Yeah, I feel just fine.

I Slept With Bonhomme at the CBC

2011-05-19T06:01:00.002-04:00

Feel Good Lost.

http://grooveshark.com/#/album/Feel+Good+Lost/90855?src=5

Drinking. I never could get behind it, and yet now I must to scour all the ill influence and negative thoughts from my mind, along with such inhibitions as the meaningless guilt and shame menagerie on constant play in my mind.

Here's to the good life, wherever it is, whatever it may be.

Even if I'm no longer a gentleman, I will drink like one from now on.

So where have I been? I've stuck myself into one of those eternal ruts to see if it'll suit me any better, to self-flagellate myself for every minor sin I commit in my waking life. It hasn't, and yet I'm stuck in the rut. I wake, I sleep, while everything in-between the two is a matter of lost and wasted time. I blame it on the weather, but even that's not true in the entirety of things. The truth is, I let myself fall so low as to no longer have confidence in my actions or my thoughts, and as such I've become the kind of person I despise the most; someone who lives in every fear of their own shadow. I can't even take a piss without feeling disgusting.

I think I raped myself, it's the only justification for the amount of violation I feel.

Anyway, I haven't seen much of anyone, and I've begun to push away those I still know due to varying reasons; either they haven't changed much, or they've changed too much. I believe they've done the same for me and my intolerable makeshift personality. It makes me wanted to be consistently fucked up on drugs just so my appearance isn't as predictable as theirs.

You don't know me.

Harsh words, but they always fall on deaf ears since no-one ever took me as an honest person.

I hate your sense of humor. You're not funny, you are very annoying. And so I will annoy you back until you never speak another annoying word to me again.

/childish breakdown

annoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoyannoy

/childish breakdown

Except the word "annoy" will be filled with sarcasm hatred laced counter humor in real life when I'm talking to you.

I don't know what I've done or what's been done to me to make such an unfriendly person out of who I was. It's like each day I get further away from all the good things I used to know about myself. I also measure that with each friend I lose.

And so, as the friends and days drop like flies, I consider killing myself or joining the army to have someone else kill me for what they think I believe. And I'm not a pessimist. Should I survive I'll be a better person than anyone else you know. Yours truly will be a new Great Gatsby, forever doomed to be fucked by life and love.

I became abstinent to try and regain my innocence about love. It hasn't worked yet. I'll let you know if it does.

I play guitar better than I used to, but I don't really feel anything when I play it any more. In fact, I rarely feel any emotions, which most people don't take seriously or find hard to fathom considering they still have theirs and never lost them. And considering emotions are the driving force behind most actions, that answers why I never do much of anything.

I don't think I have a soul anymore.

You think I'm exaggerating, joking, being poetic, or I'm simply wrong, well, you can go fuck yourself with a screwdriver. (Funny, I'm drinking a screwdriver right now. 1 - Subconscious 0 - Me) The only times I being completely honest is when I post in this blog, and it just goes to show you never understood me when all of this is (or might never be) held up to my personal history and those who thought they knew me. After all, I'll get the last laugh when I kill myself some years down the line with a favored pistola. And I won't shoot myself in the brain, but the heart. As foolish as that sounds, I don't want to look a mess for the funeral home.

I'm not worth anyone's time. Not even my own. And this isn't an ode to self-pity, just a very long suicide note explaining why I did it. And if I don't kill myself, well, this is just a memoir of how rubbish life exactly is.

Yeah.

Apology to You.

2011-05-05T04:23:00.000-04:00

I am so so so sorry.

I'll stop now.

I only did it for so long because I'm not myself.

New Spring.

2011-04-15T15:01:00.002-04:00

Can't give in yet, despite myself. Somewhere the realest part of me is still wandering about with a lit lantern, keeping myself from dead ends. And in the night it haunts me like a distant melody from a song, misconstrued and held true to the shape of my mind, in a ghost's "Who are you?". So I wonder, having been crippled, if I can walk again and whether or not I should even try to climb insurmountable walls even if I could. To take my own thoughts and push against the boulder rolling downhill at speeds the last of my kind dropped it at, seeing if maybe this time will be the time I'll succeed in trying to open a new beginning and the potential for a true ending.

I don't speak my best unless I'm pushed to it, because I think it's a waste to show my heart in fear I'll waste it on anything less than what I really want.

All melodrama aside, I got lost in who I'm not, and in that vast clusterfuck of personality, I began picking at the threads that make me who I am. And considering I only had the vaguest idea of who I was and an even vaguer idea of who I'd like to become, it's a goddamn struggle. All's not lost though, after all, I still exist, right? Though I always feel the sensation that time's running out.

What if time is running out? And then I panic. Except panic never helped me in the slightest.

I've been dissolving so long in despair that most of me has wasted away in my character building that nothing's left to remember what it feels like to feel okay, much less good.

god, even my most recent Youself playlist doesn't help.

I figure it'll all make sense eventually. It damn well better, I've been mixing up trying forever, waiting forever, and giving up forever with little success any way I've gone.

All I've got left is my hopes.

So, psychiatrist appointment within the next ten days, gotta find a way back into college, save money for car insurance, and somehow stay sane. Which is considerably harder than expected.

I'm Albumstuck.

Medium is my favorite new instrumental album of the year, courtesy of the Homestuck Music Crew. Check out their other ten billion songs too.

http://homestuck.bandcamp.com/album/medium

Hope

2011-03-29T03:26:00.001-04:00

"If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery--isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is."

4/1/11

Gotta draw the line somewhere.

"Let's Dance to Joy Division" My ass.

2011-02-10T14:04:00.003-05:00

Am I indie enough yet? Do I qualify to be someone you like yet? Am I fit to be wearing a hipster crown? I'd tell you to go fuck yourself but I'm sure you're desensitized now with your irony, the misused beauty of love for catastrophe. Go suck your own dick. Just kidding.

It's not that I lack tact, but refinement. My shock and dismay is too great to be contained by paper plates of how I feel in the company of Everyone, where I'm the only one not talking, it's like I'm the only one not here, or I'm the only one at all, sorry, I'm a wallflower blended in, for sink or swim I'm not like you. and though I haven't read the book I immediately understand the concept of being noticed and instantly forgotten.

I am an invisible
disappearing
entertaining
foolish
obnoxious soul.

Or... a ghost, if you prefer.
I guess I'm not cut out for anyone.

Just kidding.
I'm serious.

Lost my mind, got it back.

2011-02-08T11:49:00.000-05:00

Gonna on the attack.

I don't believe in my mind

2011-02-04T21:19:00.003-05:00

I don't know whether to doubt myself or not care about doubting. It's a confusing mix of the two when you live in a split world, where you walk the line without notice in one while you're always gone in the other, as opposed to a dream where you're living but never thinking, because you live like you know what you're doing, carried by some purpose. I wonder why life isn't like that? Why isn't life more like a dream, you know? It feels as if it's everything but. I feel like a shape cut, a jigsaw without the rest of the board. So when will it all come together?

