A Wolf Without Claws

This will not be cheerful

You may have noticed a lot of personal posts and that funny posts are far and few between up here. I told you all I was self-medicating for possible depression and that initially it was working out for me, aside from the fact the effects were short bursts of joy that melted into apathy, but still it was progress. I saw my GP and he sent me away with a questionnaire to fill in about how depressed I am; whether or not I sleep well, eat well, hurt myself, think about ending my own life, enjoy what I do, and unsurprisingly I scored in the twenties on a scale of twenty seven for depression so I now have to return this form and see what he will do with me. I scare myself at times because I don’t feel like myself and though I’m cynical by nature, sometimes I lose the plot entirely and freak out at anyone who I think will take it. I feel safe to explode and be emotional around loved ones, but now my girlfriend weeps for me and I’ve lost friends due to it. I know some of you will say that I deserve it, and you’ll smile like a smug little shit that my world is falling apart around me because I’m an arse but I come to you humbly to say that this is just how things are, you needn’t make comment at all.

I want to rant more, to make you all laugh and smile. I encourage people to laugh at my expense because even then, they are smiling and I am the reason for it. This blog has given me so much pride in my ability as a writer because just two days ago, I got 100 views in one night and I was ecstatic about it. Writing is my passion because, though I sound the arrogant twat in written form, in reality I barely speak a word to anyone about anything – my own family and girlfriend included. I’m a reserved man and save all emotions for those I think I can trust enough to witness them, but otherwise I am playing as myself through smoked glass for social reasons. I’ve hurt many friends, and made many enemies either through being a pigheaded fool or through trying to defend something, and my life is full of people who will never speak to me again. I never gave it much thought but recently, it’s started to hurt and all the scars of my past ache as one inside my head, laughing at me for my failures in life. I used to just power my way through anything and everything and thought myself the greatest man alive when I was younger, and even now the arrogance I display is that of self-assured superiority of intellect and complexity than my peers but ultimately it is all just a bluff, a safeguard to hide the shame I feel in being me.

Friends and lovers, you are exceptional creatures if you truly value me as something more than a destructive and unsocial monstrosity that you manage to cope with because there are times when I really don’t like myself. My enemies, and there are many, love to look down upon me as this scheming and filthy little cretin that plagues their existence and should be snuffed out and though I loathe being patronised and looked down upon, especially by those whom I do not consider greater beings, I cannot do much more than bark. I’m weak, physically and mentally, and have been for some time. I used to fight off all enemies with ease and would crush anyone who dared speak against me but now I can’t find the strength to swat a fly. I’m falling apart and my whole world is crashing and burning but I don’t write to you to beg for the mercy of my fellow men but to tell them that if this is what they sought, they have won. I am a broken man, a wolf without claws. Look at me now, revealing the weakness in my heart to an anonymous sea of glaring screens and scrutinising eyes that look to me and expect to see something. A hero, a comedian, a fool, a monster – I am all these things and none, for I fear I cannot remember who I truly am or who I truly wanted to be. I wanted only to live for love and honour, to make my mother proud of the son who hesitated and cowered in fear, and to show the world that I am a man to be recognised through the words of my soul.

This was inevitable and now I am lost inside of myself, fighting a war in my own head as to who I should be? Does this chaos justify anger? Fear? Should I weep and beg for salvation? Should I shift the blame for what went wrong in my life to my situation or onto others? Was I ever justified in anything I did in my life, or does justice count for nothing in this age? I must seek answers within myself and my past if I am to have a future where I can call myself a man of the people and ever hope to mend the broken bridges between myself and this world we live in.

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Again with the Apathy

You may, or may not, be aware that I, Jacob Wolfe, occasionally suffer with mood disorders, the most prominent of which at the moment being apathy. Apathy, simply put, is a severe case of who gives a fuck and includes symptoms such as unusually slow conversational speed, sighing more often than Severus Snape post break-up and the overwhelming urge to do impressions of a boulder at any given moment someone attempts to make you do something. Can I empty the bins? No I can’t, I’m a fucking rock and I’m gonna sit here and do rock things like not emptying bins. Apathy in itself wouldn’t be too much of a problem if it weren’t so spontaneous and didn’t come with the option to switch over to being an unbearably explosive nutcase when the whole catatonic gargoyle thing wore thin and my brain didn’t decide to play my emotions on shuffle like I’m a bloody i-Pod.

