| The Oldest Living Boy |
[29 Sep 2005|01:22am] |
| [ |
music |
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Explosions in the Sky |
] |
It's not going to be anything special. In fact, it can't be; it's just about 1:30 in the morning, and I'm fucking exhausted. Problem is, lately, I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping. Not sure entirely why really, but I've been working longer hours, and have been in and out of being sick enough to warrant an almost nonexistant lack of 'downtime,' or 'rest,' or whatever. So that's the start. It isn't much, but it sets the tone. It isn't much at all.
I suppose it boils down to this, though. I'm sick of not making an impact. I'm sick of waking up, going to work, and coming home too tired to do much else. I'm sick of stagnating while my friends are out getting an education; a five-fold "I'm doing something with my life!" plea that doesn't mean a fucking thing, but ends up working out towards everything that "DOES mean something" in this country. I'm tired of strangers not knowing my name by mention. I'm sick of my somewhat impressive writing talents going to hell because I don't have the fucking time, or drive, or creative impulse to do something with it. I'm tired of being tired of all of these things, and that prospect alone exhausts me. I'm needlessly wasting away what few talents I DO possess, and I think it might be long enough. I need to go outside and scream, and run, and bleed. I need to make my life more vivid; more colorful, and active, and outrageous. I need to stoke dead fires with unspent dreams; I need to unravel a thousand and one regrets, burn them into whatever ashes I find sufficient, and scatter them throughout the world. I need to write. I need to send out a million copies of a million essays and demand to be heard. Demand to be loved, and hated, and respected.
I'm going to go outside, and I'm going to take a walk. Not because I have to, but because I want to. And I'm tired of not doing what I want.
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| Butterfly |
[02 Jun 2005|10:25pm] |
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It’s not often enough that I think about the way things used to be; the magic, or the mystery, or the general allure of the unknown and mysterious that used to drive me into so much dreaming. And as I get older, I’m finding that things that were once so special, and so wondrous, are so fucking normal to me now that I can’t understand how I was ever…so mesmerized. Stupid, small, simple things to me today used to hold so much intrigue and adventure, and I’ve realized that, where I am right now, is not a place where dreams are born or bred. I’m realizing that there is no more magic because I haven’t tried anything new, or conjured any dreams, or fed myself on any kind of curious, lackadaisical aspiration.
So drink a toast to dreaming, and that you never forget where magic lies for you. It’s a sad day to realize that it’s died, and a beautiful day to understand that it doesn’t stay that way.
All my love.
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| Curious. |
[02 Jun 2005|01:17pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Beck - "Girl" |
] |
You are a stone key, and you unlock old and magical
secrets. What you have to offer is powerful and
difficult for many to understand, but
invaluable to the few who can truly grasp it.
Give the things you have carefully and
wisely, because not everyone will use them for
good.
What sort of key are you and what do you unlock?
brought to you by Quizilla
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| April Showers |
[11 May 2005|11:19pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Ben Folds - "Landed" |
] |
I’m salivating over the idea that I can push myself far beyond what I think I’m capable of. Don’t get me wrong, I think myself grand, and lovely, but not very capable usually. I have a built-in mechanism that, for some odd years now, has kept me from being arrogant and pushy and otherwise untouched by the world. Most hated it, but some loved it, because there are a few people that understood it and how it worked. There are a few people that understood that for me to think that way, and feel that way truly, meant that I was pushing myself farther than physical or emotional limitations, and for a person such as myself, it’s important. Days went by, I guess, and then weeks bled into years, and it was gone. And I won’t say that I became a shallow, empty husk of a person, but I certainly lost the edge I had way back when. I lost the arrogance, and the courage, and the drive. The unintentional knowledge that I was, in fact, the best at something. And while I still strive to be the best at physical pursuits, (a reason I never really played sports, and continue not to play many sports,) I do it anyway. I don’t take losing well. Never have, and never will. I wasn’t the type of person to lose often, though, and that’s an important thing to note. I won a great deal; so much, in fact, that the act of losing was a wound I simply could NOT get over.
Scene II, Act 1
It didn’t take much for me to realize that I haven’t lost that potential in myself. I spent my afternoon in my yard; my parents yard, shoveling six yards of soil to bare spots, in addition to a few other odds and ends, and I felt like I could do anything. Realistically, I should have collapsed. There was more than enough work for two or three days, but I didn’t take the time to see how long it could take. And that little bit was enough to tell me; to absolutely fucking scream, no less, that I was just as capable of being who I used to be. I delighted in just how conceited I could be, and was, because it let me know who I was. I was the best, and while sometimes I wasn’t, it didn’t matter because I was respected regardless.
I’m respected today, I suppose, but for entirely different reasons. I’m not respected for being the best, or the bravest, or the most ridiculously arrogant. I’m respected for loyalty, and honesty, and manipulation of a person or persons, (which hasn’t changed much, really) and that’s not good enough for me. I am capable of much more, and I’m kind of sick to death that I don’t exploit my own strengths more and take back more of myself as I should be; as I fucking am. Make sense? Probably not. It confused me some too, at first, but in the end it all made sense.
I’m not living to my potential, and that’s what it comes down to. And if that means that I am arrogant again, well, it’s just how it has to be. It won’t mean that I’ve grown up any less; it’ll mean that I’m accepting who I really am, and that’s absolutely the most important thing.
Guess this is something of a ‘FUCK YOU’ to everyone that doesn’t want to deal with who I really am, but I used to stand up for myself more and not be so nice, and that worked out pretty damn well for me back then. So fuck you, if you end up offended, and fuck you if you can’t deal with me, because I can’t be what I’m not, and I can’t fit any mold you put out there like clay. That’s not what I am, and I don’t want to play the game anymore.
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| Time For a Carnival |
[11 May 2005|06:44pm] |
| [ |
music |
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The Velvet Teen - "The Prizefighter" |
] |
Guess I have a lot to say today. I don’t feel particularly motivated to write, but it’s a gorgeous day, and when it’s nice like this - in the spring, I mean - I tend towards emoting more. For some obvious reasons, it’s my favorite time of year; it’s also the time of year the most monumental and wonderful things have happened for me in my life, despite hardships and all of those other things I’ve done in my youth that don’t demand immediate mention or attention. I wasn’t a violent youth; not physically, at least, and not to friends, but I had some issues that I was constantly working out, and pain I took out on lots of people. It was a bad time for that, I suppose, but everyone finds their own way of growing up, be it difficult, or ridiculously easy.
My road was rockier.
Not that it matters anymore. It’s spring again, and the last three days have brought a lot back. As much as I dislike blistered hands and sore limbs, there’s so much calm in being outside and doing yard work; not because it makes a ‘man’ out of me, or ‘toughens me up’ or anything like that. That’s ridiculous. It does help me to appreciate what’s around me, though, and who I am. Where I’ve come from. What I’ve sacrificed and gained in getting to where I am today. It shows me that I’m human, and I’ve felt, and lost, and loved, and hated. That I’m not a deliberate act of drama, but that things have shaped me into something I’m, as strange as this might sound to most of you, happy with.
