Shimura Curves

Friday, June 16, 2006

You're Just Lonely... (and it feels like those around want you to die)

Emo, emo, emo post today.

Just been going through another attack of the isolations and the alienations. No particular reason. Just triggered on Tuesday night, by a casual remark that it had been "three months since I last got laid" and the realisation that that makes me kind of... well, funny. The three month mark is where you really start to doubt that you'll ever be in a relationship, or even be randomly fancied ever again. Once you get past six months, it's fine again, it's like a part of your hormonal system just shuts down.

And mostly I'm annoyed with myself, because despite my protestations that I don't need or even want a relationship, I still get those cravings. Not even for sex, but just for the skin hunger. The desire to be held and be holding someone. (Odd, considering my phobia of being touched.) A physical desire, concentrated around the shoulders and the arms, and maybe even the lips - though a wineglass is a poor substitute for a kiss. (Love is like a bottle of gin, but a bottle of gin is not like love.)

It's not helped by the sense that the entire country world seems to be caught up in the twin terrors of That Football Thing and That Reality Programme Thing. So online conversation becomes intensely limited, and it's weird walking through the deserted streets of London feeling like the only person not in the pub shouting at a bunch of overpaid prize steers chasing a black and white ball around a field. Bah.

Been reading again, because it's too hot to do anything else. (Can't even write at the moment, because the laptop just feels like hot coals on my thighs.) Finally finished Charles Fort, slightly disappointed because after his giant lists of anomolies and strangeness, he never seemed to reach a conclusion. The book just ended, after the giant luminescent jellyfish/spaceships in the Gulf. And I'm not sure I understood about his whole philosophical trip. Though it would sound good recited over psychedelic tracks with loads of reverb... heh heh. (I really need to start that heavy, heavy spacerock side project. Though who on earth with?)

Bought a load of popular science books from Blackwells. A book about Hyperspace and transdimensionality by a Japanese mathematician, which looks right up my alley. And Roger Penrose's newer book about consciousness. But instead of diving in, I'm taking a break from all that "masculinity" (I got mistaken for a boy on another messageboard, wah!) by reading The Female Eunuch. I'm not sure if this will cheer me up or make me feel worse.

And now I'm going to put on my headphones, listen to a load of TSM B-sides and Comets On Fire and Boris, and try to get some work done. And not think about the chasm of the weekend yawning ahead. Though I had completely forgotten - I was invited to a Cocktail Party at The Lex's tomorrow night. Can't get too trashed, though, as I'm supposed to be doing the Luxembourg album artwork this weekend. Do no forget!

7 Comments:

At 1:14 PM GMT, Blogger Catty said...

maybe you should do it on your own. you don't need anyone else.

 
At 1:18 PM GMT, Blogger Masonic Boom said...

That's not the kind of music I'm able to write on my own. This kinda pisses me off... well, used to piss me off, but now I'm used to it and have accepted. That I'm unable to write the music I really LOVE. I mean, I love pop, and I write pop and that's fine. But I can't write SUPER MASSIVE HEAVY SPACEROCK like I really love.

Also, it's about the interplay. I really love... well, jamming. When you play with yourself, well, you never really surprise yourself in the way that a good musical partner can.

 
At 1:18 PM GMT, Blogger Masonic Boom said...

It's like the difference between masturbation and sex, really. And I'm just tired of DIY.

 
At 1:51 PM GMT, Blogger Mistress La Spliffe said...

Both in regard to your music and emotional life, I can understand your frustration, but it looks like the frustration of someone struggling to find a collaborator they can respect. A struggle which is in itself respectable, and while I'm sure nauseatingly frustrating, better than the alternatives, no?

 
At 3:12 PM GMT, Blogger Catty said...

why can't you write it?

 
At 3:21 PM GMT, Blogger Masonic Boom said...

It's too pretty, and it turns to pop. It's too delicate, not dirty enough.

 
At 4:08 PM GMT, Blogger Miss Daiquiri said...

Come to the cocktail party darling! (You have to call people darling when talking of cocktail parties.)

I know it's in no way the same as sex and touching, but a lot of people who care about you will be there and that might help with the isolation.

Remember chickpea, better alone than badly accompanied.

 

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