Log in

No account? Create an account
I Was a Teenage Matrix [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

[ website | Jerkwater: The Comic: The Internet Site ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

(no subject) [Apr. 10th, 2011|02:29 am]
Alright, so here is another expulsion of rotten thought.  The words are stiff & starchy & will not flow with ease tonight, but it's one of those nights where I need this shit out on e-paper & not consuming me.  Journals are like punching bags, I look forward to these opportunities to bitch in the emptiness.

Broke up with Alicia today. Saddens me. Wanting more than ever to be able to make an interpersonal relationship work, but don't seem to be getting better at securing a grasp on it. Got zero friends & zero relatives to whom I can truly open my brain to. I don't know if I've always been as into communication as I am these days, but I feel like I have a greater need for it than I ever have before in my life, my desire to communicate is calling the shots in some respect. We were not communicating, she had her own problems to attend to that prevented.

Losing some abilities. Losing some perspective. Gaining...instability? Madness is its own kind of power, which is a nice energy boost, but legitimate strengths, I could deal with a few more of those.

Fuck. This is hard.
linkpost comment

(no subject) [Mar. 20th, 2011|01:10 am]
[Tags|, ]
[Current Location |United States, California, Oakland]
[music |spacemen 3- Losing Touch With My Mind]

Alright, some writing needs to happen before anything else can drop out of my head.  Jesus, it's stopped up crazy.  So, it's my birthday today, & this is what I'm doing.  I was going to go to some other person's birthday party with Alicia, but we got in what might be our last fight.  Which is my fault for failing to put up with more mistreatment & indifference, but I've filled up on it & I'm ready for the check.  There are times in my life when my tiny optimism modules are completely overrun by negativity, this is no surprise, but it's way worse when the modules are actually working & some other negative presence insists on asserting itself.  I'm just not in a place where I can fight it off anymore, I'm fucking succumbing to it.

Present day catch up to what stage of my life I'm in right now:

27. Living in Oakland, CA. Unemployed. Broke. Completely alone. Uninsured & out of antidepressants. Out of weed. The only thing I have working for me at this moment is MYSELF, which is something that's never happened in my life before.  I'm usually the first element to break down, with the rest of my life falling as anything else would do at the edge of a growing pit.  But I'm still in the game, awake & aware of what's going on.  My present is a little lacking due to the dissolution of a relationship with a fuckload of potential, but that's to be understood.  I guess part of me is bummed out due to the cumulative disastrous relationships I've been in throughout my life, but I'm at the point where I can fuck any good looking girl I want, so I'm not even stressed out about it anymore.  I'm as perplexed about this personal growth as you are, Eric from the future who is reading this as he is wont to do time to time to see if there's been any progress over the years.

I don't know.  I doubt myself still sometimes, but maybe it's good that doubt is there, makes me aware of weak spots that need attention.  Main thing I have to do now is just do something.  I have the skill & talent I've wanted all these years, just the same motivation I've never bothered to work out.  No longer can I allow my brain to convince me I'm worth nothing.  I know it's the sort of self-sabotage I implemented all those years ago when I thought pain was the default.  It still aches, sure, but I know better than to keep messing with it now.  Time, motherfucker, my best friend & worst enemy, I'm glad I stuck around.
linkpost comment

Dog Massage: I Have Arrived [Dec. 19th, 2010|03:15 pm]
[Tags|, , , , ]
[Current Location |United States, California, Oakland]
[music |Daft Punk, Curtis Mayfield, Led Zeppelin]

More than any other outlet of expression it seems like writing provides the most immediate access to the vein of inspiration that runs deep under the surface. When I don't write my ability to express myself in the form of art decreases dramatically. Dramatically being a relative term here, as I'm referencing something super unimportant to anyone except myself. But the inability to produce art results in self-loathing, which results in depression, which makes the notion of producing anything nonexistent. My entire life has been a landscape of downward spirals.

I've met a person who puts the "significant" in significant other, and she has exhibited more patience in dealing with me than any other significant other in my life, and in doing so has opened my eyes wider. I've been seeing more, and my mind's been on secret mystery rise for months now, ever since I gained strange abilities to manipulate my brain & consciousness, etc.  Very weird things that make me feel like a crazy person, but things I can't possibly say aren't real.  It's allowed me to concentrate on what I want & need to happen and work toward that goal as directly as just walking down a road.

This makes sense, at least to me.  I feel more like "me" than at any other point in my life, and that can only be good.  My spiritual faith died a few years ago, which I don't think I've written down for posterity yet, so I guess this is the record of it.  Since then I have viewed life completely different and far more capable of getting what I pursue.  Fear is at an all time low, hesitation is gone (except on bad days.  But, fuck, what can you do?), self-confidence came into existence, pride manifested itself.  Holy fuck, things can really turn around in a relatively short amount of time.  I'd totally feel like an asshole if I'd have killed myself all those times I thought about killing myself.

