pualdo

I couldn’t focus that night. Everyone was talking, back and forth. And every once in a while, the barkeep would go and open the back door for someone. I didn’t know if this was normal. I don’t go to bars usually.

Brion was next to me at one point. He and I were in a little area of couches, and a bunch of people I didn’t know were there. There were a few I knew, but they weren’t being themselves. I didn’t know that people changed so drastically in a bar. I only stick to one situation, the one I’ve mastered, and so I always feel like I’m the same thing.

Brion shook his leg as he talked, and had no reluctance before speaking. I couldn’t help but realize how much more appealing a trait that is than my own quietness. Being there really isn’t enough.

Brion made the occaisonal glance at me, and sometimes said something. I don’t remember what he said. The whole time, even as he talked, I was wondering about the many differences between me and the others. I could pick out many, but none too painful. I think we all had different pasts.

At one point someone brought up a conversation I could really get into. It was about living your life, and being happy, and the way to do it. I said something then, but it was stupid. The conversation kept going and didn’t stick there very long.

Somebody seemed to notice some unease with me. They offered me some beer out of a pitcher, which I refused. I was sort of comfortable, even though I was well aware that I didn’t belong there. I enjoyed staring, sometimes at Brion, sometimes at the others. But very little of what they said seemed to register with me. Three beers makes you feel adequate.

I was being kind of strange, I think. I liked that. Strange gets you a tiny bit of attention. Even if they know you think you’re ‘strange’, your overly quiet behaviour is enough to warrant some attention. It’s a very minor pleasure but it satisfied me. Even if other people are reading you negatively, it’s okay. You haven’t drifted off into nothingness yet.

I don’t talk to them anyways. I don’t need to project a good image into their heads. I don’t have the tools to do it. I can’t speak really. I don’t know how to form a thought. Someone told me once when they read a paper I did, that I had no values, and that it was hard to read someone who doesn’t have any values. Perhaps that’s a piece of my puzzle. The inadequacy puzzle. Why can’t I bring pride to myself through my actions?

I left the bar around midnight. There was a distinct feeling of being strong as I left. I had gone through the bar, and seen everything, and everyone. I had done something brave, instead of just sitting inside my house and feeling happy. But despite all this, I still had a very fresh feeling that I didn’t owe society anything.

Walking around a puddle in the alley, as I walked back to the Vancouver Bus Station, I couldn’t help but read what had just happened a certain way. I tried, I arrived, but I got nothing from it except a feeling of having lived through my bar experience. Any validation that the others might get from talking, or being a presence, was lost on me. The basic things society provides to ensure loyalty, such as the things I just described, were not available to me. I had no tools.

Once again, like in the past situations in which this had happened, I felt a little more justified in doing something awful. Nudge, nudge, nudge. I feel like, being where I am, that it’s amazing how wrong the newspapers get it. Something as simple as a life of mildly unsatisfying and uninspiring social situations can slowly drive you to be the guy on death row.

phurst

I couldn’t focus that night. Everyone was talking, back and forth. And every once in a while, the barkeep would go and(delete the 'and') open the back door for someone. I didn’t know if this was normal. I don’t go to bars usually.

Brion was next to me at one point. He and I were in a little area of couches, and a bunch of people I didn’t know were there. There were a few I knew,(you just said a bunch you didn't know so which is it?) but they weren’t being themselves. I didn’t know that people changed so drastically in a bar. I only stick to one situation, the one I’ve mastered, and so I always feel like I’m the same thing.

Brion shook his leg as he talked, and had no reluctance before(before or about) speaking. I couldn’t help but realize how much more appealing a trait that is than my own quietness. Being there really isn’t enough.