As insecure as I am throughout the year, you’d be amazed at just how much confidence and strength I gain from a season; something as simple as a season. When all the praise in the world would only break my spirit down and cast a shadow of doubt, the springtime air and sun invigorates. How fucking crazy is that?
And I’ll be a bit older next week, but only numerically. See, I’ve never loved this season because my birthday was right about the beginning of it; I never cared all that much for birthdays. Curiously, I used to refuse gifts from friends and family because I didn’t think it was deserved; you’d be amazed by just how many people I’d offended or hurt that way, (some more than others. It was such an asshole thing to do) but it’s how someone shows appreciation, and I’ve learned that. I’ve taken cards and gifts to mean that I’m loved, or cared about, or just plain thought of. Because what I didn’t realize when I was younger, is that it’s really just someone saying that you mean something to them, however slight. That they remember. And that there isn’t a damn thing wrong with that. Not at all.
So here it is, late but appropriate. If ever I’ve refused gifts from you, then I’m sorry. It’s a big deal to me now, because I know what it means, and how much it means, and as silly as an apology seems, it really isn’t. Refusing someone’s gift is about as simply as telling them that they don’t, or shouldn’t, care. I honestly don’t know what I’d do or say if someone refused a gift from me. Not that I give them often, (and that’s partly the reason and point I’d be so hurt) but when I do give them, I’m glad that a person knows that I was thinking about them. And for them to be accepted, well, it’s one of those things that softens you just a bit. You know?
Good.
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| A Bridge |
[11 May 2005|12:09pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Dishwalla - "Candleburn" |
] |
Demanded.
Like I don’t have enough to do, right? But when it’s demanded, and you don’t mind it entirely, you do it. And you hate it, I’d bet, but you do it and learn to love it. When you’re young, it’s much easier to dislike; you make up excuses against it and throw up walls like, “I just don’t get it,” or “maybe I’m just not good at it,” but in the end, you DO get it, and you ARE good at it, and you wish that when you were younger, you’d taken a more open love for it; maybe, you think, you’d be a thousand times greater than you are now. If only you could have embraced it, and learned from any and all mistakes in the beginning. Maybe.
But it was demanded, and you love it, so it’s done. Without a thought, or a jest, or a drawn-out explanation, it’s already done. And where does that leave you? Several parts fulfilled, I suppose, but more parts regretful, because it’s never going to get you anything, and you know it. You could be the best, but you didn’t do it soon enough. And sooner beats later, doesn’t it? “Sooner” is the psychological trump card; the ace of spades; the alpha, etc.
I haven’t been thinking about it much lately, but that’s a choice I tend to make anyway; I never thought about it; I just did it. Some people have to try, and try hard, but I was never one of those. I was never the boy to study for tests in high school to get an “A.” I got the “A;” I didn’t need the extra’s to understand it. But understanding doesn’t get you shit in school; you have to do the work, don’t you?
“Show your diligence, Jason. C’mon, fuckin’ show us.” And I did, but it didn’t get me much. One step closer to failing because I didn’t do the work I goddamn understood anyway. Doesn’t matter. Fact of the matter is that knowing the material doesn’t amount to anything; you have to do the work. That’s what it comes down to. Work. Not learning; not entirely, but work.
Fuck it. Ran on a tangent. *straightens* Back to what I was saying.
I won’t say that I’ve been in a mood lately; equal parts up and down with spikes going this way or that, but nothing like being in a mood. I’m not giddy or hyper, and I’m not cut my wrists upset about anything in particular. To state an appropriate, I’ve fled into semi-appreciative apathy - that is, I’m the one that’s appreciating it, because as horrible as people tell you not giving a shit is, it’s also a welcome meditation and respite from drama. Even if you’re only planning on an ‘apathetic vacation.’
Won’t say things haven’t driven me there. There’s stress, and frustration, and the concentrated act of giving up on some things that lead a person with a trail of breadcrumbs into a shell, but not entirely. It’s an active, open choice. And who the fuck says that you can’t be selectively apathetic? It’s as easy as feeling strongly about one thing, and not so much about another. It’s not a complete and fractureless state of mind, it’s just a feeling you get about one thing, or another thing, or some things, etc.
Happy?
I suppose that should make about as much sense as I want it to, and if you feel like delving further into the collective consciousness of me, or whatever you think it is, you can talk to me yourself. I’m not opposed to conversation or company; I’m just honest, and I’ll tell you what I think about what I think, and you’ll probably have to deal with that. I haven’t always been honest; in fact, once upon a time, I wasn’t honest about much in my life. Fucked me up more than you know; spider webs tend to arch into open flames after only a short while, and burn you at the center. It’s not worth it. Fair warning, I suppose.
Fin.
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| Wonderful |
[11 May 2005|09:23am] |
| [ |
music |
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Fuel - "Bittersweet" |
] |
| You scored as Hedonism. Your life is guided by the principles of Hedonism: You believe that pleasure is a great, or the greatest, good; and you try to enjoy life’s pleasures as much as you can.
“Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die!”
More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page...
Hedonism | | 90% | Strong Egoism | | 85% | Nihilism | | 70% | Apathy | | 65% | Justice (Fairness) | | 55% | Utilitarianism | | 40% | Existentialism | | 35% | Kantianism | | 15% | Divine Command | | 0% | </td>
What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03)
created with QuizFarm.com |
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| Without Warning |
[02 May 2005|03:47am] |
| [ |
music |
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Matt Nathanson - "Loud" |
] |
Christ, I really don’t try to be so goddamn melodramatic. I always have so much feeling when I write on here, but I’m so fucking vague. I leave everything open, and empty, and enigmatic. And to a select few people, maybe it’ll make some sense, but only because they’re involved, or something else, you know? To all the rest, it might be pretty words. Might not. I’m rarely, if ever, told just how my words work for people. Work on people. Like they could ever take advantage, right? Hell, they’re not even physical things. How the hell could they take advantage? But they could, I guess. Words can lie and cut with more fervor and ferocity than a knife; words twist and bend like a snake, and strike moral juxtaposition in the fabric of every faith ever voiced. Words are the strengths of individuals that fight deeper battles with themselves and the world. Words are emotive, constant and raging, and capable of taking life apart with an utterance so strong, and so devouring, and so fucking forthright that nothing could stop its heated assault.
Most people don’t know. This isn’t what I want to talk about though. I suppose I’ll start a little more bluntly, and quickly, and then go where it takes me. It shouldn’t take long. Bear with me. Fuck, please bear with me; it‘s almost three thirty in the morning, and I don‘t have the strength for this.
