Ghastly

Ah “ghosting”, a phrase you’ll likely be familiar with if you’re even half my age bracket and not exclusively surrounded by the more pleasant examples of humanity. For those of you blessed be enough to not have experienced it first hand, or old enough to quaff at these hippidy hoppidy words, it’s simply – and rather brutally – the act of initiating potential romantic contact/conversation with someone, developing said contact to a decent degree and then fucking off without a word.

Now I know I know “But Basjohn, you love people fucking off without a word!” your innocent sparkly eyes glitter as you mumble such innocent words, but truth be told reader so dear, a word – a gentle timid and somewhat restrained with pretty lies word – before fucking off is actually quite appreciated once you’ve dedicated the 3% of your brain and heart that is yet to rot to knowing someone. Yet, it is a modern epidemic. A cruel attempt at kindness that leaves no one unscarred.

You know already this will somehow lead into my own romantic failings of course, the subtext is so blatant it could be an Акула.

It’s probably better you didn’t get that joke.

Indeed over the years I’ve experienced my share of ghosting. Never committed the atrocity myself (unless you would count running away from a stalker-level person pretending to be multiple people at once yet unaware of your disturbing research skills aka pin board of conspiracies that was in desperate need of filling), but having it even once is something I wish on no one. Simply telling the other person you “Don’t feel chemistry” or you “Don’t think it’s going to work out/go anywhere” are far far kinder ways than leaving a little soul to wonder what crime they may have commited. Hell, I was appreciative of a lass who straight out told me she was interested in someone else because the truth hurts a much cleaner cut I think.

Oh but yes yes, on to my personal complaints and moaning no? My first experience with ghosting was excellently avenged by dear (now dead) Dante. Promised to chat to me after a clearly failed first date (where I joked about her texting someone to rescue her, and it TURNS OUT SHE WAS ACTUALLY DOING THAT) and then nothingness. Even a “Not feeling it” would have been a kindness. So Dante found her online, used his disgustingly good talent with the opposite sex to enthral her and then stood her up on the date with a “This is for Jayde/Basjohn” message. I do wish I could at least TRY some necrotic rituals on his corpse, lovely lad, probably a better friend than I deserved.

Then we’ll skip about 57 failures and get closer to the present! The current me! The successful author who isn’t remotely sure about the successful part of that sentence but is certainly sure about the author bit! Recently I had 2 ghostings in a row. Consecutive ghostings being the sort of demoralizing stuff you rarely find outside of WW1 trenches or Candy Crush commercials (we have to eventually admit they are much the same thing).

Neither perfect souls, but perfection is far from what I seek anyhow (which is desperation and low-standards!). Out of respect I’ll leave some of the more negative and personal details of their lives to one’s imagination (so read what you will knowing I am actually holding back the bad stuff). First lass, smoker egh, I can deal even if it fucks up my health a little more than it already is, but intelligent! AND ALMOST A FAN! Actually emailed me by following the email trail “hidden” blatantly on here. An anime fan to boot, and a gamer! Potential seemed grand! She suggests meeting, I encourage said suggestion, advertising my super duper open at all times calendar, she is suddenly to too nervous, I say I can wait. Conversation continues for a week or so and then? SILENCE. Keeps me on FB. Keeps posting passive aggressive content about how she can’t find a guy, when I can’t find a reply. Awesome slow-motion let down!

But she liked geese. Geese are fucked up. You all know this. Stay away.

PART TWO! Just after started chatting to a lass with a deeply troubled history (but hell, my first love story is kinda the epitome of that so no one is going to top that any decade soon) but a sparkly hopeful future and compliments on how I try and make the most of life despite being a decrepid rotting husk of failed health. Finally meeting was suggested, I jumped at the chance and………she vanished for two weeks. On her return? Turns out she was meeting couples and signing up for group orgies and that kept her very very busy as one can imagine. I felt quite stupid for having concern but decided to try and reconcile and see if things could go anywhere…..until she vanished for……ever perhaps? I’d say two months of silence is about enough of a drought to call a ghosting.

And so my negative confidence wavers deeper ever more, brought on by what I consider one of the shittiest behaviours in modern society at large. People, srsly people, turn others down. You can do it gently. Vanishing without a word is zero-effort a dick move regardless of your genitalia.

As for even more depressing news, my health continues to dwindle in ways unknown (as always) to the medical community at large, my third novel is still getting rejection letters and I’ve been in dentures – sexy so sexy – dentures for the last six months to replace the teeth my condition quite literally murdered. I am fiddling with ideas for a fourth novel as I mentioned, but motivation is rather hard to come by when the only person to give my comprehensive (and positive) feedback on my third is rather dead themselves. My usually more lovely friends all finding themselves too busy to be arsed with reading the manuscript, as is the way of the world.

