I’m an anxious coward
An asshole, not a man
I’m a bundle of insecurities and fears
Wrapped up in day dreams and fantasies
Masquerading as a functioning adult
Who pretends he gives a damn if he wakes up tomorrow or not.
I’m holding on, barely anchored to the shore
But still I’m finding ways to sever what few lines keep me moored
Using knives fashioned from doubt to hack away
One at a time
Until I’m finally released from it all.
I’ve squandered the one thing I can’t get back
Spending all my time hiding in a room
Playing video games and jerking off
That’s not life, that’s just existing
Taking up space in this world until my ticket comes up
And someone else gets my spot.
I’m not a human being
I’m just a future has been
A forgotten memory
I’m not alive
I’m just a dead man walking
-Shaman Romney 2016
I walked down the street and cried
As I passed her grave
Unmarked, rotten, and ant riddled.
Her life cut short, her wings clipped
She learned to fly. Learned to fall.
A life without purpose,
At least the one she wanted.
Now she feeds the ants instead.
– Shaman Romney 2016
Never meet your idols. They’re better in your mind.
You’ll find they’ll never live up to the image you’ve designed.
You might get lucky, and realize they’re just human.
They might think you are cool, and you could gain a great friend.
But most likely they just smile and walk away.
You came on far too strong
Like the thousands of other fans they meet everyday.
If I met my idol, he’d pretend to be my friend
But in the end, at best he’d forget me
At worse, he’d regret meeting me.
I’m a reminder of the life he might have led
If he didn’t have the guts to tackle his problems
And pursue his dreams.
So I’ll remain idle in my idol worship
Ideally, I’ll never meet any of them.
-Shaman Romney 2016
My thoughts scatter
Like rain drops in my mind
A constant torrent that won’t relent
At best my mind is like Seattle
At worst its a monsoon
It’s like I live in a steel roofed house
Eventually all the metallic static
Becomes synonymous with silence
Most of my ideas get lost in the flood waters
I’m only left with the biggest, the best, the worst
Imagine what I could do
If I wasn’t mostly water.
If I was filled with sunny days
And springtime weather.
-Shaman Romney 2016
It’s quiet here in the clutter of my room
But BOOM there is thunder in my mind’s confines
And POP something drops from the top of the shelf
I pick it up, I write it down so it’ll make a sound
Like CRASH as I smash it into a line
Now that looks fine; something that I can call mine
And DING hear it ring the timer says time to finish up
But no, my mind doesn’t think it’s enough
So POW hear it now as I’m messing it up
I keep meddling, back peddling. It’s not enough
I SCREAM as I dream of the perfect line
Hiding in the back of my mind and so I mine
My delusions of grandeur, I’m looking for gold
No matter how hard I swing, CRACK, I bring up coal
I’m tired of always digging, but I have to keep at it
Otherwise my mind will devolve into static
-Shaman Romney 2016
A couple of weeks ago, I got fed up with Facebook. I never really engaged in the social aspect of social networking. I mostly just used it to stalk old friends and crushes, watch people yell at each other, read funny memes from George Takei, and overall waste time not doing the things I should be doing. In addition to it being a colossal time waster, I found it was making me more and more depressed. I’d get to see high school friends getting nice jobs, buying homes, having kids, getting married, living life to the fullest, having all sorts of awesome adventures, etc. Doing everything I wish I could do if I wasn’t too busy dicking around on Facebook.
So, in a bout of lucid self loathing, I said, “To hell with this! A pox on thee, Facebook, and thy creator, Zuckerberg too!” Well, I said that in some universe, at least in my head. But, I did go and deactivate my Facebook, deciding that I needed a break from it. That was about two weeks ago.
I don’t really miss it all that much. I tend to keep in touch with the people I actually care about, as they are the ones who bother to text me and actively attempt to see me. They actually try to be real friends, perish the thought. I don’t really miss out on current events, political debates, or funny memes. I have other websites for that, and although they can be a bit of a time sink as well they don’t drop my mood or trap me in some stupid little skinner box.
