Some cool physician strange images:
< img alt=" doctor odd" src=" http://blog.filmfangear.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/2812128300_5346e082d7.jpg" width=" 400"/ > Image by< a href=" http://www.flickr.com/photos/44124339301@N01/2812128300"
> fabola stage notes from a raging narcissist– the words and ideas of garett (at some point in the 90s??)
< img alt=" physician unusual" src=" http://blog.filmfangear.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/4987064799_26f280b9c8.jpg" width=" 400"/ > Image by< a href=
" http://www.flickr.com/photos/32029534@N00/4987064799" > torbakhopper when i was young nearly all of my friends partied hard enough to be full-blown alcoholics.
and the majority of them were and have actually ended up needing to address that at some time or another.
i understood this one person who was so incredibly tortured (and truly so) and yet blessed with the sharpest and most insightful mind. trust me, there’s a factor to be careful of scorpios.
anyway, he invested most of our “” relationship” wrestling with the angel of approval. i suggest, he was literally a DREADFUL pal and a rakishly bad male, but such a genius and it fking tortured him since he didn’t desire to be a terrible person.
but he was.
and he would send me these letters that went on for pages and pages. i would never ever truly know exactly what he was referring to in his comments. i could not ever recall any of the “” discussions” he stated that we had had. i had no shared memories of these “” intimate discussions””, however i liked the idea of the subjects and found them psychologically interesting. it ‘d be the kind of thing i wish to talk about, however i had no memories of any such previous discussions.
it resembled he was having echo conversations with himself where he pretended in his mind to be me and after that the individual i was in his mind would talk back to him and state interesting things that he would then take up personally with me, the genuine individual.
the way i remember it, normally he ‘d simply monologue– while tossing back scotch and chain cigarette smoking– about his relationships with life and i would smoke pot and take pictures of things in the area. i kinda listened, but it was a bit laborious sometimes, so i didn’t really hear many of his soliloquies. most of my pals return the favor when i get longwinded …
kind of like his letters.
like he’s extending his writing arm before getting started.
for me, after he ‘d go to, there was always physical and mental and psychological and psychological clean up/fall out from his existence. he constantly managed to ruin something or spill on something or rip something or clog something up– the world drew out of control in his existence.
amongst my favorite examples of his character was his laborious certainty that he wasn’t adverse poison oak– i had actually attempted to describe to him that if he constructed his house in a flood zone, he ought to at least eliminate the toxin oak first before operating in shorts, without a t-shirt on a scorching hot northern california summer season day at high twelve noon.
a day later on, covered in toxin oak rashes, i said to him, “” do you still believe you’re not adverse toxin oak?””
. he took a look at me puzzled and stated, “” this? oh i get”this all the time.”. and this reasoning was increased by action
. he used to accidentally upset people prior to breezing away, leaving crippling circumstances in his wake. for example, his favorite exit-dating stunt was to have the best sex ever and then dispose a lady.
needless to state, i came upon much of the damaged pieces of several individuals’s shattered egos.
nevertheless– not to diss all of america or to suggest that the show FRIENDS wasn’t loosely based upon people like G– in all fairness, most of his good friends were of the very same ilk and dealt with each other like dogs at a dog fight prior to the fight.
best story there was halloween, 2000.
another alcoholic buddy of mine that was just on the brink of stopping drinking forever, got roaring intoxicated with him at our home party then took G and jujitsued him, mistakenly dislocating his shoulder in the wee hours of the morning. we missed this strange mess and the 5 hour emergency situation space see. due to the fact that we had all gone to sleep hours earlier around one a.m.
later, she was all ashamed and shy, however there was a look in her eyes that showed just how covertly and deeply pleased she was with her bad-ass habits.
however many of these preserved letters in this collection are from the early 90s, i believe. i had a heap of them at one point.
my granny on my mommy’s side of the family was a scorpio and she composed her own brand name of purple prose. it was her method of revealing her voluptuous self that wasn’t supposed to be consisted of by her real life which was much more repressive.
in the very same way, i think G drew up of a sense of captivity.
and from this captivity he would aim to impress his hope for flexibility on everybody around him. he had this painful metaphor story about a bunny that is incapacitated in fear as a grizzly bear stands before him poised to strike.
however no matter how i would frame my responses and contributions to his profusions and sharings, he would only remember things like me stating, “” you do realize that bunnies are not the natural prey of grizzly bears, right?””
