Nobody listens any more, it's a crime...

So I get high, and everything melts away. All the damage, all the unknowns... they don't matter. It's a very simple state of mind... and that's its brilliance. Thoughts are registered by the primal mind before the cognitive. The first wave that hits is how you feel, not your reaction. No words, only a pulsing, liquid form.

It's at these moments that I feel whole -- That is to say, it's at these moments that I feel patched up and without a leak. It is the pinnacle of my relaxation. My mind is gnawing voraciously at its own limbs... I'm eating myself, destroying my identity more and more with each passing twilight. The moon rises, and I'm reflective; too much so. Nothing is absorbed and I feel drained. It's in this state of mind that I can attempt to achieve serenity. I don't strive to end the war, I'm fighting for no more than a singular moment of peace.

Is it so wrong to hide sometimes? I get weak... and I know these words would mean so much more if I hadn't been hiding for so long.

You...

I can feel a fog weaving around my head...

So many things come together in psychological ways. Relation has always been my undoing. So intricate, so frail... yet indestructible; the pathways surrounding my life. Everything coalesces... it becomes the feeling in the pit of my stomach. I've had it forever, and day by day I think I understand it more. I know that I've built my own dungeon. I don't have the pride to defend my interior. I don't want to live inside-out, it's just that the plague spreads until I have to sanctify my own emotions. It's pathetic, really... On an elemental level, I'm only expelling the polar opposite of what I can't talk to other people about. No one's ever filled that niche... I thought they had, but then you're proven wrong one day. Feeling stupid is something I've reluctantly gotten used to.

I'm programming myself without knowing it, wringing my soul out all over the table. Where did that simple beauty go?

I concentrate on my breathing because It's easier than quieting myself. I think of all the things I want to say, and I compact them... the pressure is more than I can handle. I want to stop everything, and say...

I will be here. I will prove that I'm more than my words. Every part of me aches when I think about how much time I spend thinking about you, because I can't be there with you. I've done so many things that hurt my credibility... But I just don't know what to do. I want to be patient, but I always feel like I'm running out of time... I've always been escaping from something, or trying to hold on to something that is slipping. It's engrained in my head, and it makes me so very nervous. The past rises to the surface when I think about you... it's overwhelming. I feel as if I've been lost for all these years, and it's a shock to the senses to really try to find myself again... but I will be here for you, Linnea.

I don't know... I need to calm down. Thoughts race by so quickly, and I try to snatch every one, to fully interpret it. It makes me overthink everything, it causes me to atrophy. I'm a fool, and I know it.

What have I done to be worthy?

There's a spot that's only mine. A meeting place of all my fears, my hopes and my indifference. I lean against the railing of a dark, twisting bridge. Both ends are far out of sight, as if the entirety of myself lives here. Below, I can see how violently the waves hit. I can smell salty, yet serene, air. Looking down on everything... it's the place where I can talk to myself, alone.

All we do is speak of meaningless things, me and myself. Things that have no conclusion, speculations that are endless and unsealable. It's a place where I can think of all those who probably don't think about me anymore. A place where every memory still breathes, no matter how long it has ceased to exist.

It's in that place that I can calm myself. There, I realize that I'm wholly sedated; devoid of stance or opinion.It's the place we return to to figure out what we want in life, to heed the call of the soul, because it aches for something real. And... I don't really know what is real anymore. It's too hard to classify, impossible to verify. The voice, the pull that tells me what I need on a basic level... is gone. It's taken me a long time to realize how lost I am without it. There's no survival instinct, no biological motivation. I'm convinced that if I wanted to die, I could will it, as morbid as it sounds. But in those hair-thin moments where I thought that death was coming... I panicked to hold on.

I expel much darkness, but that has never meant a surrender of the will to live. Rather, it's in this explosive catharsis that I am slowly justified. The demons of behavior, of thought and reaction... they've been growing for as long as I can remember. It doesn't help that I have been wrecked so many times... it's how I'm meant to learn. I can be so morose, so undeniably jaded because I know what real beauty is... and it's never been here.

I have too much energy pouring over. I feel like something ominous is spreading....

I hate the two poles inside of me. They make everything seem so circular... like the same disaster is happening all over again.

This is where it falls apart...

It makes me so frustrated. I want to tear down everything around me, collapse the wicked grins and the ignorant smiles alike. The falseness of everything that exists now... the falseness of popular culture. Society flocks to it like a guiding hand, but it destroys innovation and creativity. It removes originality and sentience, replacing them with programmed patterns. It reduces us to machines.

The construct can't be destroyed, but it can be rewired. Why do so many people not open their fucking eyes, take a deep breath, and recalculate their lives? I can't avoid doing it every day. Is this just my manic self, or a cry for change?

