#and then he starts stripping off-screen ????!!? the filmmakers are COWARDS

[inoankin]

fun '80s romp. good movie :)

now time for Earth Girls are Easy..... see you on the other side o7

[hbldr-blog]

gettingup

I have a name, a head filled with ideas, a face, and hands to type with. I'm a writer, or at least I like to think so. One day I want to tell stories through some visual medium but I mostly just laze around. It really erks me. I love to move and I love to talk; it's my favorite thing to do in the world.

Depending on when I sleep or if I sleep I usually wake up at about noon, maybe early afternoon. When I wake up I usually don't think. Some people say their first thoughts are usually reflections of who they are; the lens they put on before observing the outside world. I tend to just lay there, wondering blankly. Eventually something crosses my mind: ‘What should I do first?’ And almost every time I look at my phone.

I'll be frank, I hate looking at it. When it's off the screen becomes a mirror... a sort of humbling reminder. I'm obsessed with recognition, be it fantasies of being interviewed for a film or comic, or a person smiling fondly at me as if my presence made their day. As shallow and naive as that might sound, I like to think pretty strangers will miraculously greet me via text hoping I have a good day.

Hello Good morning! Heyyy

Nothing. Sometimes I'll get a text from my mom, or from one of my writing friends about an idea they’ve been working on. I usually ignore them. I probably shouldn't. They're very good to me. After spending half an hour lounging in bed, I start thinking about creative ways to kill myself. Sometimes for a couple of seconds... another couple of seconds. Feels more like minutes that feel like hours.

I look at the time, see that I've slept for half the day, and leave my room for the bathroom. I turn on the shower, sit on the toilet, and try to number two, but my ass appears to still be asleep. I get back up and turn off the shower, remembering that I shouldn't waste hot water. My family hates it when I do. I go back on the toilet, and try to squeeze one out but again, my ass is napping.

I go back on my phone and check Instagram, Snapchat, Messenger, and last but not least, Reddit. No notifications. Nothing out of the ordinary. I scroll through, running into pictures of exes or girls I've tried to hook up with. They're almost always smiling, enjoying life. The irrational part of my brain starts seeing this as a mocking gesture. “They don't need you,” my brain says.”They never did.”

Almost immediately my head starts playing “For No One” by The Beatles. The suicidal thoughts come back, my ass wakes up, I shit. I get up without wiping my ass thinking ‘eh, I can clean it in the shower.’ I turn on the shower, strip my clothes, and hop in. It's kind of hot so I stand to the side and wait to get used to it. I get used to it. I grab my phone, still in the shower, open up Chrome incognito mode, and masturbate. Sometimes I finish, sometimes I don’t. I used to wrestle. I learned that when you take a shower, you wash your head and hair first before your body. When you do the reverse, the gunk from your head and hair trickle down towards your body and you get ringworm and you can’t wrestle. I liked wrestling.

I get out of the shower and look for a towel. Takes about 3 seconds to realize I forgot my towel and I have to air dry. I could just get out and grab a towel. I'd dry quicker and get along with my day, but I just took a hot shower and I'm afraid of the cold air outside. It’s cool relative to my body heat which means it really isn't that cold; I'm just a lazy coward. I look at my phone: Instagram, Snapchat, Messenger, Reddit. In that order, always in that order. 

Nothing. 

I put it down. I grab a random toothbrush...usually the cleanest one. I proceed to brush my teeth; I do it in circles. When I was small I heard doing it that way is better than going up and down so I do it in circles. After I brush my teeth I rinse with water and mouthwash. I don't floss. I haven't flossed in years. I should probably floss...every time I spit after I brush my teeth I see blood. That's probably not good. 

I look up at the mirror and it’s fogged up. I wipe it. I see my eyes and the bridge of my nose. I wipe at the mirror more; now I can see my whole body. I'm not happy at what I see. I am this strange combo of skinny and fat. Skinny-fat, if you will. Worse than both skinny and fat because at least when you're fat you have a sort of circular shape. You're not tricking anybody. Everyone knows you're fat and that's okay, but when you're skinny fat you're deceiving people. Now you're not just out of shape but you're also a liar. No one likes a liar. 

 I hear banging on my bedroom door. I hear it open, then I hear the footsteps of someone coming to the bathroom, then more knocking. “Yo, you almost out?”I reply “Yeah, almost.”I'm lying, of course. I'm either going to shit or jerk off again... or both. Or get distracted by my phone again. “Okay, well you've been there for three hours, so come on. Other people gotta use it too.” It's already three. That whole morning ritual took three hours. By then I'm already dry. I try to shit again--successfully, I might add. I decide to finally leave the bathroom.

