Thursday, April 18, 2002

Interesting, this is the first time I have ever done an online diary of sorts. Perhaps I shouldn't think of it as such but I no doubt will. I already feel as if I have posted enough, but under the order of my Little Kings (beer) and egging on of acquaintances I will write more. I thought of what to call my 'blogspot' - it came to me in a matter of seconds, the tittle is very fitting. You may know, that I generally tend to be in a good mood which is how I like to be - but for the past 3 days it has been interrupted, not a depression but enough has gone on for me to question my natural state. "So what" I hear the echo in people's throats before their stomachs push the air out - as if I have problems. Granted I laugh plenty and enjoy the company of many acquaintances during these "questionable times" but that does not mean that I do not hide what I feel and think. In fact I do so alot, almost too well for my own good. What has brought these questionable times upon is beyond the trust of which I give any person with clarity of mind save a couple - other than the ones that I can count on half of my hand the rest are done out of desperation perhaps. What is to be desperate, I do not know that is why I ask "Is this interrupted happiness, or the continued depression that every person is doomed to feel throughout thier lives?" It was explained to me that the natural state of mind is desperation, sadness, and boredom. I don't know how wholly I subscribe to that thought but I can see how it is derived. My perticular problem is that the conclusion I draw contradicts the examples that I notice, but those examples aren't very cohesive with the truths that I now face. .......*sigh*...... I hate this, I sound like a sophist because I don't want to tell the world what it is that I am thinking, however I wish everyone would know. Even if not everyone then I want my brothers to know, but without me telling them... but such is a fairy tale. God damn fairy tales fucking up my life. (15 minutes later I read and regret my vulgarity but I leave it in for raw emotion)

I think I noticed something lately which has been obnoxiously obvious to me this entire time, as well as all of you. Some people say that the media is to blame for people's apathy towards general life, some note that the more people go through the more extreme something must be in order for them to feel it, some people are retards and can only regurgitate what their teachers and proffessors have told them. What ever the reasons of apathy to our community, it is vastly overshadowed by our own overly dramatic concern for ourselves. I think maybe that it is this that allows us to justify our own vanity, sympathy, feigned interest for other people. Not because we really care - but because we think of ourselves and wish the same for us. Such is not genuine concern - it's almost sickening - but nothing is new about being disgusted by the people around me; I am sure I have raised eyebrows as well as stomachs. Even on the verge of 21 I don't feel that much more mature than the adolescent described by frustrated parents. I do however profess that I am more intelligent and experienced - which I don't think equals maturity, however I cannot be the judge of myself because my own thoughts are completely irrelevant in how I must look at myself. You decide who I am, not me - even granite and ore is formed by the subtle flow of water. Granite and ore will allways feel the same, hard and rough - but they are still shaped by thier environment. Am I granite or ore... no - sorry to even the 'closest acquaintances' that I have met, even friends - but I feel very much like talcum right now.

Even to the most caring of hands, talcum still falls apart to dust and drifts on the winds until nature is done with it. I do not ask you to be careful... the farther you drift, the more you experience, the greater you become. Inviting desctruction... of course. Smash my lincoln log cabin so that I may build a lego castle. And those carpenters that help, let me shelter you from rain so that you may build palaces, then friends we will become as Camelot was, ne'er such a glorious time as when we ruled our own world.

You have no idea how rediculous I feel about leaving that last paragraph there - I hope you contortionists of reality that I call friends enjoy reading this. You who directly or indirectly made me do this becasue I continually gave lame excuses about my own discontentment, either hiding it or lying about it. Damn you guys... I love you. Especially those who I dare say are closer to me than blood. Why I am sad? It has been cast outside my field of vision for now, when it comes back in - I hope I have you there to xbow the problems above my head that I may not see. Gauss the uncertainties that lie behind closed doors. Rockets and satchels to blow open the clogged paths that lead to what I seek. 9mmAR's and tripmines to protect me from behind and snarks to consume the petty concerns that can trip me while I run to my demons. And the trust and patience for me that when I fight my demons to congradulate me on victory when I emerge with a smoking shotgun and demon blood on my crowbar.