It started, at least tonight, with a conversation that was hardly that. I’ve been breaking in and out of sleep for hours; I do that when I’ve had particularly stressful days, (at work, or otherwise) and it’s unfortunate that it happened, but I was sent a song regardless. Won’t even mention the song; I’d share it, but it’s not the most important thing right now. It’s the beautiful strangeness of it and the moments that came after it. That’s what’s important. That’s what’s solid. See, I hadn’t listened to it yet. I didn’t have the goddamn strength to open up a music player on my computer, and down I went. Crashed, and destroyed, and dreaming. I remember seeing the red, blurry glow of my clock reading ‘2:00’ before I passed out, and then again when I opened my eyes to see it reading a little more than quarter past three. And I felt dead, but alright, and it’s strange that in the course of an hour you can have a dream so vivid and lifelike that you grab on to something; anything, when you wake up, in hopes that it happened. That it’s happening. And that it’ll go on forever.
I sat up, hazy and overcome I guess i could describe it as, and I listened to a song. And it ended, and I listened to it again. And there is so much I wish I could actually get out right now, because it’s so…right, I guess, and it’s so there. But I don’t know how to say it, and I probably won’t know how to for a good while. I know I won’t find it tonight, but I can’t remember the last time a song I’d never heard before moved me in so many directions in the course of three and a half minutes, and for me not to feel schizophrenic because of it, but something else. Other things, really, crashed together and pulled into water so that it all swirls together in one great, big emotional disaster funneled and cyclonic and gorgeous.
So you want to know what I’m thinking?
That it probably doesn’t make sense. And that that’s okay.
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| Wow. |
[21 Apr 2005|03:30pm] |
 | You scored as Satanism. Your beliefs most closely resemble those of Satanism! Before you scream, do a bit of research on it. To be a Satanist, you don't actually have to believe in Satan. Satanism generally focuses upon the spiritual advancement of the self, rather than upon submission to a deity or a set of moral codes. Do some research if you immediately think of the satanic cult stereotype. Your beliefs may also resemble those of earth-based religions such as paganism.
agnosticism | | 88% | Satanism | | 88% | Paganism | | 75% | atheism | | 67% | Buddhism | | 50% | Islam | | 46% | Judaism | | 38% | Hinduism | | 21% | Christianity | | 13% | </td>
Which religion is the right one for you? (new version)
created with QuizFarm.com |
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| Crisis of Breath |
[06 Apr 2005|11:38pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Sigur Ros - "svefn g englar" |
] |
I feel disconnected from the world around me anymore; I’m not depressed, so stop fucking thinking it now, but I feel just about completely numb to anything and just about everything in my life. There are exceptions, I’ll admit, because I couldn’t much exist without the capacity for some kind of feeling, one way or the other, but those moments are fleeting - and honestly, even when they do occur, I wonder if I’m not acting through them. Dancing some disgustingly thin line between what I’m really feeling, and what I’m telling myself to feel.
I am, without a doubt, a commensurate actor. And it’s fucking frightening.
I don’t really know how to explain it. When I was younger, as most boys tend to do, I put up walls for myself to keep nice and warm and safe; masks that let me be someone else. Open, careless, and absolutely goddamn free. I thought, anyway. Time wears away all walls, and you start to realize that people aren’t afraid of who you really are; in fact, people have probably been wanting to see that person for a long, long time. But what happens when you fit a role so often, and so well, that it becomes you. Method acting in the extreme, I guess. But on the other hand, what if it’s really who you are? And that’s my problem. I don’t know when I stopped being real, if ever I was or wasn’t.
And everything in my life, because of that and some other things, is spinning wildly out of control - inappropriately and uncomfortable out of control. I guess it’s an identity crisis of sorts; see, I’m not a good person. I’m really not. I’m greedy, and self-serving, and I’m honestly vicious when it comes to being wronged. Or even sometimes just because. I’m not a horrible person either, though. I’m stuck somewhere in the middle, and every time I do something obviously benevolent, or ridiculously wrong, I wonder about whether I’m really feeling good or bad about it, because it doesn’t ever seem to feel concrete. It’s like my shoulder people went from “angel” and “devil” into “androgynous thing of unfeeling.” Nothing seems like it should - not when it should be real, and not when I’m making it fake.
I guess it comes down also to a matter of how I’m put together. I’ve never been a very compassionate person; I feel ridiculously less than most people tend to do. Everyone knows that. -I- know that, and it’s a shame, because I don’t’ think that anything’s ever going to taste as flavorful, you know? That I’ll never feel as actually alive as I should, because I’m built to be a little dulled around the edges. And maybe that has something to do with it, but you’d think that in those rare moments that I felt something - ANYTHING - it’d be something solid, and concrete, and fucking real.
And honest.
I’m not going anywhere with this. I just feel hollowed out; not a husk, but not much of a person, either. It’s like the only honest thing about me is that I’m blatantly chaotic and obviously free-spirited. That’s the only thing I can realistically cling to. My inability to stick to one thing. My need for change and motion. Gotta have the fucking ocean, right? Can't settle on the mountains.
I need sleep. Night.
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| Do it. |
[05 Apr 2005|10:19am] |
| [ |
music |
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Phantom Planet - "Knowitall" |
] |
1. Where did we meet?
2. What was your first impression of me?
3. How long have you known me?
4. When is the last time we saw each other?
5. What's my guilty pleasure?
6. What's one of my favorite things to do outdoors?
7. What's one of my favorite things to do indoors?
8. Do you remember one of the 1st things I said to you?
9. What's my favorite type of music?
10. What is the best feature about me?
11. Am I shy or outgoing?
12. Am I a rebel or do I follow all the rules?
13. Would you consider me an acquaintance, a friend, or a good friend?
14. If you had to label me, what kind of person am I?
15. Have you ever seen me cry?
16. If there were one good nickname for me what would it be?
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| Like a fire |
[26 Mar 2005|01:39pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Mono - "2 Candles, 1 Wish" |
] |
I want to talk about something that I don’t usually discuss; at least, I don’t talk about it online. It’s not something entirely unknown about me, but religious beliefs, (or the lack thereof) aren’t things I believe in sharing. It’s like talking about politics - if people ask me, then I’ll tell them, but I’m not open with it. Right now, though, I’m going to be a hypocrite and throw it all out the fucking window, because last night was something so strange to me that I need to get it out.
I’m start out simply.
I am…nothing, really, when it comes to religion. I used to, once upon a time, think that I was an atheist. I don’t think that’s true at all; I think that I’m searching. A short time after that, I thought myself to be agnostic, and while I’m probably closest to that belief, I don’t think it suits me as well as something unnamed. I am not Roman Catholic, however, like the rest of my family. I’m not a huge supporter of organized religions and their money markets. I can say, however, that not being like the rest of my family has imparted some rift between us, because my mother insists on introducing me to strangers as, “Jason, my heathen son.” hoping that said strangers will understand that she holds me apart from her. It’s not derogatory to me; I don’t really pay attention to it anymore, but to her, I’m a heathen. According to HER beliefs, I’m a heathen. I’ve been called worse, but not in religious context.
