pick, I think.