hbldr-blog

[hbldr-blog]

prompt 813

If you’re telling the truth, the story never changes.

[hbldr-blog]

woesandart

I've sort of come to the conclusion that drugs and love are sort of one and the same. in the sense that when you are exposed to one or the other immediately you grow a dependency on them.

There's no rehab for love tho, you sort of just have to deal with it and try your best to recovery from withdrawal. Which like drugs,

is a bitch.

It's usually at night when that feeling is the strongest when you don't eat, when you can't sleep, when your body has lost its foundation, and wants to crumble in on itself. Your mind tells itself “maybe we should close shop for awhile”.

Funny thing about the mind and emotions, the mind is always quicker. When your heart is aching your mind knows very well why but for some reason, your emotions take a while to catch up, like the “fat kid” tripping in a horror movie, you feel bad for him of course but you mostly loathe him for anchoring the “protagonist” down. usually they abandon this “fat boy” and in most cases I usually let heartbreak catch my emotions in a familiar way.

Eventually after your body and mind have been straining for a while it gives and you fall asleep and dream.

You always dream and nine times out of ten it's of them.

That person, sometimes with you and sometimes with someone else regardless the dream is mocking and it almost always hurts.

You then wake up in a cold sweat and back to square one, you repeat that same cycle until you don't dream and you don't think about that person anymore.

Funny thing about drugs and love is when they're introduced to the body you tend to get addicted, mostly likely you go out and look for the same high again and you'll probably find it and you'll probably get your heart broken again and you'll keep repeating the cycle until it kills you.

On the bright side it makes for some good writing,

Or just writing depending on how this comes out, but it's makes for a good outlet for art.

Actually a lot of art tends to have a theme of heartbreak.

Probably because it's the most common thing among people literally everyone goes through it and a lot of the time people make beautiful things with it.

Let's see you got romeo and juliet

You got that chick looking over her shoulder with the pearl earing

You got vincent van gogh with his fucking ear missing or rather bandaged in the self portrait.

You got a plethora of film my favorites being

Blue Valentine

Her

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind actually fuck it, most of charlie kaufman's movies

You got Michael Haneke's Amour, 

You got that Jean Luc Godard movie about his ex wife that i don't remember or bothered looking up

Blue is the Warmest Color

A Single Man

You have music like

Bon Ivers For Emma, Forever Ago.

Queen of the Stone Age's Like Clockwork

Kanye West's 808s and Heartbreak.

The Antlers Hospice

Emergency & I

The Majority of Elliott Smith

Unknown Mortal Orchestra Multi-Love

So many good things have came from heartbreak, hopefully this doesn't come out as bad as i think it is.

Hopefully.

#heartbreak #valentines #hbldr #writing #long post #thoughts #art

[hbldr-blog]

i hope my writing and art stuff goes well cause hohhhh dunno bout this dog walkin stuff

[hbldr-blog]

namecalling

I wake up usually last in my house so sometimes i'll hear stray conversation. There was this one time I heard my family talk about me, I heard the whole thing.

and after I heard what they said I got up from bed, went on my phone and pretended I didn't hear it.

Which in hindsight was a bad idea, you should confront your emotions but for some reason I didn't. This was a very long time ago so I guess i'm confronting that memory now.

Better late than never.

I don't know if that's better because if I never confronted it I probably would've just forgot, jerked off and carried on but no, there's just something about emotional pain that I lust for. What I mean is I can't articulate emotional pain so I either push it out of my head ( and fail), cry, or say some edgy shit so I seem more masculine or in control (I end up usually embarrassing myself which causes more emotional pain so I stick to pushing it out and just pretending it didn't hurt, it's not really successful but tends to cause the less amount of waawaa if you catch my drift).

What I'm going to talk about is names, titles, tags, handles, brand, pseudonym, aliases and how I got mine!

Funny thing about names, you don't get to pick them ever and when you do it's weird, there almost always picked for you, from the day you're born; John, Joe, Shmoe. Tell the day you die; old dumb sack of shit, smelly saggy balls, grandpa. Names are literal badges picked by the people who know you. They don't even have to know you well, in high school a lot people just called me spick and zero. A lot of people didn't know my actual name because at that point it wasn't my actual name. Weird we think we're so in control but we can't even pick our own name.

