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Hollow glass with tungsten alive. Tungsten on fire. It burns so bright. It is the holy fire that keeps away all those fears everyone has locked away in that ancestral memory. The light is blazing bright over in the corner of the room. It is the only lamp in the house that still has a light bulb that has not burnt out. It burns so bright that shadow is but a dim memory for the moment. Oh but only for the moment. They start to creep back in like a moth to the flame. The shadows they slowly slighter in their eeriness threatening to swallow the little light.

In the back ground a song plays about passing the hat. Someone pockets the cash leaving a note behind saying that "the giver's not knowing where their money is going to is as good as throwing it away." The band had struck a cord in mind even before I heard a single note. It was in their name more than anything. Cold War Kids. It says something to me that I don't quite understand and throws back a bit of nostalgia. I remember the waining days of the cold war from my early childhood and I must say that times then did seem better for some reason. I don't know why.

The song fades into the back of my mind as I strike up a conversation in my own mind. Thoughts really. I don't actually talk to myself. If I did, I should probably sit myself down and have a good long heart to heart about what is going on right now. About where we are going. About all those questions that neither I nor the me I would be talking to could have the answer to.

So for the sake of sanity I won't imagine myself talking to that imaginary me. Instead I find myself having a conversation with the light that is fighting with futility. It is trying so hard to push back the impending night.

I ask it why school didn't prepare me for all the things I was going to face? No school didn't really ever teach me what I needed to know. It didn't teach me how to deal with despair and someone breaking your heart. The tungsten just burns. It has no answers.

Why did I say to that person that I wanted to keep in touch? The answer isn't that hard to find really. The bulb wouldn't need to answer. Really I meant that I wish she would just grow up. No the bulb didn't have to answer at all. So the tungsten just burns. It has no answers.

Am I just failure by design? I am sort of a recluse confining myself to the internet with most my days. I continue to blame myself. I blame myself all the time. It does nothing but add a bigger and bigger chip on my shoulder. Burn tungsten burn. You have no answers.

What is it about me that is so selfish and quick to anger? I have no right to others things but then they have none to mine. Should I have changed the way of access? My space and my privacy are in constant invasion because I just can't lock my door. I thought I had learned to share but apparently others haven't. So I will keep what is mine and you keep what is yours. Stay the fuck out of that which is not yours. Is that right? The tungsten just burns. There are no answers, only light.

Am I going in the right direction? Do I have direction at all? I know what I want and what I want to do but I am to ashamed to admit it to anyone, least of all myself. Perhaps that is because I see that choice as selfish and yet there would be no money to be made of it. All you give to me is light. No answers. Just light.

Shouldn't I want something more than I do? Shouldn't I want to help the world or at least do something of greatness? My dreams are much less inspiring that most would think. People would tell me I am smart. People have told me that I am good at what it is that I do for a living. I don't think I want that though and what I do want I don't know if I can ever be as good at as I would like to. Why? Burn tungsten, burn. The only answers you have are in what you do.

Should I feel bad because I miss what it is that I used to do? It was mindless, it was in no way helping anyone. It wasn't about he greater good. Instead it was a completely selfish endeavor. It was a selfish endeavor that I hated for that reason. I thought the grass was greener on this side. Illusions. All of it. The lightbulb knows nothing of greed. It only knows service and its purpose. It burns. It burns bright. It burns with all its life to hold back the impending dark. It has no answers for me.

Will what I do ever be what my parents, my friends and my family be enough? What do they expect of me? What does the world expect of me? I can't know any more than anyone else. It is inevitable that people will simply lie to me. It is impossible to know if what is being said is real and truth. The light bulb itself is a lie. It gives unnatural light. It promises safety from the dark but it can't last forever. So burn tungsten burn. There are no answers to be had.

What happened to those dreams that we had? What happened to all those dreams? Did you dream them too? I imagined a world made better by us but instead we lost contact. We became what it was that we never imagined. We made no great change. We made no big difference. The world isn't better. It may have never have changed at all. It may be worse. We made a new generation for which to leave all our debts and sins. When will the cycle end? Silence. Burn bright tungsten. I expected nothing less. I wanted so much more.

What happened to us? We used to be so close. We would talk until late at night spouting wisdom about bread and cheese. It was all we thought we needed. We were wrong. Priorities became different. You would succeed where I continue to fail. I would have moments of being happy yours would last longer. We didn't used to seem so different. Now I have locked you out and for what reason? I don't expect an answer so just burn.

It may sound strange but a dead guy and an elf were the best things to have happened to my life. You probably won't understand but I miss them. The lightbulb has no friends. It just gives light. No answers.

A flicker. A pop. In an instant the fight against impending dark is lost as the light burns out. I am here now in the dark with no one to talk to. The fight was indeed futile. The answer is there.

As far as I can tell and from what I have been able to discern, despite all the great questions that have been asked and the great philosophical answers to be given there is only one that has the precedence to stand above the others. You see little light bulb can't tell me. It just goes on with that one too. The tungsten just burns until it can burn no more. It has all the answers.

What is the point of all this? Is there any universal answer or was I right all along in that there is no answer to be had just more questions? The answers are going to be found only within ourselves after all. The answers are things that we can only find from within. There is no truth beyond what we are willing to believe and no truth beyond what we are willing to accept. Reality is a construct of our mind. The answers were never really important anyway. It was all about the questions and the journey that they take us on. How is it that a light bulb can show this? That is but another question.

We are all fighting that same fight as the light bulb. We are all alive and it is easy to loose perspective. To let slip the idea that we are all fighting to not be dead just yet. Sadly the fight is rigged. We all go down eventually. That isn't a question. The only question is how many rounds we are going to last. We don't ever really stop fighting though. No matter how bad things get we never stop. I think it is because we just don't know how.

I may be insane. I may be brilliant. I can't determine which. I just had a conversation with a light bulb in my head. What was imagined was just as real as the real. All I know is that I want to burn bright and long. What about you?