Brion made the occaisonal glance (Brion ocassionally glanced my direction)at me, and sometimes said something. I don’t remember what he said. (this is all too confusing. Sometimes this and sometimes that and the past and present all mixed up. Don't know where you're going or why)The whole time, even as he talked, I was wondering about the many differences between me and the others. I could pick out many, but none too painful. I think we all had different pasts.(get more specific. This makes no sense whatsoever)

At one point someone brought up(started a ) a conversation I could really get into. It was about living your life,(Why the comma?) and being happy, and the way to do it. I said something then, but it was stupid. The conversation kept going and didn’t stick there very long.(See what I mean. 'I said something then..' you don't even know what you said? You went from a conversation you could really get into but said something and it was stupid... I hope you understand what I am trying to tell you. You need specifics if you want your reader to realte unless your audience are people with short term memory loss.)

Somebody seemed to notice some unease with me. They offered me some beer out of a pitcher, which I refused. I was sort of comfortable, even though I was well aware that I didn’t belong there. I enjoyed staring, sometimes at Brion, sometimes at the others. But very little of what they said seemed to register with me. Three beers makes you feel adequate.

I was being kind of strange, I think. I liked that. Strange gets you a tiny bit of attention. Even if they know you think you’re ‘strange’, your overly quiet behaviour is enough to warrant some attention. It’s a very minor pleasure but it satisfied me. Even if other people are reading you negatively, it’s okay. You haven’t drifted off into nothingness yet.

I don’t talk to them anyways. I don’t need to project a good image into their heads. I don’t have the tools to do it. I can’t speak really. I don’t know how to form a thought. Someone told me once when they read a paper I did, that I had no values, and that it was hard to read someone who doesn’t have any values. Perhaps that’s a piece of my puzzle. The inadequacy puzzle. Why can’t I bring pride to myself through my actions?

I left the bar around midnight. There was a distinct feeling of being strong as I left. I had gone through the bar, and seen everything, and everyone. I had done something brave, instead of just sitting inside my house and feeling happy. But despite all this, I still had a very fresh feeling that I didn’t owe society anything.

Walking around a puddle in the alley, as I walked back to the Vancouver Bus Station, I couldn’t help but read what had just happened a certain way. I tried, I arrived, but I got nothing from it except a feeling of having lived through my bar experience. Any validation that the others might get from talking, or being a presence, was lost on me. The basic things society provides to ensure loyalty, such as the things I just described, were not available to me. I had no tools.

Once again, like in the past situations in which this had happened, I felt a little more justified in doing something awful. Nudge, nudge, nudge. I feel like, being where I am, that it’s amazing how wrong the newspapers get it. Something as simple as a life of mildly unsatisfying and uninspiring social situations can slowly drive you to be the guy on death row.


I couldn't go on. It was like a bad acid trip. You feel one way but you don't. You lister but you don't you are comfortabe but you aren't.

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pualdo

well the point of the story is that he's kind of an idiot and he believes he has mental deficiencies that keep him from being successful in social situations, so i thought it would make sense to not be very coherent about the whole thing. and also since its an unusual occurrence for him to be going out and doing things, it wouldn't make sense for him to have a really lucid account of what happened, because there would be no familiar ways to frame his experience and he wouldn't be geared to follow the conversations because he's undoubtedly an introvert.

i agree with you on some points though.

phurst

True, and I had that feeling but have him express the senselessness he experiences such as "The people around me lauhed in unison though I didn't see anything funny about some guy being caught by the police peeing in the alley" "They appeared to share a common comradire that I couln't understand as if the bar were some sort of home and the people were kin.' "They tossed 'fuck you's' and 'up yours' around that would normally invoke a fight yet these people laughed until tears came to their eyes." Hope that explains it better.

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dhyre

Hey,

I really liked this sentance "Three beers makes you feel adequate" and I got the picture that your character was living through life, I know that feeling and I could identify with it. You lost me in the end though.

Good work!

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*** correction: Writing is about individuality, breaking the rules, testing new grounds, listening to ourselves. That's why we do it, to show we are individuals, we are human and because everyone's idea deserves a chance, even if you don't think so.