. so the fact WHICH IS THAT GRIZZLY BEARS DON’T EAT RABBITS went missing. grizzly bears don’t have supper on quickly little bunnies. they cannot catch them.
but he would not comprehend that this profound and disabling fear was simply his own concept and not truly the way the world worked, even inside a civilization. he wasn’t a little bunny, the world wasn’t a big grizzly bear. we weren’t victim.
however he would choose not to see any refutation of his ideas. he saw disintegration in all things. and destroy.
then, when he was drunk and lonesome and disenfranchised from everybody, then, i guess, the little fractured pieces of much longer and “” supposedly” more fascinating conversations which were made up and still missing out on would come clear. as well as though G was unable to keep in mind anything however his own emotional feeling-board, he would play it like a whole symphony was backing him up.
but more often then not the actual context was murky and frustratingly out of reach for him. or the coming down darkness of the black-out god would destroy the scene with an abrupt end or disturbance. followed by an apology intro.
with in some cases whole pages going through this cycle as soon as or twice. i suppose now a medical physician might read these letters and make some strong pronouncements.
for me, it was primarily just complicated and harsh but i did like the criticism he would lodge. it was intriguing. i didn’t see the world through his viewpoint at all, so this darker fearful world he mentioned had a movie-like quality to me, even if it typically ended in posterior jokes and wickedness. and G had darker friends that he might revel with on these fronts. it wasn’t really my cup of tea and never will be.
as far as i’m worried, all things vulgar and crass better simply be traveling visa-types. i have actually got no homes for those spirits in my life.
so when some of these rambling drunk letters would surpass the 10 page mark, i ‘d begin to question if this “” letter” was really just another unfinished-drinking-novel effort, because i felt even more and even more far from him as an individual.
and it wasn’t since i declined his insights about myself and others. like i said, i believed he was a little an emotional wizard. the reason i felt even more and even more away was because he began to remind me of an insect trapped inside an ever-thickening amber. it was like he was amberizing in front of me and would quickly be this solid statue permanently still.
i do wonder if he believed that i would conserve these letters because i might think they were valuable one day? personally, i enjoy them. i think they’re hugely funny, however i likewise think that his own struggle to be an author becomes part of the fix.
and that’s a caution that is a little bit of dig.
primarily since facing up to himself truthfully never seemed to be the driving force behind all his strangely alienating confessions and myopic feelings that he repeats throughout all the letters that i received.
but honesty doesn’t need to be the foundation of great writing.
even aldous huxley demonstrated that in betraying individuals he understood.
it definitely was one method to end up being a famous author– al got in close to the maxim “” compose about exactly what you know” “then scathingly deconstructed his own social set including his immediate family in a very thinly veiled novel that pissed everyone off.
so, let writing be writing, i do not see the fault there.
writing liberates words.
and there are particular wonderful mixes of words that might one day conjoin into some marvelous moment.
i won’t stand in the method of magic.
and in truth, i didn’t often handle to read the entire letters.
i had a challenging time aiming to untie his cursive handwriting, especially when it was in purple ink, which he preferred.
so that was my bad, though if i ‘d fully check out the letters, i most likely would’ve abandoned the relationship. however i didn’t check out the majority of them fully until later when he began typing his manuscripts to his “” pals”. he was a bit like the light house master. he imagined himself placed between the sea and the land, a beacon of awareness to light the taking a trip ship and impress the landed being.
and as much as everyone announces that it is essential to select pals carefully, i would argue that satisfying the chinese fortune cookie curse of “” having an interesting life” “is without a doubt a great method to life.