Love, Luck, Lipstick and Lollipops
  • Listening to: Brand New
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I imagine myself in front of a group of people, each clinging to my every word as I preach from a pulpit about the wisdom I have achieved in this life. It is only the kind of wisdom that can be earned and learned from experience and many hours laboring and toiling over thoughts. For them I throw witty anecdotes from which they can draw forth conclusions about what it is that I am trying to tell them. I throw in a story or two on how to live life and how to avoid the mistakes made by this old man in his younger years. Perhaps they will listen but experience tells me that they will not. No people need to make their own mistakes and learn from the heart ache that is brought forth there from.

It is sort of a sad thing that we don't exactly have an ancestral memory, a sense of what it was that our ancestors did right and what it was that they did wrong. I wish it were so. Somehow it could be coded into DNA as a sort of message or warning to not follow in the footsteps of those who came before and learn from what it was that they did wrong. I sure could have used that sort of foresight. I am sure every could have. Some come closer while I tell you a story of why again my actions have consequences and a cum dumpster has the last laugh so to speak.

Time had had passed. A good amount of time. Hell a great deal of time had gone by and things were finally starting to make sense again. I was out of the funk so to speak, I was not dwelling on the past and thinking about how great yet another ex-girlfriend was and what it was that I did wrong. No, instead, I was making headway in my life. Progress folks. Progress.

Tears had all but dried up and I was just okay. I was trying to be mature. There was a sort of wonder to the sense of ignorance that I was experience. The situation was rather ideal in my own opinion. I was simply walking away and into the east while she into the west so to speak. That was at about the on set of the summer months which are currently winding down. That was when times were good and I had a strange sort of euphoric feeling of tranquility meshed with a lack of hatred for her.

Feelings like that are so rare for me. There is rarely an feeling of indifference towards people that I have met, know or have known. Impressions just stick and let me say that they often stick for a long time. That is something that is hard for most people I think. It is something that gets ingrained into us in some way. It gets pushed into a synapse or a cerebral pattern and just stays for an indefinite amount of time. These are the kind of hatreds and feelings that we pass on to our children, if not genetically, through word of mouth at least. And let me tell you that my children will learn to hate the cum dumpsters of the world.

Nevertheless, back to the story at hand. I am driving back to the appartment one day before the dent in my car came to pass. I am picking up a few last things, doing the last load of laundry that my clothes will see as far as Gateway Gardens is concerned. It is a Wednesday and game is coming up soon. It is about 5 or 5:30 in the evening when the phone rings. Brandon was right, I just should have deleted the number and walked away. He was oh so right. Just another example of us needing to learn from our own stupidity.

So here I am looking on in shock and awe at a phone call from that person who hasn't called in so long. How did they get this number. My mistake really. I added it to the phone. I made the error of dialing it just once while I was figuring out the phone. That is how someone got my number and that is how I was about to become some big emotional tampon.

First, let me clarify for you how this relationship came to an end. Toward the end the person, whose name will remain anonymous and I am growing fond of the term cum dumpster, had decided that the relationship was over. That is fair, that is fine and in fact had apparently come to the conclusion for some long time prior to the split. Instead of letting go and ending it in a proper fashion though the fear of my hatred is apparently so overpowering that it cowered the weak willed into staying for "my sake." Or at least until she found someone else.

Which is to say that there were subtle ways in which this was brought up. I guess I am not the average guy and the idea of sexy with multiple people at the same time just doesn't have the appeal that everyone thinks it does. Perhaps I am a little old fashioned or maybe I am just not a whore. I can't decide which. Note, to those who do such things I don't mean to offend, but really I just can't see myself with two other people and once and it just cheapens something that has already lost a whole hell of a lot of meaning to me anyway. I guess I am just not ready to take that leap into the gutter yet. Still, when you are dumb and in 'love' you agree to things you shouldn't and regret them later. The tears didn't help and the pleads that "I need this..." weren't helping either.

When you give a semi-coherent okay for something like that it goes without saying that the following would ensue. Tears and sobs and the realization of what had just happened. "It just happened." That shit is a direct quote. The cover is when I am told it wasn't the same and when it was done all that the cum dumpster could think of is me. Good cover. Well played. Lies covered with emotional bullshit. If you were really thinking of me you should have just dumped me in the first place huh? Oh for a biological memory, encrypted in DNA.

So shit just keeps piling up and up until my kindly gesture with a half a dozen muffins and a note that was written with every word meant. The heart still wants me to say those words are true but I can't be that stupid again now can I? It ended there and I would try to break completely after just one drunken night with a phone call for ice. There would be coffee at Perkins and lastly one encounter at that god awful play Lemon. Oh Lemon bitter sweet Lemon

Next, well like I had stated, time passed. There was a breaking off of it all. No contact. You can have Los Angeles, I will take New York City sort of thing. If you don't know the song it won't make sense. It is a good song though. But the truce was over, the agreement unspoken now was broken and on the other end of the line was a emotional load of crap and I was just a little ball of cotton that was supposed to stop it all.

Tears and sobbing are there when I pick up. Brandon was right in that I don't have to answer and I probably shouldn't of. What does one do in this situation? Probably asks what is wrong like most people. I can't help the annoyed tone in my voice. The stammering and "I don't knows." doesn't particularly help my mood.

Finally it comes out that she is having some huge emotional crisis because her friend is spending so much damn time with her new man-friend and not nearly enough with the dumpster or other people present. She feels all alone. Seriously? Am I supposed to feel some sort of pity for this? Really? I mean first of all you fucking dumped me and now you complain to me that you feel alone. Well you two share some special bond or some bullshit. You have never been this close to someone before. Same bullshit different year for you I guess because you pulled the same thing that time that what's her crack, the habitual liar left for "military academy." Am I supposed to console because your friend is happy and you can't share in her bliss because she probably isn't willing to relent to some hedonistic act with you to make you feel involved? Seriously what the fuck? You have no finger to point but your own and no one to point at but yourself for your situation. Grow up, put on your big girl panties and find another tampon to deal with this rag full of shit.