This is a personal rant, in case you hadn’t guessed, so don’t feel obliged to read on unless you want to see into the heart and mind of the man behind the rant, and if so please leave your coats, knives and unnecessary comments at the door where my non-existent fuck-giving attendant will hold onto them for you until such a time I decide to give a damn. Arrogance is possibly what I’m best known for, but I mostly use said arrogance to give me a means of self-defence against criticism, a lack of popularity and the disapproval of others with the idea being ‘So what if he thinks I’m a prat, I think I’m awesome’ and this is a great idea in theory until even you are calling yourself a prat then you fall at every hurdle like a donkey with four broken kneecaps. However, there is more to me than this arrogance and macho character I like to think I am and that is this overwhelming desire to be remembered as a lover and a man of honour, which can often lead to difficult decisions where one forsakes the other and so on. I want to die knowing that when I’m gone, someone will cry at the funeral and someone will say the words

“We mourn the loss of Jacob George Wolfe, a man who lived and died by his beliefs and would sooner die with honour intact, than live on a thief and a coward”

Dramatic, maybe, but the world is a stage after all so call me a full on variety show with masked dancers, monologues and the like. I’ve put apathy aside for now and tried to enter a sincere frame of mind to tell you all that what worries most is that as I am right now, a temperamental and exceedingly impatient old man, that I may just burn down every bridge around me and leave myself on lonely island with just my conscience for company.

“Cocked that up eh? Man of honour eh? You’re full of shit and then you wonder why people complain about the smell when you insist on unloading said shit onto everyone else’s heads?”

I’ve got a good circle of friends and my girlfriend, Alice, is the most supportive woman I’ve ever met and could possibly ever ask for and bless her heart, she’s seen me change from the happy-go-lucky cowboy who never says die to a greyhound with a limp and no nose. I talk about this like it happened over years, but I was the kind of guy who reckoned he could punch through brick no less than two years ago. I hear my former self sneer at me at times and demand of me that I get up on my feet and stop being such a pussy but having no ground to stand on makes getting up a damn site harder. Literally feels like a lifetime ago I was the king but it was only just yesterday in the grand scale of things so I know I can undo the damage I’ve done to myself as swiftly as I’ve done it.

You hear that world? I’m down but not out, and I might be weak at this moment in time but I want you to think that so you get cocky and put your foot down on my back, because then it’ll make getting up and kicking your arse all the more satisfying. Rest assured, I was kicking the shit out of you once upon a time, with a smirk on my face as I did so, and I will do so once again if it means I die straight afterwards. I’m not the only one coming back up from the depths of hell though; you know you can do the same if it means that much to you. You, the anxious, the unloved, the sick, the poor, should all rise up and fight your battles once again because there is no defeat as long as there is blood in your veins to lose.

Give me my victory or give me my death.

The Western World

As most of you are hopefully aware, I have been born and raised in England, the largest country in Great Britain, and the land seemingly remembered across the world as being home of the crumpet, cucumber sandwiches and cups of tea. I can tell you from the offset that whilst these stereotypes have their grounds in reality, they are generalisations that don’t apply to every single Brit you meet, much in the same way that every American isn’t a gelatinous blob rolling out of Wal-Mart on a mobility scooter with a cheeseburger in one hand and his automatic rifle in the other whilst loudly singing Stars and Stripes. Britain and America rip on each other like two psychopaths who have stumbled across a spare box of waxing strips, and occasionally one calls the other this or that and everyone gets on their high horse of patriotism and ultimately proves nothing beyond the fact that those who live in privileged countries can find nothing better to do than kick up a fuss over nothing whilst blissfully ignoring starving orphans and dying soldiers in distant lands.

I would like to point out I have two nationalities, being both English and Maori, the indigenous people of New Zealand, and I proudly declare myself as being a mixture of these two countries. I pride myself on my Maori heritage and love to ponder my possible relation to chieftains of note, but I do so whilst sat there with a mug of tea so I’m trying to find that balance between being Mr Bean and a Maori warrior. I love England but I also love New Zealand and though sometimes I’m a little too keen to give history lessons on the latter, I don’t ram my nationality down anyone’s throat as if forcing them to drink the blood of my ancestors so they can understand my heritage a little better. I can say beyond doubt that not all of us are that considerate to others when we consider our nationality and the difference between being a patriot and shoving star spangled boots up our neighbour’s arse.

Second thing to point out, British people, is Great Britain is called such because it is the greater land mass in comparison with Brittany, a small nation near France, and it is not an honorary title bestowed upon us by God as if to say ‘You Brits got it right with the whole civilisation thing, assume your God-given right as pretentious overlords of three quarters of the world… fuck…’. Britain is more than just England too, Americans, it includes Wales and Scotland, sometimes even Ireland, or as some of you know them, the dragons, the angry men in skirts and the drunks. Once again, all stereotypes and not to be relied upon as cold hard fact but I will advise you never pick fights with the Irish because I know a few, and they’re a spirited bunch. We can all be proud of who we are, by all means, but your pride is your own and shouldn’t be made into a patriotic baton to beat foreigners with.

