I have lacked a little direction in recent months.
I have bored myself with introspection on my own sadness because nothing came of it.
It hasn’t been an inspired sadness; a heartbreak of which some great art or music or any other bullshit was coming from.
It was just a sadness to get drunk to, and one to bore my friends with stories of how I used to be funny.
And then it was a sadness to realise getting drunk to wasn’t such a great idea.
The stories were no longer funny.
Sadness is too easy to document.
Happiness is boring to write about.
It’s the hilarity in between I find hardest to capture in some sort of creative form.
I am envious of comedians who are able to find a punchline in one of their worldly truths.
“What if life on earth could be heaven, doesn’t just the thought of it make it worth a try?” is a line in comedian Bo Burnham’s song From God’s Perspective.
It’s also features the line “I don’t think masturbation is obscene, it is absolutely natural and the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Which, given my loneliness and proclivity of trying to satiate desire through jerking off to the girls in Reddit’s voyeuristic forums, has probably made for some pretty weird shit for God to see in recent weeks.
There’s No Aphrodisiac like loneliness, after all.
But then, apparently the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
If that’s true the image of me with my dick in hand, post-euphoria eyes wide and staring at the wall could be the poster for the sequel to Asylum.
But on that bedroom wall, I’m staring at the words of the poem which has inspired my writing for the last ten years.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.
It is one of Edward Fitzgerald’s translations of the work of 10th century Persian poet and astronomer Omar Khayyam.
It captures my feelings as an aspiring writer who is ultimately a pretentious fuck, but one trying damned hard to be funny through attempts at sincere emotion and relatable human experience.
I’m fortunate (or arrogant) enough to be able to recognise my own talents, and while my recent sadness may add value to my character, I can be sure as shit it won’t define it.
Ultimately, my experience is one I’m willing to broadcast or publish for the enjoyment of others.
As long as that experience doesn’t lead me to posting nudes on the internet for the satisfaction of creeps like me, I feel like it’s one worth sharing, or oversharing.
“If you want love then the love has gotta come from you,” is the final line in From God’s Perspective, and it follows jokes about jerking off, rape and how God doesn’t give a fuck about whether or not you eat pork.
But it gets me out of a rut I’ve fallen into too often; thinking I’m not being included in the lives of those I love, when in reality it’s too long since I’ve done anything but work and sleep to include anyone in my life either.
The love has gotta come from me.
The stories have to come from me.
The joy, the sadness and the hilarity in between have gotta come from me, if I want you to be comfortable sharing yours.
Life on earth could be heaven, even just the thought of it makes it worth a try.
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop’d we live and die,
Lift not your hands to it for help,
For it as impotently moves as you or I.
-Also from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam