Archive for May, 2013

This will do

Posted in Updates with tags , , , on May 29, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Before I continue, I want to bring up something that I think is funny that only came to my attention a few years ago. Now I do think of myself as mostly easy going. But when it was pointed out to me that people think I’m extremely mellow, I was, well, shocked. I’m laid back, yeah. The shenanigans I pulled in high school aside, I am not an aggressive person, even though I am one of the most hate filled (equal opportunity, mind you, I generally hate everyone because they have something better than me) and angry guys that you’ll ever meet. I just don’t ACT on it. I’m just a little guy, short and scrawny, so I really don’t have any “weight” to through around to back up an attitude. (I do regularly listen to extremely aggressive music, which as far as I’m concerned is the main way I can get my aggression out. Gave up on trying to find a girl who’s also laid back but likes any kind of angry music, never mind the kind of obscure music I like.) So when you add up all these quirks, it apparently comes across that I have an extremely mellow attitude.

Anyway, getting back to why I think people calling me mellow is funny. Well, I do think that hippies are mellow, and I am about as far as you can get from being a hippie. But that’s not the punchline in question here. Several years ago I… made a pretty big mistake (that I’ll probably go on about in detail in the future) that I’m still paying for. It’s hurt my health pretty significantly. I mean I was never that strapping to begin with, but my insides do seem to be failing me at a steady rate these days. And that also leads to the big secret of how and why I am so laid back, easy going, and (arguably) mellow.

I’m dying.

Seriously. I’m convinced I will be dead in a couple years from either cancer or some other internal organ failure. And I’m okay with that. In fact, I’m kind of happy about it. In the grand scheme of things, all my flaws and failures and the @#$% life keeps throwing at me really won’t matter after nature completes its course and finally does me in. If I don’t get the job done earlier myself, of course.

Now where was I? Ah, right. I’m kind of… what’s the word… pathetic.

I’m as single as single can be. Been that way for most of my life. Not happy about it, I admit I’m rather bitter. But, sadly, I am used to it. Mostly. Hell, years ago I used to say I was trying to burn the need for human companionship out of my system. Didn’t really work out so well to my dismay. I mean I can get along on my own, but the thing that gets me is that I shouldn’t have to. I like going out and about once in a while to things like concerts and conventions and Renaissance Faires. I can make people laugh, and kind of enjoy doing so, dammit. But I have a lot of issues regarding other aspects of society. Oh, you like sports? Popular music? You think Will Farrell is funny? Great! No, really. And then my mind starts to wander about how much more entertaining it is to play a game online with people I’ll never actually meet in real life. But I keep trying to get out and meet new people. I’m a little masochistic that way, I guess.

I’m also not a good looking guy, I know this. And if you’re going to tell me that women don’t really care that much about how a guy looks, or that I shouldn’t go for a girl who’s that obsessed with appearances, or that I can win over a girl based on MY personality, I’m going to tell you that for the most part, you’re either lying or delusional. I’m not saying every single woman on the planet is superficial, mind you, but an awful lot of them are.

And, well, as far as personality goes, I am ranting and raving here, but I cannot stress enough that I DO NOT do this in real life. If you actually met me in the real world and listened to me, you’d probably have the same reaction a photographer did recently. See, I walked in, intentionally dressed all “gothed up” and started rambling to ease my nerves. (I have come to the conclusion that I actually don’t mind having my picture taken if I have something covering my face, like a mask or sunglasses or facepaint or whatever. But if there isn’t anything else covering my face, well, gah.) And after a few minutes, the photographer, who was a fairly cool guy, grinned and said something to the effect of “I just have to say, if I only saw you walking across the street and never heard you talk, I would have a COMPLETELY different impression of you. You look like you’re about to do something illegal, but you come across like such a calm guy.” I get that a lot.