America is said to be the worst culprit for self-righteousness, viewing itself as the land of the free, the brave, the bold, the intelligent, the rich, the blessed, the inventive, the creative and pretty much every other flattering adjective but let’s not forget that as well as Britain having Churchill and quiet sensibility in its favour and Tony Blair to hold against it, you, America, have George Bush and serious issues with gun crime so let he who is without sin cast the first stone and people who live in glass houses shouldn’t shit all over their furniture. America has some good points and some bad points, like every other country. Yes, you’re the country that gave us computers and Facebook and Google but you also gave us the war in Iraq and you somehow earn the scorn of every terrorist organisation in the world and it’s not just jealousy that drives them onward.

Britain, America, you’re both flawed nations and you’re family really when you look back far enough so stop this pointless argument because we can fight forever on who’s better than who to no avail. Every category you can think of, both nations has good examples and bad examples of each. Politicians, inventors, weird laws, criminals and so forth, it goes on and on and on. However, neither of you can assume the moral high ground and you can both be dicks to one another with silly stereotypes that make no sense, with Mr Britain telling Mr America to fuck off home to have sex with his children then polish his gun whilst lazily filling his face with melted cheese but then Mr America would counter by telling him to shove some jam on toast up his arse until his snot turns pink and he passes out in the middle of his sexual encounters with the queen. I’d like to make this clear: people who make a point of having these arguments have an underlying common problem with their own character and that is that they are actually just angry nerds with acne, sat at a computer being flag-waving narcissists who couldn’t get sex in a brothel even if they shat solid gold.

At the end of the day, I’ll still hear some dumb shit happening in America on the news and I’ll smirk with my air of haughty British sarcasm and say ‘Oh America, such a great place to live’ then snigger to myself but that said, I live in a country where there was a serious political debate over who eats more pastries. The entire western world is fucked in the head; there is no point in being racist about it.

Arrogance and Apathy (Originally Published – 8th February 2013)

Oh it’s a funny old life being Jacob Wolfe, self-confessed arrogant twat who rules his own little world but falls flat on his face at every hurdle. I recently triggered a massive debate when expressing my views on gay marriage, by which I mean I said I support it, a few people said they didn’t and I explained my argument before they buggered off then someone more intelligent tried to argue with me and it ended in agreeing to disagree, though with some discrepencies along the way. I won’t change my mind on core beliefs no matter how hard you try, and frankly my opponents weren’t trying to convince me they were right but rather tell me what I believed in was wrong, so to speak. I found the debate dis-satisfying though, the only intelligent counter argument to mine was that of religion and to me, talking to religious people about their beliefs is like signing up for being fucked in every orifice by a power drill, it’s a long and painful process that I don’t willingly agree to. I have my own personal religion so whenever anyone else brings up their religion, I’m offended by it, usually because it’s without me asking. However, with the topic being homosexuality, I should have been prepared for such. I’m arrogant, I admit it, and there are many reasons for that so I’m inclined to think I held my ground pretty well and did so with civility but being me, I never feel any sense of accomplishment in these confrontations. I boil in my own negative juices it seems, forever spiralling downwards because alongside intellect and arrogance, I decided to mix in pessimism and a general loathing for things that breathe… Great mixture. So, whilst I can often engage with the intellectual aspects of a person, their spiritual beliefs leave me with a bitter taste in my mouth and any stupid comments of any kind whatsoever instantly ring the prick alarm bells in my head. I can’t help it though, I think it’s just my character.

I worry about my cynical side sometimes, as humourous as he is with his massive vocabulary and the ability to outwit almost anyone who tries to challenge him but as much fun as he can be, he’s a miserable mother fucker and he’s quick to judgment. Internal arguments with myself have led me to believe I’d be a nicer person if there were less human beings crowding around him and doing stuff he hates, like existing. I guess I’m walking this tightrope between nice guy and total cunt but I’m doing the stunt whilst drunk and balancing on one foot with my arms cut off so it’s a bit hit and miss which side of the rope I fall off, the side where I pick you up off the floor or the side where I shoot puppies in the face… that’s a metaphor, I have no ill will for any puppy on the planet. The probable explanation for this is somewhere along the line, a younger me said ‘Fuck it’ and it just kinda stuck and honestly I swear that is the logic my brain goes by at times. Fuck it, I’ll tell them that they’re irritating. Fuck it, I’ll do a little extra work. Fuck it, I’ll go back to bed and grumble off to sleep. I realise I’m complaining a lot but it needs to come out and if you’ve read this far, you’re probably interested anyway which is kinda weird as effectively you’re just listening to the grumpy ramblings of an old man, so to speak. I’m bored, I’m broke and my body has developed the ‘Fuck it’ logic too, spontaneously deciding to make my spine feel like it’s made of uncooked spaghetti or my head feel like I’m lying on the road during a car crash. I spoke to my doctor, said it’s all just stress and depression. Thanks a bunch, you useless imbecile. The doctor also suggested my mood could be explained as the development of a sense of apathy that my body is reinforcing by periodically shutting down the systems at moments where it should be working. Oh well, I shan’t give up because I can’t give up and I haven’t done so previously so I’m not gonna start because of a few aches and pains in the joints. You’ll find I’m man enough to shoulder any burden I’m needed to, and then ask for more, because whilst I may be struggling at times, I still have that voice in my head that thinks I can run up waterfalls or punch the face of the non-existant God I don’t worship and that voice is what drives me to fight through each day