My phone goes off.I think it's a job.Or maybe some stranger who's interested in talking to me. 

Or that cute girl who I texted about poetry that never got back to me.

Or that other cute girl who I text on a regular basis but always seems aloof.

Or that other girl who doesn't seem to want to leave me alone.

Or that other cute girl who I see in my head sometimes when I’m alone and content or masturbating.I look.

 It's my mom. 

“Get out of the fucking shower”

I've been out for at least 4 minutes, I ignore it and go to my room to get dressed, put deodorant on, and do my hair. I can never get it right. There's always something wrong about it and I don't know what it is. Maybe it’s swooshed the wrong way, or I’m not using the right pomade. Maybe my hair is just bad. I get my hoodie and pjs on. I sit on my bed and look at my phone but I'm not focused on my phone. I'm stuck in thought, this time not about suicide or what I'm going to jerk off to but what I've been doing with my life. I've been doing the same routine for a year.

I wanted to be a writer.

I wanted to make film.

I wanted to be a storyteller.

What am I doing? I'm twenty years old and I'm idle. I get a notification from one of my writing friends. He tells me he has this great idea he wants to talk about. I respond with “I don't feel good, I'm sorry.” He's going to school for what we both want to do and I always feel like he's miles away from me, literally and metaphorically. I look back at my phone. It’s fallen asleep. I unlock it and it opens up to Instagram. It's a picture of a girl I've never met. She's showing her cleavage. I think to myself “That's fucking trashy.” I close out of Instagram, go to Google Chrome, go to incognito mode.

I start browsing for what I want to watch. I'm picky. But before anything can happen I hear heavy footsteps rushing towards my room. After about two seconds my brother barges through the door. My erection is hidden. I change tabs.

“Yo, can I show you my song? I need critiques.”

I get annoyed. I tell him “It's not a good time. Come back in a couple minutes.”

He starts making for the door. I feel bad. I tell him “Never mind, show me anyway.” He shows me. It's decent besides the horrible piano. I tell him “It's decent besides the horrible piano.”

He says “Thanks, how about the vocals?” He always asks about the vocals.

I tell him “They're fine.”

He nods his head, thanks me, and leaves. I lock my door, change tabs, drop my pants, and resume.

Cheating stuff, for some reason today was cheating stuff. It felt weird. I start video hopping. It's great. I land on a video with a redhead. It reminds me of my ex. I close the tab. I pull my pants up. I can't finish. I lay on my bed. I start to sweat. I turn the A/C on. I start to think about what she's doing... if she's seeing another guy... what they might be doing. The suicidal thoughts start coming back. I start thinking about myself and why I'm so stagnant. My throat gets tight and I start breathing heavily through my nose.

I wanted to be a writer.

I wanted to be a director.

I wanted to tell stories.

What am I doing?

My stomach rumbles but I don't eat.

I open my laptop.

I open a word document.

I stare at it...

I close it and get something to eat.

I open my laptop.

I open a word document.

I stare at it...

I start browsing Reddit.

I start browsing porn.

I finish.

I close my laptop.

I look out the window.

It's dark.

I open my laptop.

I browse Netflix

Find a show about horses or something.

I like it.

I grab more food,

I watch more Netflix.

The show starts getting into very heavy emotional stuff I wasn't ready for.

The outro to the show gets into my head.

I really like the show.

It starts getting deeper and heavier emotionally.

I stop watching it.

I start thinking about myself again.

I wanted to be a writer.

I wanted to make film.

I wanted to be a storyteller.

I start rubbing my head obsessively.

The more I rub my head the more I feel like an anthropomorphic horse.

The shows outro takes the place of The Beatles’ “ For No One.”

I try to go to bed. I feel my eyes start to water, which means I'm about to have an episode and cry myself to sleep. That’s good because it means I'm going to pass out, except that I don't.

I just weep.

I open my laptop to play some ASMR to help me sleep. Whispering helps me sleep.

It doesn’t this time.

There is something wrong with me.

I open word document.

I stare at it...

I begin to type.

Not looking at what I write...

But rather just writing.

I stop.

I read it.

It’s horrible.

I resume.

I think to myself “What am I doing?”

I stop.

I think.

I am a writer.

I am going to be a filmmaker.

I am a storyteller.

and I resume.