Example: I’ve been referred to as Lucifer, and the anti-Christ, and both times were in jest. She doesn’t joke. She’s very, very serious. Moving on.
I stand on the foundation of very little belief, outside of the belief in human spirit, and the belief in achievement through the knowledge of mortality, and simple beliefs like that that everything can and does adhere to. When it comes to faith in god, or religion, though, I can’t seem to pick it up. I outthink the idea of it, and chalk its flaws up to what they really are - flaws. And I know that everything has a fault somewhere, but I analyze the hell out of religion. I’ve read holy texts from several walks of life, and they’re all ridiculously similar, and they’re all impressive to read, and most have exciting stories and ideas, but I can’t help but think that they’re just ideas. And I wish that I had more faith, because people seem to draw so much strength from it; I RESPECT it.
I really do. The ability to have faith, I think, in something greater than yourself is one of the noblest, (if not ridiculous, in my case, I suppose) things that I’ve ever seen. I’m envious.
Moving along.
Last night, I was being a huge fucking nerd and playing an online game. One of those kinds of things where you run around like a crazed, elven knight and kill the hell out of everything that opposes you. Likewise, this particular game has a chat, capable of allowing two people to talk on a one-on-one basis. That’s how it started. I was talking to a man about characters, and this and that, and he mentioned named a character ‘Armageddon’ because of the implications religiously. He had said that it’d interest him to play a character named ‘Apollyon’ but it felt morally and ethically wrong to him, being Christian. I told him, more or less in passing, that I was raised Roman Catholic, and that I didn’t like the traditions or the way they instill guilt at a young age; everything is wrong, and everything has a price, and I didn’t like the way it felt. It felt made up.
He went on to tell me about his beliefs, and to note something important, his spelling was HORRIBLE. Absolutely atrocious, but he was SMART in the ways of theology, so I let it go. The boy was not stupid, and I could take that on an even level even if he couldn’t type. Neither outweighed the other - if he were STUPID and couldn’t type well, I’d probably be done with him.
He then went on to tell me about how his mom’s been teaching him, since a very young age, about some experimental religions that have opened his eyes - theories about werewolves being demons, (which seems curiously plausible, were their existence every actually documented…which I have a hard time believing anyway) and how evolution theories were true, but were true because of god, and it got creepier from there. About how all other religious texts lie profusely, and about the cruelty of certain things cited as being benevolent - and then he gave me a link to a website. And the first thing that sprang to mind was that it felt like a cult. It seemed so hokey, and people took to it with such fervor and belief that it frightened me. Absolutely frightened me.
I talked to the boy some more, and he continued to tell me what his mother had told him, and I asked him if he went to any kind of christian school. He replied that he’d been home schooled since he was young, and likewise that he couldn’t read or write very well. He said that he gets most of his information by listening to tapes. We talked awhile more, about the moral implications of his faith against others, and how his belief is strong and solid a foundation because he knows that he’s close to god, and I asked him his age. I don’t usually do it online, because it doesn’t feel write; I feel like a stalker, but I was curious, and my nature wins out eventually.
He was fifteen.
And my heart broke. I felt human; SO FUCKING HUMAN, and I wanted to take that boy, and shake him, and tell him to live his life for himself. To learn to read and write better, and to believe in what HE feels is right, and not what he’s force-fed, and to GO TO SCHOOL to get opposing views, and live a life of questions, and fear, and hope, and love. And hate, but you know what? I’d rather see a scarred and ruined world every goddamn day of my life then see one with blinders on, and that’s what the boy’s doing, and my fucking heart breaks for him. I WANT to help him, and show him that life isn’t contained like that - that you can learn things for yourself, because he’s such a SMART kid. He astounded me with his knowledge of theology, and I felt sadder and sadder with every reference made to his mother, who obviously taught him everything SHE believed, and I know that parents do it with their kids everyday, but I recognize frightening zealotry, and I don’t know that he even had a CHOICE in being force-fed bullshit and practically locked away from the world.
And all I wanted to do was help him. And I can’t, because the boy HAS faith, and I can’t be responsible for shaking it. I don’t have a right to ruin it, because faith gives people so much strength, and so much resolve, even if it’s the WRONG kind of faith. And it’s a fucking day later, and I’m still thinking about it, and I can’t shake the feeling.
I feel real. I can’t remember the last time that I really, honestly and truly wanted to help someone.
I hope he grows up to live for himself, and he does so happily. I feel like he deserves it - a hell of a lot more than I do, and most of the people that I know. He deserves it.
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| Guess I'm not THAT surprised. |
[14 Mar 2005|07:14pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Mellowdrone - "Fall On Your Knees" |
] |
| You scored as Chaotic Neutral. A Chaotic Neutral person is someone who is self-motivated to the extreme. Thier actions may sometimes confuse others, due to their lack of moral affiliation. They have little respect for laws, and avoid both the temptation of evil and a feeling of duty to do good. These people can go along with either side of an argument- as long as they benifit from the result!
Chaotic Evil | | 85% | Chaotic Neutral | | 85% | Chaotic Good | | 80% | True Neutral | | 75% | Neutral Evil | | 75% | Lawful Evil | | 55% | Neutral Good | | 25% | Lawful Good | | 15% | Lawful Neutral | | 15% | </td>
What is your Alignment?
created with QuizFarm.com |
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| Yep. |
[08 Mar 2005|12:05am] |
| [ |
music |
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Bright Eyes - First Day of My Life |
] |
Just fill it out. Sure as hell can't hurt, right? And if you DO fill it out, then you get a prize. A prize of MY choosing. So that's hot.
01. Who are you, what's our relationship?
02. How and where did we meet?
03. What's my middle name?
04. How long have you known me?
05. Tell me one good thing about myself?
06. When you first saw me, what was your impression?
07. My age.
08. Birthday.
09. My favorite band at the moment..
10. Colour eyes..
11. Do I have any siblings?
12. Have you ever had a crush on me?
13. What's one of my favorite things to do?
14. Do you remember one of the 1st things I said to you?
15. Describe me in 3 words.
16. Name 5 things I love.
17. Do you think I'm good looking?
18. How would you describe me to someone?
19. Would you ever date me?
20. Tell me one thing you've always wanted to say but never did.
21: What do you like most about me?
22: If we could spend a day together, what would we do?
23: Have we ever gotten in a fight?
24: Do you think we will be friends for at least 3 or 4 more years?
25. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
26. What do you think my weakness is?
27. Do you think I'll get married?
28. To whom?
29. What makes me happy?
30. What makes me sad?
31. What reminds you of me?
32. If you could give me anything, what would it be?
33. When's the last time you saw me?
34. Do you think our friendship is getting stronger/weaker/or staying the same? 35. Do you feel that you could talk to me about anything and I would listen?