Whiteout

I would be a poor host if I didn’t gather up SOME semblance of content now that the site has been vaguely restored (I have not the skill nor the remaining friends to replace the glorious image based header menu), yet while I am decidedly unwealthy AND not a host of any sort, content I shall provide.

Content in the piss poor excuse for life updates that is, the thing I am eternally surprised people either give a shit about, or seek as a reassurance theirs isn’t quite as misshapen.

Many things have transpired since we last spoke children, many things.

What of novelling?

Usu was published as a drastic push of the down key will show you, and I’ve not been idle hands since. My third novel has long since been finished, my publisher however…….MIA. To make things grander still, the publisher submission dance I’ve been doing for 2 years regarding the third novel has reached the point where I don’t actually have any publishers open to submissions left to be rejected by. Following said rejections, I’ve started to waver on my confidence in the (twice as long as Usu) work or my ability at all for that matter. Private sharing has given mixed reception. Old editor hated it and then grew to like it after slaving away at my typos, Swedish modblogger felt middling about the whole affair, about 3-4 trusted people just never got back to me about it and the one person who truly, genuinely loved it with all her heart………killed herself a week after reading it. Rimshot? Needless to say friends lavishing praise wouldn’t change a publisher’s opinion in the slightest, but they might make me feel somewhat less shit about using two years of my life on something I still feel is very special, even if only one other person also thought so thus far.

I dabble in a fourth work half-heartedly at the moment. That may improve if my living friends actually start pulling through and let me know if I made a pile of shit or a glorious beacon of faecal majesty, or I might just finish it out of spite anyway. Did you notice an underlying theme there? That’s write!

What’s with all the deathy-weathy whatnots?

 

A damned good question! In the last two years I’ve had two of my closest friends kill themselves. Dante, the chap who thought of this site’s name and Blue, the only reason I was ever brave enough to write in the first place. Dante wasn’t talking to me because of silly reasons I had long since declared silly, but I still worried about him often, bragged about him to strangers and sent him the self-absorbed gift of a signed novel copy. I had figured he’d get over it eventually and talk to me normally one day. Yeah that didn’t work out.

Blue hits even harder, and while it’s shitty to compare such things, it needs to be said. Blue was someone I knew from Modblog. Who gave shits about me…when I didn’t even give shits about me. Blue was a glue for a small group of us who considered her family, and given her family history, I think she considered us family too. Me, Janna, Mika and Luk all connected with Blue, and through her each other. Hell, I braved THE OUTSIDE to stay with Blue and Janna for a week. Partially because perving at Janna (A Swedish redhead out of everyone’s league) was unavoidable bait, but mostly because spending time with them was………actually important.

Fuck, conditions were hellish. I always had respect for Blue, but her life was harder than she would ever let on. Purely solar power, a half destroyed bathroom, borehole water and the kindness of neighbours feeding her (and us) most nights. But I was even more fucking proud of her when I saw all that. She was fighting mental health woes from childhood and back, a loveloss that burned eternal (on that we often compared notes), failed treatments that went as far as shock therapy and conditions of dire times. Yet she was so strong. She took on the burdens of others and rarely ever spoke of her own. Instead being a rock for the few I mentioned above, without even asking for a pebble to herself.

So now me and another friend are super weird and still send her messages on Whatsapp. A sort of therapy I call it, until I see those grey ticks go blue in a few years and shit gets real.

We expected it, just not as soon as it was. It’s particularly weird when a suicide leaves you with a confused mishmash of anger and understanding.

But what of your failed social life stories we all so adore?

More of those than you can count dear paragraph of morbidity skipping reader! They range from a lass claiming to be in love with someone else after the first date……..only to appear boosted on the same dating app later that day, to a very intelligent and otherwise impressive one INSISTING SHE DROWN MY SPHYNXES IN A RIVER. Needless to say as crazy cat lady myself that……….is where even I draw a line.

Then there’s a half-date at someone’s shared apartment where I ended up having more conversation with the extremely aggressive gay best friend, was almost forced to sleep over and was allowed to touch a traditional Native-American scalping knife as a goodbye gift before being very passively ghosted for the next several months.