I swear I know sometimes, but every not and then I lose hope and heart.

Is it a tragic, or comedic? It all depends on how you see it and whatever your sense and humor might be, I guess.

I think it was always one or the other, never both, but it seems to change in whoever's eyes I'm looking through. So I wonder what I feel like when I'm wearing glasses, or (if I already am) when I'm not, if you understand.

So I wonder who I am, if you catch my drift.

That's what I wonder about every day. As someone open to influence I am, I've lost all sight of what it's like to be myself, because I lost my real self a long time ago when I began to wonder about what life is anyway. Like a dream who fell out of the dream, I walk in confused ways because I don't think this is the life that could be.

so who knows anyway.

Confessions

2011-01-01T13:59:00.000-05:00

I was wrong about 99% of everything. Even love won't save you.

The Turnover.

2010-12-23T20:54:00.004-05:00

This Blog has been taken over by John Athens.
But you can call me Jon Polite.

This blog is now closed.

You can follow me at jonpolite.blogspot.com

John Athens

2010-12-07T14:43:00.001-05:00

Is back from the dead.

Let's play Court, Indie Kings and Queens.

The game looks easy, that's why it sells.

The resource cannot be found.

2010-12-07T07:57:00.000-05:00

The resource cannot be found.

Geno.

2010-12-07T06:05:00.000-05:00

It's all about magic.

On being absent-minded.

2010-11-20T21:35:00.003-05:00

Last night, I remembered almost far too much. It's like trying to and failing in catching up in a book in one night, so much so you've forgotten the exact lines, but now you sort of understand the plot a lot better.

My right hand does things I didn't know it could do. My left hand doesn't let me know the things it can do for good reason.

I took a long walk with a good friend, to the edge and back. I lost almost everything I found out, but remembered the basic details. I recovered part of personality, as it were. I realized there's a reason why I tried to be absent-minded. It's a good thing that even if I get too far ahead of myself, there's a reason why. I've satisfied curiosity, for once, as well as anyone else's who would care to know. And though the Truth is ever changing and ever wandering, so am I, and I will catch up with it some day. I sort of know everyone else's guesses are wrong to some extent, and I realized that's why everyone has fears. You shouldn't fear failure, you'll only be blocking yourself from acting in a manner that suits you. I've for, the most part, reclaimed who I am and now I lack far less doubt that I ever have since I've started to think to much.

She's out there with my keys somewhere...

I try to live my real life as secretly as possible.

2010-11-17T19:42:00.004-05:00

The truth behind all things is the hardest thing to really hold. I pretend to be coherently crazy, under a persona I invented for myself. I've held original thought somewhere buried in me, letting each wave of the world batter me while I maintain, until I can speak my peace. It's said that you must have the suspension of belief to endure a play or movie, and that one has to give somebody the benefit of doubt before they can judge them. I feel like a heretic unto myself, taking everything in, despite how it feels. I feel the real truth tug at the back of my mind like guilt would on your gut...

That being said, not everything I've learned has been false. There are true thinkers and innovators always prepared to lead the front and find their own Truth, not prepared to think inside the box or outside of it, but to build a better theory in order to find a lost cat.

I respect those people the most.

There are believers and followers, and I can't fault them for it being their decision, not everyone wants to lead. I will look down on those, however, who call themselves a believer of any sense who puts down others to serve themselves or their belief.

Keep in mind, all is fair in love and war, as long as you're truly fighting for it. Sometimes people used to have entire constellations named after them. I could only hope to have my tombstone have a single word that is universally as acknowledged or understood as sets of distant galaxies and stars.

I feel like I rarely write fluff, and when I do, it's almost too much to sound true and yet is.

I wonder what I've done to myself. I feel like a blindfolded escape artist with tied, handcuffed, and padlocked hands who's forgotten all of his tricks.

And then got amnesia.

And in a world of people who think they know who they are, it only compounds my confusion.

It's just a matter of time until I turn all the locks.

I hope she knows we're getting engaged this summer.

2010-11-15T16:50:00.004-05:00

I mean, really. I doubt she does know, or even suspect, or cares to think it'd be true for even a moment. Or maybe she already does know ahead of time and has already planned out the ceremony in her head. I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.

I wonder where she is at all times, and I hold that wonder far back in my mind to keep my mind from being constantly consumed by the desire to be nearby.

I get jealous easily. I am a jealous yet moral person, and I say that I hope whoever I have faith in would do what I'd want them to do in that situation, yet not do it because I want them to, but does it because they want to and it helps that my consideration is similar.

Easier said, I hope that she's like me but better.

This post probably has the most tags I've ever crammed in, ever.
So I think I should justify it.

Ok, recently, I've lost my mind several times, and proceeded to find it, whereupon I was surprised at it having learned far more than it knew before. The problem in this being, a lot of what it learned was a mix of things both true and false, of things either everyone else already knew, or things no-one else knew at all, including myself.

Which really shows there's more to the Truth than anyone knows. Even I don't know how it will all go down, I can only make my plans and live in the moment, trying to catch the next wave. It's a dizzying height every time I go up, but it's better than drowning or half-assing it like some do. Or not even bothering to go out into the sea like so many choose to do.

... Sometimes, I think she's the Moon and I'm the Sun. It's the only thing I can compare her to when she's not around. At her best and most unique, the classic sliver Crescent kind, waxing. When she's with me in spirit, a New Moon. When she gets in my head and drives me crazy, a Full Moon.

There are other times I think of, where the real Truth is she's my Sun, but I've yet to see her show that side, so I'll keep waiting.

I hope she knows I love her. It's true, there was one other true love I had, but she died long ago, true story. [Barring time travel or anything else, that is.]

Maybe we've both changed so much in not seeing or talking to each other that I'm utterly wrong, and to be honest I'm wasting my time over a long daydream, that's lasted for awhile. Maybe I should be dating and getting out there meeting new people and making friends and maybe I don't really know what I'm doing and I'd bring us both down if we ever saw each other.

Then again, she doesn't really doubt herself at all. So I shouldn't either.

Plus, I want to get married before The World ends in 2012.

I think she'd find it funny that I told people I was married to this girl when I was thinking of her, or that whenever I was making plans I told people I was engaged. Though she'd not find it so humorous that when I was looking for her in other women I called myself single. The Truth is open to interpretation, as every day I wake up as a different person on a different day.

I just wonder what her interpretation is.

Sometimes I feel quietly cool.

2010-11-13T00:02:00.002-05:00

There are times when my mind wanders in the night, looking for clues to who I really am.

Other times it's not. Sometimes it lingers on yet, leaving me unable to sleep.

I feel like I die a little bit every time I sleep, as I surrender much of what I know to my subconscious,

which buries it for future reference, as though there are some things I need to forget.

And yet, I learn so much while I sleep at night, as I wonder why my real history is a mystery even unto myself, and I try to recall who I really am.

It feels like a temporary sacrifice, just to keep living.

