Here, Then No Where

5.13.2017

What is that makes one’s consciousness dream of fucking off this planet? Is there an evolutionary reason for it?

I truly don’t understand the root cause. Is it the realization that life, in the end, is sort of meaningless? Is it the quitter’s ultimate “Fuck it”? Is it the romanticizing of others’ demise? Is it lack of purpose?

I think for me it’s a desire for the ultimate numbness.

You see, when I have nothing going on, no motivation, no drive, no “purpose”, or when I’m in a routine that doesn’t benefit, satisfy, or engage me in any way I will feel a need to shut my brain down. On any given night I will walk into my apartment and immediately find a way to quiet my inner monologue. Silence the demons, if you will.

Turn the TV on.
Read.
Check my phone.
Listen to a podcast.
Fucking anything that will grant me alleviation and distraction from the fact that I have one life and I might be wasting it. But shit, I’m not even sure what a good way to spend one’s life is. I try hard not to, but I have nihilistic tendencies that sincerely fuck with my well-being.

Though I literally want to live forever, I would describe myself as “impatient”. That might not seem relevant, but if you take into account that we are merely insignificant specs on the cosmic scale, what’s the fucking point of existing in the first place? Not that I subscribe to this thinking, but if we exist only to die, why wait? Though I don't want to, and I think it's a horrible idea, I struggle with that argument. And people wonder “why?” when I openly talk about my desire to get a vasectomy. I can hardly justify my own existence, how could I ever father another sentient being capable of such thoughts and dilemmas?

And you know what? I’m a hypocrite. I’m only saying this because I’m not content with my current standing and that everything I’ve tried to do to change it has proved fruitless.

{Just for the record: I do NOT want to die. Seriously. I don't want to get a bunch of e-mails or phone calls.}

If you’ve read some of my entries (or if you hang out with me in person) there’s a good chance you’ve heard me refer to myself as “a miserable cunt”. I say this for both comedic effect and because I believe it to be true.

Often it feels like I’m wasting my god damned time.

I’ve felt purpose at times in the past, and what a great numbing device it was. I am deeply jealous of anyone who currently feels they have a purpose. On the other hand, I’m annoyed when people seem content with shitty purpose.

Religion.
A job they actually hate.
Their precious "identity".
Or any calling of any sorts that currently seems ridiculous to me.
Which of course is an absurd position to take because what the fuck do I know? Maybe that purpose is warranted. Shit, I can’t really knock it if I got none.

I guess what bugs me, is that people fail to realize they’re just filling the space of their existence with whatever brand of time-filler that numbs them best. But then again, maybe that’s the point of life?

I think I go back and forth on being happy/content and proud to be a member of the greatest species on this planet, and irrationally annoyed when we fail to realize that this life is temporary, meaningless, and probably shit.

I am full of both Love and Hate.
Good and Evil.
I am rational at times, and completely irrational at others.
I’m a walking talking hypocrite and I’m here to tell you all about it.

I don’t want to die.

Ironically, the only thing that leads me to believe that life might be pointless is that it ends. It’s the great tragedy of existence. I want to live forever, but that’s impossible. You’re here, alive and joking with friends, falling in love, having deep conversation about the current state of the world and then in a blink of the eye you’re not. I understand the desire for there to be an afterlife, but there’s not an ounce of me that believes in it. You’re here, then you die. Cheers.

I guess I don’t hate when people fill their time or numb themselves to the reality that death is coming and there’s not a hope in God that can stop it... I’m just fucking jealous of it. I’m being petty because I want that. I don’t want to think the way I do. I want to experience everything, even all this pointless filler, yet I constantly think about all this shit.

I’ve experienced “purpose” in the past through various means, so why the fuck do I dwell on things that lead me to be such a sad-sack?

For fuck’s sake, I’m a self-made miserable cunt. But at times, aren’t we all?

Maybe it’s just stress, depression, discontent, (insert anything I’m feeling right now), that makes me dwell on such horrible realities. Real they may be, but they’re just as pointless as any other time filler, and a god awful way to spend one’s time here.

