Welcome, everyone, to my newest personal endeavor- an attempt to start a weekly updated blog, in order to a) encourage me to write and b) to satisfy the legion of people who have requested I move my ramblings from Facebook to someone more "professional" (okay, not a legion. Perhaps about fifteen people. Less. But trust me, when you're as narcissistic as I am, even a small amount of people showing interest in my work is a godsend. Also, just because this is my so-called "proper blog" does not mean I will make any less dick jokes. Or reduce my mentions of the word "ass"). Those of you who have followed me over from Facebook will hopefully know what to expect; many run-on sentences, the occasional spelling error (and frantic apologies/cursing the lack of power to edit statuses), vulgarity and veiled threats towards family pets. Those of you who somehowstumbled across this on your own (just kidding, I think we both know that there's no way you possibly exist. Please shoo. Also, here's something I forgot on the list of expectations- my stunning overuse of brackets. And dashes. And my complete disregard for the more complex rules of grammar. And my reliance on fragments. This joke is getting old now, so I'm going to stop), well, I expect by the time you finish this sentence, you'll probably be requesting a lobotomy so you can wipe this collection of bizarre turns-of-phrase and grammatical mishaps only understood by the severely mentally ill from your memories. Or you'll find it perversely enjoyable. Whatever floats your boat... unless you have some aversion towards boats, or floating. If that is the case, please write on a piece of paper your preferred method of transport/state of being, shred it in a blender, bake it into a quiche, eat it and mail me whatever is expelled from your bowels at the end of the process. Wow, writing for an audience is hard work.
I have been putting off this agonising task for about a week after returning from the U.K, as although I promised myself that I would start blogging once I hit home soil, I hit a mental blank regarding topics to write about. Of course, I'd already assume that like most of my spontaneously word-vomits, I would be either ranting about something hilariously unimportant or providing limited insight on a mundane experience. However, today I manned up and addressed that block by reading through old correspondences.... and realised that the one constant in my life is that nothing ever remains constant. That's where the title of this blog comes from, by the way- my belief that nothing ever lasts forever and that the entire human race is in a transient state. Basically, this means that all problems eventually work themselves out, become insignificant or we die. While it's a morbid belief, it does stop me becoming one of those people who is gradually ostracized by their nearest and dearest for their inability to cope with the most minute of hurdles in their existence. Or a person that can't fucking stop whining. There is nothing I can't stand more than a person who, instead of getting on with their little existence, constantly bends the ears of those around them with their self-pitying bullshit. From years of attacking my social ineptitude from different angles, I can safely say that a lack of significant relationships stems from an inability to move beyond obsessing over your own stupid bullshit. Moving past said bullshit is as easy as admitting that one day, we'll all be dead and no one will care that you haven't had sex in three months, or that you thought you looked fatter than usual today, or that the supposed love of your life can't remember your birthday. Truthfully, most people barely care about that shit while you're alive. So, you may as well just power through, get over it and try to have fun. Feeling upset at times is a given, but it doesn't mean that you need to whittle your whole world down to the size of your anus.
One of the biggest lies that we tell ourselves is that there are things that exist in this world that are immune to change. Everything from social conventions to your relationship with your mother are in a constant state of transformation. It may be a minute difference, such as how all of your cells in your body are replaced every 7 to 10 years without your knowledge (I personally find that a little spooky- this, above everything else, proves that no one can remain the same person their entire lives), or something as obvious as shitting out a live mouse instead of that corn you ate for dinner last night. I have no idea if that last thing has ever happened to someone, but the point is, you can't count on anything to remain constant. It's certainly romantic and charming to imagine that things like love and bravery remain the same forever, but they don't. Feelings and concepts of feelings change. People leave or die. Shit happens, and you can't beat yourself up about it, because it happens to everyone and you are not an exception. That is why I'm trying my hardest at the moment to move beyond judging those around me, because to be fair, I have no right at all. They are changing, I will always change and human beings will always have the capacity to commit atrocious acts.
However, there's no point in letting this revelation making you bitter. I would say that if most people truly believed that they were insignificant and would never stay the same, they'd probably give up on trying to do what's considered morally right. I mean, morality is such a sensitive issue anyway- everyone has their own concept of what it should be. I'd say there's probably more than ten people in this world that could completely rationalise shagging a sheep as for the greater good of the human race, and they wouldn't all live in New Zealand or Wales. But, while recognising all this, there's another revelation to consider... that there's no point making your own existence more miserable by being a complete and utter dick towards other people. The great Jim Jeffries once simplified the Bible down to "try not to be a cunt", and it's a pretty fundamental part of the human existence. Although there's probably no great divine power dolling out punishments to the worse factions of our weird and wonderful race, there's still a certain amount of satisfaction that comes from knowing that you have lived a life where you have minimised the pain you have caused others. And if you can't recognise that, you're probably a sociopath, and I'll ask you very kindly to admit yourself to a psychiatrist rather than hunt me down and use my scooped-out skull as a portable toilet.
Looking back over this blog post, I'll admit that the subject matter got away from me a bit and I've just basically rambled on about my personal beliefs for a page and a half. If you like that, thank you, it'll probably be a regular thing. If you didn't, I apologise, it'll probably be a regular thing. I doubt this will get particularly well-followed, but it's at least giving me an excuse to write and to address the strange parts of my existence that probably make sense to at least ten percent of the population. I'd thank you for reading, but let's face it, I did most of the hard work here. Hopefully I'll stick at this, but only time and a willingness to form callouses on the tips of my fingers (I type weirdly) will tell.
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