Nearly every piece of truth in my life is tained by a different lie. So subtle and unassuming, but because of its presence, I have to reject the entire package. I can't believe in anything built on lies.

The only real truth, the only angle of vision that bathes me in veracity, is a girl I can't stop thinking about and can't seem to communicate with. I can never find the words when it matters, I can only spin meaningless throwrugs, designed introspectively. I become enraged when I think about how everyone can live their lives, never thinking about things so obvious, because... they don't really care. Am I an idiot for needing pure volition?

In the end, I'll fade out slowly, painfully so. It sucks. I won't change a single thing, because life is a maze I'm forever trapped in. I miss all of the pure sensations, the warmth of those feelings... Everything's been so twisted for so long, I can't really see what I used to. It's either an illusion that stabs me from the dark, or something I destroy through my own God-given selfishness.

There was a day I tripped for somewhere around 10 hours, off of 2ci. It's very hallucinogenic, but in a strange, organic way... It's hard to explain. But your emotions soar, they peak, and they fall. At the end, I'm always left feeling empty in a profound way... in a way that says more than "empty". On a philosophical level, on an emotional level... I'm always left feeling empty.

All the words in the world couldn't matter on that same level. It doesn't matter how angry I ever become at other people, how sad or forlorn I feel towards loss. When all the superficialities boil away, I'm left just as empty as I started. The only thing that changes is my depth of self-loathing. If I had the power to tear it all down and rebuild with purity in mind...

I don't think drugs have taught me anything, and at the same time... I've learned more than I wanted to know. It opens things... dark trenches within the mind. I can smell the taint of my own thoughts, and it intoxicates me with a never-ending loop of subtle insanity. But I always make the same mistakes. I always trust the wrong people, because they are the only ones to trust. I'm always put in the same position, being everything that I hate about myself. It doesn't matter what I think, how I blossom in a field filled with apathy.

Will my life forever be orchestrated by the soulless, battered thing inside of me?

Pure as we begin...

As my mind is caught up in all these useless things, reality starts to crumble.

My thoughts are always somewhere else. I can't even find the decency to be there for someone. I get distracted, I temporarily forfeit the ability to reason. And what's left? The ruins of something that wasn't my intention in the first place? A plan led astray by its creator?

How am I so weak? I watch others do what I cannot... with such ease. It burns me, scorching my self-worth. Everything can change, but it can't be silenced. The desire to be something greater... Overshadowed by my failure to get there.

Every time I've been the cause of destruction, the sole failure in a long line of opportunities. I just don't have the ability. But to say this makes it sound like I'm shirking the burden to an imaginary scapegoat. I feel like an excuse, like the people who have been close to me were nothing more than bound by a chain of pity. And, thinking back... I can usually see it being true. It's more than a feeling, it's the story of so many events; An accumulating stormcloud... boiling, wrathful.

I could never get anyone to believe in me that deeply, to find the me behind all the weather. I hope he's still there....

Intension...

...kinda divergent, but It's been on my mind.

I rarely talk much about sex to people, unless I'm not being serious. I think that many people have a very selfish, conscience-centered view of sexual intercourse. It has to be something passionate, both people have to be into it, for it to be any good. Not many people realize this. It seems it's more of a desire to "get laid" than to experience something.

Even if it's just a one-night stand, even if it's something fleeting... there has to be real determination, real momentum. You hit that climax with someone you want in a primal, yet sacred way. It's pure euphoria, and so much energy is expelled. I become lost in it.

It's been so long since I had that earthly urge, the need to completely upturn a woman's emotions, to obliterate reason and even thought itself. To guide every action by instinct and the power of desire: To have great sex.

I guess it's an arcaic way of saying: I miss really good sex.

To think about a subject like this seems... a little pretentious, but I miss the connection formed during a night of lust. So cathartic, so passionate, so mind-blowing. It's a mental thing, an emotional thing. Not just a bodily function, it's something stellar.

And it's a real need. Intimacy... is the cure for any and all worries.

Divided, I'm withering away...

The energy of a dream pools deeply within my mind, in a place that I can't reach. I can cradle it, focus on it to calm myself, but the ascension from a dream to a memory is monumental. It has become my charge, my calling. I have a childlike ignorance regarding the structured system of daily life. I was reluctantly pulled into it, and I was enveloped by it. Playing right over my eyes like a sedative.

So I feel as if I must do what I can to achieve my aspiration. Beyond the bounds of what's sensible, to a limit that I would be seen as lacking foresight.

It isn't that I don't know how it will turn out, but I know that I must do this now, in the present. I can't keep wasting time.