For the last twelve years now, the idea of being a musician has seemed very exciting to me.  Music has always entered my head without me provoking its arrival.  Maybe I've always had some sort of ability to pick up on music and access that stream of information.  I wrote songs & everything, it seemed like the only logical thing to do with the music.  But I didn't take it seriously, I continued drawing comic, because I had fun doing it and I was good at it.  The Practical Patty in me told me to stick with comics & develop it into a career.  Because even then I realized, what else do I have?  Smart kid, in some ways.  So the comics kept coming, and in my free moments I would begrudgingly put my music down on paper and distractedly try to find some goddamn words to rhyme with each other.

But comics seem like work to me now, I feel like the last comic I did sort of freed me of the need to express myself in comics anymore.  The only direction I could see things leading toward was drawing comics about dudes who become musicians.  But the more the antidepressants I've been on kicked in, the more I felt like the idea of making music made sense.  Because even comics took work for me; with music I've never even had to try.  & lord knows I'm a lazy man, so absolutely nothing else makes more sense.

In the twelve years I've owned a guitar, I haven't learned much.  Now its beginning to come to me.  I've learned how to digitally produce out of necessity, and my crude entry-level production skills are improving with every song I make.  So I'm not worried.  Worry hasn't gotten me very far, and I've caught a travelling bug.

Eric James
December 19th, 2010.
Oakland, Ca
link1 comment|post comment

A Million [Oct. 14th, 2010|11:52 am]
[Tags|, , , ]
[Current Location |United States, California, San Francisco]
[mood |energeticenergetic]
[music |Donny Hathaway]

There has been too much going on at this moment in time in my life for me to not make an attempt to document it. 2010 in general has been the most switched-on year in my life, contributing more memories and more learning to my brain than the previous ten years combined. Maybe that's hyperbole, since I couldn't have reached the point I was at right before things kicked into high gear without some shit to build upon. Anyway, I've learned and grown so much that the entire being I thought I was before is a bitty man compared to the me I became once I got out of my own way.

The shortest relationships in my life have been the ones that fucked me up the most and took the longest to recover from. This year contributed another one of those to my already scarred-to-shit heart, one that sent me on more highs and lows than I had been on in my life. But looking back on it presently, it was at least proof that I could access my emotions on a level I'd never been able to before. It was unfortunate that I had to question my sanity after these last few years of psychological progress, I still have no idea how much it set me back. But I guess suppositions aren't as large an element of my life since I just started doing what I want to and not wondering so much anymore. Fortunately doing what I want doesn't involve any malicious or lascivious acts (publicly) so it's a freedom without negative consequences that makes perfect sense to exercise. Wonderment is fucking fascinating, but What If Wonderment is fucking useless torture I've gotten out of the habit of implementing on myself.

The brain & heart are working in tandem. The desire and need to express myself via art has never been stronger or more focused than it is at the present moment. Fuck, I've learned how to FEEL the present moment.

Aside from that, strange awesome things are happening to my brain that no longer allow me to be skeptical about things involving chakras, jumping into the thoughts of others, auras, mental communication, and other things mocked in large. It's distracting as hell, because I know I have to work on my ability to do something with it, so when I am compelled to stop what I'm doing and investigate what's going on, I have to give in to my compulsion. I'm developing the ability to rise above the negative, the meaningless, the thick layers of chatter that kept me and keep others from thinking and accessing their own goddamn brain. It's nice to feel parts of my brain firing to life that I had never even been aware of before. This is tough to mention to people, but I figure this is my internet diary, right? Glad to have you here, old timer. There's too much to do right now, but for once I have the ability to work around time.
linkpost comment

Dateline: The Abyss [Sep. 26th, 2008|12:01 am]
[Current Location |room]
[music |Nick Drake- Time Has Told Me]

I don't know what life is about and I doubt I'm okay with knowing I'll never figure it out. Failure will always loom before me. I'm tired, I'm not happy, I want to die. What's so bad about the end? What on Earth does life have to offer that it hasn't already shown me? Why am I missing out? Life, I'm taking this snub personally. Life, you've failed me, and I've failed you, and once I'm dead let's just call it even.

Do you want a deadline? I don't have it yet. Let me work up some nerve.
linkpost comment

I Still Think About You [Apr. 11th, 2008|06:34 pm]
[Current Location |HQ]
[mood |wistful]
[music |Traffic- Feelin' Alright?]

I no longer know how to currently understand the emotions I used to feel. They all seem so foreign to me now. I don't know how to process what I feel for you these days. I shouldn't feel anything at all, but I do. It's things like that that convince me I'm still a good person under all the layers of damage.

Every once in a while, with pretty much everyone I've interacted with in a meaningful way, I replay critical bits of interaction and wonder how things would have played out if I'd have said the opposite, said what I actually felt, said something instead of nothing. It never gets me anywhere and guarantees that many of my emotional wounds will never heal properly, but I can't help it.

But I think that with you, more than any other person, I should have said something. I guess I thought I didn't have a place to, but I think I did, and I think I could have helped you. You probably don't need help though, and I'm probably not a prime candidate for life coach. I can't help but wonder.
link1 comment|post comment

From the Center of an Hourglass [Dec. 10th, 2007|11:19 pm]
[Current Location |Studio Apartment Room, San Francisco, CA]
[mood |strong]
[music |You'll Not Feel the Drowning- The Decemberists]

Honesty with these electronic diary entries is essential if I'm entertaining any notions of journalistic accuracy here. Without a topic in mind, I will attempt to write and get the urge to write out of my system. Lord knows it's counter-productive (and counter-interesting) to the extreme.

