GYSO Drawing Part 16 - Krampus

Published: 2019-10-13

Introduction

Tim:
Shout out to Halloween for keeping the bloodthirsty corporations from starting Christmas celebrations in July. Sadly GYSO is above such formalities.

Happy Jesus day, fuckers. Santa Clause knows where you sleep.

Thor:

Thor: “Are we actually funny?”
Tim: “At least to each other”
Thor: “I guess that’s what matters”
Tim: “That was a joke. I know we’re funny.”

What went right?

Tim:
It was a dark and stormy night, and all though the house not a creature of stirring, not even the couch.

I forget the rest of the story, so ill just leave the parody done there.

I’m sitting here freezing my ass off and tired. The weather is changing and my brain is refusing to accept it. I went outside last night for my morning prowl through the neighborhood and I had to zip up my coat. Snow is upon us and im scared / aroused. That’s right, its a fear boner. A fear boner for Jesus.

Don’t even pretend like you didn’t know that I was unemployed throughout writing GYSO. Even if you weren’t consciously aware of it, you can’t pretend like it isn’t obvious in retrospect. Well, that train has sailed. That’s right, as of recently I will be employed. Just fucking kill me now.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Your good boy Tim is bitter and cold because he has to submit himself to 40+ hours a week of suffering just to have the right to exist. The inexorable melancholy of life always catches up to me, and I am reminded what it truly means to be human. We exist in a world with computers, and yet human workers still exist. Singularity, please.

Im so fucking tired. Not only are my sinuses rebelling due to the changing weather, but im also having to adopt a socially acceptable sleep schedule again. Do you know how liberating it is to just fall asleep and wake up when you feel like it? Do you know the pain of having to go back to forcing myself to adhere to the working man’s sleep cycle? Just in this paragraph alone I’ve had to blow my nose like three times. There’s so much snot that it sounds like a jet engine taking off.

And you know what the worst part is? Its a good thing that I have a job now. It opens up a lot more opportunity for things in my life. Except now im going to have to schedule all of the things I actually care about around a farce of a job. I have to wake up absurdly early just to give myself time to do the things I want, since I refuse to have the first thing I do in the day be working for someone else.

With one python script I could automate nearly 80% of this job and put over 60% of my co-workers out of work. Do you know how soul crushing it is that I don’t write this script, for fear of my own job? I would be a hero to the corporation that now legally owns me, but I would still be empty. I just pretend to care, and they pretend to pay me fairly.

We all need money. I hate money. I hate that I have to worry about something so fucking stupid. Don’t get me wrong, I know why and how money exist, and that makes perfect sense. I just hate that I have to be a part of the whole thing. If something like universal basic income ever comes along I would be one of those freeloaders that never works a day in his life; I don’t even care.

Merry Christmas, everyone! This year you will get and receive gifts that are mediocre at best and both parties will be forced to lie about their feelings. Unwrap it next to your family that you loath, but pretend to tolerate, and say, “Oh…” Than remember that you have to smile. Don’t worry the “Oh…” was from surprise, Mom. I actually love the iTunes card. Ill be sure to sell it at my earliest convenience. Just keep pretending you are proud of the present you got, even after my lackluster reaction.

Am I bitter? Can you tell if I’m bitter? My soul feels like I just chewed raw coffee beans im so fucking bitter. I had to blow my nose again. You’re gonna need a hazmat suit to go anywhere near the trashcan with the amount of boogers present; it’s fuckin’ radioactive in there.

And I know what you’re going to say: “But Tim, others would be happy to be payed what your being payed to do stuff as easy as what you’re doing!” Here’s my rebuttal: Suck my ass.

Thor:
If we are funny, then English Literature students will have GYSO as required reading, with a book report on the manifestation of personalities as time progresses through this utter drudge of an existence we call life. Some will state the pure genius of simply stating “the cultural revolution of xxxx’s China” in part 15. Some will go for the deeper social analysis, claiming that it was common for the time, and for our method of working, for simple errors to slip through to the final product. Some, maybe even my favorite type of pupil, will simply say:

You know, I understand that it’s important to know our history to understand the future, but there’s so much interesting work being done in more modern texts.