When I want something bad enough to sacrifice anything for it... doesn't that say something? Anyone can question my morals, my judgement, my lifestyle. But when I want something that bad, it speaks of a desire so deep that it transcends all this tangible, palpable nonsense.

It has enough force to direct my life, which is so conflicting to my belief that I am not someone anyone should have to put up with.

"A person who is concealed in this way, who from instinct uses speaking for silence and keeping quiet and who is tireless in avoiding communication, wants and demands that, instead of him, a mask of him wanders around in the hearts and heads of his friends. And suppose he did not want that mask: one day his eyes would open to the fact that nonetheless there is a mask of him there and that that's a good thing. Every profound mind needs a mask; even more, around every profound mind a mask is continuously growing, thanks to the constant falseness, that is, the shallow interpretation of every word, every step, every sign of life he gives."

--Nietzsche, "Beyond Good and Evil"

I read this today. It hit me with something from a new angle, I guess, and I felt like I could relate to it. Every time I pull someone in, I lose them. There's such a large gap in our understandings of one another, and it usually lacks effort. More often than not, it's someone else losing interest in me. I'm not an interesting person, There is nothing here to cause someone to look for more than a few seconds. I don't think there's much to cause anyone to look me in the eyes, with true understanding; I'm a pain, a nuisance. I've always been a bother, imposing something that means nothing to another person.

Set as I am in my ways and my arrogance...

...and rising up as a boiling pulse, a writhing snake of energy is released. So unabashed and uncontrollable, there's no defined target. It's an erratic beam of focused impulse.

I assemble myself from the inside out, and It makes me realize that there are words outside of the thesis statement. There is a world outside of pure purpose. A mirage of uncanny relaxation, a falsified state of being. And that's okay... I don't mind it. Everyone needs something to hold on to.

The wheel spins so quickly, but covers ground at the slowest pace...

It took death for me to realize that I never knew her like I thought I did. There is a depth at which I may never know someone else. I took every good memory, patched them together, and forgot about everything negative about the situation. I let my mind run so far with it in a drug-induced stupor.

Just like the way my body feels worn out from the way I've treated it, so does my mind. I've crammed too much abuse into too little time; I sailed on a snakebite to keep pace with something untrue.

There's something about opiates... it fuzzes everything around you. My detatched eyes see both splendor and ugliness with the same analytical apathy. It grew and fed on my every breath until I was constricted.

Being stepped on by love, by addiction or by the inner conflict that grows by the day; Climaxes are waves breaking just above my head. There's a second of complete numbness, no comprehension. Reality swirls into focus, and all I can see is the water pummeling my vision with the force of progression. Moving along a line, underwater... is frustrating. As time passes, every emotion is outgrown by the desire to regress.

High as a wave, but I'll rise up on the ground...

When I'm presented the results of my ideals, It disheartens me. When I'm confronted by them, I don't know what to say. I have no backbone to defend what I hold sacred, because it just looks selfish to others.

Maybe I am a horrible person. People tell me I'm selfish, unthinking, introverted, stupid, foolish and embarrassing. I'd like to think it's because they don't read me correctly, but maybe I am just a failure.

Conviction, faith, inspiration... these things don't mean shit. It's only about results. Aren't we taught that Jesus Christ was a simple carpenter, a beggar by many people's standards? As if living in poverty is righteous in it's own sense. But I think it also brings up that you can't do anything that won't be taken advantage of in some way. He was supposedly the son of God, yet his message was only contrived and reconfigured until it appeased people who are parasites, predators; people who have no sense of empathy.

The entire idea of Christianity, a faith that constructed guidelines of good nature, sacrifice and martyrdom. So many believe in it, yet it's just a manifestation of human instinct. To manipulate, to control and impose... And it's taken like the purest water.

I see everything in that skewed frame, and it makes me feel like the only life for me will be a slow death with visions of grandeur to keep my feet moving forward, dying of thirst in the parched desert of humanity.

It's that tumultuous spiral and the feeling of infecting everything you touch that keep me lying on the ground.

After I move beyond what I idealize, the place and state of mind that I aim for, I'm smacked in the face by how gritty and unassuming the world really is. It just isn't possible to get what I want, because there will always be something to hold me back. I want to drop the leash and run far away from here...

I want to separate every part of myself from the psyche that rules over my life.

Cut it all right in two...

When I lack the ability to get my point across, when I say something that sounds different than what it is in substance, I alienate those around me. I kind of expect to be misunderstood, to the point that I will say anything simply to help the conversation progress. It annoys me. And it always happens when I'm drunk.

It's all meaningless noise, because both sides lack the effort to try to understand. On a larger scale, most people lack this, as I do. It's a constant conscious endeavor to keep your eyes focused outward, and not stare forever inside yourself.