I dream of a week where I can be myself and not worry about who I really am.

I want a day to be lost in without doubt about where I'm going.

If I ever get lost enough, I'm sure I'll run into the truth just by sheer improbability.

Give me a million dollars and I'd run.

Give me a million dollars and I'd have a dream.

With a dream, an 8th day isn't so faraway.

Halloween.

2010-10-31T19:46:00.003-04:00

This is the second most magical time of the year.

It's the only day I can be myself without regard for laws.

I've learned a lot these past two (almost three) days. I've learned magic, astral projection, time travel, what true love is, and even how to be psychic. I started my journey long ago, and now I know it's a dream, a story that never ends. But like all dreamers, I wonder of what could be, and what should be.

So, in truth, what should be?

I plan on finding out what's written into a riddle.

A page from the King's Journal

2010-09-18T21:42:00.006-04:00

I wear red and purple while I can. The midday moon shone it's best, and I kept the day safe while I walked into the night. I now carry a company of children, men, and women, trying to save what I can, someone who still can believe in something more.

It's been a long time since someone's chased after me, but it reminds me that I am not alone on the roads I walk. It gives me greater hope, and lets me dream of a peace to be attained. Because I've found that peace is not something that can be found alone. What is a King without his kingdom?

I've traveled a long way, I've walked through the wind, the rain, through lightning storm and hurricane alike, braved my best alone in the freezing snow more times than I can count on hand. Though never having a place to call home weighed heavier than any other burden, and it was all that pressed on my mind.

Home. The most familiar word that echoes in my mind more than any other, that associates an almost childish kind of longing. I had a people once, lovers once, believers once. Things change. I changed. But now I seem to have found some place somewhere, similar yet entirely different. As is said, not all is well and not every thing is quite right, but maybe that's because of my own account. Settling, moving on. I've found love again, a siren's call here yet there. I've held a place, found it's worth, yet I am still invisible, through a looking glass as one ever was.

I hope to build anew. I've wandered for far, far too long.

If anything, I feel needed, and it's come time to set my tent, rest, and teach something new. I've already begun, in setting forth a motion that will make waves.

I have come to make a mark, to change the world again, as someone who believes in more, and believes in you.

You can't lose all the time.

2010-09-17T11:15:00.004-04:00

I slept for awhile. My dreams are erratic, from full blown lucidity to an immersion where my subconscious takes me where I need to go. With the former, I've gotten to the point where I can stick my tongue out in a dream, open my left eye and look at my bedroom ceiling, and still peer into my dream with my right eye. It's a very odd way of being half-awake. It takes practice to perform such a magic trick, such that I have to walk around with one eye closed frequently.

Some people tell me I'm not a magician. Well, you have yet to run into me in a dream then, because if you had, there would be no doubting what I'm capable of.

With the latter dreams, my subconscious will strip away my absolute lying self and tell me how I really feel. It told me I loved her with all my heart still despite me telling myself I no longer cared, and proved it. I'm a sucker, but it's all I can be. Though dreams can't change reality.

What pisses me off is that I can't even be dramatic about it.

I woke up feeling better than I did last night. Being able to dream is the only reason I've made it thus far, because it gives me something more to believe in. Otherwise, I'd be long gone, driven insane by the mediocrity of most of normality.

I think her room number was 1806, or something of the sort. I even remember what it looked like, and I wish I could've stayed longer before my alarm woke me up, even if it was just to watch a movie.

Thought you mind find it interesting; the only reason I didn't recognize her was because she pronounced her name differently.

Somewhere.

2010-09-17T00:22:00.004-04:00

My brother found me earlier this year.

I was in the darkest corner of my own mind, hiding from the world. I was sorely tempted to be left there, but he knew I'd die sooner than the universe wanted me to if I had. He told me we were still needed. My birthday is coming up, and with it, the shadow of my potential demise. Every birthday I've had for the past several years has been increasingly traumatic, leaving me a distraught crying mess somewhere. I don't know what it is that causes it, but it's something that resembles a reality check, where I look back upon my entire life and see how happy I am with how far I've come.

For some reason, I never feel like I've managed to do anything at all.

This year I hope is different. I am no different from last year, but I hope that my actions will reflect upon myself much better, and will leave me with my barely sustained state of contentment. Otherwise, I might kill myself. I say that because I know that I won't, even if in reality every year I get closer to just letting everything go in such a fashion that the only possible result is I burn out and die young. But every year, I hold on to some small spark of hope that life will reward me for my perseverance, my actions with good intent, my kind demeanor, and the virtues that have held my darkest self at bay for so long.

It hasn't yet. But I suppose the only aspect of hope is that it can only be expected to be fulfilled, nothing less, nothing more.

I am beyond the reach of anyone now. My brother has died a tragic death indirectly at the hands of humanity, his only fault that he tried his best to find good in them, and was inexorably yet needlessly punished for it. I tried to tell him, but he could do no less than what he strove for, for that was his true nature. He could do nothing but believe in the spirit of humanity, because to doubt anyone else was to doubt himself. I cried once for him, and once more for humanity, because they know not what they lost in their ignorance. It could be said his words left weight with me, but they hold no influence over me, for it is my nature to doubt humanity. One day I will take on his hope, but until then, I can only carry a saddened gait that knows no aspiration.

I cannot believe in love. This is because I cannot bring myself any longer to believe in another person as I've seen no-one else is capable of believing in me. I gave myself to the fire only to burn in it foolishly.

I didn't quit smoking, drinking, or venturing into that 'other' world to forget the normal reality, because I am an escapist in half my heart. I feel if I didn't run, I'd be swallowed whole by the maw and pressures of the real world. It is a far too ugly truth to face, and though I know it, I cannot abide by it 'til comes time I am able to change it. Though secretly I fear I never will be able to.

For majority of this year I have slept, and let my now dead brother reign over our affairs, but now I know that to be a mistake. I thought there might be some good left in the heart of man, that I no longer had a need for that dark corner of the mind, but I was wrong. The truth needs to be told, no matter how ugly.

I will not die before my time, because another time is coming, and it is one that requires me to be present and ready. I am a pessimist, but it allows me to account for every wrong turn taken. The universe still needs me to right it, because no-one can work a miracle like a magician.

just another bad night

2010-08-28T01:50:00.000-04:00

Jesus wept

Oh, we use our eyes to fill in most the gaps.

2010-08-23T01:15:00.005-04:00

I'm not sure if I can be as sincere as I feel. And it's been the longest time since I've felt.

I like the shirt you wear. Sometimes.

If I didn't talk to myself I'd never know how I was changing. I don't want to forget what I am, if I ever knew, because all people see are past versions of myself. I feel it's best to constantly keep update.

When every word can be twisted more and more with longer spans of time and shorter memory spans, it becomes hard to stay true and at attention.

So there's a million people to see, a million things to express, but I never end up saying a thing of value these days, or as much as I'd hope the intrinsic value my words hold.