Actually, I know nothing of how we will be perceived in the future. I know nothing of where I will be in the future. I know nothing of the rising and falling stocks that will end up being winners and losers in the grand scheme of our economic system. Actually, I know nothing of my own piece as my personal stock of time and energy being put into our grand economic system.

If I know nothing of how we will be perceived in the future, I may very well be painting a huge target on my back with disfavorable reviews of My Little Pony, China, and now apparently our audience that will probably be non-existent for ever. A target that will haunt me for the rest of my living time. A target that people will mock and taunt me for.

If we’re funny, and these web scraping bots are laughing their asses off, Google Analytics ain’t showing me.

If we’re funny, no one has shown me. No one has left even a slightest hint that this might be the case. Instead, I have received nothing in any social context worth more than your average table salt from a human. If we’re funny, that means there’s a standard measure of which my worth can be ascribed to.

Though I will say, this project has been going on for longer than I imagined it to. It has seen far more personal success in making my life more bearable, and opening up real, honest discussions with myself and with my co-host that has left me mostly feeling empowered in my life. But, you will see the what went wrong-section looking like an absolute behemoth, so you can tell that this effect is felt rather marginally in the present.

What went wrong?

Tim:
It had been a long day. I hated going to school, knowing that I would learn nothing and accomplish nothing of import besides spending my time. Even the after school activities were just an excuse to say I’m trying to fix my depression.

I stayed later than the others, that day. I guess I was excited to get some of the programming done for the after school project. Either way the teacher left, and I was the last person leaving the school. I don’t think she was allowed to leave a child there, but I was, “Mature for my age,” so it didn’t matter.

I barely even noticed myself leaving, lost in a haze of my own discontent. I didn’t look out any of the windows on my way down the spiral staircase.

The cold air hits me first, and then the fat, lazy, flakes of snow. The sky had decided to blanket the ground in white. It was the first snow of the year.

I step outside. It felt like a profanation to disturb the even blanket on the sidewalk; soft, yet when I applied more pressure it became hard, crunching under my shoes. The air was thick with flakes, yet there wasn’t even a hint of wind; they just drifted onto the ground in lazy patterns, unworried.

I look up at the gray sky, all of a sudden unconcerned for my glasses getting wet, and smile. All around me was blessed silence. The whole world was holding it’s breath, waiting for spring.

I stood there, desperate to hold onto the inner peace of the moment.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it shattered. I wonder how im going to get home; my old truck didn’t have 4-wheel drive. I worried about having to interact with my parents when getting home; they wouldn’t understand the moment I just had, and I wouldn’t be able to explain it. Not that I would be comfortable sharing even if I could. The snow looked nice, but it would just get shoveled to the side; the brown color it always got would come back and I would hate looking it at. Nobody cares about it, and now I don’t either.

I sighed, looked down at the ground to protect my glasses, and went to my vehicle.

Thor:
If we aren’t funny, we would be creating text, posting it to the Internet, hoping it will reach any destination, only to find out that some random Wordpress vulnerability made every visitor (thanks by the way, sis, you boosted our percentages by literally infinite) into a cryptocurrency mining drone. That other people are making more financial gains on this moldy, bug-infested corpse of a project.

If we aren’t funny, no one will celebrate us. No one will thank us. No one will even look at me. Actually, correction: No one will start to look at me. No one will start to value me. No one will start to care. No one will help me. No one will see me. No one will feel what I’m trying to express. No one will understand that all I ever wanted was for someone just to see me. No arbitrary bullshit anything.

If we aren’t funny, things will stay the same. Every other week I will be completely unable to face myself and have a complete mental breakdown, hoping things might just get better one day. Hoping that some day, my metaphorical prince will come. Hoping that I too might feel any semblance of human emotion deeper than “I don’t want to cry” or “I want to cry, but can’t”. Hoping that the human who, for some reason, found their way here, will resonate even an inkling. At it’s worst, hopefully they can feel pity enough not to gouge their eyes out, hoping that said person might face their fears long enough to undoubtedly connect with me, if even just for a single second.