I want to demolish the walls we build, but it's impossible to live without them.

A different way to be...

In my depths, something was hidden. I forgot it was even there. It's the spark that instills within me a thirst for knowledge. It's the wave that brings me back to solid ground. It's warm, the sound that stops my breath, that causes me to stop and think... to really think, to delve and to formulate.

It's eerie and disconcerting. I completely lost myself. I lost every single thing about me. And since no one sees that part of me, no one noticed.

All of the wrath, the passionate violence I wrought was only internal. All of the things I grew up to believe in were completely forgotten. It feels like a jump through space, as if everything's been in the haze of a dream. It's a very visceral feeling of temporary death. It freaks me out and It's always going to stick with me. I'm happy in a strange way that I'm back... because a part of me knows that I belong where I came from; a perpetually tender scar.

There is real insanity in this world, it's not just what is obvious. There is a very depressing psychosis in every movement, every second of every day. The back of my brain is always attacking what I keep up front, It's hard to defend myself, sometimes.

That's all a person really has. Everything is meaningless when you can't hold yourself steady, even death. It's just another event to paste on the timeline. I have lost all ability to keep myself standing. I'm finding that it's very hard to reclaim my position within myself, to not be ruled by instinct, nor pain, nor despair.

three or four years ago, I never would have thought so many sticks could fall loose to collapse a dam. I never thought that anything was real. And then, all I found corporeal was the way I hated everything. The way I hated myself, the way I'll always hate myself. All I found was an insane solution to a schizophrenic problem. I'm broken in a lot of places, in a lot of ways. I even forgot what it was like to look forward to a future day... to look forward at all.

And now, it all sounds completely moronic. Stupid, illegitimate, wrong.

I honestly doubt I could ever climb back up. Part of me doesn't even think I should try. But I have to, because I want it so badly. I want to stand on the top with you, somehow. I can't stand the neutrality I force upon myself.

Who is the "you"? It's the girl I don't even know how to describe. It's the person I found so much solace in. She has a sense of humor that makes me smile, because it's a lot like mine. She has a mind that's beautiful in a way I can't explain... I just know it. I know she's beautiful.

And I lost it.

I lost it more than once. I failed. I usually fail, so does that mean I should always expect to fail? I don't want to give up that easily. I can't.

Picture this, if you will...

I don't know. I feel my soul pulled towards a magnet... it's always in the back of my mind, really. I never stop thinking about it. And it makes me feel great, as long as I don't pay attention to it. If I get lost in the dark... someone will drag me out.

I believe this, I have faith in it.

Possibly because it it's in the foreground. But, I have to keep it alive.

I've been deluding myself for so long, in regards to the way people work. The people I've met are self-righteous machines. It makes you feel like a doormat, like a pining animal, waiting for attention. It reduced who I was as a human and a man. I won't stand for that shit anymore. I'm sick of being used and ignored, and I'm glad that I broke free from those people... and I'll always miss the one that never knew me.

I write somewhere that everyone can see, and yet I don't ever write legibly. But I am lazy, and explaining things is for people who didn't experience them. And those people don't ever matter, because they don't know what the impact is. I can read through this once every few months, and be amazed at how much really has happened; Purely gestalt.

Maybe we should burn the house down...

I have the bad habit of releasing too much energy at once. It makes me seem creepy sometimes, needy, leeching. Really, I just want to ensure that my point is kept and acknowledged.

When I think about all the times I've fucked something up, there shines a beacon. I don't want to fuck it up, too... I just want to see you. I want to say all of the things I wish that I could have. There's so much static buzzing in my ears that I can't grasp that same melody. I can't play along with the beat. I have to explode, and in doing so I drive you further away from me.

I know it's been a long time, but hasn't there always been something there? Isn't there a wavelength that we both synchronize on? I remember when there was no inhibition, no caution; words poured out like the most natural of beauties. I miss that. I miss the way you made me feel. The first separation only foretold of what was to come, I guess. Now, I'm not sure that I can relate to you in the same way... I'm not sure you'd want to relate to who I am.

Everything I write resounds with faux desperation. Fake, because it's not what I'm exuding. I simply want my stance to be known, because it's that important to me. You're that important to me. I don't know why anymore, though. As the seasons keep changing, as my mind spins onward, I'm having a harder time reaching you.

Could anyone believe in the sincerity of these words? They boiled from the bottom of my heart until I was covered in my own anxiety, my own nervousness. Even if it makes me sound crazy or desperate or lonely or fake... or stupid, I'm saying it anyway. I miss the way we were, and I'd do anything to bring you back to me. I'll always have faith in who you are, regardless of how you feel. I wish that I could be in the place to take care of you, because I would.