Then like some sort of ninja a bomb gets dropped. First I am surprised by the phone call to begin with. Second, I am annoyed by your pity party and if I had the choice I would hand your emo ass a bottle of pills, a razor blade and tell you not to come out of the bathroom until you were dead or got your shit together. The fact that you are pulling the same shit as you did that one time with the liar and the other time with the pregnant room mate where you show two faces isn't at all a surprise though. What is a surprise is the bomb set off in the back of my head and the one that is the primer for this rant of rants.

It is the reason you called me in the first place I guess. Your hormones are all out of whack. I get it. Fine that time of the... oh no not that. You tell me about the emergency contraceptive you needed to take the night before because you had to fuck some bumbling braniac who can't throw on a fucking condom and can't pull out on time. What a winner there. I hope your parents are real proud of that catch and what you two will achieve together.

That ends that phone call. Still I guess I am a sucker after all because there is more to the story. It takes place about two to five days later.

I walk to work now. On a night that was star filled for a city sky I walked with my new found toy in pocket. I ran a thumb across the smooth surface of the phone and played around with the idea of sending a text to Otter prior to walking in the door, just to see how hellish it was at the refridgeration factory on this humid summer evening. He sends more text messages than anyone I know. They are funny too. Just random thoughts. Well I was having a random thought of my own and trying to word it just right as the rectangular two story building came into view.

The text is sent and I walk in to a cool air conditioned breeze. It is the one redeeming quality of the place. The air is blowing and quickly washing away the sweat off of my brow. I go to my locker pick up my things, punch in and look at the schedule. I am down stairs tonight. Working downstairs has some ups and downs but mostly downs. It is a lonely floor to work on and the residents are twice as needy as the ones on the floor above. Basically they are like children who were told that every time they push this little red button they would get candy. And they push that button all night long for the most trivial of things. Downstairs with a nurse I like at least.

As per my routine, I get right into things, sharing a snide comment or two with the nurse, trying to keep a sense of humor. Ice is passed and asses are wiped for the first round. I am tired, I am sweaty and I decide to breath for a moment and laugh a bit with the lady in the white scrubs standing at the med cart. We laugh a bit. She tells me how excited she is to be going to work at the Dialysis center in the hospital.

Then the phone rings. The cum dumpster surprises yet again. Another phone call. This time she and her friend whom she is so lost without, have found themselves at a bar, most likely drunk, with no gas. Granted there is a station about a mile down the road. But, I guess she is a little low on cash because of the whole need to go on random trips with people and waste all your money. Not my problem. Didn't really want to hear the story. I got it shoved down my throat anyway.

So here I am at work, phone in hand with her on the other line and on the other side of town asking me for this favor. My thought, "Where the fuck is the sperm doner at this point?" Seriously, why am I the one to pull you out of this bind. I should have not answered and let your ass walk. I really should of. But we are "friends." Fuck that shit. I don't have the time to waste or the emotional stamina left to deal with all your shit.

But I go anyway. It is probably the higher road. It was the only way to look at her and see for myself that I had nothing good to think of when I saw her and that is that. I don't have any amazing things to say about it other than I had to walk nearly a mile back to my house to actually get my car. The nurse was cool enough and I did it fast enough that nothing happened in between. I forfeited my lunch to compensate for the time gone.

I guess, I still do the right thing even though I am an asshole. Still, don't get me wrong, I am an asshole anymore and I am aware of it. I have no kindness or sympathy for people and their situations.

Maybe I should just publish this shit in some sort of memoir.

What do people think?

Thank you.
Fuck you.
  • Listening to: NiN
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As most of you already know, I have gone against my principles and better judgment yet again. After years of resisting peer pressure, pressures from family, friends, society and more so some nagging hag who wanted to keep track of me for some insane reason. It was basically a leash I would imagine. A desire by some paranoid little someone to keep dibs on me, call me all the time and make sure that I wasn't doing something I wasn't supposed to be.

Frankly, I didn't ever cheat in the sense that my man bits never slipped, fell into or were purposely inserted into another human being while we were dating. The fact that I made what I will gladly admit was a mistake in the "second break" is in fact true. That was a huge mistake on my part but I don't consider it cheating. Mostly because I was single at the time. I was told to go do what I needed to do and "have fun" while the hag figured herself out. Something that will forever remain an ongoing process.

One might be so tempted to say that I am bitter. Yeah you would be right. Still, this isn't about that cum dumpster. At least not yet. This has to do mostly with the cellphone and my problems with it and how I came to reconcile or at least delude myself into believing that I don't hate this thing.

So let's start with why I never really got a cellphone other than the obvious desire to not have a leash. I suppose that they are all leash related if you want to look at them in a less obvious metaphorical sense but I will continue onward any way. This post can't be a short one after all.

First, I really do like the peace and serenity associated with being able to simply have a conversation with someone without having that ever annoying sound breaking the ambiance of noise in the back ground. I like to talk to people in general. I like to discuss art, current events, comics, science, music and lots of other crap. In saying that I actually like to discuss sometimes to the point of argument. There is nothing more shrill and annoying to disturb that then the sound of some obnoxiously loud ring tone coming from the back of the restaurant, coffee hub, book store or where ever the hell I happen to find myself. The sound sends a chill up my spine.

Next, related to the first reason, is that it never seems to end. Conversations are continually interrupted by these things as the person has to stop in the middle of what ever we are talking about the moment that thing rings. It is as if the cell phone has taken priority over the here and now. It is as if whatever is on the other end of the line is more important than what you are doing at the moment and it generally pisses me off. I don't think we have developed an etiquette to politely excuse ourselves out of this particular situation yet. Unless your mother is dying, your wife is in labor or world war three has broken out, it is just rude.

Thirdly, I don't want to hear one half of your conversation. I really don't. I hate that part about it all. It drives me nuts. Especially concerning topics that frankly should be kept in the private of one's home or at least a bathroom stall as opposed to being aired to the whole god damned world.

