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True art is angsty

I really do wish I wasn't depressed. It seems like everything I try to write in a light and funny way turns dark fast.
This year.. really shouldn't feel like as much of a failure as it does.. but knowing how I think of things, it really shouldn't be surprising.

I can't really talk about it and that's really the running theme. I can't really talk about anything. I find myself culling my contact lists of people I haven't talked to in a year.

I just don't feel like anyone really wants to hear from me anymore. I always think about calling/texting/e-mailing whatever people and sometimes I can bring myself to do it but I rarely do.

I realized a while ago that if all I'm going to do is complain and feel bad then I really shouldn't talk to anyone. I'm only supposed to talk to people when I feel ok and usually, by the time I feel ok, such a long gap has occurred and we have nothing in common anymore.

I really shouldn't post things like this in a public forum anymore.

The book thing

Fuck the opening line! I mean, all it’s good for is to grab attention. Hmm. Maybe a better opening line would’ve been “Screw the opening line!” Using fuck tends to grab too much attention. Will this book be edgy? I don’t know. I really can’t be bothered to care at the moment. I had a story in mind but at the moment, that doesn’t seem to be working out too well in my head. I just couldn’t decide at what point to start this book. “He looked her in the eyes, realizing that for once in his life, he truly belonged.” Well, just to throw something out here. The guy I’m thinking of (Wouldn’t you love to know his name by now?) really never did look into a girl’s eyes knowing that he truly belonged. That was actually kind of his life long goal.
At this point, if the first word of the story being “fuck” has not offended your sensibilities to the point of putting it down (or hitting the little X [or the little red circle for all you too hip for this world graphic designer types] if you’re reading this in its early stages on a computer [yeah, right? Like this is ever getting published? Did this get published? You tell me. That’s how time works.]) you’re probably wanting me to introduce myself. Shit! I’ve established my own being. I’m! not! Supposed! To do! That! But, who are we kidding? The all seeing narrator is always visualized when you read a book, and if that narrator is just the narrator, you end up thinking about the guy (or lady.. rarely) who wrote the book. That’s probably why they put those creepy pictures on the backs of books. That way, you see the face of the god of that universe made of words and tree pulp and from that point on you don’t have to worry about who’s telling the story, because, well, the author is! So, I think the point I’m trying to make is that I am the narrator of this little tale and.. I’m getting myself another beer.
Ooooookay! Now that that’s through with, let’s start the story. Oh, but first I will say, that there will probably be Vampires. I can’t remember where, but there will be vampires. In this day and age, you never know what type of vampires but, well, there will be vampires. There will probably be some spatial anomalies, too. Hell, let’s make sure all the character’s speak like they’ve meticulously thought about every single stupid thing they were going to say and are not influenced by the culture they live in at all so that it sounds much more sophisticated (or downright garbled) than anyone else would speak.
So, the guy that everything happens to… God! What was his name? I’ll remember this tomorrow morning. It starts with a D… Did it? No. I’m just thinking of that one guy in Montana who’s probably going to die soon. I’m going to kick myself. Names and phone numbers are the two things I can’t remember when drunk. Screw it! For now, I will name him Oed. (Say it like “Ed!”) Oed Pavlov. I know that’s nowhere close to his name but who wants a boring name anyway? His first name is Oed which is short for Oedipus (Except that Oedipus isn’t his full name. It’s just Oed. It’s kind of like he was named Bill which is normally short for William, but his birth certificate just says Bill. Come on, you know at least one of those sorts of guys [or ladies.. rarely] in your life that had that unfortunate naming pattern. This then opened the doors for kids and teachers in school [several, actually] to feel it necessary to lengthen, misspell and/or mispronounce his name. They’d call him things like “Special Oed” or “Oed to joy” or just blatantly yell, “Hey, Oedipus! Why don’t you go marry your mom and kill your Dad and then