I wish that I could reconnect in that way... so I could see the person I was so in love with for so long, the person I could never forget about... the only person that ever felt real to me. Would you believe me if I said all of this to you? Would you be frightened and weirded out? Would you never speak to me again, because you didn't feel the same way?

I could confess an ocean full of words, of metaphors, of beauty and promise. Maybe they'd only mean something to me....

I still do...

Instead, I drive too slowly. This isn't an indication of relaxation, it's quite the opposite. Taking in every single detail turns me neurotic and anxious. If I see a back road that's aesthetically appealing, I stop myself and change course. Years can pass before I'm back on route... if I can get back.

I think a lot about the music that I listen to. Maybe that's because I need something to distract me so that my body moves subconsciously. It's the only way I can manipulate the core of my being. Drifting off, listening....

You're so pretty the way you are...

If a decision seems rational, independant, filled with conviction, it's only because the leash has been slackened enough for a little free movement. While it appears that everyone's been granted an infinitely large block of unmolded clay, it's an illusion. We're all mice being led through the maze of fate, all too often placed in a room with only one exit. It's here that we're granted freedom, where there is only one destination we can choose to take.

Even if it's the long way around or approaching from a different angle, the result is the same. There is no such thing as free will, because everything we do has been decided since birth. Sure, I can change the little things, the tiny inflections of my voice; anyone can. But, the song is still the same. The structure never changes, it only appears to do so. As far as I may seem to roam, it's ruled by the number of links in the chain that tethers us all to who we really are.

I could move a thousand miles away. I could change my appearance, my presentation, my reaction. No one can change the structure of their mind, though. I would only meet new people that materialized old methods in an unrecognizable way. Is the meaning of life the process of learning to control this restricted freedom?

If I wore the most beautiful skin, I would keep my ugly stare. Beauty is just another facet that I could crawl into. If I built a mountain of wealth, I'd only use it as an escape from what I wanted all along. Somehow, I feel more at home in what I was born into: The shell of a psychological, physical, emotional addict.

Turning into your parents is something you have to come to terms with sooner or later. It's frightening to know why your father is completely insane, and even moreso when you know that you could end up there one day. As much as I try to break away, I'm only feeding the beast that lives inside of my heart, underneath the upholstery. I believe that my father deserves to die alone, deserves to pay for his sins, to understand just how much pain he caused while he's burning. But wouldn't I deserve the same? Do I deserve to die just as alone as he? I probably do, because my blood tells me that I'm going to ruin everyone's lives around me, while casting my own into the deepest of waters. It's not the idea of heritage that binds me, it's the preprogrammed tendencies that I seem to fall right into, no matter where I'm walking.

The longer you live, the more you carry behind you and the less you have to look forward to. The thought drags me down, lower and lower every day. I've grown so used to dressing myself in independant indifference, a detatched sense of loathing. Like watching a war from far away, a person loses sense of their place. Becoming so disconnected that it feels natural to be above everything... and this is when I truly fail as a human being.

I've got an engine running on nostalgia and fear. My wheels turn when I'm not moving, when I can't even see. As much as I think I'm steering, all I'm doing is following a road that was made for me. Wouldn't it be only natural to want to smack right into a tree?

Salvation is free...

It starts with a sunny day; too sunny. The blinding brightness turns people away. It builds and builds, covering everything in an uncomfortable incandescence. Slowly, the day is overcast by fat, gray clouds. The sound of water pounding the ground becomes deafening and consuming. Everything I hear is infected with the rhythmic beating of raindrops. All too quickly, it stops. Then, in that misty afterglow, you see a different landscape.

It wells up inside of me until I cannot control it. It isn't as easy to name as sadness or mirth. It's something different. It's the fear of thinking you know how it's all going to turn out. All I do is put my foot in my mouth. I wish that I wasn't so anxious, so afraid of not having the chance to say what I need to. It feeds into anger, knowing that there won't be an opportunity to set everything straight. But I'm used to living inside my head, anyway.

After the storms pass, the atmosphere begins to settle. A kind of calm that twists your insides from the lack of movement. I'm always going to be wandering through a desolate battlefield, finding that my fights are far too complicated to ever win.

I feel a little different, anyway...

When I can step outside the battle, I am calmed by neutrality. To take a step outside and take a breath... my mind is lulled into comfortability. I don't have anything more to say, I'd rather focus on the sounds around me.

Makes me wonder if I'm alive...

I enjoyed a night like tonight. The kind of night you really can "get away".

