“Sometimes I see myself and I can’t stand my show/Because I wanna be somebody new/Because I wanna be somebody new for you”
The best relationships you have, the ones that are closest to actual love, are the ones that make you realise that you’re perhaps not quite good enough and inspire you to improve yourself in some way. Men or women, of course, shouldn’t have to do anything to impress any man or woman, but the very best relationships should make you want to be a better person and inspire you to self-improvement.
I’m not talking about dumb physical alteration, like those high heels that render you in constant agony so every gross man who looks at you can picture you consenting to sex, or the black sable mitt ferret I keep down my pants on nights out so chicks can see I’ve got freaking animal down there… which… yeah… also hurts a bit. No person should feel forced into any uncomfortable or unsuitable dress or position by society, because society sucks! However, if you hear the guy you like the look off has a thing for women wearing Rey Myserio jr masks, then by all means wear a Rey Mysterio mask to work on Monday! You’re not trying to get the attention of the gross male populace, you’re just trying to get the attention of Colin from the warehouse! Which is a bit weird, but it’s your weird and you shouldn’t…!
Actually, Emily, you should probably stay away, you do know he spent time in jail for cutting the tails off local cows? No, I know, it’s hardly murder, I’m just saying it’s a bit weird, don’t you think? And the fact he lost both his arms in ‘Nam..
No, Emily, you’re right, I shouldn’t be body shaming, I just think you have to really question how exactly he cut those cows’ tails off without arms. And he says he lost them in Vietnam?? Emily, he was in the year below me at Tintwhistle Primary, if he went to Vietnam I really would have noticed…
Fuck, where was I?
You should always be striving to improve yourself and advance your inner self. We go to school for a decade or so, but then so often give up on any form of improvement. When you meet someone who makes you want to do that, then you’re very likely in love, and we should all be with people who are constantly inspiring us to be better people.
Oh, no, I’m sorry, you can’t improve, can you? Because you’re already fucking perfect, yeah?
Recently, the idea of love has been framed as meeting someone who ‘lets you be yourself’, because you’re so fucking perfect and couldn’t possibly change. Because everybody is perfect, aren’t they, and if you’re not appreciated for sitting on your fat arse and watching the third Made In Chelsea of the day then it’s societies fault, isn’t it?
Now, I know where this came from. For the vast, vast, vast vast, vast majority of human history (from roughly 380’000 BC to… well… now, really) too many groups of people have been immediately disregarded because of nothing but whether they had inny or an outtie genitals or the exact shade of their skin. We are still trying to make strides in ensuring contributions and art from non white and female sources is regarded on the same level as dull shit from white male hands like this blog.
But what have you done? Let’s not celebrate ourselves and our (laughable substandard) personality just because other people have done great things that have been historically ignored. Think about what you have achieved as an individual and- ho, ho, buddy– you ain’t got nothin’! If you’re with someone whose greatest facet is that they ‘let you be yourself’ then, I’m sorry, but that’s emblematic of extreme narcissism and chronic laziness. Read a book. Learn a language. Play an instrument. Improve. Lazy cow…
Wait… was there an album I was supposed to be talking about…?
Oh yeah! I really love ‘I Don’t Run’. I bought their debut album entirely off the basis of how freaking cool the band seemed as a concept, and was ever so slightly disappointed with a light and often uninspired record. This, however, this. Is what. I’m talking. About. Close to perfect pop/punk/rock that sees the band finally starting to grow into the amazing band I long ago decided they were
4 thoughts on “51 Hinds: I Don’t Run”