I don’t say this to admonish people who do enjoy Facebook. It can be great for keeping in touch with friends, reconnecting, and sharing your life with others. I know both my parents have used it to get in touch with old friends and distant family, and my dad posts pictures from his garden all the time. People use it to arrange hangouts and catalog their fun times with each other. It has its uses, but I wasn’t making use of them.I was using it in all the bad ways, and making bad habits. So I think it was good move to give it the axe.
Yes, yes, I know, Random-Meme-I-Pulled-From-Google. I’m not saying I am done for good. I know eventually I will get sucked back in and reactivate my profile. But I think it will be later rather than sooner. You know why I think that?
Because I already did it. I got curious and I wanted to see what happened in my two-week long absence. So I signed back in while I was at lunch. I had a few missed notifications, but mostly it was just filled with the same inane bull that I hated and was trying to ignore in the first place. People posting drama statuses. People praising Hillary/Trump as the second coming of Jesus. George Takei posting a cat pic. All of the time-wasting goodness I used to eat up like it was my last meal.
Did I get sucked in? For about 5 minutes. Then it hit me: I really didn’t care. It isn’t worth my time or brain power. So, I disabled it again. Maybe this time it’ll be for two months. Maybe even two years. By that time, who even knows if Facebook will even be the big thing any more? It may totally be some twitter Snapchat amalgam that provides even less thought and more cats. (It’s the internet, it’s always more cats.)
Either way, I think I am going to steer clear of it, and actually enjoy
going outside and living life playing video games and watching YouTube. You know, the important things in life.
Thank you for reading🙂,
My friends and I have started a writing group. They all want to improve as writers, and I want to try and start writing fiction stories. I have a lot of cool ideas, and I think it would be better if they are out in the world instead of gathering dust in the back of my brain. Ideas have always been easy for me, the hard part is actually writing the story.
How does someone even write fiction? Do you just make stuff up?
I used to know how when I was younger. I could sit down and write pages of fiction without any effort. The characters, plot, and everything else about them sucked. But at least I could write it. Now I find myself staring at the keyboard, its QWERTYs, ASDFs, and WASDs burning my soul with their judging mocking gaze.
If you ask me to create a character for Dungeons and Dragons, or any other RPG? I’ll not only make a mechanically unique and effective character, but I will build him a detailed backstory with family records, milestones, mannerisms, etc. But I cant turn it into any sort of narrative story.
Ask me to write a blog post? I can put down 500 to 1000 words on a topic in an hour, 3 if I need to revise/make it sound good. It’s not hard for me to put my thoughts down, as I write the way I think and speak. But fiction means I have to put myself in someone else’s head, and I don’t know how to do that.
So when you tell me to sit down and write a fiction story? You might as well tell me to win the lottery or grow wings and fly.
I know a large part of it is a lack of experience. You don’t go into the gym and start benching 200 lbs if the last time you did 100 lbs was in high school. That is a good way to injure yourself. I can’t jump into a chihuahua crushing epic fantasy novel without tearing my corpus callosum either.
However, I have no idea where to even start. I have all of these ideas buzzing in my head: cool scenes straight out of a move, a Silmarillion’s worth of world building, and a somewhat unique magic system. I’m an avid reader of both too many books and too much TVTropes. What else would I need? Actual talent?
It’s like I have a fresh batch of ingredients and a full purpose kitchen, but I only know how to make a grilled cheese. I’m just the wordsmith equivalent of a line cook who has been asked to make whatever he thinks would impress the food critic. I hope he likes Kraft singles and white bread.
The point of this post was to state I may also start posting short stories here, in addition to rants both political and personal, and my poetry. Just like with Politalking, I am going to try and keep things labelled, so that those of you who check my blog out for the poetry alone can skip it if you want.
Time for me to drop down and give 20 paragraphs. Wish me luck!