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Aggression kicked Deppression in the head. Depression got Sad and wished it was dead. Jealous saw Depression and Jealous got Mad; 'Cause Depression had something that it never had. Shy and Lonesome talked of the weather while Happy and Nice sailed away together. Lust and Ignorance stayed busy in bed, but all mourners had flowers because true Love was dead.
"Tell me that it's nobody's fault, nobody's fault but my own."
- Beck, "Nobody's Fault But My Own"
"Weary"
I find it harder and harder to create something consistent and coherent these days. Perhaps I have grown tired of these same old arguments in all their varied forms. Or perhaps I have grown soft in the mind while my heart has grown old, cold, and hard. I am finding more and more revulsion in the laborious and long argued corner philosophies and that "hard talk" that can be heard late night in any convienence store. I believe this to be part of the reason for the new, jaded me.
So I say fuck off to the dime store philosophers and I cast away the old arguments and all too often revisited thoughts and feelings that supposedly make people so alike.
Do me and the rest of the world alike a favor and say something, although impossible to be origional, at least different from the societal drone.
If the sentence you are about to utter begins with "I think..." or "I believe" know only that I do not care. My silence is not stupidity, at least not always; It is my bordem. I have heard this before I am only hoping that you finish thinking you have explained yourself enough to never do so again.
I grow weary of this redundancy.
I am hoping to replace simple, naive emotionalism with cold calculation.
It should be a crime for academic work to omit the word "I" when it is the only word anyone gives a damn about.
Don't worry, I'm still hating you deep inside, you worthless bitch.
"Drown, drown. Sailors run aground. In the Sea Change nothing is safe."
"Strange waves push us every way. In a stolen boat, we'll float away."
- Beck, "Little One" from Sea Change
Me.me.me.me.me.me.me.me.me.me.me.
We're all really just children when it comes down to it.
"Does it get you sweaty?"
Somewhere, someone thinks they're in love.
Somewhere, someone is taking nude photgraphs.
Somewhere, someone is really huring someone else.
Right now.
Darkness. And applause.
How can I know and talk to so many people and still be so alone?
Sure, someone has felt this way before. The real question is: Are they still alive?
I find that lately it is hard for me to talk with a woman(a straight or bi one at least) and not want to hurt someone. However, me and lesbians tend to get along well, apparently.
There are dangers to the gene pool wondering about fucking indescriminantly and spawning terrible heathens and I can't find a girl to simply hold hands with. Strange how these things seem to work.
Just tell me it will all be ok and look sincere. You don't even need proof.
"Emancipate"
True freedom is destroying yourself. This is because the only fun things to do will eventually hurt/maim/disfigure/kill you. Laws try to discourage these things but we all know that prostitution(ie. sex, stds), drugs(ie. euphoria, poisons) and various violent(ie. daring) acts are things that we want.
Drugs, a good book, free time, plenty of sleep, a girl.. I don't think I'm very difficult to please.
I look at alcohol as a ghetto buzz. It is dangerous, it's effects are hard to balance and fine tune into something acceptable, and causes a decidedly large lack of self control. I have resigned myself against it. It's only upside is legality.
The thought of an old Tandy computer not even capable of running Windows95 brings a smile to my face. Ah, the memories.
Perhaps I am truly just crazy.
Fortunately, I've grown past the point where your disappointment in me and disapproval of my actions matters to me.
"No News is Good News"
I try to take solice in other people's happiness and success. I really do.
It seems like all that I feel is jealousy and hate. Why should it be good for you? What have you done that I haven't? Why is it a struggle for me, these things that come to you so easily?
I believe they call that a Hater, do they not?
"On Sale"
Twenty years old, two kids with one more on the way, high school drop out, and shopping at Wal-Mart with redneck fiance` and dirty child in tow. These are the sort of thing I'm helping pay for with my miserable work and you have the gall to tell me what I can and can not put in my body? I shouldn't even be asked what or why I'm doing when this is the sort of ridiculous, genetic and societal waste that other people get away with legally.
I do, however, find it somewhat ironic when I make food for someone who is paying for it with my tax money. It would be humurous, I'm sure, if it wasn't for the nauseau.
I don't know when the last time I felt this terrible was and I don't know why I do now.
Know that your time will come before I'm in the ground.
My not so happy fucking twenty-fourth is coming in eight days and I've still accomplished so little.
That girly smell that follows women around as they walk by me not noticing still makes me feel a little more empty every time.
I refuse to take all the blame, but sometimes I think that I'm my own worst enemy. Other times I know it.
(i am the problem; i am the solution.)