When I started writing this project, the first thing that hit me was I don't want to use my real name, but I didn't want to pick one either that would be odd for me. I wanted a name that i've been called before something that describes me in one word.

I think it was monday,

No I don't I remember what day it was, it was a day in the seven week cycle that repeats itself from the day you're born till the day you die, it can literally be any day you want, I could've woken up on a sunday but you know what i'm gonna make up a day in the week cause why not.

It was wythday

I could hear my family talking in my sleep, I thought “it's a dream” but I woke up and the conversation resumed from my dream. I think they were talking about how my brothers and I  turned out to be. the youngest one was there and he's known for being quite the shit talker so i'm just going to call him pooptooth for now. So pooptooth and my parents were first talking about my middle brother he has a temper, it's actually quite calmed down over the years but personally I don't think he has a temper I just think he's insecure. But not a temper at least not with me. I'm going to call him danny by his actual name, I like danny he ain't half bad. So pooptooth and company are ragging on danny about his weight and his lack of motivations to do sports instead taking interest towards music. Danny could take down a fucking bear if he wanted to he'd be great in sports but personally I think he'd be a better musician.

Pooptooth and company disagree which is fine, can't really blame them when you got a sixteen year old son who has the strength to take down grown men, I can imagine being frustrated when he wants to play the drums instead. Then they get to me which is nothing new usually when the theme of discussion is “losers in the family” Daniel and I are go to`s.

Fine nothing new.

But this time it kind of struck a chord with me, well every time they talk about me about being a loser It strikes a chord with me... usually...i'm sensitive. Pooptooth started it off with if I was going to ever go back to school or do something with my life. For some reason it's always that very run of the mill stuff.

“Yeh and why does he lie so much”

I gotta say when I heard that come from my mom's mouth it wasn't really shocking but it just kind of hurt. My father and pooptooth went on and talked about how I was untrustworthy and how I could literally be doing anything and they wouldn't know because i'd lie about it. Which was very true. They went on and said how I lie about everything, when I tell stories I exaggerate things to come off as funnier. Which was also true so you might be asking why are you hurt if they're saying things you already know, I was hurt because they were true. My parents most of the time spoke in spanish, my brothers and I in english and we all understand spanish just fine, don't know why we can't fucking speak it, seems kind of dumb when we can understand every word spoken in spanish but can't speak it. So a lot of conversations tend to be spoken half in english half in spanish.

So after awhile I started tuning out, I already heard the extent of where they were going.

From there one word kept ringing in my head.

Hablador.

My mom and dad kept saying it with a sort of disgust. Like when the dog shits on the floor or when they eat food that's too sweet. They always said the first part of the word like an exhale

HA

Then the second part would sound identical to blah, then door with the r rolling. I kind of liked the word the way it sounded and what it meant even with its bad connotations. I liked that the actual meaning of the word, means talkative but when used informally it means liar. It kind of sums me up good and bad. I love to talk, don't know why but I like doing it and I like to tell stories be it true or false and I tend to lie a lot, I'm not perfect.

Personally I don't think people should pick their names  think people should adopt them overtime when they find who they are.

And personally

I couldn't ask for a better name.

#writing #hbldr #liar #hack #thoughts #shitty #hey #eye #long #post #medicore #e

[hbldr-blog]

gettingup

I have a name, a head filled with ideas, a face, and hands to type with. I'm a writer, or at least I like to think so. One day I want to tell stories through some visual medium but I mostly just laze around. It really erks me. I love to move and I love to talk; it's my favorite thing to do in the world.

Depending on when I sleep or if I sleep I usually wake up at about noon, maybe early afternoon. When I wake up I usually don't think. Some people say their first thoughts are usually reflections of who they are; the lens they put on before observing the outside world. I tend to just lay there, wondering blankly. Eventually something crosses my mind: ‘What should I do first?’ And almost every time I look at my phone.