I was going to use this paragraph to tie things up nicely, or round it off with a positive note and a joke, but if I had a strong note to end on, I’d act on it myself. Besides, conciliatory endings don’t always have the same impact do they? In that regard, until my next rant, go away.

Fresh Hot Humble Pie – Highly Recommended (Originally Published – 30th January 2013)

Well fuck, seems that only two days ago I got so emotionally charged that my fingers went mad at the keyboard like a fury of small mallets attacking plastic gophers but just looking at my Facebook News Feed and the people around me is often all I need to get so fired up that I’d carve my rants into a baby’s face if it looked at me funny. I find myself unable to comprehend what runs through peoples’ heads these days and I mean that as more than just a psychopathic man with social issues, I mean that as a man with a brain in his head. You know what a brain is right? That pink mushy draft excluder between those flaps on your head that seem to be purely ornamental for most people, as if they’re just two flimsy scraps of pig skin taped onto a kumquat. By now, you’re probably hoping I trip over a pipebomb and land in the jaws of a pissed shark but the truth is that, myself included at times, we’re all just a bit stupid and wrapped up in our own pride and petty issues.

Ok, so run with me here, this is serious. I’ve often berrated half the people I’ve ever met in life for rambling on about twoddle I wouldn’t wipe my arse with, to which they reply with various colourful ideas involving said arse and sharp objects, but I seriously think a lot of us need a serving of humble pie and a smack across the jaw. I mentioned in a previous rant that I used to be a bit of a loose cannon. Strike that, a bit of a loose cannon would imply I just got drunk every now and then and missed coursework deadlines, I mean loose cannon as in that lifting people up into the air by their throat and cursing at them was my standard form of greeting and my pass times included fights, fights and more fights. I’m not afraid to admit that back in the day, arsehole was the nicest thing you could call me, and my reputation in the community made me sound like Jack the fucking Ripper. However, my selfish lifestyle granted me a huge loss and suddenly life was dipping it’s hairy balls in my mouth for being such a massive tosser. Humble pie, ladies and gentlemen, is the meal you never seem to order but you will always end up eating sooner or later, whether you’re the local twat or a full on bloody billionaire. Look at Romney, even his piles of money and an ego so large it in itself would need a seat in Congress were not enough to overcome his opposition so now he spends his time doing the rich guy equivalent to slitting his wrists… probably fucking mermaids and eating caviar until he collapses from the worst smelling orgasm imaginable

How does this apply to me, you ask? Simple, in more ways than you probably think. I had a serving of humble pie and it took me a while to build myself a new bubble of arrogance and even that’s just for display. I don’t mean to say that I privately sit in a corner crying and wishing I was Duke Nukem, but even the level of pretentiousness I’m at now is overplayed for a laugh and I’m easily thrown out of my groove by a sharp criticism and a backed up argument. I think that’s what gives the impression I believe myself to be superior, nobody has constructed a good enough reason for me to go kill myself and those that could do so, won’t do so for whatever reason. I guess it’s easy to cry over the little things, because ultimately the small details can add up to the bigger picture, but there are ways of handling things that put you in the wrong that just work better. I’m guilty of this, and so are you, and that’s attributing your misery to others. I’ve gone through a lot of work to stop giving a shit about the people who make me miserable and about eight of ten of those people have no power over me any longer. The world is cruel and savage and so forth, and I’m not gonna be the one who protects you from it’s horror or tell you it’s ok because you’re not here for comfort, you’re here because you know there are elements of truth in my comic ramblings and if you can’t see it, you’ve probably got bored by now and gone off to play games with the cat or something. I grew up with disappointment, and so did most of you, so why do we all feel the need to fly off the handle about everything we can’t have? People, tears buy nothing in this world but the sympathy of the few, and even that doesn’t wipe your runny nose for you.

Incidentally, a better idea for us all is to hang the sense of it and make the most of what comes your way, whilst trying to find that one thing to hold up as an umbrella in the shit storm. I imagine I’ll be unwittingly ordering more humble pie very soon, even though I still have some leftovers glaring at me in the fridge, but if anybody wants a piece, I recommend it and would suggest you serve it hot with the cream of consideration

Thank you.