Tales of a pseudo-misogynist social recluse.

I'm JC Swaney: pseudo-misogynist, social recluse, and awkward conversationalist extraordinaire. These here are the little rambles and banal drivels that erupt from my mind. Enjoy.
Mar 18
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I haven’t posted on here that much; ah, well. I guess my idea of being able to efficiently manage one was thus proven erroneous.

Alas, I’ve been feeling odd. Waves of normality, waves of sadness, waves of anger, I don’t even know. Maybe I’m just getting sick of having to wake up every morning at 7:00 just so I can go to some building filled with people I don’t enjoy, in which I learn nothing.

A couple days ago, I threw up in response to an entire class berating me- the teacher did not, obviously, but she still felt the liberty to apologize to me about it- mainly because [I think] they think all of my points are invalid because I’m “weird” to them, and they somehow assume that being “weird” is not only a topic in which it can be proven objectively, but that being “weird” is also “bad.”

I’m sick of it, I really am. But, I guess I can’t give up or anything. It’d be pointless.

In other news, I’ve been getting into acid/experimental jazz more and more. Could that somehow be connected to my shifty moods?

Feb 02
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I really don’t understand why I linked this photo here. I suppose that can be a lame attempt at helping to drive the point of this little caption itself. Maybe I just don’t understand everything that’s going on in my life. Okay, good god, that was lame, but really, it does fit right now. I wake up every day and I just wonder where I’m going, or what even has worth in my life. I’m nothing special. I wake up, I go to school, I come home, and I inebriate myself in hopes of enjoying life more. What’s special about that? So, what, I might be a bit intelligent, what does that matter? I apply myself, work so hard that I lose a sense of being/personality, all so that I can make some money later on in life, so I can drive a better car, or live in a better house? Why would I want all of that, even?  And yet, I sit here and realize that I don’t even know myself yet.

I really don’t understand why I linked this photo here. I suppose that can be a lame attempt at helping to drive the point of this little caption itself. Maybe I just don’t understand everything that’s going on in my life.

Okay, good god, that was lame, but really, it does fit right now. I wake up every day and I just wonder where I’m going, or what even has worth in my life. I’m nothing special. I wake up, I go to school, I come home, and I inebriate myself in hopes of enjoying life more. What’s special about that? So, what, I might be a bit intelligent, what does that matter? I apply myself, work so hard that I lose a sense of being/personality, all so that I can make some money later on in life, so I can drive a better car, or live in a better house? Why would I want all of that, even? 

And yet, I sit here and realize that I don’t even know myself yet.

Jan 30
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“ A man’s moral conscience is the curse he had to accept from the gods in order to gain from them the right to dream.
— William Faulkner; Novelist, and all around gentleman.
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This is Monsieur Happy. C’est Monsieur “Happy.” [Heureuse peut-être.]

This is Monsieur Happy.

C’est Monsieur “Happy.” [Heureuse peut-être.]

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So, I was mentioned…

… in a professor’s blog. A university professor mentioned and criticized me in a blog of his.

I honestly laughed my ass off. He wrote an article about how there was this event on Facebook titled “National Man Day,” and he was criticizing it, saying that all men that are on there and seriously believe that are sexist, racist, homophobic, stupid, et cetera, et cetera.

Finally, he starts quoting people who responded to his post on Facebook. He mentions me last, and actually, pays respect to my not-so-terrible English. Thanks, professor.

In reality, I posted a comment on his blog, mainly saying how much I laughed when reading it, because really, it was quite hilarious seeing myself mentioned in a random man’s blog after I decide to google my name for fun. Of course, I was not being serious with my comment, because if anybody actually knows me, they know that I’m not a sexist, racist, homophobic, insecure or any kind of man other than a mild-mannered, humble, awkward dork who’s a tad bit knowledgeable.

… I mean, I’m not gay. I’m a fucking man. Fuck that fag shit.

Jan 28
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Uh.

So, I got a tumblr. I don’t necessarily know why; alas, you can now read my apathetic, hopefully lucid, and, somehow, trivial… things, ridden with a paradoxical form of colloquial dialect; verbose purple prose mixed with “uh” and plenty other forms of eloquent “stoner talk.” 

Also— In school today, I totally pulled a Huber and made some awkward discussion. I’ll inform everyone next time. If anyone will bother reading this.