regularisperfect script excerpt #002:
Life has me stumped at the moment. I don’t think I’ve ever been this lost before. It’s as if I’m walking on a bridge, and as I’m in the middle of the monstrous formation, it begins to break apart, sending me into a state of disarray, and terror. I’m scatterbrained and am terrible at balancing everything that I do. Many people ask how I manage it all, and the truth is–I don’t. I’m an apathetic college student, a mute interning in a business full of talking, a loser who makes collage videos on Instagram, and am attempting to start up a brand called regularisperfect (I’m currently failing at that). That’s a ton of self-deprecation in one sentence, but bare with me.
Since turning nineteen, everything has gotten much more hectic in my mind. Every thought is amplified, and ripped to pieces by my conscious, because I analyze every outcome and every possible scenario at any given moment. This is the last of my teenage years, and I feel like I’m losing it. I’m desperate for love and affection because I want to fill a void in myself, and boost the confidence of the 12 year old in Middle School who got insecure and cried because his crush called his afro dusty. I’m uncertain about college, as I’ve changed my major not once–but 3 times now, and I’m only a freshman (the people processing those requests are probably questioning my sanity, as am I). I’m afraid of going out in public because I’ve recently started to dress how I want, but it comes at the price of sharp glares and questions regarding my sexuality. I’m unsure how to strike up a relationship with my distant father, who can’t seem to communicate efficiently with his own son, probably because he never had one. I’m unsure of my future in this world, as when you’re 19 years old, your life can unravel in a million different ways. The only thing I am sure of in this world, is that Destroy Lonely is my favorite goddamn rapper in the world right now.
regularisperfect script excerpt #003:
Last semester, I was sitting in my philosophy class and my teacher was talking about the meaning of life. It was the last subject in the course, as finals were approaching, so I was pretty absent minded and was on the verge of jumping into daydream land (I was off 2 hours of sleep, I vividly remember having to drive to school and feeling like I could veer off on the side of the Southern State Parkway at any given moment). She was talking about a philosopher whose name I have no recollection of (I didn’t read the chapter), and had said that one of his views was that the main goal in life is to be genuine.
Instantly, that struck a chord with me. It’s like I awakened from my vampire daze and started paying attention. She had used the example of a college student to prove the philosophers perspective, saying that: if you’re in college because you genuinely want to be here, and you want to learn for 4 years before life starts, then you’re living an authentic life. If you’re in college because it’s made out to be the thing to do, or your parents want you to, or because all your friends are, then you’re living an inauthentic life.
regularisperfect script excerpt #004:
Lately I feel like I’ve been floating, and not using my time efficiently. I have been trying harder in certain regards, like scouting the internet for interesting new music (there seems to be a drought right now, or maybe I’m just bad at my job). But in everything else, especially editing, I feel like I could go harder and do it more. I’ve been going out a lot more, going to concerts of artists I’ve always adored but never had the money or means to see, and have been frequently partaking in smoke sessions with one of my closest friends, Sean. These times spent out have been fun, but I always have a lingering suspicion that I’m not working hard enough. Maybe that’s just the western capitalist mindset that has swallowed my mind speaking. I feel like I’m so much more eager to live now that I’m 19; after all, it’s the last year I’ll be a teenager. And part of me keeps automating the answer, “Yeah,” when my friends ask to hang, because I’m terribly afraid that one day I’ll look back and I’ll be too old to go out freely without worrying about what my kids are up to. And then I look at figures in the media like Zack Bia, who is seemingly everywhere at once, and think to myself, “How do I become that? How do I have my imprints scattered all over the world at once while balancing my mental health?”
regularisperfect script excerpt #005:
It is my birthday on Monday. February 28th was the day that Stan Smith reluctantly opened his eyes, and was welcomed to a world that he would later become frightened of once his childhood innocence and cluelessness evaporated. Every time my birthday comes up, I look back on the past years and reflect. With this one being four days away, I’ve come to the bitter realization that I have never been my regular self before.
I’ve always been terrified of what another warm body walking on this earth might think of me. It’s one of my worst traits, and is seriously something I need to work on. If I’m in a crowd full of people, whether that be on the subway in the city, or walking to my next class on this claustrophobic campus, I imagine everybody drawing up a forecast about me in their heads. Usually it’s nothing too bright, and leans more on the cloudy side with a touch of rain for a few hours in the evening. This hyperfixation on my perception to others causes me to sweat profusely when I’m in public, keep my head down as if I’m on a date with the concrete, and twist my fingers around awkwardly because I never know what to do with my hands. The only coping mechanism I have is a handy pair of earbuds that usually plays a calming song by Vegyn or Aphex Twin and takes me to another dimension, one where Stan Smith isn’t crippled by anxieties that don’t exist, and actually has a spine.
When I was little and in elementary school, I didn’t have a care in the world. I didn’t think too hard about most things, and I think that was a beautiful thing. I looked forward to talking to new people; now I quiver in fear of that thought. I could talk with confidence and project my voice; now I mumble my way through conversations till people leave me alone. I could hold my head up high to the sky; now I keep it projected to the ground, as if my vertebrae collapsed.
Confidence is like the cookie on the top shelf that I wasn’t able to reach when I was 5 years old. No matter how hard I try, I can’t grab it. It’s like my mind wants me to fail, and forces me to view myself through a microscopic lens. When I think back to the few times in the past year where I was my true self, and was completely free from my mind’s worries, I was at concerts.