36. Are you going to put this on your LiveJournal and see what I say about you?
37. If I was an ice cream flavor, which would I be and why?
38. What song (if any) reminds you of me?
39. If you could change one thing about me, what would it be?
40. Would you make a move on me?
41. Do I cross your mind at least 1 time a day?
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| Substance |
[07 Mar 2005|12:58am] |
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I don’t even know where to start.
And you know, I have a feeling this is going to be one of my shorter posts, because there’s so little to say about so much that’s happened to me tonight. All at once, I think I felt sad, angry, and disconnected from a source, and honestly, no one should ever have to feel that. And I know that it’s ridiculous coming from me, because my past doesn’t exactly hint at much in the way of kindness towards others, and I guess I don’t have compassion for it now, either, but back then; eh, yeah, back then I used to be the one doing the hurting, and it was easy then, too, because I wasn’t being hurt. Really, that’s all it was. I felt invincible, and I felt untouchable, and if I hurt someone, then it showed me that I couldn’t be hurt back.
And in the most cowardly of ways, I felt fucking safe. And it’s pathetic.
And I can remember once, well upon a time ago, that I felt the way that I did tonight, and I remember how it broke me down from the inside-out; like everything you’ve known so strongly for so long doesn’t amount to anything, because any work that you’d done or pushed for would never matter. Once before tonight, and here it is again, and I’m as happy about it as I am sad, because it really made a point to prove that I was, in fact, human. And more importantly, that my life is forfeit on the backs of those that only carry me out of convenience; even if that convenience wears a pretty mask of friendliness and pleasant guile.
I woke up, that’s what happened. I woke up, and I took off my ruby-lensed glasses, and I frowned on so much. And I think that I pitied myself for a minute, because I didn’t know what else to do, and then I realized that it’s not worth it. I don’t live my life enough for myself, and I have several people in my life that impress this simple truth onto me every chance they get. And I ‘hear’ them, but I don’t know that I listen to them nearly enough, which does them very little justice. The few people that tell me that one singular thing should be commended, because they’re right - not that you should always be selfish. Not always, but you should live for yourself, specifically, and fight to make yourself happen. Because if you don’t, you’re only wasting moments. And you aren’t doing anything for yourself.
Where does that leave you?
Up until now, it’s left me hollow and safe, and I’m so fucking sick of safe. I don’t want or need safety anymore; I need to know that everything I’m doing, I’m doing because it’s right for me, and will be good for me. If I sit in a stone house for the rest of my life, I’m never going to see anything beautiful on the outside, but if I take a chance at having glass walls, just imagine what I’ll get to see. And if it should happen to somehow break, well, I’ve been there before. I’ve felt that once or twice, and it’s hard to build yourself back up, but the willingness is part of what makes you you. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it.
The point is, unless I live MY life for myself, I’m living it in a cage. And it took a lot of people helping me along, and an unfortunate incident tonight, for me to absolutely understand it. God fucking willing, I’ll keep myself on track and not fuck it up so bad as I have in the past. A lack of confidence usually destroys personal honesties, but beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m more willing than I might have ever been.
We’ll see.
As a ridiculous side-note, one conversation in particular tonight made me especially thankful to have people there that are one hundred percent honest with me, regardless of how cruel it might come off as at the time. I know the difference between someone being a friend, and someone being an asshole, and I can say with perfect clarity that this person is a friend. Thank you so much.
Night.
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| Can we take a ride? |
[30 Feb 2005|09:35pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Jimmy Eat World - Thinking, That's All |
] |
This is probably going to be the longest entry I’ve had in awhile; namely, of course, because of the inclusion of a survey a distant friend of mine had in their live journal. The last question, which I’ve omitted, asked that you name three people that you’d love to see take this quiz, and this is my way of paying back a kind of debt. So here it is; if you read my journal, this is probably a treat. I don’t do too many online survey-type quizzes lately, and this is one I got kind of personally involved in. The questions aren’t necessarily intelligent, or well thought out, but the fact that you need to list three things for each gives it a dynamic.
Anyway. Enjoy.
THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. Raziel L Rose
2. JaedenAmethyst
3. Dryopoxis21
THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. I have the single-most uncanny knack for dressing well regardless of exactly what I wear. And for some strange, absolutely inane reason, I can make pink ‘Elton John’ sunglasses work with anything. Go figure.
2. I actually have a good amount of respect and fondness for just how clever I can be with issues that concern human emotion. I am very, frighteningly adept at manipulating situations, rumors, or truths about anyone and bringing them to ruin at any pace that I think they deserve. It’s wicked, and I think I’m blessed with the dark one’s own luck.
3. The third one is a kind of catch-22, because I can’t say that it benefits me as much as it always seems to benefit everyone else. I’m socially adept; that is, I am very, very charismatic in settings social or otherwise. I tend to have a panache that fits any occasion, and unless I don’t WANT for those around me to have a good time and enjoy themselves, everyone does when in my company. I’m an absolutely fantastic person to be around, and I’m positive of this fact. The thing is, I could be absolutely miserable on the inside, having been emotionally beaten and raped, and you’d never know, and everyone would have just as great a time. I don’t know; I have a hard time letting things slip through the cracks when I’m bothered.
THREE THINGS YOU HATE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. I’m ridiculously under confident; at least, I usually am. See, usually, I suffer from self-esteem issues like you wouldn’t believe, and despite anyone’s better efforts to tell me that I’m ’this’ or I’m ’that’ in as charming and sweet a way as they can. To be honest, I’m not sure when it started; it just seems like, for as long as I can remember, I wasn’t much happy with too many things involving myself. Image, of course, being number one. I know I’m not stupid; not at all, but I cannot get over the way that I look.
2. I rarely, if ever, do anything with my unending reserves of creativity. I’m a living well, and I don’t do shit about it aside from writing, (rarely) in an online journal that I’ve convinced myself that two, maybe three people read. Tops.
3. I don’t strike out enough with my talents and put them to proper use. I tend to just sit back, and assume that naturally something good will happen for me because of them. The longer I wait, however, the more I learn that if I don’t actively use what I’ve been given, I’m going to lose what I have.
THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. G’Irish
2. I’m fairly certain that number one took care of most, if not all, of my heritage, but outside of being a lot of Irish and a lot of German, I have a mix-maxed menagerie of some things that make absolutely no comprehensible sense outside the land of fucking faerie, where backwards things are forward, and the fey steal your hats.
3. See number 2.
THREE THINGS THAT YOU FEAR:
1. Heights, hands down. I don’t know when or how I developed the phobia, but I can’t shake it. I get ridiculous vertigo.
2. Ending up alone.
3. I’m afraid that I’ll never live up to my potential.
THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. My computer.
2. Band-aids, lately.
3. Music. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t fully exist without a self-made soundtrack playing behind every facet of my life; I feel like I’m living a movie, but an honest one, with just as many downs as ups, (if not more.)
THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. A pair of jeans.
