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Softly, It Began To Rain

An Aspiring Author's Bullshit Stream of Consciousness

I Am

Especially depressed and lonely tonight.

I bought track pants to comfort myself. And some of those weird cranberry and bird-seed museli bar things you only find in the health-food aisle.

Tonight I’m sad to live alone, but I’m glad I can be.

I don’t like being in two minds.

The Answer Is

No.

No, you don’t wanna see a photo of her. I only have one.

I lost the club photos, the ‘couple’ photos, the selfies and the hair photos all when my laptop was stolen a bunch of years ago.

I only have one that I (for some reason) saved to an old photobucket account all those years ago.

Just one.

You don’t want to see it.

Driftwood

I don’t like feeling like I’m drifting away from people who make me feel really good.

It’s sad. But it always happens and I’m not sure why. Go through phases of nothing-but-contact and then it fizzles.

I’m just really sad tonight. I feel super lonely. Losing magic didn’t help because in my mind it highlights how sad and lonely I am and I don’t even have quality skills to make up for it.

Maybe I should ask out the cute CR girl. Maybe I shouldn’t. I enjoy talking to her too much.

I went on two dates in the past fortnight and I’ve just been so flat about them.

Does anyone even read this?

It’s not 2011 anymore.

Making You Beautiful

No, I’m not talking about you tonight.

I’m talking about her.

Her. Going back there every six months like some emotional watering-hole. But I always fall in and start drowning, and I want to go back there, all those years ago.

We met in strange circumstances. Nobody knew we were together, save a handful of your friends. I didn’t like you much at first. You were an arrogant, snooty cunt, who used her looks to get what she wanted.

It never really became apparent in my eyes that you weren’t like that. I just began to see past it. But you defiantly were a snooty cunt.

The first time I thought you were flirting with me was when we were on the phone and I made some joke about how I could see you. You tested me by asking what colour your nipples were.

In a panic, I answered; ‘pink.’

You were silent a moment and then carried on with our regular conversation.

(Four months later, with you bent over your patio bench in the freezing cold at 4am, cicadas chanting us on while I fucked you, I’d notice that your nipples were in fact pink. I’m a fucking mind-reader.)

A few days later you told me about how horny you got the last few days before your period started.

It was at a point, you said, that you even the slightest thing would get your burning.

It was the summer then. Deep, melbourne summer. The floral summer dress was black with red roses, cut above your knees.

I remember finding it cute that even the pale, red-headed rockabilly girl found a summer dress that matched most of her wardrobe.

When you went up the stairs to the garden, I saw your ass: that beautiful bubble butt. I blinked and looked away. I wasn’t sure if you’d been wearing a g-string or nothing at all.

(Three months later, with you bent over my knee, your pale arse red-rore, coated in hand-prints and bite-marks, I smiled wryly at the thought of my past self, seeing that beautiful butt for the first time. And I laughed at my past hesitation.)

That night, on the patio among the mosquitos, it was dark and hard to see your face. You got to talking about how horny you were. You told me that you’d made yourself come while stopped at a red light that afternoon.

I asked if that’s why you weren’t wearing any panties. You laughed and told me that you didn’t wear underwear with dresses.

I still remember thinking that girls like you didn’t exist outside common male fantasies.

(That night you hiked up your red-rose dress and fucked yourself on my tongue).

You made tofu for me once. We met in a park somewhere near collingwood (or was it’s Fitzroy? 5 years, man), and your brought it in these stupid little tubs that just had glad-wrap in lieu of lids.

I asked where your Tupperware was, and laughed.

You didn’t see the humour. Probably because you’re a conniving cunt of a woman. You never appreciated jokes at your expense.

(Two months later, on one of those 35degree nights, we fucked the mattress off the bed and ended up downstairs, with the doors to the patio open.

You turned the lights on when you walked naked to the kitchen to get water:

Your face was sore from my hands, and I swear I still have a notch in my side from one of your nails. Your makeup was smeared, running in dark rivers down your face. Your throat was red. Bite-marks on your tits. Claws on your stomach, your thighs. Hand-prints on your ass.

You saw your reflection in the stainless steel fridge and said to me: “how fucking sexy did you just make me?”)

We ate the tofu and I said I liked it. But you were in a shitty mood. You were far away that day. You didn’t have time for me.

I tried to talk to you about music. About games. Magic. Any of the normal stuff but you wouldn’t have it.

When you left you barely said good-bye. You got on your bike and peddled away. I remember thinking that was really sad.

(Eight months later when you left forever, I wished that your at least ridden away without saying a word, rather than disappearing across the sea because you didn’t want me.)

~Life~

I used to think I was Prince Charming.

But I was the Big Bad Wolf all along.

HEY, YOU!

underlockeandkey:

Are you following my Storytelling Blog?

Over at rollyourperception.tumblr.com , I’ll be updating with the plot outlines and synopsis of the stories I’m currently running in my Role Playing group.

It will focus more on the discussion themes and concepts in an emotionally safe environment.

The…

FYI

4 months ago - 1

softlyitbegantorain said: My girlfriend got me tickets to Blackheart Burlesque in Melbourne and I'm super excited to see you there! :3

vorpalsuicide:

❤️ that’s amazing !!!!!! What an awesome lady you have there! Give her a kiss from me x

Alternate Tumbring

So, I’m hardly ever posting here anymore because life is the worst. If you like my silly internet bullshit, you can find me at:

underlockeandkey.tumblr.com (all purpose FUNblr. Just my regular, non-writing tumblr)

fuckyeahasongoficeandfire.tumblr.com (my ASOIAF/Game of Thrones appreciation blog. Yes, imma geek)

fychristymack.tumblr.com (this is just a blog of disgusting porn GIFs of the same hot girl over and over. I advise caution.)