It loosens the ropes, something I'm always relieved to feel. It relaxes every part of my mind, and I don't have to think about anything. I don't have to think about the weights on my feet. I can just be... there's no hysteria brewing to infect my meditation. I can return to the most basic part of myself; I can put a ghost or two to rest.

I'm going down...

I'm stuck in a cyclone. There is no wind, though, because there are no changes. It's always the same. Every time I get a taste of what I need, it fades again. I'm so afraid of watching this happen for the rest of my life. My thoughts are deafening; a warning to stop before I fall off into madness.

There are some situations where I know what's going to happen. I know it. It lives so deeply inside of me that I don't even try to rationalize. It's like watching a train derail: You don't need to see anything beyond the first separation. Somehow, imagining the wreckage is always less gruesome than living it.

Maybe I'm thinking too fast... but I don't have anything else to do. I've carried this with me for so long... I need to get away from here. Sometimes I'd be content to rot away in a shed, on the top of a mountain.

I had a dream a few nights ago, one of those nightmares that seems all too real. Now I can't get it out of my head, and it seems as if it's turning into reality....

I wrote this 6 or 7 years ago, but I don't have it written down anymore; it's something from the heart. Remembering it makes me smile.

"Passed along, sparkling white;
Diamond buried in the sleep.
The sleep of millions, yet of none,
When you don't know why you can't see the Sun.

Knuckles white, clenching fiercely,
Flowers red, embracing gently.
Passed alone, sparkling white,
Someone will someday love that light."

Moon Baby

The Song.

Let's take a blast to the Moon, baby,
I sit around wishing you well,
How I'm craving you, yeah!
Every time I'm near you,
I always wanna swallow you down,
I'll be right here if ya need me!

In my life, I'll need you here,
Don't ask why, I'll never disappear!
Why is it every day that I feel the pain?

Let's take a trip to the stars, far away,
Where were you when I was down?
Staring into the dead.
My pain is caused by my pleasure,
My soul mate lives in your body,
I can't get you out of my head...
It never goes away!

In my life, I'll need you here,
Don't ask why, I'll never disappear!
In your eyes, you can bid me farewell,
Don't ever try to understand the situation!
Why is it every day that I feel the pain?

It always comes when I least expect it,
When I'm lookin' for love, always seem to be regretting it,
Why is it every day that I feel the pain?

"I always said I'd never feel this way, and yet I just keep making the same fucking mistakes over and over..."

Please forgive the evil in me, the darkness within...

I'm just going to stand here, ankle-deep, half asleep; I'm a low, barely audible hum.

And sometimes I like it like that, because it feels like it's familiar. The same kind of familiarity I feel when I rewrite the same lines of something I lost long ago. But it doesn't matter that I can't read it; it's always in my head. Looming over my shoulder is the realization that I don't deserve the chance I want so badly.

A part of me gets sore, a part of me gets sick...

Anyone who can't accept the truth behind an opinion is a coward. No exceptions, no excuses, you're a coward.

I have very genuine feelings toward people. Whether it's love, hatred, disgust or respect; it's real. There is no bullshit in what I feel, because I feed the truth straight into my veins.

Everyone has done things they aren't proud of. But there is a line to be drawn: You either fix it, or you cover it up and hope no one finds out. You take the real kind of responsibility for your actions, or you become a lie. It's not about wearing your heart on your sleeve, it's just that some people seem to think that as long as you can keep something private, it doesn't change who you are.

Total. Bullshit.

I don't have the strength to care about people who simply "put up" with me. I don't have the patience to wait around and hope that everything's alright. I don't have the peace of mind to worry about someone who doesn't even see why they should be worried about. I don't have the endurance to pound these fucking messages into someone's head when all they read is "insanity".

I have two modes of thought: Pure nonsense and my pure, unaltered emotion. I never expect to be taken seriously, but when I get in my passionate mode, every word I say means the world to me.

I'm sick of everyone here. I'm sick of these psychological fucking circus run-arounds. I'm sick of every time someone passes over something that's important, life-changing. I'm sick of the people that live like animals, bound to their own petty lives. And I'm called a hypocrite for saying these things.

To this, I say: There's a difference between giving up, and thinking you're invincible. There's a gap between failure and stupidity. There is a very wide line between being self-absorbed and being selfish.

All this anger wears me out. It stems from caring about someone, loving that person a lot and trying to help them, but everything gets tangled. You take a moment to gather your wits, to clean up your mind enough to try to speak. But, by then, it's all in vain. By then, all I do is make that person feel like trash, as if it was a mistake to ever know me.

There was a time when she was like family... now everything's distorted....

Patience is how I'm living today...

It's the changes that come in a sweeping inundation that stay. The smaller a step is, the less noticeable is it, and the easier it is to forget you took it.

