#1
Didn't really edit this. in the midst of a writers block and a really long depresssion. read it and leave a link if you say something. I have no life so I'll get back to it as soon as I get your crit. C4C yo.


emotional garbage


I read Bridges of Madison County from a jail cell a couple of weeks ago. I may have been the only inmate to read that and cry his eyes out, I wondered that as I read it. I also wondered why I cried. I like to imagine I'm like Robert Kincaid; that I am this sensitive, romantic, poetic type.

The same type of tears that fall while I listen drunk to love songs and imagine I'm a victim of circumstances. A hopeless romantic whose just been dealt some bad hands in life. If only I could capture the idea of that girl whose stuck in all the sappy love songs ever sung, and not the lush loose women that I wind up with on a regular basis. Then, I could be as sweet and pure as I was at age fifteen. I could write girls poems and mean it, and read them on moonlit walks in the park.

But now I'm just a sentimental asshole; nostalgic of times that never really existed. Looking back to a persona I built that was mostly contrived from the television and radio that raised me.

As much as I want to be, I'll never be Oonor Oberst. As much as I want to, I'll never write a book. And, as much as I want to believe the girls who listen to me whine on the phone when I lay in bed drunk and suicidal for days, no one would probably read it if I did.

I'm not charles bukowski, william burroughs, elliott smith, or my best friend mike who committed suicide. I'm Jacob Edinger, and I'm far from a romantic. I am a jaded twenty year old prick who treats women like possessions. A punk kid with mommy issues whose much to big for his britches.

The idea of happiness has mostly failed me, so I've turned back to drug addiction and womanizing. I was in AA and sober for two years, and when the shit got thick I flushed it all away with a vicodine prescription. I'm hardly a man like I pretend to be. I'm a pretty face, preaching fauxe rebellion and fauxe artistic ability to naive young girls who are in love with the boy from high school who had a big mohawk and wrote pathetic poetry.

The boy who tried to kill himself with muscle relaxers the day after his 16th birthday. Who had two felonies by 17, and spent his 18th birthday in a jail cell.

I'm about to move in with a girl who had a crush on me when rebellion and spray paint mohawks were the answer to my identity crisis. I'm lying to her. I'm going to use her so I don't have to kill myself alone in this pathetic college town. I mostly think she's an idiot who has no personality. But 'she falls for every empty word i say'...

I sit here listening to sad songs on my baby brothers ipod, with his clothes on my back and his poppies in my eyes. I imagine I am the man singing sweet somethings about the one that got away.
#3
(Love the Brand New quote in the sig fyi)

Damn, before I get to the poem let me say this, don't kill yourself. If you haven't written him off yet, try God. Try something, find a passion. It's never too late until you decide it is. I've struggled with depression myself.

In some parts, I can really relate to this. You really explained how I feel sometimes about when I'm writing and don't feel like I'll ever be as good as the artist I admire at the time. But honestly, it felt like less of a poem and more of a release of your thoughts. I don't know what else to say I mean it's good, I'm just still trying to wrap my head around it all...
#4
Very powerful and and honest, to the point that it was almost painful to read (in a good way, I guess). It read like a really well written diary entry, although I'm not sure if that's what you were going for. It seemed to me like you sat down and just let it flow, which added to the overall effect. It's really good.
#5
Beautiful. So honest it gave me stomach pains and filled me with blatant disreguard for everyone I ever loved.

This is real life, kids.

Listen to my covers here.


"Some even claim that I'm a terror, a dictator and they're right." - Lou Reed


AK-ROWDY
#6
Quote by blake1221
(Love the Brand New quote in the sig fyi)

Damn, before I get to the poem let me say this, don't kill yourself. If you haven't written him off yet, try God. Try something, find a passion. It's never too late until you decide it is. I've struggled with depression myself.


I probably won't kill myself. I meant more like slowly kill myself with drugs, or an accidental overdose, when I said I don't want to kill myself alone.

I don't know about God. I pray, but I don't know if anyone's listening.
#7
Quote by clichealias
I probably won't kill myself. I meant more like slowly kill myself with drugs, or an accidental overdose, when I said I don't want to kill myself alone.

I don't know about God. I pray, but I don't know if anyone's listening.


Well, these forums aren't the best for sharing the gospel or anything, but I'm just saying man. Try sitting in on a service, my girlfriend got me into church again and one service fit me and spoke right to my situation. I thanked her for getting me there because it was something I needed to hear. I consider that night the official end of my depression. Try it, you might be pleasantly surprised with how relevant church can be sometimes. And I believe He always listens, just give things time but don't ever feel helpless.