I'll never have writer's block, because I'm always constantly on my mental feet and thinking. And more often than not it all gets lost in translation.

They say every year you get older and wiser.

Well I hope I stay golden and speak lines of myself that reflect my inner value, of the same shine and the kind that won't die in someone's mind, but just stay there to lie for while yet.

Yet, I never get to say much to anyone.

I guess it's because I keep one eye shut too often I'm not thinking properly, I've always been coasting on one track alone. It's no way for anything to get anywhere, least of all my untrained trains.

I wonder exactly what a Half Light is. Twilight? But it doesn't quite sound right. But despite not remembering, I remember what the feeling was of experiencing it.

And you wonder why you cry sometimes. Sometimes you forget, sometimes you forgot you hold the ocean in the shell.

I love too much that I am blind to it. I live my life with a negative misdemeanor, without realizing who I'm really being is all I've ever been. I regret nothing.

Now I know why people often tell me I'm good at what I do.

I want to embrace as fondly as I must've experienced once upon a time.

"I like living, it's easy
Moves like a gift in a weather that's breezy
Blew by my lips
Shakes like the uneasy when seduced by a kiss
I wanna slide my hand underneath your pillow where it fits

I got a set of sticky fingers and a back built for hammocks
But this ain't no doctor's note and I ain't no blank canvas
It's just the way the pen is, I'm good at what I do
From failing to falling in and out of touch with you"

I want more than a vote of confidence from myself. But I can only wonder if I'll hear it from someone I want to?

libra

2010-05-05T22:31:00.003-04:00

Looking for: someone with a nice voice to come over
and talk to me for awhile, pay scales with time

2010-03-25T00:12:00.004-04:00

I'm sorry. Really.
I'm not a rock star or a baseball player, I'm something of both;
I use a metronome to play guitar and I'm constantly looking for home.

It's the sensation you get

2010-03-24T23:41:00.001-04:00

when you feel the ground fall away,
and you aren't falling.

Half the things I write here are not true.

2010-03-22T05:51:00.001-04:00

But half are them are true. So it's more than anyone else usually gets close to in the span of a reading.

Weighted tongue.

2010-03-22T02:47:00.008-04:00

It's been so long since I've stood in the sound of heavy rain, so please take me out to drive in one lane - alone.

And when I die, when I'm long gone will someone write letters to their loved ones about how they covered my song? And when I'm buried please bury me with the keys, since if I go to hell I'll be everywhere I used to be.

Tongue tied, I swore my breath died when I couldn't catch your attention, though I'm sure that was your nonchalant prevention. So I hope someone good will tell me I'm not good enough, it'll give me inspiration to live up to.

And the one thing I can't talk about are these blinding lights, I don't repeat what's already been said, so there's so much I choose to keep in my head. And I don't keep what's in my head.

I won't lie, but I feel my acquaintance keep using me for their own ends, and they're the only ones I can't depend on, for a solid conclusion to my elusive case.

Keep in mind if I'm being laid down on my death bed, keep my pillows under my propped head so I can die with so meager fleeting grace. And no one I knew or talked to will remember my face, so I will continue to talk about how I never believed in Jesus Christ.

If you're wondering what my final thoughts were, I'll be thinking about where my hands were some time long ago, and how, "When I wear this hat does if it'll make a difference where I am, I think not, it's always awkward from where I stand."

All I ever was was the lost neighborhood dog, becoming soaked and smelling like a too soon April fog. And notice this song isn't about fucking, I'm just leading you on.

So don't take offense when I compare you to everyone else, because I swear, when you talk you sound just like everybody else.

And the one thing I do not on purpose - is mumble, so when you can't heard my words, I'll breath in the lines and breath out one last verse.

Venting.

2010-03-20T01:13:00.007-04:00

Second post of March. it's getting warm.

There are very few times I feel truly touched. And usually, it comes from an incredibly insignificant source or reason. Though I do tell my family I am grateful for the things I've done, and the same to my friends. And I mean it. But there have been times where I actually felt relief from depression for some reason, and those are the times I am more grateful and I can actually feel my heart thaw.

Once, I was lying on my friend's couch in the midst of a party going on outside. There were about forty people rampaging around having a good time, and I my attempts to socialize failed miserably. If I could be like Smith at any point in my life, that would be it. Unfortunately, I didn't know him then, so I couldn't appreciate the irony of living someone else's misery. I digress; as I laid on that couch, I felt more space between myself and the rest of the world than imaginable. Any hello or other greeting I could have managed failed to suffice, and would drop me into an abyss of awkwardness when the person I was talking to realized I'm not someone they talk to. And a cat chose to jump onto me. I don't get animals. But they like me. And they're more affectionate sometimes than most humans I've ever met. That cat was there for no other reason than it wanted to be near me, and it stayed there for three hours, to keep my company when the rest of the world wouldn't even care to try. And for that, I was thankful. I was happy.

I've spent so many nights staying up wondering if anyone was alive in the middle of the night. I live alone. I eat alone. I write alone. I do everything alone, and when I go out, I am still alone. I am alone when I talk to my friends, when I attend class, when I study with a classmate, and when I'm talking to the person working the cash register of the restaurant I'm eating at. I try to look them in the eyes, and they look everywhere else but mine. So many of the people I've met are afraid of actually connecting to someone. I've been told it's creepy to do more than glance at someone you like. I've been given weak handshakes, or varying "handshakes" that don't last for more that a second. People are uncomfortable to hug me for more than two seconds (if at all), and feel awkward if they don't pat me on the back. It's not manners. It's a fear of getting to know someone else. I don't know what it's like to really know someone else anymore. I've lost the ability to understand anyone. But maybe that's because as we get older, you don't want to be understood. And it really kills me. Because I don't really "get" anyone I know. Not even my best friend, my exes, my forgotten friends, my family, or myself.

I lie compulsively. Much less than I used to, but I still lie. And every time I true, it's believed so easily. But whenever I speak the truth, it's disregarded quickly. No-one seems to appreciate honesty. Am I really so untrustworthy? I can't remember the last time anyone fully confided in me more so than anyone else. I can't remember a time where I was the friend of someone, not a friend. I know those times existed, I can remember names and an occasional detail from a memory, but I can't remember the time it happened. Or maybe I'm just lying to myself.

I have dreams of making friends, falling in love, traveling, adventures both grounded and fantastical, I have dreams of me being someone else that seems more like myself.

It's upsetting.

Catharsis

2010-03-16T01:17:00.003-04:00

Been a long time. Here's to March, and the oncoming spring.

So many people I know pretend they have standards. Some don't. I think I'm a mix of both. I don't really know what I want from someone else. Maybe because they don't meet my standards, so I expect nothing from them. It's a damn shame people can't settle for less, or they accept less without settling for it. I myself constantly commit the sin of taking what I can get. Be it love, life, truth, or goals. The only thing yet to fail me are my dreams. So while you're happy with what you have, I'll constantly be looking for a girl with sunflower colored hair and blue eyes with a face I used to know. Because that's my impossible standard.

