Monday, August 7, 2017

Asperger's and some shit like that... aka it's not that uncommon, fuckin' Wonderbread...

Fuck a duck, Asperger's sucks...


Life is funny sometimes.  OK, all the fucking time.  Every single goddamn time I feel like I have a handle on shit, I'm reminded that, like Cerrano, I never could hit a curveball.  Well, maybe I wasn't that bad when it comes to the "benders" but I definitely had no future in baseball.  It's part of how I got started in music to begin with.  (For more info on that, check out THIS INTERVIEW).  But life is a tricky fucker.  I've stopped trying to figure it out.  At this point, I'm just along for the ride; to my girlfriend's dismay.  She's much smarter than I am, much more hard-working and more motivated, too.  Daily I struggle with my Asperger's, the (resulting?) depression, alcohol, rigid OCD-type activities, and the like.  And, daily, she struggles with all that too.  I feel bad that I put her in a position to have to react to and interact with me as I try and find ballast.  It's a thing that causes me even more anxiety and depression.  I hate that I do that to her, but what can I do?  I love her, but I know I'm a motherfucking handful.  I know that's the reason I drove my previous girlfriends away, though, now, I have a name for why I appear to be an asshole sometimes.  It's not defensible or an excuse, but I'm trying hard to understand it, at least.  I probably won't ever be able to change, but fuck it, why should I?  We all have our shit.  None of us are clean, except maybe Brett Favre, the greatest living human who ever walked the earth.  And the one who had the most fun, just check THIS SHIT OUT.  I wish I could live like that.  I'm so glad I got to experience that full force.  My first memory as a child, and I think I've mentioned this before, is Don Majkowski going down in that game against the Bengals and Brett coming in and leading them to a last minute victory, and, then letting go of the ball on the extra point so as to not injure his hands.  I knew right then that my life was going to change and that I had just witnessed a brilliance only matched by the first time I heard Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run."  Those were the two seminal moments in my life and I'll never forget them.

Anyhow, why did I start writing this?  Oh, yeah, has any band ever been a better cover band than Guns N' Roses?  Taking the "Spaghetti Incident" as read (yes, this an actual music video), also throw in "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" and "Live and Let Die."  God, the 90's were fucking awesome..  And, of course, outside covers, they wrote the greatest song ever:  "November Rain."  838 million views don't lie.  Fuck...

Speaking of the 90's and how much I love them, but how so many people hated them, I would like to recommend one of my favorite movies:  "The Wrestler."  I remember when I first met my girlfriend, in that early flirting, but not, but still trying to figure each other out phase she asked me who was the movie character I most felt akin to.  Although I would've liked to answer Aldous Snow from "Get Him to the Greek," the answer truly is Randy "The Ram" Robinson from "The Wrestler."  His love for the action and the crowd was unmatched by anything he loved in "real life."  Although, my girlfriend would hate to hear it, I feel the same way, in regards to music.  Any success or love I receive from that is greater than anything I could receive from another human.  I love to read reviews of my brilliance.  It's weird, but it makes sense to me.  I work so fucking hard for this shit, I deserve some praise, whomever it may come from.  Very few people can write stories on my level and I should be acknowledged for it.  But, then again, who the fuck am I?  Just another fucking millennial-aged piece of shit who thinks he's brilliant.  Maybe I'm just a product of my environment.  Wait, no, fuck that.  I could give two fucks (truth be told, not even one) about validation.  I know what I write and sing is great.  And, it should be.  It's fucking pointless to just pump out narcissistic bullshit for no reason.  I write to stay alive and to feel human.  It's the Asperger's in me that desperately wants to feel like a person; that wants to feel connected to other people, but can't.  I feel like all great artists experience the same thing.  Who else would be fucking insane enough to risk their lives and sanity for personal glory?

Sorry, I'm rambling now due to my drunkenness.  I love y'all and thanks for reading.  Hopefully, this makes a few people feel less alone in their Asperger-ness.  Or, helps people realize that they have Asperger's and look it up.  Just knowing has helped me tremendously.  And, I'm sure, my girlfriend feels better about certain things.  Some things she'll always be mad about and never understand but I think I can save our relationship with knowledge and acceptance of my issues.

As always, keep a good head and always carry a lightbulb...