For whatever reason when I was growing up, I had an extreme stutter. Took speech classes and everything. Don’t remember how things progressed away from the classes, but it got to the point that I was able to function pretty normally. I do still stutter from time to time if I get nervous or caught off guard, but for the most part, I have developed a very articulate, educated way of talking when I’m not dipping into Buffyspeak. I know that my tendency to unintentionally talk “over people” with “big words” is part of the problem when people meet me for the first time, I just don’t know how much of a problem it is, since folks who get really annoyed by how I talk tend to drop off the face of the earth. So considering that I look like I’m about ready to murder someone, but my overall demeanor is laid back, and I tend to talk like I just walked out of high end business office, it’s difficult for me to meet new people in the real world.

But there’s another thing regarding my personality. Somewhere along the lines I got it stuck in my head that being a gentleman is the proper way to act towards a woman. You know, the basics like always treat a woman with respect at all times, and then the small things, like opening doors or buying gifts. I know some women aren’t into that sort of thing for whatever reason, but it’s irrelevant anyway. In my case, it is pretty much all for naught. I may have mentioned this already, but women cannot get past what I look like. Never mind that most women want a muscular man who’s taller than they are. (Which are two more strikes against my short and scrawny self.) Or some other bullshit like women instinctually want a mate who looks like they could protect them should the need arise, or whatever. The important part is that most women, while they may say they want a man that acts in the gentlemanly way I do, they don’t want a man who looks the way I do. A real man would admit that he knows your little sister could probably take him in a fight.

-Johnny Broken (formerly known as Zer0)


I need a better nickname

Posted in Updates with tags , , , , , , on May 22, 2013 by Johnny Broken

I still insist I’m not a physically violent person, but back in the day, I, as I tend to think of it, “was Columbine before Columbine was cool.” Being the little social reject for the longest time, after everything I was going through at school (no friends) and with my pathetic excuse for a social life (very few friends, no girlfriend), after two particular game changing events in my life, I had an epiphany.

The first game-changer for me was first time I met a bona-fide “goth” in person. I’d seen the stuff in movies up to that point, and heard a bit about it, but I’d never actually seen anyone that dressed and acted like they just stepped out of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I was awestruck. People can do that all black thing? In like, real life? Wow, that’s cool. Having been a bit of a devil’s advocate regarding “bad guys” already, I slowly began my own personal transformation. I spent years shifting away from the colored clothing I had, and focused more and more on the dark colors. I was still fairly young at the time, so all I really could do was wear my black sports teams shirts and eventually get more black jeans and some less gaudy sneakers. These days, that look is what I call trailer park goth. You’ve seen it around. It’s someone who wears “sports” sneakers that are about 95 to 100 percent black, faded black jeans, and a pop-culture related black t-shirt. Trailer park goths have the basic idea down, but it’s the poor man’s version of dressing like the world hates you and you hate it right back. If you’re going to do it, do it right, dammit.

The second game-changer for me was the first Crow movie. Yeah, yeah, it’s cliché now, but I was mesmerized by the idea of coming back from the dead to exact revenge on those who wronged you. And looking cool while doing it, of course. I mortified a teacher once when I pointed out that was why I was obsessed with the movie, not the love story aspect. And after this heavy hitting life altering combo, something in me finally snapped, and I went full on Satanist for a while. I was good at it too. Grew my hair out, dyed it black, wore all black with boots and a trenchcoat, everything. Pretended I knew magic, (I actually started researching magic, but that’s another topic for another day) made up stories about sacrificing animals at my house, and rebelled pretty hardcore at the private catholic high school I went to at the time. That whole thing culminated when I finally started threatening people. Girls, specifically, if you must know. Came up with elaborate stories about how I was going to sacrifice them and everything.

To be honest I kept at it because I had finally turned the tables. Of course I’m pretty sure some people just played along with me in a funny ha-ha sort of way. But I know for a fact some people believed every single word I was saying at the time. People were finally afraid of ME. And I loved it. Ever have a crowd part for you as you walked? Ever have someone see you, promptly turn tail and run? Or start crying merely because you walked into the room? Seriously, it’s an ego trip like you wouldn’t believe. And considering that I had no ego prior to my trying to become Mister Evil, I couldn’t get enough.