Certainly there are people who are exceptions to this rule. They have the kindness to take that thing and go away to somewhere private. The problem is that half the time it is to their car. Their car which has a nice vacuum seal and no one can hear but it is their car that they happen to be driving. This is some dangerous shit. Seriously dangerous. I can't imagine how many wrecks have happened because of it. In fact, I bet the jack ass who did the hit and run on my car was on a cell phone. I can only imagine.

Finally, there seems to be that over all loss of privacy as we all become connected and can be contacted at any given moment. Tack onto that the general uncalled for outrage that is had when a person doesn't answer their phone and we have a volitle combo. I know there are times when I don't want to be contacted. I know there are times when I just shut the damn thing off or leave it behind. That is usually my day off when somehow my work got my number and they try to call me in. The general outrage that I have experience and seen though when people can't get ahold of you at the drop of the hat is in and of itself reason enough for me to throw this thing out the window.

So why do it? Why get it? Mostly it was for the brief amount of time that I was without phone service during this move. I am running around trying to keep in touch and also just trying to get myself ready for another big transition in this existence. Basically, I am on the lookout for something new and exciting in the world of my employment. I am tired of being physically abused and the ability for upward mobility in the place is zero to none. It is very frustrating. Tack onto the top of all that the place happens to be a pit, reeks of urine and other bodily out put and you have my life for eight hours a day. I could get less abused as a plumber, be up to my arms in just as much shit and get paid twice as much.

In other words, I am looking for somewhere to work that isn't there and I needed a phone to keep myself abreast of the latest developments and give these people a way to get a hold of me. Tack on to that that I a messaging whore and find that text messaging amuses me to no end and you have your mixture for convincing. Sure, why text when I can talk. Mostly because it annoys Special K. Just kidding.

I suppose there are positives and I could list them too but that isn't in my nature. Most people know them and such. Emergencies, free time to talk to family, plan a or b and so on. This just wouldn't be my blog if I bothered with those things though.

I guess I am stuck with the thing for another two years now. I programed alot of numbers in the thing. Those emergency numbers. Those numbers of friends and people who I wind up talking to mostly to get together and hang out. If I don't have your number though or you aren't sure if I do drop me a line. I have a whole long story to talk to you about next. It involves this cellphone and the first mistake I made with it. Oh I know how you got my number and it may have been the biggest mistake I made in a long while.
  • Listening to: NiN
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Recently I have moved from one side of Cedar Rapids Iowa to the other. In truth the move was more a move from the pretty semi-safe side, where crime rates are relatively low, to what has been referred to as the "ghetto." I laugh at the notion really. Nothing bad has happened thus far. No one has been shot while I was here and I am oblivious to any handling of narcotics in the area. Someone mentioned something about shoes hanging over phone lines. I really didn't get it and generally don't look up at telephone lines anyway.

It is close enough to my current place of work that I can walk. That is a blessing and a curse I suppose. Never knowing when it will rain and what the weather will bring makes the walks somewhat full of surprises. From sweltering humidity and horrible heat to the occasional cloud burst which brings a moment of respite as well as what some might say is a much needed shower.

Thus, because I walk to work, I probably take my car out and about two or three times a week at most. I don't move it from right in front of the house and I park on the street because we don't have a driveway. However, on the off chance that I do take my car out there is always the chance that I will have to park nearly half a block down the street or farther. I guess it is mostly dependent upon when I get back from errands and if it is a weekend.

About a two weeks ago I was surprised on that walk home to see that my car looking strange. I thought it was a trick of the morning light and my weariness from a long night of being over worked and underpaid. On that note I can't wait to quit my job and I have to rant about that at some point. It can wait for another time and place however.

Still, with I was curious to say the least and as I approached my car I realized that it wasn't just some illusion that I was seeing but rather a fist sized dent in the drivers side front fender. Now, every now and again a car gets dents. It happens. Throughout the life of the car something is bound to happen. A rogue grocery cart. Someone opening a car door too hard. So on and so forth. However, this car is brand new for the most part. I have had it for two years and will be making payments for the better part of the next two years. There was no information left from the parties responsible thusly shock started to set in.

What jerk or jackass just hits a car and drives off? Isn't that something that we all learn in our training to drive is that if you hit someones car you are supposed to leave at least some contact info? Yet another example of people not taking responsibility for their own actions. Yet another example of people who get away with shit.

So as I contact my insurance agent, the shock starts to wear away and I am a little angry. I am polite over the phone to the girl on the other end of the line but let's face it, this is going to cost me. If only I had known how much. I pay a large sum of money for insurance every month on this car. I pay roughly $150 per month to make sure that just in case there is an accident everything will be taken care of.

To me that seems like a great deal of money. Maybe I am wrong. Anyone want to give me some input on that? Well, I tell them that I will be taking it in to the same service station I always go, the dealership that I usually do business with. They are cool with that. They hook me up with a rental car. They get the whole works set up including the appointment.

The day comes to take my car in. I get the call and they start to fix my car. They tell me about my co-pay and my mouth hits the floor. Five-hundred bucks. I was floored. I had the money, wanted the job done and the total bill was around 750. Still, I pay a whole hell of a lot for coverage and I thought I was going to get alot less of a shafting than that. Let's just say that that anger boiled over into rage in seconds. That is well over two thirds of my pay check.

I am going to be living on less than two hundred bucks for the next two weeks. That includes food, other bills and everything. Thank imaginary father figure resting upon a cloud somewhere that I save for such moments when shit will hit the fan. Still, with moving recently, which by the way costs a pretty penny in itself, new bills, new internet things and the like remains pretty impressive. But in truth folks, I make about eleven bucks an hour at a job that is breaking my back and getting me no where. This comes as a blow to both my mind and my financial well being.

Needless to say, I am even more pissed off at this imaginary entity also known as the jerk off who hit my car. Requiring him or her to have to pay for the damages would be fantastic and make me feel a bit more secure in my setting right now.

