Sinister: You're all so nice.

[David Howie]

Why is my heart so heavy, lumpen and wrought with a keen sense of 
mis-direction?  It's heaving through the emotions today, limping from beat 
to beat.  The responsive and constructive comments from Sinisterines are the 
only things which have allowed a smile to creep wearily onto my lips today.  
This e-mail may get pretty self-indulgent; but, I thought I lay myself open 
to the floor.  The way I REALLY feel, right now.  Put the B&S madness to one 
side for right now, and let me exhaust my tired vocabulary.

I think it's my course, or the people on my course, or the University, or 
people at the University.  A feeling of perpetual disillusionment (sic) and 
disgust at my peers pervades my outlook (unhealthily I may add) at all 
times.  I feel more comfortable drifting between pixels, placing words in 
dysfunctional positions and coaxing awkward rhymes into place than I do 
discoursing with the world.  This may sound thoroughly pretentious; "I Guess 
I Just Wasn't Made For These Times".  That's the way I used to think.  Ha.  
However, I feel I should introduce the caveat: I don't think I'm better (not 
at all) merely different.

But 'different', ah mean, c'moan Howie.  Calling yrsel' 'different' is just 
as pretentious as making the sweeping assertion that you're better.

Well, a tentative yes to that question is smashed by an affirmative no.  
Calling yourself different is not pretentious; it's tantamount to saying "I 
breathe air".  It's a statement of fact; intrinsic in our nature, we are 
different.  (I know this is a spurious argument; but it defeats the claim 
that calling yourself different is pretentious).  I don't want to veer into 
pseudo-philosophy, I'm merely stating the way I feel.  I don't know why: 
maybe in attempt to get people to like me.  Destined to fail in such a 
humble ambition: the crux of the matter is that all I want is to be liked.  
Sad?  Yeh, I am.

I came to University with open eyes slightly jaded but forgiving to 
sunlight.  However, I look around.  I see no-one.  I don't even see myself.  
The University is diseased by a Culture of Averageness (woah there, says the 
arrogance-o-meter) which pervades throughout spoiling the 'good apples'.  
Note to reader: Howie is not claiming to be a 'good apple'.  I know how much 
this movement of thought, lately manifest in my misguided (misplaced?) 
misanthropy, pains my girlfriend.  I love her; but, I'm at odds with myself. 
  Irreconcilabe differences with myself; inability to achieve the 
completeness of form and style that I yearn for irks and sits uncomfortably, 
resulting in me thinking that I'm a rubbish person and boyfriend.  And that 
my girlfriend doesn't deserve to be with me: 'cos she's such a good person.  
(And she's going through a lot of shit right now with her flatmates - but, 
my selfishness and manipulation are contributing to her discomfort.)  I can 
see I'm doing it - yet, she refuses; but, I can see it.  Stop it then.  Just 
stop being silly.  Stop making arguments from nothing.  BUt it's like that 
Delgados line we make "complications, just to feel all right".  But y'see.  
I don't feel all right.  I feel like shit.  Always.  I don't like it.  I've 
regressed to when I was 13.  I can see you sitting there and your thinking 
"What am I meant to say to this.  I'm not really sure what he's saying."  I 
guess I'm essentially saying that my heart hurts but I don't know how to fix 
it.

The only words of solace I have are some lyrics I wrote last year, for my 
girlfriend:

"In my head, I'm kissing you all ways,
While in my heart, I'm missing you always."

Reverberating.  A sullen line.  And I'm sorry.  Sorry for wasting your time. 
  Absolutely no content.  Sorry for everything.  Sorry Honey.  Sorry.


Sorry,

David.

PS  I didn't mean to 'go off on one' I just did.  Tell me if you mind; and, 
I won't do it again.  Thank you.

PPS  Thank you, Jason A.  Thank YOU.
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