OK, that’s enough. I’m clearly still working shit out in my skull, so let me leave you with a little light at the end of the tunnel:

I’ve got plans. I’m working hard. I envision a life for myself that is both full and happy, and just because I can’t see it clearly right now doesn’t mean I don't think it will happen. Just because I wrote this entirely self-indulgent and depressive piece doesn’t mean I think life is pointless. It’s the only thing we got. I love it even through the hardest of times. Though I both accept and struggle with the end, I’m confident I will find what comfortably numbs me and bides my time before I go charging into the oblivion.

Hope is a hell of a drug, but one worth embracing.

Until then, I’m going to go read –shut this shit down for a while.

-Matthew Numbs

Layers of an Asshole

5.8.2017

Bit of a depressive rant today. Strap in.

Most of the relationships in my life are at least somewhat superficial. I wonder if everyone feels like this? I feel as though even the closest people to me know very little of substance. I occasionally reveal bits of my soul, usually through jokes, but I hardly use language to express key parts of myself. Parts I despise, yet desperately want someone to acknowledge.

Which is ridiculous, because I constantly push the people away who get too close.

I push people away that I fear can alter who I am. I don’t like being affected by another human being, which is why my trust lies with a select few. I don’t want anyone to have the power to rip out my heart and shit in the cavity where it came from. I am afraid of being powerless at the hands of another. I’ve been there in the past and I’ve completely pulled back. I’ve hardened. Become jaded. Very few have that ability now.

That sounds a tad dramatic, yeah? Well... it's not gonna get any better today.

I’m not entirely convinced I should be loved.

I’ve been so fucking introspective all my life that it’s caused me to know exactly who I am. Who I am is not the character I reveal to the world. I, am the narrator within my skull that knows all of my positive and negative attributes. I know my hopes, dreams, fears, my regrets, secrets and my demons. And I am 100 percent honest with myself. The version of me that you get is, in some way, a liar. And I most likely think you’re a liar too.

“How's it going?”
“Great!”
“Top-notch!”

I’ve gotten so good at lying to cover up my flaws and real emotions that I can recognize when others do it. It appears everyone is just meandering through life telling each other lies. I see it. I may not see you just as you may not see me, but I see your lies and that’s a start. I can read you.

I recently noticed a friend changing the way they interact with me. The vocabulary has changed. So has eye contact, mood, topics of conversation, physical interactions and other subtleties that appear obvious. I can only speculate as to why the change has occurred, and I have my theories, but it’s beyond strange to observe it as it’s happening. It puts me in a familiar yet weird predicament. If I am to ask honestly what’s going on, I would incidentally reveal to them a part of me I don’t want them to know. For some reason, which makes zero sense, I don’t want them to know I’ve noticed a change and therefore care. I don’t want to show my hand that I can tell they’re lying. I don’t want them to know they have the ability to make me feel vulnerable which would subsequently allow the whole chest cavity shitting situation.

So, what do I do? Act like a healthy human being, ask what prompted a change and accept what may come? -or- Be a fucking coward, harden and reject these feeling of sleight and pretend I don’t give a fuck until it actually becomes true?

You know which one I’m choosing.

And I despise myself for that. I feel so guilty. It’s lonely.

It’s not just friends. I’ve never revealed my inner self with anyone romantically. And I desperately want to. But, every time I feel like there is a possibility to do so I fuck up, or get let down, or find any reason not to. The truly pitiful thing is that I sometimes judge people who fall in love with the version I allow them to see. I create and internal struggle. If I reveal myself, then the charade is gone forever. But I’m not that interesting, I’m not nearly as funny, most of the time I want to be alone and at half the time I can be a real asshole. The charade is how I fit in. So, the question is: Is it worth letting someone, even momentarily, see that inner version of me?

I see me constantly, and I’m not sure it’s worth it.

The version you know is much more bearable to be around. I assure you. This one in my head is self aware and yet self deprecating to a degree that could only be described as "obnoxious".

Anyways.