I've had no motivation. I haven't been doing anything other than covering my brain in sedation. I can't deny that it taught me something. I can't deny that it killed a part of me. The future seems so easy to figure out, but I never know where I am once I get there. Whether it's decay or incandescence, it's torture. There is always one thing that I want, but can never obtain. And that's the blade I wield. Whether it's pointed at others or myself, it's nothing more than a tool of violence; A crude effigy of unfocused rage.

But there's a feeling that rises up. I'm not completely sure why it's there, and I don't know if it's justifiable. I do, however, believe that it is the only real part of me. It's a rush of blood, a surging flood that tears apart acquiescence. And that's all I really need.

I haven't even thought about things like this for years. I've accepted something that was just an illusion, and was content with a slow decay. It felt right, it felt like it was what I deserved. Now, I can sense that it's a lie coiled around my heart. Knowing that there is still a romantic alive in me, that I yearn for something other than escape... it's glorifying.

It's strange. There is a part of me that likes the feeling of wanting to be with someone. There's another part that scolds my passion, insisting that I shouldn't dream so much. I've spent a long time in a cage, burning every bridge in my mind. It makes you pissed at the world, pissed at every characteristic of your circumstances.

And how do you really know what another person thinks of you? Is it all action and reaction? Am I supposed to come charging in, full force, proclaiming what seems crazy? Do I keep it in the undertow, so that it will always rule the way I think? I can't do that anymore. I woke up, and realized that I had to grab this and hold it close... somehow.

My soul mate lives in your body...

My heart's like a balloon. I can only hold the string for so long until I subconsciously let go. By the time I realize the wind's changing, it's floated out of reach. Higher and higher, until I can barely make it out in the sky, becoming a slave to the weather. I lose focus, lose myself... temporarily becoming a dead weight.

It feels normal after awhile, staying on the ground while that part of me is out of sight. I degrade into an impulse-based animal, without wondering why my hands are empty. Then, when my balloon reaches something sharp, it pops. It takes a long time to find where it landed and patch it up again.

Every time, there's only one thing that keeps my heart my own; Only one thing that keeps me from losing it forever. Every time I look to that connection, I see the most precious jewel. Somewhere inside me, I know without a doubt that it is the most beautiful thing I'll ever see.

It's really easy for someone like me to get stuck. Not in a place or a position... but it's more like being stuck inside an emotion.

For me, it's usually disappointment. The basic world is so hollow on a passionate level. Every type of beauty can be raped. The majority of people seem to live skin-deep lives, and delude themselves by thinking it's grandeur. It's a black-and-white view, because everyone has a level they can reach that's as deep as what I'm after... but nobody really tries.

I get disillusioned every time the cycle comes 'round. The world changes from a showcase of wonder to a gritty bathroom stall. Yet, in that... I realize my dream.

All I really care about is keeping that diamond connected to me, and keeping my heart tied to my hand, under control. It feels strange to come to terms with all of this so suddenly... but my soul is feeding me a message, telling me it's for real.

After so many years... there's no one I need more than her. It makes everything else seem... fake, as if this is what's always been the only truth.

To keep it simple, I need to change the way I live my life so that I can be good enough for her. As soon as I know I am...

It's kind of gay, I'm completely consumed with thoughts like this. But I feel as if it's something only I can do. I will save her. But that's not it entirely; I want to be saved.

Every moment that there's doubt about life itself, that nothing is as real as I'd hope it to be... this feels more than real. I really regret trying to keep myself separated from her, because somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I'd only be trying to do something impossible, and hurting her feelings in the process. It's like... you want something, but you feel as if you know you can't have it. After awhile it becomes repressed and almost forgotten about... almost. And now everything's surging back out, and I remember how much there is.

I've never had a relationship that felt real. Everything is about action and reaction, not understanding. It's about "when to make a move" or "what to do", not just revelling in the fact that the other person exists. To be honest, I don't talk to her that much anymore. But maybe that will change. And even if it doesn't, I will hold this purpose in my heart until I know it's possible for me to show her how wonderful it could be.

It's nice, being able to focus on something other than why I hate everything, why I feel negative about this or that. It's nice to feel something this deep within me stirring around again. It's nice to feel alive.

A fine day to exit...

There is someone that, simply... makes me feel great. It's a soothing feeling I've really missed. Kindred spirits, I guess. Someone so in sync with you that it's completely natural to say nothing.

I feel bad because of how long it's been, but a part of me will always be madly in love with her. Even though I've forgotten these feelings over and over, they seem to come back stronger every time.

There are moments in the day where I'm not thinking of anything at all, and I'll remember the relationship we had. It was a long time ago; It seems the flame will always be burning.