I'll be frank, I hate looking at it. When it's off the screen becomes a mirror... a sort of humbling reminder. I'm obsessed with recognition, be it fantasies of being interviewed for a film or comic, or a person smiling fondly at me as if my presence made their day. As shallow and naive as that might sound, I like to think pretty strangers will miraculously greet me via text hoping I have a good day.

Hello Good morning! Heyyy

Nothing. Sometimes I'll get a text from my mom, or from one of my writing friends about an idea they’ve been working on. I usually ignore them. I probably shouldn't. They're very good to me. After spending half an hour lounging in bed, I start thinking about creative ways to kill myself. Sometimes for a couple of seconds... another couple of seconds. Feels more like minutes that feel like hours.

I look at the time, see that I've slept for half the day, and leave my room for the bathroom. I turn on the shower, sit on the toilet, and try to number two, but my ass appears to still be asleep. I get back up and turn off the shower, remembering that I shouldn't waste hot water. My family hates it when I do. I go back on the toilet, and try to squeeze one out but again, my ass is napping.

I go back on my phone and check Instagram, Snapchat, Messenger, and last but not least, Reddit. No notifications. Nothing out of the ordinary. I scroll through, running into pictures of exes or girls I've tried to hook up with. They're almost always smiling, enjoying life. The irrational part of my brain starts seeing this as a mocking gesture. “They don't need you,” my brain says.”They never did.”

Almost immediately my head starts playing “For No One” by The Beatles. The suicidal thoughts come back, my ass wakes up, I shit. I get up without wiping my ass thinking ‘eh, I can clean it in the shower.’ I turn on the shower, strip my clothes, and hop in. It's kind of hot so I stand to the side and wait to get used to it. I get used to it. I grab my phone, still in the shower, open up Chrome incognito mode, and masturbate. Sometimes I finish, sometimes I don’t. I used to wrestle. I learned that when you take a shower, you wash your head and hair first before your body. When you do the reverse, the gunk from your head and hair trickle down towards your body and you get ringworm and you can’t wrestle. I liked wrestling.

I get out of the shower and look for a towel. Takes about 3 seconds to realize I forgot my towel and I have to air dry. I could just get out and grab a towel. I'd dry quicker and get along with my day, but I just took a hot shower and I'm afraid of the cold air outside. It’s cool relative to my body heat which means it really isn't that cold; I'm just a lazy coward. I look at my phone: Instagram, Snapchat, Messenger, Reddit. In that order, always in that order. 

Nothing. 

I put it down. I grab a random toothbrush...usually the cleanest one. I proceed to brush my teeth; I do it in circles. When I was small I heard doing it that way is better than going up and down so I do it in circles. After I brush my teeth I rinse with water and mouthwash. I don't floss. I haven't flossed in years. I should probably floss...every time I spit after I brush my teeth I see blood. That's probably not good. 

I look up at the mirror and it’s fogged up. I wipe it. I see my eyes and the bridge of my nose. I wipe at the mirror more; now I can see my whole body. I'm not happy at what I see. I am this strange combo of skinny and fat. Skinny-fat, if you will. Worse than both skinny and fat because at least when you're fat you have a sort of circular shape. You're not tricking anybody. Everyone knows you're fat and that's okay, but when you're skinny fat you're deceiving people. Now you're not just out of shape but you're also a liar. No one likes a liar. 

 I hear banging on my bedroom door. I hear it open, then I hear the footsteps of someone coming to the bathroom, then more knocking. “Yo, you almost out?”I reply “Yeah, almost.”I'm lying, of course. I'm either going to shit or jerk off again... or both. Or get distracted by my phone again. “Okay, well you've been there for three hours, so come on. Other people gotta use it too.” It's already three. That whole morning ritual took three hours. By then I'm already dry. I try to shit again--successfully, I might add. I decide to finally leave the bathroom.

My phone goes off.I think it's a job.Or maybe some stranger who's interested in talking to me. 

Or that cute girl who I texted about poetry that never got back to me.

Or that other cute girl who I text on a regular basis but always seems aloof.

Or that other girl who doesn't seem to want to leave me alone.

Or that other cute girl who I see in my head sometimes when I’m alone and content or masturbating.I look.