But while I never physically hurt or touched anyone, I finally went a little too far, and got suspended from high school. Twice. The second time was the straw that broke the camel’s back and sent me to the local public high school during my senior year. Fun times, that.

So a stint with a psychiatrist and some doctor approved better living through chemistry later, I mellowed out. Sort of. See, I’ll tell you a little secret. Psychiatry is pure bullshit. “Psychiatrists” spend so much time studying to be called a doctor that they end up getting grossly out of touch with what the common person knows and thinks. All shrinks do know about YOU is what other people vaguely like you have done. So instead of being treated like an individual case, you become a statistic who gets the same schtick the last guy got, regardless of the details of why you’re doing what you’re doing or why they did what they did.

Oh you and the guy that came before you both have issues with your, say, sibling. But maybe the other guy was physically abused by his brother, but your sister is a mommy’s girl and it annoys the hell out of you. But as far as that doctor is concerned, 75% of people who have issues with their siblings were abused by their parents. So he’ll treat you like you were molested by your father, regardless of whether or not you actually were.

Maybe there’s an element specific to the last guy that the doctor didn’t catch but was able to “treat” with some random comment he made that the patient interpreted in some warped way as the answer they were looking for. But that same element won’t apply to you, never mind that the doctor thinks it was something else they said during the other guy’s therapy. And then they give you drugs that really only make you tired. See, can’t be harmful to yourself or anyone else if all you want to do is sleep. Or you’re so confused by psychobabble you don’t know which way is up. Success! Next patient!

At least that’s how it’s “worked” in the case of anyone I’ve ever known to have to go through it, myself included. In my case, I decided to leave the wacky ward because it wasn’t playing out how I thought it would. See, I had it in my head at the time that being locked in a padded room and only ever occasionally seeing a nurse or a doctor was a better alternative to my life. To my dismay, the local mental ward was nowhere near as peaceful as Hollywood lead me to believe it would be. So I changed my tune and stared telling the doctors what they wanted to hear.

So yeah, I laid off the destructive urges for a couple years to keep out of hospitals, and tried to make do. I also hate hospitals now. Tried college. Long story short, that didn’t work out, and lead to another stay in the mental ward. I hate colleges now too. Skip ahead many moons and past my previous lighter hearted entries here, and we’re up to now-ish. It was a couple months ago that I noticed I’ve kind of regressed to being as depressed and angry as I used to be.

-Same writer, thinking about a new nickname

Been a while…

Posted in Updates with tags , , , , , on May 16, 2013 by Johnny Broken

Do people even do the blog thing anymore? Eh, I guess it doesn’t really matter at this point, as it’s struck me that I have a lot to say and no one to say it to. Well, I do technically have people to say things to, but if I said a lot of what’s on my mind to anyone I know, I wouldn’t be talking to those people much longer. I don’t exactly fit a manly mold. I like to think I fit a gentlemanly one, but well, I guess I’ll leave that up to you to ponder. Among other things, it’s mainly a combination of not wanting to get funny looks for talking about destructive urges, and not feeling comfortable discussing guilty pleasures. So I guess that makes you the lucky one.

And you can breathe easy, I won’t be talking about comic books or video games or offbeat shenanigans for a while. My life has been on a bit of a downward spiral for some time now, so, I don’t know. Maybe this will be therapeutic or something. So let’s get a couple general things out of the way before I start rambling on about the random things in my life that depress, anger, and fascinate me a lot more than they should.

First off, I imagine you might be wondering what exactly I meant by destructive urges and guilty pleasures. Or you might not be as far as the former goes, and you’re thinking that I drink or smoke or make with the recreational drugs. Well, I don’t. I hate the taste of beer. I can’t bring myself to drink in front of my family because my mother and father are the tea-totalingest of tea-totallers and that just stuck with me. I admit that I do like some of the less throat incinerating liquors, and lame drinks that guys aren’t supposed to drink in public. But I also really don’t like being hungover. So that cuts that out.

