Revoltin' Developments

OK, so nothing actually revolting has occurred. in fact it is quite the opposite. I just can't resist using that as a title. My life seems to be fairly on track. I made that grand romantic gesture to get quasi-girlfriend back and while it did succeed and I was supposed to be calling her and talking to her, I realized that she is myself reflected in black tinted glass. I was seeing through a glass, darkly, what my own life could become. My very own satanic muse. And although she says she tries to be a good person, I believe she doesn't. She tries to live by societal rules to keep up her appearance. It felt just like old times. I was my bleak self again. The very night I was supposed to last call her was the night Jess spoke to me.

If Quasi-girl is my dark muse, Jess is my bright muse. And they are as different as night and day.

How does one man find 2 gold medals like this?

However, if I was to go back and try again with quasi-girl I would be absolutely dead to the world. When I'm with her I can only write on the most tragic things, the most violent things, and I feel apathy for all and empathy for none. If ever I was most likely to take a life, it was with her, relishing the bloodshed together. And I don't dispute that she made an impact on me as a person and on my development as an artist. It just wasn't good. Ethically, morally, in the ways that matter at the end of the day.

With Jess it's exactly the opposite. We both suffer fools, bemoan the side effects of our fellow humans and the seeming teeming pot of subhumans.

But I'm not wrong anymore. I'm not violent unless I am righteous. I'm not evil unless fighting off something worse. I'm not bleak unless affronted with real bleakness in life.

And most unlike everything else, I can work. I got 2 pages done just today.

I finally have a counterpart.

No new scars to report, no new meds, no new drama attacking my life, and no, I'm not going to end this entry with a zing, with some kind of clever punchline.

This is no joke.

This is me, bereft of mourning, abounding with blithe.