Love you guys, and kittens,

Brian

kaylasthoughttime:

I like him so much that sometimes it hurts my heart.

kaylasthoughttime:

I like him so much that sometimes it hurts my heart.

(Source: cutebuttsadness)

fuckyeahasongoficeandfire:

Here is a photo of me showing George RR Martin the tattoo I have of words he wrote. He was surprised and flattered and spoke to me about its context. Life is pretty ace right now.

This happened earlier.

fuckyeahasongoficeandfire:

Here is a photo of me showing George RR Martin the tattoo I have of words he wrote. He was surprised and flattered and spoke to me about its context. Life is pretty ace right now.

This happened earlier.

This is my friend Mitch proposing to his girlfriend, Melissa. Mitch owns a comic book store. Those two black-framed comics on the wall in the background is a commission Mitch had done that tells the story of how he and Melissa met, and ends with him proposing to her in an art gallery. I’m a hopeless romantic, and I’m not ashamed to admit that this warms my heart so much. Oh, and she said yes. 💜❤️️💜

This is my friend Mitch proposing to his girlfriend, Melissa. Mitch owns a comic book store. Those two black-framed comics on the wall in the background is a commission Mitch had done that tells the story of how he and Melissa met, and ends with him proposing to her in an art gallery. I’m a hopeless romantic, and I’m not ashamed to admit that this warms my heart so much. Oh, and she said yes. 💜❤️️💜

Why I’m Stressed

Imagine you’re in an elevator.
You’re going to level 4, and they’re going to level 3.
You have that long to convince the other person to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on you.
And this happens to them every day.

This advice was given to me, and both spurred me along and scared the hell out of me.

That’s why I’m stressed.

My Baby Blue

Trying very hard not to go to bed depressed (again).

Had a really good chat with Oli tonight post-Breaking Bad. It was great. Been a long time since anyone has wanted to talk to me about how I’ve been feeling, etc.

I ran into Jay Kristoff at Games Lab yesterday. I managed to crow-bar my way into conversation with him because I wasn’t sure if he’d remember me from twitter or supanova or whatever.

It was really good. He gave me some great positive reinforcement. But right now I’ve no time to use it because I’ve got to go to bed soon to get up and work that fucking job that I pretty much hate entirely, now.

It’s been draining me so much. I’ve had hardly any energy left lately to concentrate on my work. My real work, I mean. Concentration at my ‘job’ is always minimal. Pretty much enough to get by, but it still drains me because expectations are nasty.

I can’t remember the last time I sat here and just wrote something for a good hour or so. I’ve nearly forgotten that magical feeling I get after writing something I’m happy with, and feeling like I’m at least on my way to acheiving something.

Happiness. That feeling is called happiness.

(I’ve been looking at those people and they make me sick and I feel -unnaturally and unfairly- that being associated with them by any degree is bringing me down.)


I don’t know. Maybe I should write that series of peices on muses that I was going to write? Throw a bunch of flattery at Adele and Cat and Eleanor.

Aspects of them live and grow in my head and they’re way too different to their earthly counterparts now that I probably wouldn’t recognise them.

I can’t be happy with life at the moment.

It’s why I related so much to Walter through the entire series. It made him feel alive, and fuck any other cunt who tried to take that away. You don’t get to do that.

Stop being so selfish.

I should have spent this time forwarding some query letters or working on some chapters or something productive. This complaining on the internet thing is reaching the end of it’s tether.


Love and Kittens,

Brian

I don’t want to see you.

Trepidatious Hearts

I can’t hold on today.

It’s been a while since I posted. Tumblr is beginning to feel like that old diary I keep that’s gathering dust in my top drawer. I don’t feel guilty for forgetting it, anymore.

I’m off sick today, and I wish I could have gone to work if only to distact me from everything.

My insides are tense around my heart, and I don’t know what will relax it. Probably nothing, I expect.

All I’ve dedicated my life and energy to is writing. And I’ve written a manuscript over seven years and spent hundreds of dollars on assessments and hundred and hundreds of hours drafting and editing and re-drafting.

There is nothing else that I’m even close to being good at. Nothing else I want to be good at. I want to do this with my whole life. I have dreams, and those dreams might kill me one day because they’ll never come true.

And now is occurs to me that if I don’t get a positive reply from an agent, It’ll all be for naught. ‘Whelp, you tried! Back to the drawing board!’

I’ve received three rejection letters; ‘-seems interesting, but isn’t right for me,’ ‘-very intruguing, but I can’t get behind it,’ ‘-Not my area of expertise, but I’m sure you’ll get attention from another agent.’

People I’ve told about it say that these ‘rejections’ are not all negative. Nobody is telling me the work is straight-up crap. Which is true. But all I can play in my mind is the rejections I received from girls:

'-seem lik a nice guy, but you're not my type,' '-very interesting person, but we'd be better as friends,' '-I don't think it would work, but I'm sure you'll get a girlfriend soon!'

Which brings me to the other reason I’m stressed and depressed and can’t handle anything.

Kayla.

My gorgeous, beuaitufl, adorable, loveable Kayla.

It’s a rare thing when two people like each other in the same way. And I adore her being around, and I love the cute faces she makes and the things she says. I love that she loves cats and certain bands and I love that she likes some of the same trashy movies I like and I just want to hold her and keep her safe and I want her to be happy all the time, regardless of whether or not she’s around me.

And I’m so scared of losing her right now, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.

If writing is going nowhere, and I lose this wonderful yougn woman, I seriously don’t think I have much to live for at all.

Love and Kittens,

Brian