relationships that are intriguing don’t generally last. it’s the consistent and dull and unchallenging relationships that last the longest.
however they were so interestingly dull. even now.
primarily due to the fact that they are sooooo imaginary– the ramblings of a seriously depressed intoxicated solipsist composing to hear his own voice echo back from a separated shack in the early 90s california pot wilderness of willits county.
and there’s nothing wrong with spouting off your bullshit, imo.
i do it everyday on flickr.
but i don’t send my message to anyone.
well, that’s not real, however i avoid the “” dear so and so” “route of engagement. utilizing specific individuals to obtain started on an essay about culture isn’t really what “” letter composing” “is for in the very first place.
besides, i tell myself that individuals on flickr can read it if they want.
i do not have any contacts here anyway …
but these letter packages would appear randomly.
i utilized to save everybody’s letters prior to the email transformation killed belief of that nature.
i had another good friend who was just as insane and raving. she resided in bozeman, montana. i believe they suffered from a comparable mania, but she wasn’t as prone to alcohol and drugs. her toxin was adoration and workout.
however both of them had the desperate mad panicking energy. as if the bottom of the world was constantly dropping out and they were being sucked into some vortex.
so his letters had that same type of circling around energy. there was a desperation to them as he spiraled up and swirled down the wind tunnel of alcoholic anxiety.
honestly, the heroin didn’t assist,.
and then it was speed and more alcohol.
there was an unfortunate wannabe quality to a lot of it as well.
as if he were attempting to be one of the characters from “” on the roadway””. which i idea was a weird hero set to embrace.
the beats were really losers.
and making heroes from losers is a grammatical issue along with a philosophical issue.
we’ve done the exact same thing with the vehicle, so i guess there’s always that love/hate relationship to hold the mirror as much as.
ultimately the way he composed about his existence and “” our friendship” “in these letters made me question if we were existing on the same aircraft of reality or not– he was never that special to me for his character. i simply liked his mind and his ideas and his capability to pillage the darkness with his soul.
and i was very frank with him about all this from the start.
that was the complicated part.
he never ever appeared to really hear exactly what i would state to him.
plus, his psychological depths were so far beyond mine/my interests. he resembled an olympic diver plunging and pirouetting and twisting his presence like a knife into the crack of truth.
he was a raving narcissist, also.
however isn’t any terrific artist who is pounding headlong into the unidentified on function?
when we initially fulfilled, i thought he would be the perfect aloof asshole narcissist for a play i had actually composed.
the play has to do with a nervous boy who is decent and good in every method however he wishes to make love with a female.
the only problem is that in this world, he’s supposed to have sex with males. on the planet he’s in, you aren’t enabled to make love with ladies. it’s an ethical criminal offense.
anyhow, in the middle of the play– which takes location in a busy dining establishment– this man’s character walks in and generally gets into the intimate couple who are on their clandestine date and unconsciously takes over their supper celebration.
it was like the function was composed for him.
however when i asked him if he would come audition for the part (it was a college play), he spent 45 minutes speaking about the virtues and worths of friendship and how there are two necessary qualities/conditions that need to exist– interest/attraction & & time/availability. finally, after so much jibberish, i got annoyed and blurted out, “” so do you desire to be in the fucking play or not ?! you’re the only individual who simply didn’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ when i asked.””
. our” relationship” “followed this pattern for the next fifteen years prior to in harmony liquifying.
now, when i get this type of letter from a person– typically in the form of a late night drinking-too-much text– i do not react in any method.
it’s just more secure.
one thing i will state for the male, he’s really fucking amusing to read and his insights– whether relevant or not (no truly, he was quite a fictionalist of sorts as he emulated his favorite french and russian and german writers)– are GD funny.
side note, he was also wonderful in the play. a real genius young boy marvel.
< img alt=" medical professional unusual" src =" http://blog.filmfangear.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/1348698232_d1ea20072f.jpg" width =" 400"/ > Image by< a href =" http://www.flickr.com/photos/44124339301@N01/1348698232" > fabola