I tried smoking a looong time ago, possibly cigarettes but probably cigars. I don’t remember my exact reasoning for why I even bothered trying, but I’m fairly certain it was something along the lines of, “Eh, why not? Might as well see what the big deal is.” My girlfriend at the time (heretofore known as #5) . Heh, my last “real” girlfriend for that matter, probably had something to do with my logic. I can still remember how angry I was when she said she started smoking just to fit in, and basically forced herself to get through the pain and get used to it to be able to inhale properly. And geez, there’s some purely unintentional innuendo in there, but no, this is purely talking about cancer sticks. So yeah, that pissed me off. And I hated the burning sensation myself. So while I actually DO kinda like the smell of some kinds of cigar smoke, I loathe the feeling that my throat has been coated with ashes. So no, that’s not it either.

And an even longer time ago, I did try something of the recreational pharmaceutical (my gods, I spelled that right the first time) variety. It was something smoked , and while I don’t remember what it was exactly, or feeling much of any difference afterward (probably because I didn’t inhale right) I do remember be chided thoroughly for how “oooh, shiny!” I supposedly acted at the time. Which wasn’t freaking true. Because I was freaking coherent the whole freaking time. So that whole fiasco was strike 1 against me making with the wacky weed in the future. I did dabble a bit more, but ultimately never really agreed with the point, to be honest. I value having a clear head and being able to brood and dwell on my hate of, well, just about anything. Can’t do that if I’m buzzing or drunk or high or whatever.

Strike 3, and 4, and 5 and pretty much all the way up to my current “@#$% THIS!” attitude levels towards drugs, was a story from that same girlfriend at the time. Yes, I know this was years ago. Yes, we broke up after like a year and a half. And I can safely say that I’ve kinda hated her for like the last couple years and really do wish I never met her. BUT. All she had to do was tell me the wondrous tale of how she lost her virginity. I don’t care about her, per se, anymore, but the elements of the story itself infuriate me like you wouldn’t believe, and it’s just stuck with me. So anyway, she had a hipster hippy boyfriend, got high for the first time with said boyfriend, passed out, and woke up no longer virgin. Kind of simple in premise, but that has angered me ever since, and probably will to my dying day. That is the main reason I hate rape culture, hippies and stoners. I cared about her, if for a brief time, and she was so blasé about something that should have been so meaningful in a positive way, nevermind that she was fucking raped by her supposed boyfriend at the time. I just… can’t believe people are capable of such things. And yeah, I know that’s saying something, considering what I’ve done, but well, dammit, I’m Lawful Evil. Even if I do hate most people and things on general principle, I have a freaking code of ethics. Even evil has standards.

And yeah, that whole disaster has also given me an immense intolerance of classic rock by proxy. Y’see, she passed out to Led Zepplin. Which has given me such a blinding hatred of that band, to the point that I won’t even say the name out loud. (Which angers some people I know in real life, when I am forced to refer to the “musical act that shall not be named.” Granted no one else I know has any idea why I hate them, but still.)

So yeah, that’s not it either.

Tried going Straight Edge (which means, generally speaking, no drinking or smoking or drugs, period. Or if you want to be a real killjoy and go hardcore straightedge, you can add various meat products and possibly sex to the list too. I think that’s how it works, anyway. I really don’t have to worry about the whole sexlife thing, because I don’t have one. But I AM a carnivore.) for a while because of the previous reasons. But, well, I got bored with it. Too many people I knew at the time wanted to drink far too often, and I get left out of everything enough as is.

So what’s left? As you may have guessed or even figured out by now, I’ve been various levels of suicidal on and off for the better part of the last half of my life. Hell, I can remember being like 11 years old, content with life as an 11 year old could be, and just suddenly wondering what it would be like if I took the knife I was holding and slashed myself with it. My own death just, well, fascinates me. Planned a lot and tried a couple times; crashing into something vehicularly, the whole re-direct-exhaust back into the car thing, slashed wrists. Too much of a coward to go through with anything major though. But I do have the scarred wrists to show for it. So, yeah. Pretty much back to thinking about it right now, which is largely why I’ve come back here.