I’m back (After a year of ignoring you)

Hey everybody.

I’m back.

It’s november 13, 2014. The previous post in this page was made in November 10, 2013. So it’s been about a year then. Legit, one year and two days. I mean, is that destiny or something? I swear I wasn’t even checking. I didn’t even know. I didn’t even KNOW.

So maybe i’ll start writing here again. I know I say that every year, but I kinda sorta mean it this time I swear. I’m gonna use this blog to write a bunch of automatic, random, having-to-do-with-stuff-that-has-been-going-on-with-me stuff here.

Expect all sorts of stuff, ladies and gentlemen. Recipes, Movie Reviews, book reviews, pool reviews, depressive poems, happy prose, incredible deals, sci-fi stories, deep analysis of complicated machinery, retellings of romantic misadventures, letters of hate to women I used to love, letters of love to women I used to hate. Physical descriptions of both female and male bodies, and all kinds of nonsense. Particularly nonsense.

Also, expect the overall tone of the blog to change from deep depression, to black comedy and sarcasm. Not that sarcasm wasn’t present already.

Anyway, thank you very much for reading.

Whoever you are.

Let’s write great stuff together.

Nikolas Murdock


A Short History Of Loss

It’s been said that people are afraid of change. Change constitutes most of our lives and, as much as we all want to live inside the monotony of a routine-filled life, we all have to learn to cope with it sooner or later. Loss is a kind of change, and a heavy one at that. Loss could be losing a book or a favorite CD. Loss can be misplacing a pencil or, in the worst of cases, the loss of a loved one.

At the beginning, when you experience loss, it’s like being hit by a speeding truck that has just turned visible while hitting you. You realize something that’s supposed to be there is not there anymore. It confuses you. Sometimes it makes you angry. You start blaming people for it. If you cared enough then you will repeat in your head  the circumstances leading to the loss so many times that you will start feeling that you can actually change the past if you think about it hard enough. For months you will probably blame yourself for not acting when you should have.

Sometimes it takes time, but people do get over loss. After all the denial and the bargaining, the depression and the anger, you learn to deal with loss. What comes after is even worse than anything you had to put up with until then; The ghosts. I call ghosts to all those times you feel what you’ve lost is still there only to be hit by the same invisible truck time after time. It’s like trying to inhale air underwater. Ghosts can also manifest themselves as hallucinations, or mental conversations. You have to explain to them that they’re already gone, and you’ve already gone through so much pain and sadness to cope with the fact that they’re not there anymore, that you don’t really want to go over it again.

In defeating loss we become stronger and weaker at the same time. There is no easy way to cope with loss. Some of us never get over any of our losses and still have to deal with ghosts every night. In some twisted way, it defines who we are. It defines the way we act, and the way we treat the things and people that we can still count on. Still, it’s never fun to be hit with a truck.

The Abyss Gazes Also Into You

It occurred to me lately that I’ve been seeing what I do under a wrong light all along. Yes, it’s beautiful to think I’m “Winning you over”. It’s also false and stupid. It’s also futile and dumb. It’s also not remotely true.

Love at first sight is like Santa Claus. Movies tell you it’s real. Books tell you it’s real. Sometimes even your parents tell you it’s real. Once you grow up a little, you realize there is no such thing as love at first sight. You start realizing barely anyone really falls in love anymore. They way more often do something that we call, “settle” which is simply giving up and getting together with anyone who will give them what they want. Sure, some people have been known to actually fall in love, but their numbers are so reduced, they are negligible.

I recently realized that I want to have writer friends so that they can write about me with the same insight and affection that I observe them with. Then again, since I have none, I’ll just have to keep doing what I’m doing and write about myself shamelessly. For example, I like to write discrete, secret messages with chalk everywhere I can just in case someone will come around and read them someday. Even if someone erases them or writes over them, the fact that I wrote something on a surface where nothing was supposed to be written gives me personal satisfaction.

Even if I had someone in who to focus my romantic intent, it would be useless, because the only thing I actually know how to do is to write, and I think I’m pretty lousy at that too. Plus, girls are not impressed by writing, It’s way too straight-forward. Written declarations of love are only appreciated after the person has a general feel for who you are and what to do, not before. You cannot “confess” anymore, simply because there are too many unsolved variables and you simply can’t go around confessing to everyone. You don’t love everyone, you love a select group of people who dislike being told they are loved by others.

I hate my generation, and that reflects in  my writing so clearly, it’s not even a secret anymore. What does it mean, to hate one’s generation? Do I hate myself? Do I hate everyone else but myself? After all, I am part of  my generation. Whether I want it or not, some traits from the modern way of living have imprinted themselves into me. I talk like my generation wants me to talk, I eat what my generation wants me to eat, I watch what my generation wants me to watch. Some other traits I have decided not to follow. One night stands, going to clubs and quick relationships are included in that category.

I’ve frequently tried to write meaningful, poetic songs, without much success. It seems I can only create funny songs, and that’s only when I’m improvising. I sometimes wish I was as good as Cole Porter, or as witty as Max Bemis. I wish I could see the world the way they saw it. I worship the ability to describe my feelings with poetic accuracy, like it was a super power. Every time I try to write a meaningful song, it sounds incredibly cliched. There is nothing I dislike more than cliches.

It’s funny how people talk about what they like and what the want men/women to be like, and then when it’s right in front of them, they choose to ignore it and go search for someone ‘better’. This is lonely men’s main complaint against women. Women tend to fall in line with those who ignore them, rather than those who find them absolutely ravishing. This can make falling in love very difficult. It limits the possibilities of dating, and it leaves almost everyone with a bad taste in their mouths once they get older.

It’s also hilarious when you see someone who you think is perfect for you, and you’re sure they feel it too, but they’re going out with one of your friends. It’s beautifully tragic. It makes me happy, in a way, because it shows me that movies are not always wrong. The feeling of longing I feel is real, and so is the fact that, even if they break up, I’ll have a very hard time if I try to achieve something with her, because they’ve been dating for so long. Plus, he’s my friend, and he does not handle jealousy well.

I think the problem lies in that I can’t find meaning in anything. Someone once told me that, once you found beauty in everything, you started really living. I do see beauty in things, I just cannot find meaning to that beauty. Why are things beautiful? Why are things terrible?