2. A blue tee shirt with the ‘Goonies’ logo across the front.
3. A zipper-down, gray hoodie.
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR ARTISTS:
1- I can’t do it. I sat here for about fifteen minutes thinking about this question as about six different artists cycled through my shuffle, and I realized that I don’t really have three favorite bands anymore. Yes, there are some that I love over others; Radiohead, for one, has a place at my number one. That’s a given, though, and most of you already know it. The rest, given minimal placement one way or the other, are all pretty on par with one another. I couldn’t pick three. I wouldn’t actually feel right about it. You know?
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS AT PRESENT:
1. Elliott Smith - Say Yes
2. Coldplay - Amsterdam
3. Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah”
THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS
1. It’s not something I want to try, per se, but it’s an aspirant goal; I want to take my talent in writing, (which I’m fairly positive, most days, that I have) and turn it into something. Even if the outcome is small and relatively unimportant, I’d prove to myself that I have the potential to turn it into something more, and that’s something that I think I’d be so proud of myself for.
2. I want to find the time and those things appropriate to start an online literary magazine, with said domain and such to house the project. I’d set out to do so about six months ago, but my life got hectic, and if I am to do this within the next year, I’m going to have to suck it up and not let my life get in the way at all. I have to MAKE the time to make a small, mostly unimportant dream come true. And when I say ‘unimportant,’ I mean ridiculously important. Yes.
3. To tear down a few walls and let more people in emotionally. I don’t do it often, if ever, and I’ve separated myself from a lot of the people that I have in my life on even a semi-daily basis. I’ve never been good at opening up, and it’s kept me safe, but cold, and I don’t need that as much as I think that I used to. I know that I’m a strong person, and I don’t lack the mental fortitude necessary to combat getting fucked over by someone I might let in. So why not?
THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
1. Passion.
2. Sincere honesty.
3. Excitement.
TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE: (You be the judge...)
1. When I was a kid, I was in and out of the hospital, regularly, from the time of my birth until just after my sixth birthday.
2. I’ve broken my collarbone twice; the first time, it was because I fell out of a tree I was playing in back when I lived in Washington state. The second time was in sixth grade when, curiously, I walked into my friend swinging his baseball bat when I was supposed to be the catcher. We used to play on this field in our neighborhood, and I’d called a time-out, but he didn’t realize it, and when I stood up, I got hit HARD with the bat. Took him and two other kids to help me get home so I could go to the ER with my dad.
3. I am a pirate ninja.
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. The single-most important thing to me, immediately upon meeting someone, is their eyes. You can generally tell what kind of person you’re dealing with by the way in which a person uses their eyes; I don’t know how to explain it better than that. It’s bizarre.
2. I am one hundred percent turned on by certain personality types that aren’t cliché or average; I tend to strike out for strange, outgoing, or otherwise unusual people that have their own style, and wit, and sense of humor. I have a hard time burdening myself with the mundane. It’s not physical, but it takes the place of a physical, definitely.
3. I’ve gotten that question a lot lately. You know, the “Are you an ass man? Leg man? Breast man?” question, and I draw a blank every time. Essentially, I suppose, I’d be all three, but the order by which they come up generally depends on the person that I’d be noticing. Some are built in such a way that, well, they’re better suited towards some aspects of physicality, while others are elsewhere. I don’t have an ‘every time preference’ that I can relate to. That, and I’m usually flighty enough on the issue that I’d love one thing TODAY and something different tomorrow. I’m set in a constant flux about a lot of aspects of my life.
THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN'T DO:
1. Find the will to be sympathetic to most anyone or anything; it’s not that I’m openly trying to be a prick, either, it’s more the inability to emotionally relate on that same level if it hasn’t happened or been done to me. And even then, it’s a stretch, because I’d just as soon say something cutting towards you for letting it happen to yourself.
2. I can’t keep myself from putting a ‘dog-ear’ on people for future reference. I tend to remember small details about people that would be just enough to ruin them if I felt the need to strike out with the gossip if threatened or otherwise attacked. And I try not to do it with people, but it pops up, and I find myself just remembering these small, seemingly mundane details. It’s horrible.
3. Develop a taste for order; I am physically uncomfortable around people that exhibit overly lawful and orderly tendencies. I can’t be around them, and if forced into conversation with them, I feel absolutely disgusted. It sounds elitist, I know, but it’s for a decent enough reason. I’m a creature of chaos; I do NOT deal with natural order, or those that uphold it. And I wish I could give those people more appreciation, respect, or credibility, but I find it difficult to even speak to them. I just can’t relate.
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Writing, mostly. I don’t have too many hobbies that I actively take part in anymore; I used to skate, but life caught up and I never have the time. That, and it’s winter. It’s tough, you know?
2. I don’t really have many hobbies, to tell the truth. Spending time with friends isn’t a hobby; I DO try to create essential, hot, alcoholic beverages that include espresso, however. If making the ultimate cup of espresso is a hobby, then there you go.
3. Keeping sanity in tact.
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. I want to go downstairs and make myself a triple espresso with a shot of irish cream or amaretto, sit back, and relax for an hour or two. To make the case in point, I’m probably going to do that the moment I finish this journal entry.
2. Tell someone about a thousand and one things that I tend to only be able to say drunk. See, I’m honest with everyone lately; I lie to those I generally don’t care about, but that’s just to maintain an upper hand over them. To those I hold dearest, or respect, I don’t fuck around. Not ever. I’m honest a fault, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t omit certain things from conversation, and when I drink, aside from wearing pink sunglasses and ninja costumes and trying to do front flips and assassinate people…I am honest. Not brutally; it’s usually a good kind of honesty, but it’s forfeit unless I can find the courage to voice it. And by courage, I mean ‘lack of inhibition.’
3. Finish this goddamn survey.
THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING:
1. I’m in the HVAC business, and I’m sure I’ll stick with it. It’s uncanny, but I have a curious attitude for the work, and I have the mental capacity necessary to understand it. In addition, I’m ridiculously good at working with sheet metal, which is something that I DO pride myself on. In this, (my) business, there are surprisingly few grown adults that know how to do it with the same flair, panache, or skill that I tend to demonstrate. I would have never known myself to be the kind of person to be good at a skilled labor job, but I am, and I’m happy about that.
2. I would like to do something with my writing, if only part-time. I want to publish, and I want to run something literary, and I want to excel beyond anything I might have dreamed, because up until now, my dreams regarding writing have been relatively few.
3. I’ve considered real estate because it’d be nice ‘on the side’ money if it worked out, and with an already outstanding response to social settings I tend to have, it seems almost form-fitting.
THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. Germany
2. Italy
3. Woodinville, Washington
KIDS' NAMES:
1. Kylie
2. Dorian.
3. I can’t think of a third right now; besides, it’s a long ways off.
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. I want to prove to myself that there was nothing else I could have done. I want to be able to say that I lived to my potential. Completely.