I'm trying to get better at guitar and writing while I waste my life away in college. Because I feel like as long as I can salvage something from these years, I won't regret how I've spent my time a decade from now. Though for whatever reason, I still don't feel like picking up skills accomplish anything if you've got nothing to put them to.

I wonder if I can buy a drug that fuels motivation. If I could naturally produce ambition, I wouldn't be where I'm at. But if I don't accomplish anything without striving for it and actually feeling like I've done it because I tried and succeeded, my accomplishments become worthless. I know on my death bed I'll feel I've lived my life to the fullest, but right now I don't feel as if I'm living at all. I go back and forth between manic and depressive, and I try to get by without thinking of suicide. I don't intend to waste my life, but that's what I feel I'm doing.

I don't have much to write about, since even though I contain so many thoughts I'm fit to burst, they're all things I've said all my life. What I desire more than anything right now is a sense of closure to the depression era of my life, so I can start anew and be content. They say it's teen angst, but I feel as if this will carry on into my late twenties.

Let's go somewhere. I don't care who I go with, or where we're going, but I don't think I can stay here much longer and survive. I hate the cities, but maybe that's because I almost have no money. The only emotion that actively moves in my body now is wanderlust. If I don't get out, if I don't move, my sense of adventure will die as I attend these classes. I've got to find something worth living for. For a generation who spends so much time learning and on the move, we never really go far enough. Because if we did, we wouldn't have the time to complain about our lives. This town and this room are beginning to feel like a massive stagnant pool of water. I don't want to live my life here.

It's 2010 of March, I'm eighteen, and I already feel like I've entered my mid-life crisis.

Maybe that's a good thing.

Time is not a doctor, so get out of the rain.

2010-01-14T20:48:00.007-05:00

Quite frankly, I should be working on my Calculus I homework. But hey, I've had a bad night, and although it should have felt worse, I think I stopped feeling pain awhile ago.

All that said, I'm back.

I have a soul again. It's weird. I was reminded I even had one by someone telling me what I knew so long ago. And similar to a movie flashback, I had a rush of thought, emotion, and above all, -conscience- stirring back in my shell. I had actually cut away the bullshit that was covering my eyes, filling my ears, and was resting on my tongue. I feel I can actually think for once.

That being such, I've hit a proper balance inside myself. Honest, yet able to hold a secret. Brilliant, and motivated. Trusting, but not to a fault. From the bottom of my heart, I can actually have emotion again. Weird. It's like learning how to ride a bike when you were young, having it stolen, whereupon a decade later it turns out you just left it over your friend's house, and nostalgia is as nostalgia does.

All that said, I feel like an evil bastard.

For once, I told someone how things really were. I said what needed to be said, and maybe it came out wrong, but I don't regret saying it. The evil part is in saying what I said as frank as I did, and the bastard part in not regretting it. So I suppose being a hero is just being fake, humble, and always putting yourself in the best light.

Good god grief, is that really what this world has come to? Have I not seen it sooner?

... I still feel like an asshole. But functional love is impossible in this world, at least for me.

One day, I hope for a civil war, where the poor and disillusioned (not one and the same, though they might be depending on the person) fight against the rich and famous (likewise) and destroy the constraints we lock ourselves in. And as a result, we can start from scratch.

Because as unlikely as it sounds, people need a blank slate to start anew with, and they don't know they're as blank as they come. You can always change. For worse, for better. You can always remember, for worse, for better.

Let me tell you, the human race needs to stop being a bunch of asshats. Is that frank enough for you?

That's all. Check out [ Subnormality ] to see what sparked my recent revival. If you can't read the lengthlier pages, don't bother checking this blog again or meeting me in person, because I will slap you silly.

People should read more. You'd be surprised how much more understanding we'd be.

Resolution

2010-01-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

I like the universe, but she messes with my words
I'm not talking planets or galaxies and the distance just makes it worse.
I know what you're thinking, this probably sounds rehearsed.

So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.

Liquids, powders and pills, not quite taken against my will.
The tastes test of girls, from all over the world
who refuse to accept my excuses.
She put up with so much of my madness and my self-abuse
She would tend to my wounds and fill me with food when I'd stumble in drunk for breakfast,
She was right to take off before she was consumed

So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.

So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep

Let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.

I like the universe, but she messes with my words
I'm not talking planets or galaxies and the distance just makes it worse.
You're totally right, every action was well rehearsed.

end.

2009-12-24T00:31:00.005-05:00

"No. Fuck it." Every time I try to come up with an interesting line, I try to impress. I try too hard. Trying isn't the fucked up part of it. The fucked up part is that I'm not doing any of it for myself. I'm doing it for the rest of the world so they'll pay attention to me. If I tried to impress myself, if I tried hard to work on my life, it'd be so much better. But I'm not. So. No, fuck it. This time, I'm writing a testament for myself.

Under all the stories I tell, under my white boy accent I got from my friends, under the outgoing and lazy traits I've seen to be popular, under all the shit I've filled my mind and body with is someone I didn't know. I was everything I had wanted to be all along, but I had constructed a fake personality to be, and I had become what I pretended to be. This was my one outlet, to write while thinking of my real voice, a pretender pretending to be the person I had forgotten in hopes he'll come back, and I'll be true again. Everything I've done these past five years wasn't me. I don't think I can fake this life anymore, lest I lose my soul for good.

The world isn't a mystery. Read a thousand books, and you'll learn to see everything fits together, and you'll realize just weren't looking from the right angles. The world has a plot we construct for ourselves. We can't forsee all the accidents and mistakes, but you can expect them and account for them if you can learn to read the storyline. My entire life I've been able to read the signs, but I've lived like an actor following a script, unable to avoid penned tragedies. I speak with a goddamn mumble because at some point, I just memorized the lines and stopped paying attention to what the fuck I was saying.

When I say I'm tired, it's not something that can be fixed with rest. If someone stabs you in the chest, you can't fucking sleep on it and get better in the morning. I don't know where I'm going from here. I don't know what I'm going to do. But I can't let my life go on cruise control any longer. I am so tired of believing the lies and excuses I've told myself to get by. After all the books I've read, every single one has a better ending than I've seen to occur in real life. I don't know what I believe in any more. People attribute the greater things they don't understand to God and Science and move on. I attribute God and Science to those greater things, and I'm going to move on.

I know the secrets to being happy. I know the secrets to flawlessly destroying yourself.
I don't know how to live. I hope I find out.

This is my testament. Thank you for reading.

I bought back my heart with it's weight in blood,

2009-12-23T22:52:00.003-05:00

I set it to beat to the tick of a time bomb, and I have destroyed everything the very moment I gained what I had been looking for... for so long.

Take my body, and burn it in a boat.

