Crushed and Me

Maybe it has become a Love-Hate relationship.

Somtimes he is a slave driver.
I worry about him more than anyone I've ever worried about. Protecting him from harm is probably one of my key priorities.
There is a sense in which I live through his existence.

I've even got to the stage where I'm composing posts on the dancefloor.

I look in the mirror sometimes, and the name that forms in my mind, is not my real first name, it is Crushed.

Sometimes the identity behind Crushed just seems irrelevant.

To be fair, that doesn't mean much. The thoughts that dominate this blog are the thoughts that dominate my mind.

I guess I party so hard in RL, because I can't really deal with silence, with being alone for a second. A huge sense of emptiness, of hopelessness, of fear, of panic comes across me if left my own too long.

I never planned this far ahead with my life, guess I really believed I'd 'Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse'.

I never wanted to get this far, and now I have, I find it hollow.

Career? Well, I suppose I derive a certain satisfaction out of working. It satisfies at that level, the chemical one, that of keeping the adrenalin going. But do I really care? No. It doesn't make me feel that the world is better for my existence.

I'm not close to my family, I doubt I'll ever have one of my own.
I don't think I'll ever be able to let my guard down that far. As I have said, those I trust I trust, and I think that list is closed for ever now.

I live day to day, there is no plan for the future, no thought of tomorrow, or next year. I really just don't care. Try as I might, I cannot see any relevance in it.

My grandmother always wanted me to be a priest. In a sense, I can see her point. In a distant age, I'd have made a good Jesuit.



Happiness?
There are two ways I feel it. One is through clubbing or party situations, being in the centre of a vibrant energy, or getting involved in in depth philosophical discussions about the sort of things I write about here. Then, in those moments I feel alive.

The other way of course, is when I write one of my better posts, when I really feel I've said what I want to say.

That's it really. All other 'happiness' is illusory, false, a product of the moment, with no true intellectual satisfaction.

Money, Romance, Ambition, Success, Comfort, it just all seems trivial, and I resent their blandishments.

I sedate myself with pleasures, to get by, to ease momentarily that constant restlessness, that dissatisfaction, that sense of being alone with the vision I see.

But this here, what I write, is all that really matters to me, really. Maybe I will live and die in vain, and certainly this blog doesn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things.

Except maybe it does. Every little helps. You have to believe that, I guess. 'It's a Wonderful Life' tells us so.

Crushed gives me hope in something, faith in something, he is the meaning to my life, maybe the only true love I will ever have.

Crushed is the part of me that serves some purpose, because the rest is fast approaching the age beyond which it has lost it's sparkle. The pretty boy looks are gone, the bags under the eyes seem never to go, the furrowed forehead (Which I had at twenty, if you looked closely), now starting to show.



I'm not thirty yet, but I feel my life has been long. I feel twice as old as I actually am, sometimes. I feel my life has been lived, that there is nothing else to come, for me. I've had my lot.

Yet somehow, there is some purpose. Whilst Crushed breathes, the world has some light in it for me.

And where will he take me?
Christ knows.
But to a large extent now, Crushed and I are bound in an inextricable way. But whether Crushed is part of my persona, or I am just an appendage of Crushed, I'm not entirely sure. In many ways the second is more satisfying.

Now that probably sounds pretty crazy.

C'est la vie.