2. I want to learn German with the eventuality of visiting the country. A lot of my heritage is rooted there, and I think I’d be doing myself a personal disservice if I didn’t visit the places my ancestor’s lived their lives. It’s in large part why I am who I am today, and I owe that part of my past a great deal of gratitude.
3. I want the assurance of knowing that I am as happy as I can possibly be. Not as successful, or as whatever, but as happy. I don’t want anything gone to waste.
Well, that’s it. Do me the favor, even if you prefer anonymity or don’t have a live journal account, to leave some kind of response. It will bolster my ego, but I like to know that people read it, and just what they think of me, and the things that I scribble for the world to see.
Thanks.
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| Dismemberment. |
[01 Mar 2005|12:05am] |
| [ |
music |
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Rilo Kiley - Portions of Foxes |
] |
It’s the little things that bring me back to my life three years or so ago; the little, quiet things that remain as a reminder of the time I spent in so much comfort and emotional affordability. It was a rough time for me, I won’t lie, but it was the tri-fecta of support that I seemed to have that made everything seem alright. Christ, I mean, everything was fucking perfect. My life could have been crashing down around me, (and at times, believe me, it was) and it didn’t matter, because I knew that when the weekend came, regardless, and that my mental and spiritual backbone and strength would be where I needed it. It was a time in my life where the difference between a mental breakdown and a smile was a box of cheddar flavored goldfish and some jolt cola. A time where the cold, medicinal feel of an empty basement with some chairs, a table, and a DMG made all the difference in the world. In my world, at least.
In the beginning, I can say, it wasn’t an excuse for anything. We hung out and saw one another because we were becoming a curious triumvirate of powers. There was the spiritual, and the intellectual, and looking back I’m not sure what role I actually took on, if any. Didn’t matter; I had a base. I had something solid, and real, and I never expected that it’d all fall apart like a house of cards.
Such is life. Fucking life.
So here I am, years later and sipping a cup of tea, and I’m reminded that I can’t even drink three quarters of the many flavors of tea that I have without remembering a friend (fucking prick) that casually withdrew himself from my life. Not just mine, though, and not for anything that I did. He withdrew (ran away) from our friendship because I am a constant reminder of the fact that he is a coward, and that regardless of where we stand with one another, he can never fess up to the fact that when it came down to it, it was easier to be a pussy and stand alone, with all the amenities afforded him with his ill-fucking-fated birth, than fight for something with worth. And I’m the one that feels like he lost something. You fucking believe that?
No?
This isn’t necessarily a ‘fuck you,’ or anything like it. I’m going to have a post like that, because it’s digging in a lot deeper these days, but I’m sad. Genuinely fucking sad, and I had to say something.
Sleep well.
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| A Thought |
[20 Feb 2005|11:53pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Radiohead - I Will |
] |
It makes perfect sense, really. I haven’t felt anything so strongly in a very long time, and now that I do, fucking energy is just running through my fingertips and begging to be blatantly scripted out across the internet for everyone in the entire goddamn world to read, should they desire, and that’s absolutely fine by me. I have that feeling – you know, ‘that feeling’ that you get in the pit of your stomach that isn’t painful, but is more like diseased butterflies fluttering overly excitedly about something you’ll never understand, and I have a fairly decent idea just why I feel it, and just what’s going to happen in the prominent outcome that could ensue. Or maybe I don’t. It’s pretty up in the air, I think, and I’m drinking in as much as I can before I smell the fumes.
You know what? Fuck it. Fuck it for a minute, and let me tell you what a song just helped me to feel, and to remember. I was sitting in my room, on the floor before I painted it and got a futon and such, and my lights were turned off. All of them, and I remember that my bed was pushed up against the far wall of my room, so that when you laid down on it, you could turn your head to see the television; I was on the floor, like I said, and had about three candles lit, and a stick of incense from “Days of Knights” in Newark, which, to this day, is one of the most amazing shops I’ve ever been in in terms of creativity and atmosphere. I forget the scent, but I can remember it, and if I dig through some of the boxes I’d packed a few years back, I might just find a few sticks; I doubt they smell the same after all this time, what with staleness and such, but there might be a fleeting gesture of a memory there for my to capture and try to keep.
I was listening to Kid A – How To Disappear Completely – and I was spinning an old-style, glass coke bottle filled with nerds around in circles on the floor, and watching how the light from the candles flickered and kind of jumped from curve to curve. And I remember that I was happy, but I can’t remember why; I’ve lost that part, but my door was closed, and I almost guarantee that I’d just finished writing something that I was proud of. So very, incredibly proud of; and I just laid there on my floor for hours, until I got a phone call that made me JUMP and run downstairs; our phone was one of those huge, white bulky things back then – heavy, too. And I sat in my room, in the dark, and I talked. And I remember feeling safe. Amazingly safe.
Really, that’s all it was, and I’m listening to ‘I Will’ at the moment, and I don’t feel like continuing onto my old thought. I have to be up for work early, and my body’s beaten enough already; if I don’t take the time to regenerate, I’m fucked.
Sleep well.
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| Solitude Standing |
[19 Feb 2005|11:05pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Elliott Smith - A Distorted Reality... |
] |
I don’t think any of you even fucking read this any more, to be
absolutely honest. You forget about someone, and checking in on
someone, when they’ve been latent for as long as I have. And I’m not
upset about that; I forget about people to, and I stop checking things,
and eventually I disappear, just like everyone else does at so many
points in their lives. I know just as many people that have disappeared
to me, and it’s always a little startling to see them come back; and
all the more startling, of course, to see exactly what they have to
say, or what they do, up their curious, prodigal arrival. I haven’t
been absent for no reason, really. I mean, I have, but it’s not
entirely what any of you might be thinking. Writing’s always been a
creative kind of outlet for things that I’ve felt, or experiencing, but
the things I’ve been feeling and experiencing haven’t really warranted
any kind of words. Not that they weren’t worthy of them, because I
could have used the medium with which to vent, but it’s more an issue
of my inability to put down exactly, or even hazily, just what I mean
to say, or rhyme, or link together. For the first time in a very long
time in my life, I couldn’t find any kind of creativity.
Scratch that.
I couldn’t find anything; do you know what I mean? It’s not that I
didn’t want to write, and pronounce oh so fucking loud just what my
heart feels, or my head tells me, or why I’m this or that; I WANTED it,
and I needed it so much, but when it came down to it, my fingertips
spewed out a thousand words that didn’t mean anything to me. It’s like
I was appropriating some kind of disillusionment of creativity; the
cleverness was there, but the feeling wasn’t, and I couldn’t fucking
stand it. “Or deal with it.” Yeah, I couldn’t deal with it. It made me
sick to my goddamn stomach that everything I put down was pretty, but
mis-fucking-placed, and I did this day in and day out; typing, and then
deleting. Thinking, and then just throwing the keyboard in frustration
of the fact that I couldn’t think when I say down at my computer; that
I could plan out novella’s at work, when I didn’t have a pen, and lose
any kind of credible integrity when I got home. I wanted to fucking
break something.