However, there is an underlying sense of frustration that is building here. It has to do not with this person but with the system. Insurance in general is a crock of shit if you ask me. In some cases, yeah it comes in handy but to say that we are mandated to have it is bullshit for starters. Think of how much money goes into the system every year. I am not just talking about cars anymore here either. I am talking about house insurance, renter's insurance (which though not manditory all over is mandated by some places as part of your rent) and a couple others.

Just think of the billions of dollars paid into the industry every year and how little is probably paid out. I have paid the same amount to insure my car since I bought it and now, after nearly two years I would have paid the thing off with that extra money. It is nearly another three thousand dollars. Now that I have had this incident, I am certain I will have to pay more.

It just infuriates me though. My mind drifts back to the Hurricane Katrina things that I hear about from time to time and how these people who had paid their insurance for years are taking nearly a year to get their money for damages. One family that I specifically recall was forced to move from the area in order to get the settlement from their insurance company. State farm, our beloved insurance company and "neighbor" is no longer offering insurance to cover water damage in states along the gulf coast and eastern sea board. What bullshit is that?!

Just another lesson in life that money is the overall driving factor. Money. Money. Money. I hate you dollar bill. I hate you Washington, Lincoln, Jackson and all the rest. I hate you because more than anything else I am your subject and slave. I can never escape your parasitism. We won't ever be free of you oh mighty dollar. Your shackles will hold me, bind me and enslave me until this life is at an end.

  • Listening to: NiN
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...but I really really really don't like you." That particular phrase is one that has stuck in my mind for a long some time since I heard the song it is associated with. I may have had that track on repeat for half a dozen times before I let the CD move along. I thought that I might have it play on and on until the little laser reader simply burned a hole in the thing. At first the song made me laugh. Who am I kidding I was rolling in my car as I the track came to pass on its first round through. There are reasons that the song was humorous to me. There are many as a matter of fact.

In truth, hate is a really strong word. Hate is a powerful emotion and I don't know if I can say that there is anything that I have really ever hated. In truth there are not that many things that I really don't like. Still there are things that do fall into that second category and as a glutton for punishment and my continued ability to never let things go mean that second
grows exponentially. I could make a list but that would take up this page and then some. Most don't like to read simple listings anyway.

Still the list of things that I really, really, really don't like seems to have something added to it everyday. On the flipside there is probably a list of things that I do enjoy probably grows as well. I just don't dwell on those. I am not a positive person in that respect and focus more on the the negative than the positive. Was I always this way? Probably.

Even the things we love eventually turn to something that is not loved any longer. In some cases it is just something that is tolerated. I am certain everyone can think of something that was loved or adored. Perhaps it was an activity. I, myself, used to enjoy going to the bars. Now it is something that I can live without. I go out with people sometimes, I don't look forward to it nor is it some activity that I purpose. Instead it is just something that I will tolerate if my company wants to do. It isn't really fun for me just another activity or motion to go through. The people there tend to be drab and boring for the most part drowning there little lives away in the swill poured from the tap. Trying to drink themselves to a better place or pour liquid courage down the gullet in hopes from some drunken encounter later that evening. Having seen it, I can't say it excites me any longer.

In other cases, things that we love or are infatuated with seem to loose meaning or their luster once they are obtained. I know the feeling all too well mostly because it is how I feel at times but this is most often attributed to those objects of lust. We have all lusted over something, a new car, some expensive jewelry, a collectable item of some sort or another. It is that lust and that chase for this new thing that is what has us in the rapture not the actual object itself. In my opinion that is why so many relationships fail. It is the hunt and the chase that is exciting. If there is nothing to chase, the fun is lost somewhere along the way. The car just isn't as exciting anymore with the payments, upkeep and the rest. There is always a newer, prettier car to be had. There is always a bigger diamond. There is always another set of magic cards or action figures along the way. Lastly, there is a never ending sea of people out there to be had, conquested after and eventually conquered.

Sometimes love turns to hate. I can't explain it but it just does. I am not going to give examples here. I have in the past. I know how it goes and I am sure the rest of you out there are in one of two boats. You get this or you don't. So here you will have to deal with an interlude while I ponder some thoughts. The lyrics to that song:

Hate is a strong word. (But I really don't like you.)
by the Plain White T's

Love love love love love love

You were everything I wanted
You were everything a girl could be
Then you left me brokenhearted
Now you don't mean a thing to me

All I wanted was your
Love love love love love love

Hate is a strong word
But I really, really, really don't like you
Now that it's over
I don't even know what I liked about you
Brought you around and you just brought me down
Hate is a strong word
But I really, really, really don't like you
I really don't like you

Thought that everything was perfect (perfect)
Isn't that how it's supposed to be?
Thought you thought that I was worth it
Now I think a little differently

All I wanted was your
Love love love love love love

Hate is a strong word
But I really, really, really don't like you (I really don't like you)
Now that it's over
I don't even know what I liked about you (liked about you)
Brought you around and you just brought me down
Hate is a strong word
But I really, really, really don't like you

Now that it's over you can't hurt me
Now that it's over you can't bring me down

Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh

All I wanted was your
Love love love love love love

(Hate) Hate is a strong word
But I really, really, really don't like you (I really don't like you)
Now that it's over
I don't even know what I liked about you (liked about you)
Brought you around and you just brought me down
(Hate) Hate is a strong word
But I really, really, really don't like you
(Oh oh oh oh oh oh)
I really don't like you
(Oh oh oh oh oh oh)
I really don't like you
(Oh oh oh oh oh oh)
I really don't like you
(Oh oh oh oh oh oh)

Okay, I hope you liked it. If I could find it in music video format I would have shown just how catchy it was. God bless you Youtube. You have everything.

What is it about this song though? What is it that after listening to it for a half of a dozen times that sort of turns my stomach? I guess it has to do with vague memories of a very important and powerful conversation had once long ago. It was a talk that turned my mind inside out. Chemicals in my brain were forever realigned and synapses rearraged. In short, the brief words were like shock therapy, not necessarily setting things right but setting them just off of right to make the world make sense.