This seems to be the new essence of GYSO. To make something weird and esoteric, you just make an unforeseen review. Cutlery. My Little Pony. Emacs. If you account for the fact that we post every other week, this post included will mark two straight months of unmitigated, unexpected, esoteric “review”-theme. Because here I am, reviewing ourselves, and my main villain Tim over there is reviewing Christmas and the social cultural norms behind an everyday working life. This is not even a postmortem. It’s just a sad, self-aware meta-analysis, merely stating that this is worthless. GYSO carries no weight. GYSO is not important. GYSO doesn’t drive a change for the better. GYSO is empty. GYSO is a combined husk of two ugly men, spewing their demons onto metaphorically yellowed paper. This demon then takes the form of a disgusting, white, shallow, frustrated, slimy, run-of-the-mill-edgy, unfunny, bald, psychotic, absolutely maniacally insane, rambling, run-on-sentence, fourth-wall-breaking, mustached, dishware-reviewing, sad, angry, socially oblivious pile of vomit with clearly visible chunks of human remains, feces, shattered dreams, pent up anger, pure rage at any social climate because it doesn’t understand it and knows it won’t be invited even if it wanted to.

Yet I can’t fucking bring myself to show an ounce of human emotion when people need it from me. I can’t fucking bring myself to hold a normal conversation once in a millennia when someone approaches me. I can’t fucking bring myself to steer any social interaction unless you and your sister are on the street, crying, wondering if dad’s shouts always were this audible outside the house, checking to see that your emergency backpack had all that it needed. Because of course you need an emergency backpack for the odd occasional anger gets the better hold of the worse part of a human being that somehow gets to call itself a parent.

Because happy Jesus Day, you serene and beautiful individual reading this. Here I am, crying for help in the abstract, when literally every opportunity to get help has presented itself multiple times in my privileged, safe, emotionally abusive, shattered, splinter of a life. A reasonable man would have taken every possible opportunity to further his own position. A reasonable man would have exploited every possible opportunity for other people to pity him. A reasonable man would have commercialized his pains, sold them to the highest bidders, and started over. A reasonable man would have no qualms screaming when he felt like screaming for his dust-speck of a life, turning attention to the things he now controls. A reasonable man would have shown a mental health professional this blog. But out of fear, a less-than-reasonable-man chooses not to.

breathe.

Because the worst part about being this ridiculously meta every other week is that I’m acutely aware of just about every aspect of depression that every single sentence these obscene, stress-fatigued hands force out of it’s metaphorical rectum.

Because the worst part is that every moment that should give me joy doesn’t. Not a single comment, interaction, compliment, action or happening gives me anything more than two fleeting seconds of colour in my life. At this point, emotional connection to something as basal as life seems to be about as likely as finding life on Pluto. Which we probably will, and I will be

wrong, like always.

In a way, GYSO is beautiful. If you’re as devoid of emotions as we are. Otherwise, I can’t blame you for doing anything else with your time. On the off-chance you are as dead inside as us putrid, flaming shambles of human incompetence, I still blame you for wasting your time in this emotional well of perpetual darkness instead of doing anything else. Maybe you should take up drawing and start a blog?

Fuck being genuine. It has brought me nothing. Not even pain. I would be just as miserable as a stoic, stone-faced, workaholic, middle-class monster as I am trying just to be genuine.

Fuck being funny. It only brings other people closer to you while you push yourself further away from them.

What happens next?

Tim:
Some day I will look back on this part of my life and wonder how I made it through.

Thor:
This piece of shit blank paper is a free improvisation. I’m not talking about another unbearably drudging GYSO post, I’m talking about life. It’s absurdly long, it never gets to the point, every good moment passes and there’s a rough 700:1 ratio on things that suck versus things that are good.

Tune in next time to read us review the taste of sand mixed with acetone, or something of seemingly equal perceived esotericness, as these two adult emo males spiral deeper into their privately public depression. I hope the world gets to look back on these two fools saying

I’m glad they got better with time.

But right now, I know nothing of how I will be perceived in the future.