Something in the wind recently has been craving instant gratification in terms of solidifying the coming chapters of my life, and it seems unlike the usual progression of things. I am usually pretty patient when dealing with my life, but some internal switch has been turned. Maybe this is the point in my life when I am supposed to be feeling this urgency, the point where I'm supposed to get off my disgusting ass and do something about my wayward life. Rarely do I take the reigns of my life, and I think I'm supposed to now.

I've known this for years but have not been developed enough to do it until now. I was supposed to dither, to drink, to destroy. It was all an essential part of the developmental process.

And hopefully something good will come from all this single-minded devotion to development that's currently clouding my vision.
linkpost comment

The Approximation of Futility's Lumbering Gait [Apr. 20th, 2007|01:03 pm]
[Current Location |My Apartment]
[mood |excitedexcited]
[music |Decemberists- Come and See/The Landlord's Daughter/You'll Not Feel the Drowning]

Having been away from the computer, television, and many people for a couple weeks has allowed me an unusual amount of time to construct complex thoughts. When unhealthy amounts of alcohol have also been subtracted from the equation that is Eric Peterson in General, things begin to emerge from my soul that have been buried longer than life can usually be sustained. So, computer, I've been thinkin'.

It seems that I've committed myself to straddling the middleground between being taken seriously and being completely dismissed. How I've come to enjoy that tiny area is beyond me, and I doubt I'm even pulling it off correctly. But it's been my predilection for this niche position that has dictated much of the events of my life. From being thought of as a silly jokester in school to being admired by people I will never succeed in connecting with, perceptions of me have truly run the gamut.

Part of this is possibly the smug sense of satisfaction I get from people always being incorrect in their assessment of me (it's not really that smug, and its existence is brief and probably made up). Though in reality I'm sure the true nature of my character is very obvious and irritating.

I fear improving the stupid bits of my character, for once I excel as a human being I'm afraid I'll have no sense of humor and take myself way to seriously. As it stands now, straddling the middleground between smart and stupid lets me say/do whatever I want and let people decide whatever they want. Because, ultimately, perception is their business.
linkpost comment

Love V. The World [Feb. 10th, 2007|10:34 pm]
[Current Location |Bedroom, El Paso TX]
[mood |frustratedfrustrated]
[music |The 6ths- You You You You You]

Nobody seems to have any faith in my ability to love. A good majority of this malady is my fault; I come across as a person who has little regard for love. This is a complex combination of the past mixed with unfortunate cynicism. The fact remains that despite all evidence I am nothing more than a romantic at heart and the world has no place for a romantic anymore. To share my ideals with others would be to expose myself to criticism, undoubtedly. True, it's a sucker's deal to put too much stock into the opinions of others, but I am an extreme sissy, and to have others express their distaste for optimism and romance constantly is a bit of a disappointment.

For Christmas I gave a girlfriend the Magnetic Fields album "69 Love Songs." I thought no gift would better express my sentiment. The relationship ended in complete disaster. My optimism and romanticism prevailed. I emerged a person who is capable of accessing emotions to the utmost, which has served me absolutely no good. My ability to immerse myself in emotion has proven a hindrance time and time and time again, which really does a number on my optimism. Will this deter me? No. This may have a superficial effect, but my belief in love is far too strong to let the derisive opinions of others get in the way. Love is out there to be had.
link2 comments|post comment

Searching Intravenously [Feb. 2nd, 2007|01:24 am]
[Current Location |Bedroom, El Paso TX]
[mood |decompressed]
[music |Magnetic Fields- The Desperate Things You Made Me Do]

Pardon my absence, computer journal, I had to go out for a while and get some fresh air. All of this yakking about myself was making me nauseous. But having peeked in after a considerable absence I've decided that I can now stomach the activity in here.

A few days ago, perhaps out of complete boredom I leafed through the intangible pages of this electric journal and it afforded some reflection. For good or ill I've remained a fairly consistent individual. While internally this seems like a keen notion, externally it's probably made me unpleasant to deal with. All of my problems that my peers hoped I would have ironed out during my matronly maturation period have stuck with me like so much delicious peanut butter. I'm still a curmudgeon, I'm still paranoid, I'm still lazy and thick-headed and introverted and underdeveloped.

I wish my critics were right here interjecting their opinions right alongside my lines of prose, so I could scratch out what they're writing and draw flattering pictures of myself in the margin to HUMILIATE them for attempting to humanize me.

Just pranking. The fun of keeping this journal is that it is off-limits to external critics. I can build my self-esteem until it towers above my abilities to keep it up. It isn't an accurate preparation for the reality I have to face each day, but it's a nice daydream.

Writing at night is a strange unfamiliar beast to me, but one I have observed from a distance long enough to know how to attempt to tame. It bears only a passing resemblance to my daytime steed, but I see potential in it where others may have not. There is good in many things and I intend to ruin them all. Only joking, I love harmony.
linkpost comment

[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]