2009-12-12T21:12:00.002-05:00

I think I've had my last meltdown. I've thrown away almost everything in a short span of time, and I don't think I even regret it. The semester is over, winter is entering it's long stretch, and I've started sleeping all day waiting for the sun to set. I'm not quite sure what point there is to being here, but here in this room I am, waiting for something to start, so I can start anew. I realized I can spend my entire life alone. I'd be depressed, of course, but wouldn't I be just as depressed by being continuously wrecked by other people and myself?

This will be short.

I need money to buy a better place to sleep in and eat healthier. I need a job to have money. I don't want to work anywhere where I'll start hating myself. And I can't think of a single place where I'd be fine with working. So I'm more or less fucked.

There should be someone to hear me out about all I have to talk about. I don't want them to tell me anything, just hear what I have to say simply because they're interested. Not because they care, but because they read what I write and let it affect them. But I'm not sure if there's anyone who'd listen to me, much less be changed by me.

I guess that's why I started this blog.

Travel Journal #1

2009-12-05T15:38:00.003-05:00

I hope, no, I day dream that if I make any more mistakes, I can learn from them. I have become more conscious of my day to day affairs, and I have realized that I accomplish nothing every day. I want to change.

I sit in a car, somewhere I don't want to be, on my way to somewhere I don't want to go, and I want to rid myself of the part that is easily pressured and convinced by others along with the part of me that is desperate enough to want to listen to them. However, this requires me to first convince myself, which is naturally impossible.

I have given up on relating to the desires of other people, because everything they claim to have is everything I want, but everything I see them do I mentally ridicule them for or is impossible for me to accomplish. I really want to be sorry for once and genuinely change myself, but it seems no-one I know is capable of it, and we're all humans, so maybe I can't either.

I haven't been in love for a long time. It might be best for me. On one hand, I have been far more clear-minded, but on the other, I haven't been truly happy in so long. The piss has been taken out of me, I have no vigor to help accomplish anything on the numerous lists of things I wish to do. I need to forgive myself for my past errors, but I want someone else to first, or it's impossible to think I can get past my past self.

It seems like I destroy or under-appreciate everything I have, and I am told I do it because I enjoy being upset. I am told I do it because I enjoy being unhappy and depressed. I am told I do so because I am only happy when I am suffering. After being told that for so long, I've almost come to believe it myself. If I desire anything, it is for these statements to be proven wrong by myself or someone else. Because despite all my unhappiness and 'suffering', I'm not truly happy.

I lack fear. I am not afraid of anything but losing my very own soul. It has come to mind that people are driven by fears that they have to overcome. If everyone else has fears, maybe I need to start being more afraid. If I have something to conquer, even myself, I can get better. I hope I can get better.

I don't feel like I'm growing much these days.

This scar turns purple in the winter.

2009-12-05T06:20:00.006-05:00

Fuck everything I was originally going to say in this post. Because it was entirely meaningless shit I pulled out of my ass to make a filler post for this part of December.

I'm not a goddamn patron saint, but forgive me if I want to mean something to someone.

I don't know who I am, or where I'm going. That's what I was going to say. But that has become a lie this night after too much stress and too much night-time backseat driving. I know where and who I am, and where I'm going doesn't concern me. I haven't slept in around twenty four hours. That's helped clear my mind more than I can tell you. I have thought, it is true I want fans. Though I only want a fan I can be a fan of.

But let's start with the basics. I want to tell almost everyone I know this:

"Don't ever talk to me again. I don't intend on seeing you from here on out. If you're wondering why, the reason is so simple I can't hardly understand it myself. I couldn't until now, after five years of interference between my heart and my mind.
I surround myself with people who see me as someone more than just someone. Each person I consider a friend or lover is a bigger part of my life than myself, and is essential to me.

I thought about whether or not I'm essential to you, and I'm sure you don't have to tell me what the answer is.

Tonight, I realized I'm expendable, a detachable part of your life. There are six billion people on this Earth, and to you, I'm just another one you just happened to become familiar with. I'm not your best friend, I'm not your lover, I'm not someone you need. I am someone you hang out with because I am funny, or I'm a hypocrite and I ask for attention. I could so easily walk out of your life and hardly affect you, and because that is what it is, I'm going to do so. After this, I will never talk to you past a common greeting. You can tell our friends I'm a dick for all I care. But as far as it's going to go, you are going to watch me walk away and not fight for a single damn thing. And I'm not going to fight to change someone else. So what you're going to do here is watch me walk away without a single 'good-bye'."

And it will go unsaid. Because I don't have the guts to say this to anyone without the naturally made opportunity, and no-one has the patience to hear this out without interrupting me. However, here in this journal lies my resolution, and I will hold to it, because no-one else will hold me to my promises. I am so entirely sick of thinking after a night of going out how bad I felt being there. But that's my life, a motto of repetition,

J. Cassaday, Feeling Bad Everywhere.

I've found myself a liar in a mirror, and he's fun to talk to.

2009-11-25T13:07:00.005-05:00

So ends Fall, and the onslaught of Winter begins.

Winter is hell. Every hell imaginable.
Although I'm sure it's debated which is worse, a death by fire or by freezing, I'll be the one to side with slowly dying by lack of heat is a pathetic and incredibly horrific way to go.

That being said, I would just love to die from a lightning strike. That would be the most fulfilling moment of my life. I don't have a deathwish, but being killed by a natural phenomenon and electricity somehow makes me think that is the most bad ass cause of death. I'd hate to drown, freeze to death, burn to death, die of old age, diseases and/or on a surgical table somewhere.

But death by the all famous Zeus' Wrath? Sure, go ahead and turn me into a metal rod.

But I have more expectations of my life to let it end any time soon. I have matured, like a caterpiller into a butterfly. Except not really. (For those of you that don't know, a caterpiller that goes into a cocoon isn't the butterfly that comes out.) I have more or less had my tumor of intelligence removed alongside my depression, and so now I lack any motivation but to live, eat, breathe, shit, and sleep. Not in that order. And there may be a few other things. But it seems like in a week I only have eighteen hours that seem any different from one another. Just like in a blizzard, everything really gets whited out to be the same.

It's odd, I don't know who I am anymore, but whenever I write, through stories or this blog, I always sound the same, just a bit older and a bit more immature. All my life, I've lived a shaken snow globe, and in the blizzard you can't see the town, so it's odd for me to know where I am when it all settles down.

So status update; I'm alive, without love yet still wide-eyed in my time, I'm doing just fine getting my gangster Bachelor's Degree and later my all-powerful Master's Degree.

"But what field?!" I hear the crowd shout. But what else could I major in? Journalism, of course, is all I can seek. "But won't you be poor and start living on dirt floors?!" But of course! It's all I can do to make myself seem legitimate and dedicated, considering I've never worked a god damned day in my life. I mean really, if someone came up and offered me a job, I'd take it. Seriously. I need money.

Worrying about other people is my [favorite past time] / [part time job]. I try to be the most reliable person for anyone other than myself. Although, once whatever problem is dealt with, I completely ignore the person I was helping. I think it's because I can't stand to have anyone I know be upset except for myself. I don't know what to call it, it's simply my condition. I'm not interested in breaking down my psychological processes. It's a pain in the ass.