 It's my mom. 

“Get out of the fucking shower”

I've been out for at least 4 minutes, I ignore it and go to my room to get dressed, put deodorant on, and do my hair. I can never get it right. There's always something wrong about it and I don't know what it is. Maybe it’s swooshed the wrong way, or I’m not using the right pomade. Maybe my hair is just bad. I get my hoodie and pjs on. I sit on my bed and look at my phone but I'm not focused on my phone. I'm stuck in thought, this time not about suicide or what I'm going to jerk off to but what I've been doing with my life. I've been doing the same routine for a year.

I wanted to be a writer.

I wanted to make film.

I wanted to be a storyteller.

What am I doing? I'm twenty years old and I'm idle. I get a notification from one of my writing friends. He tells me he has this great idea he wants to talk about. I respond with “I don't feel good, I'm sorry.” He's going to school for what we both want to do and I always feel like he's miles away from me, literally and metaphorically. I look back at my phone. It’s fallen asleep. I unlock it and it opens up to Instagram. It's a picture of a girl I've never met. She's showing her cleavage. I think to myself “That's fucking trashy.” I close out of Instagram, go to Google Chrome, go to incognito mode.

I start browsing for what I want to watch. I'm picky. But before anything can happen I hear heavy footsteps rushing towards my room. After about two seconds my brother barges through the door. My erection is hidden. I change tabs.

“Yo, can I show you my song? I need critiques.”

I get annoyed. I tell him “It's not a good time. Come back in a couple minutes.”

He starts making for the door. I feel bad. I tell him “Never mind, show me anyway.” He shows me. It's decent besides the horrible piano. I tell him “It's decent besides the horrible piano.”

He says “Thanks, how about the vocals?” He always asks about the vocals.

I tell him “They're fine.”

He nods his head, thanks me, and leaves. I lock my door, change tabs, drop my pants, and resume.

Cheating stuff, for some reason today was cheating stuff. It felt weird. I start video hopping. It's great. I land on a video with a redhead. It reminds me of my ex. I close the tab. I pull my pants up. I can't finish. I lay on my bed. I start to sweat. I turn the A/C on. I start to think about what she's doing... if she's seeing another guy... what they might be doing. The suicidal thoughts start coming back. I start thinking about myself and why I'm so stagnant. My throat gets tight and I start breathing heavily through my nose.

I wanted to be a writer.

I wanted to be a director.

I wanted to tell stories.

What am I doing?

My stomach rumbles but I don't eat.

I open my laptop.

I open a word document.

I stare at it...

I close it and get something to eat.

I open my laptop.

I open a word document.

I stare at it...

I start browsing Reddit.

I start browsing porn.

I finish.

I close my laptop.

I look out the window.

It's dark.

I open my laptop.

I browse Netflix

Find a show about horses or something.

I like it.

I grab more food,

I watch more Netflix.

The show starts getting into very heavy emotional stuff I wasn't ready for.

The outro to the show gets into my head.

I really like the show.

It starts getting deeper and heavier emotionally.

I stop watching it.

I start thinking about myself again.

I wanted to be a writer.

I wanted to make film.

I wanted to be a storyteller.

I start rubbing my head obsessively.

The more I rub my head the more I feel like an anthropomorphic horse.

The shows outro takes the place of The Beatles’ “ For No One.”

I try to go to bed. I feel my eyes start to water, which means I'm about to have an episode and cry myself to sleep. That’s good because it means I'm going to pass out, except that I don't.

I just weep.

I open my laptop to play some ASMR to help me sleep. Whispering helps me sleep.

It doesn’t this time.

There is something wrong with me.

I open word document.

I stare at it...

I begin to type.

Not looking at what I write...

But rather just writing.

I stop.

I read it.

It’s horrible.

I resume.

I think to myself “What am I doing?”

I stop.

I think.

I am a writer.

I am going to be a filmmaker.

I am a storyteller.

and I resume.

#writers #my writing #amwriting #mywana #idontknowwhatelsetosay #fiction #tw: sucide mention #bobaso #hturtehtllettnacI #long post