Love is more important than anything else to me. Not having a relationship for the sake of killing loneliness, not a purely physical infatuation that is no more defined than one's libido. It's something else, something I can't explain. I feel as if I could never speak to her again for as long as I live, and I would still have very strong feelings for her. It's something that feels spiritual to me.

Ever since I started this blog up again, I've felt as if I have woken up from my base, animalistic self. I've been perpetually addicted to anything that gives me a sense of purpose, when all I've wanted is something like this.

I've loved people, I've thought I was in love, but there has always been a turning point where I realize that it was misguided and not who I really was. This... is different. This has survived so many years of isolation, when we were in no way related to each other's lives. This feeling has always been with me, and I believe that it will last for the rest of my life. It scares me that I'm not sure why.

My own insecurities have pushed me so far away from what I want. Everything has been chipping away at me, and I've been too preoccupied with it to see that what I really want is her. It's kind of hard to even try to get her though, because of so many factors... but I'd rather die than not give it my best.

I've gotta clean myself up....

4/20/02

So, all you fools who sing just like him: feel free to do so now, 'cause he's dead.
Using, using, using... the using takes toll.
Isolation, just so happy to be one.
Sad to, sad to think, sad to think of him all alone.

Lonesome friend we all knew, always hoped you'd pull through.
No blame, no blame, no blame; it could be you.
Using, you can't grow old using...

So sing just like him, fuckers. It won't offend him. Just me. Because he's dead.

Using, using...

I get disgusted at other people. I can find a hundred reasons why. I'll dig a hole a mile wide just to show you why.

And now... I'm just disgusted with myself.

I believe I'm a good person; I believe I have moral strength. I am furious at those who trade in morality for safety or selfishness. All I am is a hypocrite. I have only barbed edges to throw, and I'm starting to stab them into myself. I'd like to see myself ripped apart, just to know how it would feel.

If something doesn't change...

People lie and cheat and steal and kill and rape and torture and condescend and hurt other people, constantly. But what have I ever done to be virtuous? To be ardent?

Close to the edge of another backdoor...

There are two threads: The tumultuous and the ardent. The first is what we live every day. It's based on what happens, everything is cause-effect. Everything. All you think, feel, every action in your day has taken your entire life to calculate. Some end up better than others, noticing the flow more and are fighting... not to escape it, but to control it. If you don't do that, you become a slave to your own destiny; fate's whore.

The second is the imagined. Your goal, the thing you embrace in your scarlet dreams. Too many people neglect this pipeline. But what can someone really achieve?

It isn't not weakness that defeats someone, it's losing determination. Validating the loss is the same as acknowledging its shadow; a spectre that steals light from every source. That's when the giving up starts. I've been stuck in the same place for so long that I forgot why I was here. I forgot that there are bloody, angry gears churning to raise a fist. It only stops building when it breaks. It's like listening to a cresting war drum.

Disfigured beliefs and scarred skin are the only result.

Beyond the faultline, the air tastes fresh. Yet there's always another crack in the world, just over the next mountain....

I wish that I could stare down with objective thinking. I wish that there really was a rhyme and reason to what people do. But there isn't. There's no prediction, no forecast. Reality isn't how vibrant the grass you walk on may seem. Underneath is the ghost of every single moment of life. It's a ghost that pushed someone I loved right into that breach. There is no rational thinking on this plane. You sink or you swim, and neither sparks interest.

Without fear...

On a warm day of September, I was on a pontoon boat in the middle of a lake. It was the morning I was leaving, and the sun was at that point where it's high, but not completely overhead. It reflected across placid water to make something that looked... alive. Like a sea of quicksilver.

I took a picture of it, but it wasn't the same. Seeing it in person made me feel something. I felt as if I could live the rest of my life out there. I wouldn't have a single regret. Standing there, swaying back and forth, looking at water made of steel, fluid and... alive.

The more I think about that day, the more I wish I was still able to get to that place in my mind. The purest serenity, without all these holes. I think it was the first time I had been close to someone in a way that means something. Tied together from the core of your soul. It makes life seem amazing. That rope has been cut and retied more times than I care to say. Every knot is a roadblock that I become ashamed of... in the most introverted way. Imposing callouses on newborn hands is something that people are only too willing to do. I bleed, heal and start bleeding again. Each time, my conscience grows dimmer, my hands retract more quickly, and I learn how to fight a different kind of abuse. I've become nihilistic.

There was a time that I could believe in people. We're not just animals; people have more grandiose dreams than we give each other credit for. It's too bad that the sky is gray with rules and indoctrination. I see a bluer sky; I see where I used to be.