As I have stated time and time again, love and the feeling of such is nothing more than some chemicals that we are released in our brain in the presence of certain stimuli. The stimuli can be different things, people, pets and even that blanket from your childhood that your mother used to wrap you up in while you were in your crib. Hell chocolate causes that same chemical to ooze out of the glands in your brain. I have yet to find research on it but I wonder what chemical it is that makes us feel hate in its varying degrees? I wonder if it is similar or if it comes from the same place as that love juice?

You see the conversation had only one focus. It was talking about how love and hate were had such strong implications and in so many of our minds, are such strong emotions that it might be hard to tell them apart if lines were to be blurred. In my experience, those that I have loved the most are the same people for whom my most negative emotions are directed toward after certain actions have come to pass.

I suppose it has to do with letting people get close enough to do hurt. We all set up walls and let certain people in. As they peel back layers to get to our juicy center there is always the chance that something is going to get stolen away or torn apart.

I know that I am repeating myself here. Most people who read this will just say, "yeah... yeah... yeah... another broken record here."

Why though is it that after things are done do we try to continue to hurt the other person and act like children? I know I am guilty of this. It is like some stupid game. Why can't we just have a conversation, and be something like this:
Me: "Hey."
U: "Hey."
Me: "Hey, we had some good times."
U: "Yeah."
Me: "Good times. Good times indeed, but this shit is over."
U: "Yup"
Me: "Okay well, I am going to go this way you go that way. Have a nice life."
U: "Sounds good."

Why can't we have that? What sort of crazy fucked up sense or desire for self mutilations makes us want to stay attached to, with or around those people with whom we know there is nothing left or that we just don't like anymore? It is stupid I think. Stupid and yet so human I guess.

Some of you may think that I have gone off the deep and that this is going no where but there is a point. This song was playing the moment I made a fatal error and dialed a number I should have just forgotten. It was just habit I think. I was just programming all the numbers I had and could think of. Nothing good has come of it.

I don't want to know. I simply should have walked away. It makes me have dreams. It makes me have nightmares. I am there. So are you. He is there too.

I don't want to know. I should have walked away. There is no need to tell me about the random vacation you both took to where ever it was you went.

I don't want to know. I simply should have walked away. I am not the rag to be used to soak the tears that have fallen over your loneliness because your best friend has someone and you don't. I will not be the rag to soak them up when he breaks you. Don't get me wrong, it isn't that I don't want to see you cry but rather that I don't want to be any sort of comfort.

I don't want to know. I simply should have walked away. I don't want to know what makes him better than me. I don't want to know what it is that he does to make you happy or how wonderful he is. It is just some illusion. It isn't true. In the end he will be no better than the rest of us.

I don't want to know. I just don't want to know. I should have walked away.

So there is another thing ruined. I loved that song. Now after five or six minutes and a name to add to the list of people better than me I hate that song.

Thank you, Fuck you.
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There is a statement that has riddled my thoughts over the past few days as I browse through a book or two that I found while packing things away for the eventual move from this place to our next home, wherever it might be.  As for now that situation remains up in the air as one of my room mates is attempting to purchase a house.  From everything that I have heard, the place sounds  like a fairly good deal, the problem being, will he have it in his possession by the end of the month.  I hope so as it will cut rent payments in half for myself and the rest of us who tag along.  The extra space would be nice and living here another month will probably be worth the savings alone after a time.  

I suppose the point is that, I am becoming anxious.  Perhaps not anxious even, but restless with everything.  There is a feeling of sluggishness in my life right now as I don't seem to be going forward and I certainly am doing my best to not fall back.  Ir is as if I am in some foggy labyrinth and the haze has descended to confuse me further as to which direction to take next.  The world is such a strange place at this moment.  My brain is caught up in a haze and all I can see before me is perhaps tomorrow if I am lucky.  

The nursing program is fast approaching its begining and I am thrilled yet just as nervous as that wet behind the ears kid from Michigan who stepped onto the PedMall at Cornell that summer day that is all but lost to the sands of time.  I had it all planned out then.  I was going to be a doctor, a surgeon.  I was going to save iives on a daily basis.  I guess my world view was a little skewed and being a doctor is not as glorious as it sounds.  There is no regret in me for the decision I have made, despite how much I talk about it.  Rather it was just a huge part of me for so long that I can't help but go back to the moment I realized that that dream was just that.  

There are words that come to my ears that remind me that I am no longer the next generation.  The time for my generation to take the spotlight has seemingly passed and the with it the torch to another generation full of self-absorbed, ignorant emo-kids.  I really wonder where it is that we are going as a people and as a species.  I grant you that I am probably not the best person to be talking on this subject as this blog is pretty self absorbed.  In fact, I am probably a hypocrite for writing this thing.  I can live with that.  I am the only one who has to so I guess the rest doesn't matter.  

Perhaps this insight has got something to do with the fact that I am not a glorified servant and asswiper.  I pretty much feel like that guy in Mel Brook's "History of the World" as I am often literally holding a piss bucket.  The only different is that most of these people aren't rich and as their health deteriorates, I and the people that work with me are the only means that they have for something resembling a comfortable existence.  In a way it is certainly enlightening.    

We all had so many dreams, each of us in my graduating class.  With the wonder of the internet I am able to stalk them from a far.  I don't mean that in any sort of creepy sense.  Simply most of the people I see on these various websites might as well be strangers because although I might recognize their face (and in many cases I don't) I don't know these people anymore.  There lives are probably not even remotely close to what they had imagined and are wandering down this maze just as I am.  I look at them and in so many I see success, families, children and so on.  I just wonder if they ever think back to the day we all walked across the stage, some with hopes of college, others headed to boot camp and still others with no direction at all?  I wonder if they think back at what dreams they had and how they thought they were going to change the world?  