rip your eyes out once you realize what you’ve done because fate is cruel?” And Oed would feel bad because he had no friends except for a really sweet girl who was really nice to him and really cared about him and smelled good, kind of like his mom did. But, keep in mind, say it with me now, “Oed is NOT his real name.” he probably had a normal name like Gary or Robert and didn’t have to deal with young kids taunting him with Grssk tragedies. I’ll remember it in the morning but I don’t intend on using his real name in the future [I gotta stop referring to myself in the first person! I’m not here.]) because he had a thing for girls that reminded him of his mom. Luckily for him, he was able to twist details around in his head so well that a girl who talks, walks, looks, and acts nothing like his mother could, say, give him a really bad guilt trip that reminds him of one his mom gave him after he did something bad when he was eight years old and he would exclaim, “Ye gods! I have fallen in love with my mother! What horror I am! Is there any hope for a wretch like me?” when in all reality, the difference between the girls he fell for and his mother was simple: his mom didn’t just pretend to give a crap about him. Then again, the Oedipus complex is just kind of natural, I think. What boy (or lady… rarely) doesn’t want a woman that treats them with the same love and overbearing devotion that their mother treated them with?
Oed Pavlov (I don’t even think this guy is actually Russian in ethnicity, though) doesn’t actually have a true, 100% date one’s mom, Oedipus complex. He’s got what certain Psychologists refer to as Oedipal Paranoia or for those who like to be cute, Oediparanoia. As the man who coined the term put it: “It’s the over arching fear that your mother would like to marry you and your father would like to kill you but you will have none of it!”
I shouldn’t have said It shouldn’t have been said that “certain Psychologists” call it that. There was only one “psychologist” involved. He is the self-proclaimed ruler and Renaissance man of the small Caribbean country of Franzland: (Pronounced Franzhland. Don’t worry, you’ll understand.) President The Franz X. (NOT pronounced Franzh.) Well, wouldn’t you know it? I remembered that name. No one is under any illusion that that’s his real name. He is a tyrant and a narcissist, obsessed with ice tea as much as Fidel Castro is obsessed with cigars. The Franz does enjoy cigars as well but he’s made ice tea the main part of his international persona. Among also believing himself to be a psychologist, he thinks he is a super hero, a linguist, an artist, a comedian, a born leader, a messiah, the reincarnation of Oscar Wilde and an all around likeable guy (and lady… rarely). His aptly named addition to the field of psychology to which Oediparanoia belongs is referred to as “Franzian Psychology” (with a “zh” sound this time) although a lot of dissenters of the field like to refer to it as “Complete Bullshit.”
“The Franz X is to psychology what television infomercials are to gastro intestinal obesity research,” said one psychologist that had some bearing on the medical community, but I’m sure if I even remembered his name right now, you’d not recognize it, so why bother?
Oed Pavlov is the only person with a documented case of Oediparanoia (documented for the first time in writing 2 paragraphs ago.) Even that isn’t fool proof. For many years, all of Oed’s friends knew that he was extremely psychosomatic. Every time he read about a personality disorder, he would tell whichever friend he saw next, “I think I have __________” (see list at the end of the chapter for the smorgasbord of problems he’s tried to give himself.) Oed’s friend would then reassure him that he probably does not have any of the problems he believes he has. The idea of Oed convincing himself that he has Oediparanoia is not out of the question. No therapist who wants to keep receiving an income would diagnose Oed with it anyway.
It also should not have been said “those who like to be cute” because, again, there’s only one of them. President The Franz X’s wife, Lady Merydia X. She’s a sweet young woman who loves ice cream, ribbon, cute things, and her “totally hot” husband she “doesn’t deserve” but is “grateful for regardless” or so says the Franzian Lady’s Twitter feed. Through this Twitter, we discover that there’s really not much else to her. She’s really just kind of dumb. She appears nice. But she is dumb. She’s rather attractive to most people. She’s a natural blonde with a petite figure and androgynous facial features that are attractive to both sexes though no one can quite explain why. Rumor has it that she’s actually an ex-patriot from the American Midwest but no one is quite sure where in the Midwest or in what Universe this proverbial American Midwest may be because she sure as hell doesn’t quite seem right for the Midwest in this universe.