Yeah.
And do you know what’s inspired me tonight? Do you have any fucking
clue, because I lost myself about an hour ago, and couldn’t tell you
any single reason why, finally, words are flowing through my fingertips
like liquid steel, burning and cauterizing every goddamn thing it
crosses; and I love it right now, in a strange kind of way. You see, I
like the way it feels and the way I can tell that I’m emptying, but I’m
not emptying what’s important, and that creates a void. A rift. A
schism, if that means anything to any of you. It might, I don’t know.
I feel torn apart; that’s how I feel. And I feel angry, and I feel like
nothing – absolutely fucking nothing – matters anymore. That my world,
(while not entirely cold and empty and despondent,) is turning grayer
everyday, with interchangeable blues and reds darting across the sky
like kaleidoscopic rainbows from hell; yeah, it’s like that. Exactly
like that. Things that used to agitate me, well, they don’t so much.
And things that never really bothered me before are beginning to bother
me on such a pathetically human level, and I’m just annoyed. So
intensely annoyed with some people, and it’s gotten to the point where
just being around them makes my skin absolutely crawl and unwind with
every one of their words.
I don’t know how it happened, either, or when it did, but I think at
some people some people crossed lines with me that you just shouldn’t
cross; and they took those line-crossing trophies of theirs, and they
presented them like silver and gold pieces of ego that, as far as I can
see, entertain everyone but myself. Mostly, I’d say, by virtue of the
fact that they’re the only ones that know the meaning’s behind them.
And everyday, I feel myself slip further and further, and into a deeper
level of personal disgust. I feel like a parent, and I feel like I just
need to disassociate with so much of my life, and so many people. I
feel that if I broke away, and just cut all the ties in my life that
need to be cut – well, I’d be alone for a long time. But I don’t know
what it’s like. Not really.
See, ever since I was fairly young, I was surrounded by people. By
friends, or by family, and I don’t know that I’ve ever really had to
stand on my own two feet for support – emotional, or otherwise. And
it’d hurt me pretty bad, I think, and I’d probably remember something
like this for the rest of my life. But it’s just like anything else in
my life in a way. Some of my worst memories, and most painful, pitiful
times are laced with the sweetest, most incredible memories that I’ll
ever have, and you wonder whether or not it’s worth all the pain.
And then it hits you.
Be it weeks, months, or even years later; it hits you. The horrible
things you may have felt from any kind of instance in general, well, it
was memorable, and it was horrid, and it was tainted with everything
about your life that you’d never want to remember. But it doesn’t
matter. None of the bad ever matters, because the bad doesn’t linger
with any of the intensity that good memories linger with. And
eventually, if by chance of just growing up, you realize that you’d
count some of those memories as ones that changed you, and made a
different, and that you’d do nearly anything to have them back. To have
those moments back, despite the bad.
It’s intensity like that that helps me think I might end up doing what
I should do, and sever ties with so many things that I love, but
frustrate and annoy and absolutely disintegrate me from the inside out.
Because that might be more unhealthy, I’m beginning to think, than
being put up on a pedestal that only you’ve ever designed, alone.
Ah.
I need to stop typing and get to sleep. I’m exhausted, and as much as
this is helping, there are a million and one more words I need to jot
down before the cleansing’s done and it’s left my system. Sleep sweet,
whomever has the heart to read this still.
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| Time |
[28 Oct 2004|11:44pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Soundtrack |
] |
Eleven and a half minutes of uncertainty.
That’s what it’s become, and that’s what it constantly is. That in eleven and a half minutes, I can go through a thousand and one ranges of emotion, reformat my entire life, and choose a completely different path from the one that I’m on; the one that, after some thorough internal debate, has decided to slowly wear me down to nothing. I don’t mean ‘nothing’ in the philosophical sense, either – when I say ‘nothing,’ I mean more the broken-down husk of a person that, at one point in time or another, had a thousand and one opportunities at his feet, and decided on the easiest of those thousand and one paths.
Not ‘decided,’ though. Settled; I ‘settled’ for the easier path, and that’s something no one should ever do, because rarely does a person that settles find themselves happy in the end, or, in my case, a little bit into the beginning.
Eleven and a half minutes, and I’m lying on the floor of a near-empty bedroom, twitching with fearsome anticipation of what’s going to happen, if in fact something’s going to happen. Eleven and half minutes, and I’m not feeling like a husk so much as someone on a brink of a painful, if not exciting, adventure into something I suppose I’ve only understood from a guarded perspective; that isn’t to say that I don’t know what it entails, because I do, and that’s why I’m twitching, or rather, I’m tittering.
11.5
“When god closes a door, he opens a window.” You don’t need to believe in god, or even in religion, to see the truth behind the metaphor. It’s like a neon billboard flashing ‘HOPE ISN’T LOST!’ to billions of disillusions people about to take a step into things they’re unsure about, and each day, I find myself walking further and further through their masses – not as one of them, but as the observer slowly being taken in by their curious fanaticism towards the unknown and the strength of human potential.
It’s safe to assume that in the next few weeks, the possibility, and the probability, will present themselves to me in such a way that I don’t only close doors, but I lock them, and I throw away the keys. And I do that with the hope, and the fear, that the windows in the house are unlocked, because when I close those doors, I think I’ll almost involuntarily start a fire, and when it starts to burn, I know that I’m going to need a way out. Honestly, though, I think myself the kind of person to break the window and jump out if necessary, which probably says a lot about my commitment towards the inevitable.
That it happens, and usually it’s neither good nor bad; it’s a culmination of anticipation and disappointment.
In eleven and a half minutes, I could see myself through the most prismatic of rainbow colored glasses, fit to fill a million different roles all led down a distinctly separate path. Do you know what I saw at the end, though? After the final fatal flicker stopped?
Nothing.
I didn’t see anything, because I haven’t made any single one of those things happen, in my head, for the future. And I think that it’s time for me to stop worrying about things for the wrong reasons, and start worrying about them for the right; I think it’s about time I took a deep breath, a step back, and just looked in the mirror, because up until a week or so ago, I was too easy with everyone and everything around me. I gave, and I gave, and to be more than honest, I did it without expecting much of anything in return, and that’s not who I am.
In eleven and a half minutes, I could be writing some more, or I could be thinking, or I could be on my way to sleep. I don’t know, to tell you the truth, but I know that eleven and a half minutes has the potential to change your life, because I think it’s probably going to end up changing mine.
And I don’t know where this week will take me; not really, and I don’t know where I’ll be at the end of this year, but I’m going to work to make sure that wherever I am, no matter what I’m doing, I’m using up the full of my potential, because I don’t think I’ve been doing that, and like I said before, I don’t think I can do it with what’s going on now. I don’t think that I can do it with the stresses that I have, and I sure as hell can’t do it without the confidence that I gave up somewhere along the way.
And that’s just how it’s going to be; how it has to be, and how it will be.
Sleep well.
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