I know that I thought I was destined for greater things.  I guess that whole theory gets thrown out the window when you stop believing in destiny.  It makes me laugh a little on the inside to hear people talk about as such and yet here I am lost in my maze.  Again the conundrum persists.  I still have time.  I am going to be a nurse.  That will make a difference.  I am going to get my Masters.  That will be an achievement.  Still, what mark will I have left upon this place, other then another monument in a yard full of monuments.  A corpse among corpses.  No one coming to visit when those who would remember have erected their own monuments.

Now for the much needed intermission

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Cyanide and Happiness, a daily webcomic
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Assuming the internet survives and we as a species aren't plunged into darkness as the last drop of oil is carelessly burned away, I suppose these writings will persist.  If not I have backed them up on my hard drive.  Again something useless, but we never know what will happen.  Maybe I will print them all and bind them in a book.  

Speaking of books, at the begining of all this I told everyone I was reading a book.  It isn't really a book per se but rather a short play.  It is called "No Exit" and I am rather enjoying it.  Over all as I finish turning pages I come to the conclusion that this book is really telling me some truths.  The truth of the matter is that there is no real hell and when we die that is that.  The fact of the matter is this, hell is nothing more than other people.  

I find this fact to argue as there is nothing more capable of causing immense pain to human beings and torture than other human beings.  The majority horrors that we forsee in some sort of hell are simply things that are brought about by others.  Natural disasters are a distant second but frankly when it comes to inflicting terrible mind warping pain upon one, the only creature capable of such is man.

Everything else in nature makes those dreaded moments quick and seemingly painless, unless of course they screw up.  Even the most horrific thing an animal can do to a human being, poison them or you know, eat them is relatively small compared to the horrors that we inflict upon each other.  

It isn't even the physical that are the worst.  It is those scars that one will never see.  They lie deep beneath the surface in our minds and upon our hearts.  Those are the worst hurts of all and they never go away.  There is no medicine for them.  I should know.  I have been witness first hand to the fact that modern medicine can not cure the ills of the heart and the mind.  Oh have I witnessed first hand.  Some do it without intent.  Others quite the opposite.  I can never tell for sure which is which.  

The most recent instance to prove all of this was the other night.  The computer hummed as it does from time to time.  A chime signifying a message rang out as the vacuum ran across the rug.  I stopped and peered onto the screen.  A familiar name flashed harmlessly before me.  The words were of kind greetings and friendly intent.  

I replied back in the awkward way a person replies to someone whom they had thought to be dead.  I suppose dead is a strong term but the fact of the matter was that I was not ever expecting to hear from them again.  I wasn't initially or particularly happy with that initial conclusion, but had come to terms with it and had made peace.  

It all started so simple but then took its own horrid turn for the worse.  Simply put, it opened flood gates back to a place that I didn't want to go.  Simply put it reminded me of what seems like wasted time.  There were good moments and there were bad but the lead no where but to pain for me.  They led me to a road that started as paved with gold but ended in ruin.  

Never did I want to hear about exploits with others.  Not so soon did I want to know about what this person was doing and with whom.  I don't need to know about nightly exploits at the bar and never having to pay for drinks for some reason or another.  I don't want to know about the fun you are having without me.  It is just a further reminder of wasted time.  

Why am I not with someone else?  Because I don't want to drag someone down into this sort of bullshit.  I am not over it.  For most people three years would take some time to get over.  Then again I suppose once a whore you are nothing more.  Sorry honey, I guess that will never change.  And about that forgiveness we were supposed to have exchanged, well I am sorry but I passed it up in order to simply look away.  

I mean, it was like those butterflies that I had felt once upon a time in the meeting had welled back up in my stomach only to attack and turn it on end.  It twisted and made me sick.  There are probably a million other girls out there just like you, looking as innocent as possible to get to who or what they want.  I don't know.  I guess I am just bitter.  I am pissed off.  I am not to pleased with someone having no courtesy or kindness.  I don't want to know about your life.  I am not a part of it anymore so leave ma lone.  Stalk me from afar on the internet if you care but leave the rest behind.  I know I have.  You let me go, now let me out of the hell that you insist I stay in.  Three years was enough don't you think?

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Today there was an interesting argument to be had in what started as a peaceful conversation about a paper I was not writing.  The paper happened to be on a topic that I was familiar with and in fact some might call me ever so slightly educated on.  The paper was not something about wiping the asses of the cranky elderly or how to carefully defuse a situation with a confused person who has become violent with their dementia.  These are things I am becoming good at and frankly am receiving a real world education in.  However, the topic at hand started with something even more rudimentary than my current mode of making a monetary existence.  It goes back farther to my days at Cornell.  The paper itself was about biology and more specifically evolution.  Natural selection and the affects that biological engineering might have on such.  

The kid made some valid points and we were went off on one tangent or another that stemmed from this root argument.  I can't say that I didn't disagree with some points but I can't say that I whole heartedly agreed with everything. We got on to arguments about utopias and how they certain ideas wouldn't work and each retort on my side seemed to have one of two consequences.  They either fell flat or seemed to deflate the argument entirely.  On the half and half ratio I would say that I faired well against someone who wouldn't relent a single point.  Ultimately the debate ended as the point was brought forward that we had come down to arguing semantics and that we weren't going to win anytime soon.

The dispute actually ended with an agreement that I wasn't willing to relent that there are no pure facts and that everything is tainted by perspective.  There is no truth known to we as human beings that isn't in some way influenced by what someone has said, did or interpreted that "fact."  Perhaps that makes me a bad scientist.  Perhaps, as was said I am a skeptic but last time I checked a scientist was supposed to be skeptical.  The only people I know who believe in absolutes usually wind up putting themselves on planes or in buses full of children with bombs strapped to their chest.  Maybe I am being a bit harsh.  But I will say this.  Science has never ever in its whole majestic and noble pursuit ever proven anything.  In science one can never actually prove something is correct.  Instead, we can only say that these facts have yet to be proven wrong.  Science in its infinite teachings and learnings knows for a fact that it can only ever prove its theories wrong.  