So I might fail college. Probably not, but I should put a lot more effort in. Funny, I should be writing my speech paper and finishing a story that someone commissioned, but I find myself updating my blog.

It's 'cause I find talking to no-one more entertaining than my other priorities.

I don't think people should talk to me. I want people to want to talk to me.

I am a victim of my own thoughts and ideas.

2009-08-10T01:28:00.003-04:00

How has it come that my sun filled hours and nightly ones have been possessed, no, for a better word, HIJACKED by day dreams and fantasies?

This is absurd. Is my life truly so boring I have want of another? Does my longing run so deep as to constantly think about what might life could be like? (Or in some situations, what my life could be like if I was someone else entirely.)

And so this wandering train of thought brought me to a point of wondering: " What do those who have everything they want day dream about?" Do they at all? What is life like without impossible aspirations to strive for? Boring? Satisfactoy? Awesome as fuck?

Someone get back to me on this. It's important to my well-being.

Striking a different tack, when will I finally accomplish something I can always feel accomplished for doing? It's nerve-wracking nowadays. I've begun to lower my standards. Screw love, I'll settle for a pretty girl who likes me. Screw being famous, I'll settle for one day liking myself. And LASTLY, screw you, because there is no one reading what I write.

I think, therefore I am.

I think I am alone, so I must be, correct?

I wondered why we never used the front door at my grandmother's old house. Now I know.

People take for granted something, or someone, that actually serves their intended purpose. This is my new excuse for not doing what I'm told.

"As Life Gets Longer..."

2009-07-20T15:03:00.005-04:00

It's occured to me I must force upon myself reason and logic in order to be happy. All my actions are far too willy nilly, crazy, and generally insane. And I've been about seventy-five percent miserable throughout this period of idiodicy.

"Think before you speak." I've never really thought about any of the important decisions beforehand. I've always rushed in, for better or worse. And when things have turned out for worse, I've fought with all of my available strength to change the world to suit my decision and make it better. Odd way to have lived. Even odder way to live now, considering what all I've done has resulted in.

If wishes were horses, it wouldn't matter. I don't even have a goddamn high horse to ride in on. There's no changing the past, unfortunately, and it's even harder to make the future what you want it to be. Especially for those of you out there who don't know what the hell they want.

But it doesn't really help me either way to know what I want. Doesn't mean I can have it.
I want a back massage. (Not going to get one anytime soon.) I want to be loved. (Not going to happen anytime soon.) I need to get a good night's rest. (Might happen.) So maybe the Rolling Stones were right.

You can't always get what you want, but sometimes, you can get what you need.

Yeah right, as if I'd end on something cheesy as that.

So check out my band's website. Because we need more followers.
MYSPACE.COM/beautifulstates
... I should probably get people to read my blog first.

The Wishing Fields.

2009-05-29T18:25:00.008-04:00

"Uh, dude, some retard put onions on your onion-less pizza. Is that a showstopper for you or would you like that remade? Oh, alright, cool, I'll throw in some free food too." - Some Donatos guy.

If you don't give up, life still can fuck you over.
Bullshit life into believing it'll work, and it might.

I love when people surprise me by being clever and interesting. It makes it seem as if humanity has a hope by circulating positive karma. I do my best. I try to be so much more entertaining than I really am. I am never confident in anything I do because I never get reassured enough, and when I do, I don't believe the person reassuring me. I more often than not get shit for all the things I do.

I've become a realist who encountered a full-blown romance and let it change me. It's annoying grip on me becomes more prominent every day. I like it. I hate it. I think I'm in love with myself for being in love with someone else, unfortunately. I'd run if I could, but I already gave in and gave up. So I quit smoking because I knew it'd impress her. I quit smoking as a personal testament to a truce on the war against myself. I quit smoking because I was beginning to enjoy it too much, and that's slightly tragic.

I can't get lost in anyone like I get lost in her. I won't trust anyone like I trust in her. If worst comes to best, I'm going to college, getting married, having a child, and settling down too early for anyone else to respect me for. Not necessarily in that order. It'd be interesting to see the reactions of my family should best come to worst. I don't want to miss having this opportunity in the future, because I know the value of what I have now.

But hey, if worst comes to worst, I'll be tragic enough to write better.

I have a cut on the inside of my lip. It's killing me. It won't go away. Salt water, listerine, nothing will cure it. But I know it'll be gone eventually. It won't end my life. Although while I have it, damn this cut.

I started writing a book called The Wishing Fields. I don't know what it's about. Because I'll never get it right. I got it from a dream. Lke most my worst/best ideas. I'm working on it. The overall idea is a girl who comes to expect more than what she has, and a boy who's reaction is to want to give her more than he has. They both don't know each other well enough to justify a damn thing, but they are an essential part of each other's life. She can predict his life, he's sure of nothing but that he loves her, and is guaranteed to fuck up until he gets it right.

Second chances are usually much more effort than they're worth.

The fifty-second chance is usually the one that'll kill or make you.

The Cure for Boredom amongst people is Blogging.

2009-04-26T00:07:00.005-04:00

Whew.

I'm tired of parties. But this only happens when I'm at one.
I'm starting to worry about my life more. Future goals, college, love, etc.
I have no ambition, and no motivation to drive me.
All I speak is pure drivel these days.

I like blogging. It's a slate I can pour all my thoughts upon.
And simultaneously be truly obnoxious.
I care. About you, myself, my friends, my family. Sort of.
Just not enough. Not nearly enough. Only adequately enough to keep going.
And going.

I remember days where I used to just hang out and enjoy my life. Not simply tolerate it, but actually feel like I belonged where I was. Thinking about those days brings out a nostalgia I never knew I had. Sitting around the John Deere curb with my skater friends, talking shit about pretty sunsets, life, and still saying we loved the shit, the shit tastes so good.

We used to walk around at night, sometimes after other school's football games (ours was nothing to speak of) meeting new people, being hilarious, and existing as people who believed that our lives would become nothing, but we had what we had, which was enough to sustain us. It's not our lives as a whole that make an era, those moments are what make us. Not golden years, since there are no such things. No, golden moments. Moments we won't forget, and will look back upon, saying: "Don't fucking remind me of those times. Those were the good days." Because as a whole, these teenage years are stress, bad decision making, drama, holding out for a better time that won't happen.

No, it's those golden moments that make our lives worth it.

It's like that old, shining, nostalgic Americana period that never existed anywhere but we know happened. It happens in those moments where you're lying on your friend's roof looking at passing cars. It happens walking through lit-up empty football fields in the middle of the night. It happens when you have no where to stay, and you ask some girls if you can crash on their floor, and they let you. (Thanks, Megan and Laura.) It happens when you first realize that happiness does occur, and it is occurring to you.

I never realized spring is so heart warming, and that all these things I remember actually were worth remembering.

Don't fucking remind me of those times. Those were the good days.