More?! Along with my illness(es) my teeth have been internally destroyed (no saliva means bad shit yo) to the point of a full replacement. Whilst I’m undergoing the shitty top half now (and am in sexy dentures), when I was on the bottom phase I did warn one charming girl in question that I may lisp a little but was determined to give things a shot. Irony struck when she had a speech issue to point of mouth frothing. Actual mouth frothing. But I do not judge as you know (or have low standards) and was primed and ready for the……..ghosting that followed!

Ultimately a problem I’m having more and more is that I am (however shitty you may declare) a writer. An author. A wordyperson. This is my domain, my strength, my weapon. I’ve almost become completely dull to the amount of times women have been “falling for me” or “obsessed” before meeting me in person, simply because I know my written words are the better part of me. My personality is no different, and dare I say I’m even more dramatic and eccentric in person, but I’ve had far too many smitten with the “idea of me” than the “reality”. Oh did I sneak a final paragraph of minor existential crisis on you there? Worry not! I plan to continue my rejection train, especially since there is so much entertainment in my eternal folly.

 

P.S.

Suggesting a publisher, asking for a rough manuscript because you are a vague fan and have no faith in my future and even supplying me with self-immolating essentials are all welcome things.

P.P.S.

Because I’m a comment-fearing sissy manly man, you’d do that in an email. The UFAQS hold the secret.

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Time Drabble

Importing sucks ass. You’ve noticed that I’m sure. Maybe 1/100 images actually work (largely because Ubuntu has some sort lingering hatred towards allowing wordpress – and basic file permissions – to function) and about 0/10000 links do.

BUT THIS BITCH IS BACK REGARDLESS!

Of course I seem to have time warped to when the world was still a happy place for most of us (2015), briefly before we entered the darkest timeline. A timeline where my domain was held hostage (until they realised how worthless it is!), some questionable people gained supreme power and two dear friends commited suicide consecutively. Proper whine on all that later, maybe.

 

Self-Promotional-Bullshit Syndrome

UsuWobbleBIG

You know I had an entry for this, a glorious, humourus and adequately estranged one at that, but along with everything else being annihilated on the website (more on that later kids!) it seems I was wise enough to make that the one entry I didn’t initially save as a file. So you, yours and sometimes someone else’s are left to deal with an unusual mashup post instead.

First and most important, was the declaration of celebratory celebrations at Usu – my beloved life’s work until whatever I manage next – has *finally* reached public publication and world-wide retail release! Granted your chances of finding it in American bookstores are higher than those near me (something I take pride in) but both physical and digital copies are being sold in online stores pretty much everywhere at this point, and the reviews are soul-crushingly glowing. Few. Micro-biotic in their….fewity…..but glowing enough to make up for any sort of penile dysfunction related depression that fact may or may not cause when it one day comes time for a woman to have bad/drunk enough judgement to see me trow dropped and all.

My luck being mine of course has caused some irksome compliments, such as ALMOST being nominated for a Hugo award (well, almost considered to be nominated to be fair) but disqualified because of the publication date dance. This also happens to be the only dance I’ll go near with out being electrically prodded.

Wait wait, you want to buy the book?! Of course you do savvy public reader who is in no way influenced by my attempts at manipulation! Physically (and the physical copy is gorgeous – no small thanks to my editor, mysterious copy editor, foreign printererer or Swedish cover art couple)  you could:

Amazon (US)

Amazon (UK)

Loot (ZA)

Exclusives (ZA)

 

(Asking your local bookstore to order it in is ALSO a valid option, as I’ve cowered behind bookshelves as people did just that)

And if the digital desire makes you perspire:

Kindle

Nook

Kobo

 

But look there’s more! Remember how I said more on the post loss later? Well you’ve come to that bitter, childish almost ranty section through sheer diligence and scroll wheel mastery at long last my fair poppets. I suppose the simplest explanation would be low-level extortion, or an attempt at it least of all. See my glorious webhost iPage (Fuck iPage) decided randomly to destroy my database, theme files and cordon off my website because of supposedly “malicious files”. Oh but it gets much much better! IF and only IF I paid them an additional sum every month they would “unlock” the secret of not destroying my files without permission, dictating what I could or could not host on the site and allowing me to actually back things up properly. I of course did not take particularly kindly to their……………….bravado………..and was simply ignored with a “If I was you I would get an anti-virus for your pc lol” as the classy climax. This all had the extreme fortune of occuring just after my most recent post, and SEVERAL quality improvements I made on a few sections of the website.

 

 

P.S.

QUITE a bit of the site may still be broken, I’m having to manually fix every single page (several hundred) as for some delightful reason importing even my 2013 archives decided to append “11” to the end of every image link, an 11 that is about as appropriate as sleeping with someone that age.

 

 

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