Sincerely,

-Matthew Hides

Being Pretentions Hasn't Paid My Bills

8.3.2016

I don’t know what I’m doing these days. Things seem off.
All I can think about is if I’m fulfilled or not.

If being fulfilled is paying the bills by doing what you love, what do I love? Well, in short, I love photography. But, it’s a bit more complicated than that.

People in Los Angeles love to talk about their profession. Sometimes that’s all you end up talking about with new people. It’s dull. Maybe I moved here at a time in my life where that’s what is on everyone’s mind, or maybe it is really this region specifically. Regardless, it’s frustrating.

Let’s say I meet someone new, the whole situation (99.9% of the time) will unfold like this:

New person will introduce himself or herself, or vice versa.
The normal greetings and responses will happen, and then, BOOM!
“So, what do you do?”
When I answer, without fail, the follow up is always, “What kind of photography?”.

Ah, Christ!
I get fucking anxious.

Here we go again.
I always reply, “Everything.” -which is never enough. The conversation always stays on topic. “Well, like what? What do you like to shoot?”

Fast-forward to about two minutes in and I’m dancing around the fact that I’m a pretentious cunt, but I rarely get to be one for a living.
I’m hearing myself rehash the exact same conversation I have had many times over. I’m ready to blow my fucking head off.

I get bored. How are they not? How is this not the most boring conversation anyone has ever had in the history of language? Aren’t they as bored as I am? Why don’t we talk about something new? Something else.. anything else. AM I THE ONLY PERSON SICK OF HAVING THIS SAME FUCKING CONVERSATION?

I get it, though. Most people like what they do. It’s an easy conversation. I suppose it’s interesting to learn things about new people, and profession is a safe bet. It's a socially acceptable topic that guides the conversation in a familiar arena. But if I’m bored of hearing myself, aren’t they bored of explaining to me what they do? Because of course I have to ask... other wise I’m the asshole.

The truth: Most of the photos I shoot aren’t gratifying, fulfilling, thought provoking or beneficial to anyone or anything. Well, they definitely help a client promote themselves or their products... but I’m most likely contributing to the over saturation of imagery and content that exists in our world. Content that is essentially meaningless.

Am I a Kardashian?

I understand I have no grounds to complain, but I will, for my name is Matthew Complains, of the house Unsatisfied, first of his name.

I love making things that matter. I love creating things that have a purpose, or speak upon real issues. I love conveying my ideas and what I would like the world to be through the lens of my camera. It is my most powerful voice, and my trade. But, most of the photos I take (maybe 99%) are filler content. They are made for the purpose of gaining a buck, and they serve their purpose... but they aren’t real. In fact, marketing in 2016 is essentially palatable imagery (video, stills, graphics, text, whatever) that people can relate to. It’s moved entirely to content creation with the goal of trying to get consumers to think they need whatever the product may be. It is massively successful and shows no signs of slowing down.

(Insert your Ad Here)

They may look pretty (objectively), they may look original (highly unlikely), they may even be saying something ("buy this thing"), but they are never beneficial to the overall human condition.
The kicker: I’m good at that! My creativity allows me to take the concepts and ideas a company or an individual may have and turn that into imagery that successfully conveys their message. Which, again, is always somewhere along the lines of: “Buy this thing.”

I get it... I feel your collective "Ugh's". When it comes to creating things: I’m idealistic, pretentious, and slowly approaching bitter.

So what do I want to say? Will people give a shit? Are my ideas as meaningful as I so arrogantly think they are? Do I actually offer anything of substance?

I think so.
So why don’t I do that?

I could list a billion reasons for why I shouldn’t, but it can be summed up very easily: Fear.

If I put my heart and soul into creating something, there’s a real world chance that upon looking at it, people will think “This. Is. Shit.”

Am I ready for that?

P.S. I don’t mean I want to quit doing what I do for an income.
Despite the bitching above, I am thrilled I get to use my camera for a living.
I’m good at it.
I just haven’t made things that are meaningful to me personally in a very long time.
It weighs on my soul.

But please,

Keep hiring me.

-Matthew Complains