cloudy-jayke-blog

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Whoops I wanna die

Sorry I just haven't been inspired to write

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Note:

Party Animals three is gonna be a little delayed I'm busy at school

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In the works

Party Animals Number Three is in the works just wrote up the first draft today, don't add some stuff, make some edits, type it up on my phone and have it up by like maybe Wednesday?

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Still not totally happy with Jayke's design, I need someone with more talent and experience to make him for me ;-;

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One of Jayke's biggest inspos

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Jayke's basic way of thinking when it comes to people

Except at 3am he'd be in a rave club high on anything he could get whoops

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This is how I imagine Jayke's mind to appear

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I did the art thing

Okay so I figured I'd start practicing now when it comes to some ideas of what Jayke would look like so I did a very anime-cartoony-chu I style version but heyyy it's a start

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Concept for Jayke Dream...?

So I made this little character sheet thing, it's very simplistic but it gives a visual and some extra details. I know it's a real human and I'm sorry about that, I plan on making my own art of him later (of you wanna do that too like send it to me and I'll post it and credit you) but I fell out of my art skills and want to wait til I have something worth showing so yup woot

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Party Animals (Num. 2): Therapists Don't Know Shit

(Part 2:

Therapist: You pride yourself on your, uh, *clears throat* … ‘effed’ up-ness, don’t you? Jake: kinda Therapist: You want to be, and you surround yourself with people who push you further down that road. Jake: No not really. But the fact is that I AM fucked up and I don’t think there’s changing or ‘fixing’ that. I surround myself with other fucked up people because you can know that getting hit in the head with a brick hurts, but you have to get hit in the head with a brick to know HOW it hurts. People can not give a fuck and say ‘you’re fucked up good for you’ or they can try to act like they know exactly what you’re going through. But they don’t. People like me don’t get better- Therapist: Back to the discussion about heaven… Jake: *sighs* fine. You get a punch of fucked up people. Messed up, outcasts. And you put them in a club. Then you add a band. Play some punk shit, punk, metal, alternative rock type stuff. Something you can really jump to. Because that’s really all that matters. As long as you can jump up and down and pump your fist in the air instead of driving in into some geeks face in the middle of the main hallway at school. And you play that music, you play it so loud that you can barely stand it… and then you turn it up three notches high, man! Until there’s no room for anything but you and the music. It’s in your veins, it's in your heart, it's vibrating your bones and pounding against your eardrums like no tomorrow but you just keep jumping. Jumping in that sweaty, dirty, filthy crowd, because you’re home. All the other people around you, they get it. They all walked the same road in some way or another. Hell, even some normal people in there. Because even if their parents were fine, their siblings were fine, their life was fine, they like this music. This music of the rebels and fuck-ups and that’s the one thing they get judged on. So they are here, dancing, jumping, and fucking around with us. We keep on partying, keep one drinking, sniffing, snorting, smoking, and eating anything that can help take the edge off the pain we call this life. Until finally, the music stops, and it’s all over, we go home and drop fucking dead in that shitty old mattress, in the shitty old room, in that shitty old house full of shitty old people that we went to that club to get away from. We crash and fall asleep on that shitty old mattress. And then the next weekend, rinse and re-fucking-peat. Therapist: that’s… disgusting… Jake: ...disgusting..?! THAT’S disgusting to you?! Because YOU are the one invalidating the reason you patient is alive-- the reason THOUSANDS of kids stayed alive as long as they did. It gave us something to look forward too. You, YOU, are disgusting.

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Party Animals (Num. 2): Therapists Don't Know Shit

(Part one:

Therapist: so, Jake, why don't you tell me what your main concern is lately, hm? Jake: concern? Dude, I don't have any concerns, my mom made me come here. I don't really give a shit. Therapist: *sigh* Jake, come on. Even if it's not stuff that your mother is concerned about, what concerns YOU? Jake: oh my fucking god, you just don't listen do you? Okay, fine. What bothers me? People who don't listen, people who don't just leave shit alone. People who decide 'oh look a sleeping bear!' They poke the bear, but he stays asleep. So they fucking poke it again. And again until that bear rips their limbs off. But you know what they say? They don't say "well shit, we shouldn't have poked the bear". No, no they say "what the hell? I just wanted a hug, why would he do that?" Therapist: but Jake, you're not a bear. You're a human teenage boy with anger issues. Jake: *chuckles* and isn't that just terrifying? I mean, a bear? You know ahead of time, big teeth, scary claws. A crazed teenager? Well we're fucking unpredictable. Therapist: I feel like we're going down the wrong path with this discussion... how about we talk about... your beliefs. What is your idea of ‘heaven’? Jake: fuckin rad *chuckles* Therapist: well that's good, why don't you tell me why? Jake: why would I? You psychological types, all I'd get was an ear full of judgment. Therapist: then you probably SHOULD tell me. Jake: *rolls eyes and scratches head* fine, it's not like you'll change my mind. Therapist: *smiles* thank you for opening up to me Jake: yeah, yeah don't get all mushy or I'll just fucken leave… Therapist: alright, I’m sorry. Continue. Jake: Heaven… it can’t be the same for everybody. It just can’t. And my personal heaven is easily achievable here on Earth, so it ain’t nothin’ special. My idea of heaven, you just take a bunch of fucked up people- not the crazy, lunatic, psycho killer kind of fucked up- just fucked up enough that they’ve been through shit. Fucked up like me. Therapist: You pride yourself on your, uh, *clears throat* … ‘effed’ up-ness, don’t you?

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Also...

Quick thingy this stuff will also be on Wattpad my Wattpad name is GeeTwi so go do the things if you wanna

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Party Animals (Num. One)

There’s a lot of different type of people. A lot. There’s the ‘Preppies’ who are about the ‘perfect child’. Well behaved, down to earth, logical. Boring. They follow the rules and think too much, not my style. There’s the ‘Parties’ who do just that. They party. Party until they drop. Dance, sing, hang with friends. But at the end of the day, they are just a ‘Rebellious Preppy’. Outside the party, they do as their told, and even go home on time for curfew. Still boring. Next is the ‘Drunkies’. This is a person who doesn’t really do anything but lay in bed and drink. Some drink with friends. But most are alone. Similar to the ‘Junkies’ who basically do the same but with weed and acid. They also tend to be in groups, more often than not. The ‘Shadies’ are the hardcore Junkies who went a bit too far. They do the harder stuff: heroin, cocaine, crystal meth, etc. Some even sell the stuff they have to each other or in an attempt to drag the Junkies down with them. Misery loves company. The ‘Jesters’ are those kids that no one really wants to talk to, but they are always trying to make friends. They are a bit of an outcast from everyone. The only people-group they can fit in with is a bunch of other ‘Jesters’, but they are all so different and diverse that none of them really fit together. Like a punch of puzzles pieces from different puzzles. Sure, some might fit together perfectly, or at least pretty close, but there’s always something a bit off. Next, the ‘Douche Bags’. They are just an all around dick, yet somehow have a lot of friends. They don’t really get invited to parties or social gatherings, they just show up. Then the ‘Common Talkies’. They are the most common type of person. Some are a little bitchy, but for the most part they are just nice people who know all the gossip. They are ‘the popular kids’ but nicer than in the movies. Most social gatherings are made up of about 60-90% Common Talkies. I, on the other hand, am not any of these. I’m a hybrid of many of them. My kind is the most hated of all of the types, and most commonly known as the ‘Party Animals’. We dance like the Parties do, we drink like Drunkies, we get high like Junkies, and we socialize like Common Talkies. We don’t care about curfew or what time we get home. We’re only Preppies at home, and even then, we don’t always follow the rules. But most importantly, we’re Jesters. Jester’s at heart. None of us fit in, but when the music is loud and the beer is cold, the bright lights are flashing and the pills take effect, we all fit in. We all move together in this mob of music lovers, all these depressed wristcutters, under-eaters, over-workers. We all fit in this tiny club off Route Guano. Jumping, singing, screaming along together, not as a cry for help, but celebration that we found a place where we escape all the pain until the pain catches up with us. But never here. If the pain catches up with a Party Animal in the club you know for sure that they went out having a good time. We’re comfort-seekers, never-sleepers, and we’re here. Here until the sun comes up and we all go home, back to the painful homes we desperately avoid. Until the next night, where we escape again. Bring on the drinks and the painkillers, the Party Animals are home.

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Hello

Sooo... this is a thing. Basically I rant to myself and argue with myself about my morals and lifestyles and all that shiz but sometimes in characters and try to sound as poetic as possible