It still feels like winter to me.

2009-04-19T12:19:00.005-04:00

"A cold open is the technique of jumping directly into a story at the beginning or opening of the show, before the opening credits are shown."

And then I realized that's what my entire life is. Just constantly jumping back and forth between stories, with no clue what is going on or any idea about what's happening. But I suppose that's what makes it all the more exciting, albeit equally frustrating.

So I lied. I said I would post three times a week, when I haven't even touched this for a little more than half a month. I guess making promises make me betray them through procrastination. I hate my personality.

Good news for those of you (who? no-one, in all actuality) who read this and despise me. I've had all my personal possessions taken away from me (apart from my cigarettes and lighter) and I am being forced to live like a monk for awhile.
Who knows, I might actually work out or get things done now that I have no outer distractions.

I was on the bus earlier. A blind person got on the bus with a seeing eye dog, and when she sat down, someone had the deformed brain cells to say to her: "That's a beautiful dog you have there." I hate people sometimes. They make me irate.

Irate is by and by a good word...

I realized I have an intense dislike for hope. As a ridiculously sized double edged sword, it really does crush you if it doesn't come through. But if you remove hope and lack expectations, you won't ever feel the happiness of that rare occurrence where your expectations are fulfilled.

Uh, yeah.

Where are my fucking glasses?

Anyway, I was totally and utterly destroyed a couple of nights ago (emotionally, like the whiny little bitch boy I am) after going out and having my heart crushed. (Wah wah, hear me cry.) So afterwards, I went to drown myself in my other friends' comfort and their alcohol (read: shit beer) while trying to recover from my traumatizing experiences that I so regularly indulge in. I surprisingly succeeded.

It's funny, watching a small intoxicated Vietnamese friend of mine trying to drunkenly walk in my friend's girlfriend's (although technically she's also my friend, so the pretext was not required) heels.

I need to take things as they come. Moderation. Not to look the gift horse in the mouth, but not to ignore the fact there IS a goddamn horse.

I'm not good with moderation.

Two things dawned upon me.

1. The word friend is incredibly cheap.

2. Ugh. I still like her. Almost love her. Even though there's no chance of me being happy with her.

But you know, in the end, after all your excuses have been cast away, it's all about the girl. That's all there is to it.

I need to smoke.

Because SMOKING, DRINKING, and SNORTING COCAINE makes you cool.

Right?

The latter half of a monday is the killing half.

2009-03-30T13:07:00.001-04:00

There should be an accent...

PART DEUX (Yeah, I like faux-french. Hence my remarkable usage of the word faux.)

Someone once told someone who told me less is more.

Now it seems to me that seems a bit situational. If you’re overdosing on heroin, obviously less would have been just a bit more healthy for you. I’m not sure if that’s what the someone meant, but it’s the way I see it.
Because whenever I get more of what I want, my life is proportionally better. Less of what I want: my life gets proportionally worse.

I hate semantics. Which is all I seem to discuss.

I’m going to start writing a book. Dunno how, considering I am almost certainly incapable of writing in the third person. (It’s not natural, I tell you.) But I’m going to try. And then publish my work. And watch in despair as no-one buys the two copies sitting on the shelf in your local bookstore.

I bet if I cried on a webcam people would like me more.

I’ll be updating this blog tri-weekly. (No, not every three weeks, that would be semi-monthly, as in once or twice a month. You are fucking stupid.) So probably Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. For future reference, I’m not doing this for anyone. Because there’s no anyone who reads this, to my knowledge.
Maybe I’ll get a cute Internet stalker. At least that would make life a bit more interesting.
Whoever’s reading this (probably myself) should send me presents. They help my self-esteem and overall quality of life.

I could probably turn a better profit making shirts on the Internet than I could being a writer with an English major saying: “I am most unquestionably intellectual, hence my remarkable usage of the word ‘irascible’.”

Fuck, now I’m just as bad as those tools who sit at their computer making fun of English majors.

There should be an accent over the e in cafe. But there isn't.

2009-03-30T11:04:00.001-04:00

If there's one thing I know, it's that I haven't had enough sleep.

Getting up in the morning takes more effort than it should. Really. I have to threaten myself to convince my legs to slide out of bed. I'm sure there should be an easier way.

There's a rolling sensation in my gut, like two boxing prizefighters with a long grudge decided so say "Fuck it", and go all out. Or maybe I'm hungry. I won't know until I feast later on today.

I decided my friends weren't good for my health, and cut about half of them out of my life so that I don't become so frustrated I die of an emotional heart attack. Hormones drive teenagers insane. Which is only several levels of fucked up because we build the foundations of our life during these years. Great, isn't it?

I noticed the vending machines in the school's cafeteria are the same models that were used in prisons ten years ago.

Being broke makes you think that you'd be better off with money. Well, you're probably right. But you'd still have some amount of problems that would distress you. (If you have a disposable income, please give me a donation. After all, the world doesn't need another starving writer, does it? I'm sure a well-fed writer dining on corruption and the treatments of the "better" life probably writes so much more eloquently than me.

Probably.

Maybe I'll find out what other starving writers think when I move to California next spring. I might find other people to bitch about life with me.

That fire in your eyes tells me something you don't know about yourself.

2009-03-28T19:54:00.008-04:00

Not popular. I don't want to be popular. Beyond the fact that it goes against the law of indie conservation (The less popular something is, the better it is. For scientists, x= (1/y); x being ratio of awesomeness, y = amount of people who know about it. x being 1 is means it's either the coolest thing in the world no-one knows about, or it's shit. Or both.) but more because I wouldn't know how to deal with the incredible pressure being popular brings.

Not that I'll ever be popular. But maybe over time, over the course of thousands of years, I might become respected by at least five people. Or three.
Fuck, maybe I should start a webcomic. Everyone likes a webcomic.
These days, good writing isn't hard to come by. Great writing is. I can't do either, so I'm probably screwed.

This Mountain Dew Voltage tastes like melted down gummi bears.
Which makes me wonder. Why the fuck do we colour our beverages? Blue soda. Purple juice. It's not healthy, or sane by any means. Does it appeal to you? Does it make it better than anything else you could pick? Does it enhance your drinking experience?

I don't know, but it tastes good (read: delicious).

So I'm wondering why I'm here at a party and my friend is walking and talking (unintentionally mind you) like Johnny Depp playing Jack Sparrow.
It's interesting. Kind of fun. But I'm simultaneously hating myself for even being here.

Beer is disgusting, liquor is terrible until you're drunk, being drunk is exciting.
Except when you're sober, and you realize (perhaps the morning after) that everyone else being drunk is kinda... fucking stupid. Or incredibly entertaining. It all really depends on what your personality boils down to.

"How are you doing?"
I'm just fine.

You have your hunger, I have mine. This blog (read: inelegant diary) isn't about anything in particular, just something I can put down, like a butterfly nailed on a display.

I think I'll smoke a cigarette. I want something to be addicted to.