For whichever reason, I find it difficult to settle into a mindset conducive to what I hope is the distinct style of the screeds here at Xalpharis.com. Whereas I would normally allow time to pass in order to restart the creative process, this would run counter to my resolve to write more often. Bullshit such as writer’s block is but a small hurdle to your humble scribe and I do not mean to allow it to dictate the frequency these screeds appear. Should this screed lack the distinct rhythm and style that you have become accustomed to, there is not much that I can do about it. Hope for the best.
I am not sure the reason for it, but I have been dead-set on the idea that I would address how self-centered I was as a child. I have a specific example that bolsters this premise, and I had little doubt that I would be able to share it with the miniscule audience here in a humorous fashion. I started this screed around four hours before this point, and it is only now that I have made even a hint of progress. I have worded it in nearly every fashion that I could, and it still remains true that I am unable to deem it acceptable. I have tried to add a fifth installment of Wisdom from Caucasia, and that met a similar fate. The same is true for Joshua on Literature, a screed on antics of my brothers, and the lack of soul evident behind Tom Cruise’s eyes.
Instead, I decided that I would bypass the self-imposed standards and stylistic uniformity. I’ll state my case as plainly as I am able, and perhaps it will still retain a spark of the humor I had hoped to put into it. If not, then I’ll chalk it up to the vicissitudes of the creative process.
The first example is likely the more humorous of the three that I have. Believe it or not, when I left the house as a small child and saw the neighbors, I would wonder if they wished their kids were as awesome I was. No amusement or irony in this, I would literally wonder if that were the case. I didn’t think too much of the kids on the block so it seemed natural that their parents would agree that they are subpar when compared to yours truly.
This may still be the most ricockulous notion to have ever crossed my mind.
The second example is the massive delusion I held where my hair was concerned. I’ve no idea where it started or even how it was perpetuated, but I truly believed that I had some of the most awesome hair on this planet. I would spend upward of a half hour each day washing it, and I would mentally compare it to that of my two heroes; Shawn Michaels and Zack Morris. I never could quite rank the three of us, other than to know that the two of them and myself had the most fantastic hair on Earth. I should also state that at no point did I have hair that was worth even a fraction of such.
The third example is not quite as humorous. Now that I think about it, it may be one of the most odd and uncomfortable facts about myself that I could share with others. You see, I was about fourteen before I had the conscious realization that other people were the same as I was. It is not that I saw others as animals or non-entities, it simply did not cross my mind that there were people behind each set of eyes that I met. There was no real moments where I consciously believed otherwise, but I suppose that I genuinely did comprehend others as entities to interact with.
Christ, that is far too close to solipsism for my comfort. Thankfully, I had that particular epiphany. Then again, perhaps everyone has this experience. That, or I only managed to narrowly missed becoming a sociopath. That is no way to go through life, so I suppose I can be appreciative of that. :D
Given that I’ve reached the point where I will wrap this screed up, I see that it is not all that shorter than my average word-count. At the same time, I do not feel that this post contains the customary cohesiveness of the others. Perhaps no one will notice the difference, and I need to be medicated. Also, this is likely the first time that I’ve delved into the stream of consciousness as I write, and that may not be to the advantage of either of us here.
If I am to record my thoughts as they occur, however… chinchilla, boots, Windex, fur. Xeryus, Kate Mara, fried rice. Condensation, Chumbawumba, ID.
Fuck this, I’m headed out. Do enjoy this methamphetamine-fueled screed, and I do hope to be back to normal tomorrow. If I run out of meth, that is.