Still a great poem, unnerving and heartbreaking.
#8
This is like a well-written confession. Try to sleep (exhaust yourself if you have to), get some exercise, go take walks outside alone, talk to kids or the elderly, maybe get a dog. Listen to an album you had when you were younger. This piece is not something to critique.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist




e-married to
theguitarist
minterman22
tateandlyle
& alaskan_ninja

#9
Quote by vintage x metal
This piece is not something to critique.


exactly. you have enough real life material to make people like me look like whiny little teen bitches. im sorry for how things have gone and i only hope for the best, as i am not one to take advice from.
#10
Do any of you have anything you want me to read? I don't know if you don't tell me...

I appreciate all the comments. I don't usually sleep. I usually stay up for three days, high on cocaine and oxy... on top of the world. Then I fall for three days into a dark depression in my bedroom. Drinking through my come down, contemplating suicide... passing out on and off, and not talking to anybody for three days.
#11
Easier said then done, but I think you should stop with the drugs. They're ****ing up your body and only worsening your mental state. I'm sorry to say that and I know I don't know anything about it because I've never been addicted but...still man. Please lay off them...

And the things I've written seem rather trivial and juvenile to your writing, so I don't know if you'll like mine or not..but my two threads so far are Loss Vegas and I Can See My House From Here..
#12
This was 6 years ago but for some reason I just came across it. Right now I sit here in my college dorm totally desperate as a 20 year old... something. Something meaning I'm not sure who I am. I feel much like what I imagine you felt 6 years ago. I don't have very many girls in my life, though. I workout all the time but am starting to wonder why. Health? No, I don't really care when I die. I'm not suicidal, I guess I'm just indifferent to the idea of death. For too long I have written with only my own eyes seeing what I write. I figure I would express these sentiments to an anonymous community as only they could possibly listen and not sit in judgement. I have become accustomed to a really cynical view of life. People seem much too fake for my taste. Everyday, this black hole eats away at me. I wish I could leave and find something meaningful. I started dipping (chewing tobacco). I know it's not good for me or my teeth but it seems to be the only 20 minutes of the day that makes me feel at ease. I'm starting to think I'm not lovable. I am the guy you see on the street and say, "how is your day". I am a mere acquaintance even to those I regard as friends. Not sure if I am pushing them away or not. It could be possible without me knowing it. I am very accustomed to this practice. I don't think I'm really wanted anywhere I go. I am the pure personification of dust in the wind. Just another brick in the wall. Just another face in the yearbook. Just another mass of particles in this vast universe. Nothing but fodder for the ground. I wonder every single day what my purpose is... maybe someday I can find it.
#13
Quote by c-wid
This was 6 years ago but for some reason I just came across it. Right now I sit here in my college dorm totally desperate as a 20 year old... something. Something meaning I'm not sure who I am. I feel much like what I imagine you felt 6 years ago. I don't have very many girls in my life, though. I workout all the time but am starting to wonder why. Health? No, I don't really care when I die. I'm not suicidal, I guess I'm just indifferent to the idea of death. For too long I have written with only my own eyes seeing what I write. I figure I would express these sentiments to an anonymous community as only they could possibly listen and not sit in judgement. I have become accustomed to a really cynical view of life. People seem much too fake for my taste. Everyday, this black hole eats away at me. I wish I could leave and find something meaningful. I started dipping (chewing tobacco). I know it's not good for me or my teeth but it seems to be the only 20 minutes of the day that makes me feel at ease. I'm starting to think I'm not lovable. I am the guy you see on the street and say, "how is your day". I am a mere acquaintance even to those I regard as friends. Not sure if I am pushing them away or not. It could be possible without me knowing it. I am very accustomed to this practice. I don't think I'm really wanted anywhere I go. I am the pure personification of dust in the wind. Just another brick in the wall. Just another face in the yearbook. Just another mass of particles in this vast universe. Nothing but fodder for the ground. I wonder every single day what my purpose is... maybe someday I can find it.


I've felt like this before. I especially felt it a while after I attempted suicide, when things just seemed meaningless but I kept doing them.

do you remember being enthralled by anything? or at least intrigued?
what was it? what intrigued you about it? can you surround yourself with it?
sometimes you have to follow what your gut finds dazzling, or else everything becomes colorless, and it's hard to feel like the world would change if you just... disappeared.
meaning is hard to find. start with small things. find something you can love for five minutes and write about it. tell a stranger a secret.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist




e-married to
theguitarist
minterman22
tateandlyle
& alaskan_ninja

#15
Quote by clichealias
Do any of you have anything you want me to read? I don't know if you don't tell me...


Hard to say as different things affect people in different ways. Personally, when I was going through a real rough patch about 5 or 6 years ago I finally found solace in Existentialism...particularly the works of Albert Camus. Like I said, it's not for everybody and if it does nothing for you then that's ok. You'll find something. The key is just to keep searching.

The video isn't my favorite, but it touches on some of the things I've mentioned

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35s4-3T5dJY
People don't really go to heaven when they die. They're taken to a special place and burned - Sherlock Holmes


Your authority is not recognized in Fort Kickass!

It's not like bullshit, more like poetry.