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To quote an old favorite of mine, "Longing": "Fuck, it's not fair. And fuck you. This is my place. If I want to make these declarations, I Will. I shout unfairness and this is bullshit. I cry injustice and wrongness. This world is not right."
So, I too have been getting introspective lately. Probably due to the fact that I'm going to be a supposed "productive memeber of society" and what not.
Basically, I have been rolling the idea around in my head that, since I fund and code this site myself, I either want to rule with an iron fist or wipe it clean.
Now, I'm open to suggestions on all this. I know that one way or another a lot must change here. I've stopped taking horse shit in my life outside of here so I most certainly won't take it here in my home; my art; my place.
Yes, I contradict myself a lot. I did say art. I'm still an idealist at heart so fuck you for noticing.
I've made too many tactical retreats in my time. This thing is getting away from me and becoming a tool or something completely useless altogether.
Just shout out on the post board. Let your opinion be known. All eight or twelve of you.
And I've got more to say, so fuck you for selling me short.
I'm a control freak and I loathe the idea of things, people, places, etc. getting away from me.
Sometimes, I miss even the shitty, useless times in my life because of the carelessness in which I used to live it.
Sometimes I'm an attention whore.
I'm fat but I'm going to try my damnest to change that.
I don't rhyme every time.
I'm a coward a lot of times. Brave when it matters. Lie when it matters and will fix things. And an idealist at heart.
I really don't like a lot of things I've done.
I'm a lucky son of a bitch and sometimes I don't realize it.
I believe in God and think that, short of outright, heartfelt blasphemy he really doesn't care what I'm saying. I think he favors bravery but not stupidity. I think he may even have spoken to me once. It wasn't the most important subject, but, all the same was an important event.
I am a cheater(Some school, some girlfriends).
I think I'm a decent guy at heart.
I know most people like me but I'm not sure why.
I like to take shits. I think this is because when I was young, I would hold it for days for some reason. And wouldn't go anywhere but in the bathroom at my house.
I alienated the only girl that ever really loved me.
I don't think I'll find another stable girl until I lose a lot of weight.
I like to drink, eat pills, smoke herb. Up until I graduated high school I thought these things helped define a bad person. Now, I think I was wrong. At least I hope I was.
I love my family. Even with all their flaws.
The few real loyalties I have are true ones that I will honor unto death. I just can't figure out where those loyalties are save for one or two people outside of family.
I think lying is ok under the right circumstances.
I like beer.
I like blowjobs.
I wish I could get all the people I like in my life together for a real party the likes of which all mankind has never seen. I know it probably won't happen, though.
Most women I see I check out, especially their breasts and legs(if I can).
I really used to think most people were born good and were basically good at heart. I'm not so sure anymore and that scares me more than anything except for ,maybe, my own capacity for evil.
I think my mom's depression and subsequent leaving for her family in Nashville for a little while when I was ten really didn't help things much for me. I remember my uncle picking my teary eyed ass up from school and saying that my mom had to go to Nashville because she was sick or needed to for some reason. I didn't understand at the time. It was later, during an episode of the old Batman with Adam West that had all the kooky music and what not that my dad explained depression to me. To make a long story short my deceased Grandpa was not a nice man and it scarred his kids. Fuck you, Gramps.
In sixth grade I learned what hyperventilating was. This is because I did it and thought I was dying while I was at school. I did this later on through yawning. I've never even talked of this since that year. To anyone. Sometimes I still do it. Yawn a few times just by thinking about it. They put me on what I called my "goofy" pills that made me laugh and sleep a lot. I'm sure it's something I'd love to find nowadays. This was the same year that I had to see the head doctor for my depressing poetry. I don't think I've really liked poetry much since. All the doc did was let me borrow a book on stress. I didn't read it. I thought he was a prick for not letting me keep it. In his office(which I think was also his house, or a house at least) he made me fill out a little survey, it was a list of things and I was to check the ones that bothered me. Stress and/or worrying was the one I put the star by which was to denote the most bothersome thing. I was also convinced that I was going crazy.I was twelve at the time.
The first year of middle school, for the first couple of weeks or month, I cried every morning from the time I got there until about halfway through the first class. I thought I was a true sissy then. I didn't think anyone noticed because I kept it pretty hidden. I was an all 'A' student, though.
I really thought a lot of my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Hackley. When I got my all 'A' report card in middle school I went back to the elementary school to show her. She said, "That's great, K****." K**** is my dad's name which was somewhere on the report card for some reason, I think. I was devestated that she didn't remember me not even a year later after all that trouble in sixth grade.
I'm really drunk. Right now.
It bothers me that I can't think of any girl right now that gives me butterflies. It's been years since I've had those butterflies and that anticipation. I think that that is truely sad.
I hope that maybe people understand why I'm so fucked up now even though I don't come from a broken and/or abusive home.
In sixth grade I was in the Beta club. They made us visit an old folks home and "adopt" an old person with which we would visit on a semi-regular basis and bring little kiddy shit that we made to. Mine couldn't talk and a week later died. It didn't bother me when I first heard he did. Then later I cried in the middle of class and had to tell the teacher what was up(I found out from my dad who is in the medical field). They quickly reassigned me to an old lady who, also, could not speak but smiled a lot and seemed happy I was there. After that one visit to her, they pretty much canned that idea. Looking back now, I guess that I was the reason.
I'm afraid that I've helped turn one of the greatest, kindest(if not misunderstood), and most honorable men in my life into a bad man. I'm truely sorry if I have, Adam.
I miss my Aunt Pat and Uncle Gary. I cried at my Aunt Pat's funeral. She never smoked a day in her life as far as I know but died of cancer. She was always active in the church even though my uncle wasn't. I really disliked God for a while after her death. It was the first time I saw S****** family men cry.
The ironic thing is I think my uncle died shortly thereafter(a year, maybe) from pain killers. The shit that I take these days for "fun". They said heart failure, but the talk from my father was, perhaps, a little more honest. I miss him so much. I couldn't cry at his funeral for some reason, although I did the night before on my way to work. I'm not sure I've cried since. I'm not sure I can cry anymore. God bless him, I hope he found Pat's hand in Heaven.
Tonight I'm crying for the first time in forever.
After Pat died my dad told me to visit my uncle more often. I didn't and I feel so guilty because of that. I know that it probably wouldn't have made that much of a difference, but still I cry most bitter tears now because I'm such a useless bastard.
I hope all this pain I'm going through right now will make someone do something better with themselves.
I was in Beta club in fifth grade. We had a three day Beta club convention then. My girlfriend at the time decided to break up with me for a guy in sixth grade. I thought that was so terrible. What a douche I was.
The sixth grade Beta club convention was marked by the shaparone farting all night in the hotel room occupied with me, him, and two other kids. It was so bad that one of the other kids crawled to the bathroom and puked. I stayed up all night, played Gameboy, smelled farts, and watched the first, second, or third(I can't remember which) Real Sex on HBO. With the shaparone's permission, of course.
Maybe a good, drunken cry was what I needed.
I hope I can be a decent man but I doubt myself a lot.
I'm a Grammer Nazi.
I have an enourmous amount of pornography. Sometimes that bothers me. Most of the time I just sit back and enjoy it.
The nicest man I have ever known is Mark. God bless him.
I think I'm about done now.
So, now maybe things are bit clearer about me. I hope that, maybe, you folks will see where I come from.
I'm hoping a little reminder is what I needed to do better.
And God bless the North American Imperialist, where ever he may be. I hope it all works out with him.
