Sep. 19th, 2012

ohtheseas: (Default)
 I never thought I'd say, I'm coming to terms with being the monster, but reading The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan is helping with exactly that. It's absurd! I've fought this, that I am the antagonist in other's narrations of their lives for so long, but here I am, coming to terms with it.

I have caused a lot of hurt, and I am not looking for forgiveness from my victims. (How bone-chilling, to call them that.) They won't give me that, and besides, that makes it sound ego-centric. Seeking to help for the purpose of absolving myself the wounds I have slashed into them. I do not believe in returning to someone else's life, wrecked with guilt, or this sense of "we need to finish this"; I have myself rejected that offer from someone who hurt me. It's not something I believe in. Do others?

I'm tired and I have to go soon, but it's the only thought that's in my head. The monster in the narrative. I write monsters, too. I like them, us horrible ones, my kind of people.

It requires a certain strength, a certain desire of life and a mindset, an acceptance of difference, to be able to cope with me I think. Accept that I am not a social person, that I am sometimes very withdrawn even from myself, accept that I sometimes write and write and live writing and breathe writing, accept silence, accept my incessant talking about something I love and you have no idea what it is, accept that I'm terrible but that I am in love.

There's no point to this. Just a thrill. Narrative monster. The creature of nightmares. How exciting! I'm this! I'm the antagonist! And I'm fine with it!

profile

ohtheseas: (Default)
my name is everything

October 2012

M T W T F S S
1234567
891011 121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
293031    

reading:

"We want to be loved; failing that, admired; failing that, feared; failing that, hated and despised. At all costs we want to stir up some sort of feeling in others. Our soul abhors a vacuum. At all costs it longs for contact." — Doctor Glas, Hjalmar Söderberg