Oed Pavlov spent most of his time on the internet researching other countries. He lived in the American Southwest, one of those large cities in one of those desert states, Phoenix or Santa Fe or whatever. No, it definitely wasn’t Phoenix. There’s too much to do in Phoenix. There wasn’t much to do in the city in which Oed lived. He was part of a group (in spirit only. The actual group sickened him and he refused to associate with them.) all over the country who believed that any guy like The Franz X who has a pretty wife like Merydia has to be an abusive prick. This group focused mainly on Merydia and The Franz and spent their time writing Mary Sue Slash fic in which they overthrow The Franz, marry Merydia and ride unicorns or lose weight or something else extremely unlikely. Oed’s thinking was based solely in envy. Not really envy for Merydia but envy for the affections of his best friend…. We’ll just call her Elektra Schrödinger.
Elektra reminded Oed not only of his mother but of Lady Merydia as well. Physically, she had very few similarities, though Oed found the ones that were there. Mentally, she was nothing like Merydia. Elektra was 3 and a half years into her bachelor’s degree in medicine. Elektra was working towards specializing in immunology. Oed never understood much of what she said about the stuff she was studying, but just liked it when she actually decided to talk about what she was doing. She had a very soothing voice and was also one of the only girls he had ever met who could tell him something that he both didn’t know and fascinated him and to top it all off, she wasn’t condescending about what she told him. The only thing mentally that reminded Oed of Merydia when it came to Elektra was her taste in men (or ladies… rarely). The way Oed had observed any boy Elektra dated was through the same fictionalizing lenses that the small section of Merydia lovers on the internet viewed The Franz X.
Elektra had made it perfectly clear to Oed that they were just friends. Oed understand, though he didn’t like it. Elektra had also made it perfectly clear that what Merydia and The Franz have is adorable and true love.
Ok! Wait! One thing I.., um, that was forgotten was that the one thing the world actually agreed with The Franz X on was that he was actually a decent writer. He put out several books that promised to be historical on Franzland itself. The books themselves are highly romanticized and offer less credible history about Franzland and veer into narratives about the people of Franzland, namely the ongoing romance between himself and Merydia. Many girls view them as the ideal couple. Most men are jealous of the attention girls give The Franz and do not believe he should be thought of as the perfect man he portrays himself as.
Since the day Elektra told Oed those things, Oed had a personal vendetta against The Franz X. The Franz was probably the only political leader in the world he hated more than the president of the United States. Oed, being the rational thinking human being that he was decided he would win Elektra’s heart by assassinating The Franz X.

Frank Journal Comics #1



So, I've wanted to do a journal comic for a while.. but those suck, so I decided I'll just start making them in MSpaint and posting them here and they're probably all be about me working at the mall and how bad an employee I think I am. ENJOY!

A fond memory

So, I was reminded of a night about 5-6 years ago. I dunno what it was about it that made it so great. I mean, it was a Saturday night and I was watching the Red Green show.. which at the time was nothing special. It was the Christmas special apparently during one of the televised phone drives... I guess it was the lighting, and the perfect amount of cold. It was this odd sense of security and solitude. It's just kind of hard to explain I guess.

I guess it's kind of funny

I used to detest Christian songs and hymns... I still hate modern praise music. However, even though now that I'm teetering on the Agnostic edge and am definitely not a Christian anymore, I find some hymns really nice or soothing. Sufjan Stevens rendition of Amazing Grace was actually pretty nice to listen to. It made me kind of happy and I used to hate Amazing Grace. Oh well, I guess these things happen.

I am apparently on LJ now

 YOU HEAR THAT!? YOU BETTER! GAH! YOU FREAKING CRAZIES! BUWAHAHA!