Still, I can't get over the ideas that were being thrown back and forth.  Granted, genetic engineering does do quite a bit to stammer and stunt the process of natural selection in that we continue to keep people on with technological advances well beyond the point at which they should have become a fertilizer for future generations.  For example, at my place of employee we care for an individual who used to be the spot of life and a quintessential resident.  He was full of life and love.  He was a joy to be around and a laugh and a half for certain.  Now, because of medicine he remains with his trache and respirator.  He isn't there anymore, in fact for the most part he is brain dead.  Still, with these machines he persists at the will of his family and loved ones who can't let go.  

Some science is cruel and to think that we can fix problems and genetic engineer people and eliminate problems with out consequence is a ludicrous assumption.  To assume that when the technology is available in the ever so distant future to make yourself or  your children beautiful, free of any sort of defects that might detract from their intellectual potential or to give them the strength based upon some crazy radioactive spider experiment will not solely begin as the province of the rich is just folly.  Let's face it.  Money will determine who gets these sorts of things and they will probably horde it to themselves.  Then a revolution here and a revolution there.  Okay, so my sarcasm probably bleeds through here but I do believe that the rich will inherit this technology first in this world where the dollar holds as much significance as any holy book.  The advances will be made upon the backs of the scientists and the millions of mice to be sacrificed to make the latest insulin, prosthesis or hell maybe even a heart transplant in the near future and yet I know that the rich will be the first to benefit.  I don't like it but I know that is how it works.

It all goes back to this argument and this paper that this person was writing.  To say that genetic engineering will create an unbreechable gap between the social classes is something that bothers me.  They spoke of this idea as fact.  Again, if the technology does present itself, I know the rich will be the first have it.  Somehow we moved onto the idea of social climbing and how moving up in the levels of society would become impossible as the rich would genetically engineer themselves into superior beings or some crazy science-fiction shit like that.  

Now, I am not defending such a crazy practice or idea but I will say this.  It is a known phenomenon that most parents will do anything for their children.  Lots of people would tell you that they would die for their kids and such.  It is a perfectly natural thing to do.  They are your offspring and so on.  It goes against basic biology to die for someone else but there is a much higher chance you would do it for someone you are related to because of some crazy connection.   In saying as such we also do whatever is necessary to see to it that our kids get the best we have in hopes that they will succeed and thrive even beyond us. To assume that everyone is born with the same chances is pure fantasy.  It is why kings give their kingdom to their son's, why the rich send their kids to the best collages and why the poor scrap to send their kids to any sort of college.  

I can't believe I am still writing this.  Maybe you can't either.  Still the fires are stoked and I will continue until I get a point across.  I don't know what that point will be but it is here somewhere.

I suppose the point of it all came down to the idea that I can't believe that any sort of "fact" can be stripped bare and made pure.  I don't believe that there are any truths out there that are universal.  People will say that killing is bad but on a regular basis we will condone it if it has some strange justification like war or something else.  Stealing is not okay according to most and yet people will tell you that the punishment should be less for the man who steals to feed his family while the other steals for want or gain.  There is a list and I m certain I could go on and on.  

The point for me is this.  There is no black and white.  There are not even shades of grey.  To me the truth is a rainbow.  We each have our own version and we each put a spin on it to justify our actions or the actions of those we somehow relate to.  History is written by the victorious and I believe that.  Until we find a way to take away all emotion and every human aspect from our world and our histories, there will be not one truth and not one set of facts but a cornucopia full of facts that remain unfounded or based upon half truths.  The only truth that will remain for me is truths I can know.  Those are the truths that will be truths or facts for no one but myself.  They are in my mind and they again are only true if I accept them as such.

Lastly, I leave you with this tidbit of wisdom.  The word "fact" has become the adult diaper of modern language, catching and containing all the stupid, ridiculous, loose, unfounded and messy thoughts that lazily trickle from our brains, wrapping them up safely in an assertive statement in the expectation that no one else will possibly want to look too deeply inside.
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It isn't everyday that I make a phone call to home. As a matter of fact I usually make a habit of it about once a week if I am lucky. I don't know if I would consider those I call so lucky. That is because what they do is here me bitch about one thing or another until I burst. Home has its share of problems as it stands. Still those are the things that I know and all I really have to talk about. It is one heart break here, an aching back there and mountains of school work that will fall upon my head one day. Life isn't all roses at home either though. It never was. It never will be.

Dad, he is a constant. He talks about the same things I do and then I hear words from him that he doesn't speak. I just know from long rides in that old chevy truck what is on his mind and where his heart really is. His mind is one work though his body is breaking down. I have flashbacks of the pictures I used to look at when i was young. My dad was a muscled machine. He was a physical specimen that is for certain. Years of work, putting me through school despite the meager pay he received and all those extra jobs he took has had an effect. His hair is loosing its color though I don't think he seems to notice or care. He was never one to really complain. The burdens he undertook still make him a superman in his son's eyes.

Still, I hear him talk about his work. I know that his back is aching and that this second hernia he has managed in under three years are signs that he should cut back. How do you tell someone to do that when it is all that they know? It would be like telling the philosopher to not thing, the artist to not paint, the writer to not write. I can not tell my father not to work. He does it for us, my brother and I even though we are both grown and should not need. We are his son's though and I guess I would do the same. He hasn't told me about the hernia but I know that it is there. My brother leaked that secret.

In our phone calls he talks about Kyle. I may bear his name but if there is a son who should be so lucky to have him as a father and a father so lucky to have a great son it would be these two. He is proud of him. They were so much alike those two. The stories of my dad in his younger years, the trouble he got into and the like. My brother and my father are really so similar. Perhaps that is why they don't get along at times or they argue so much. I am not sure. Still the comparison is something that I can see plain as day.

On the other end of a telephone line, my dad talks about other things going on at home too. Some of them I don't want to hear. Some of them I know are coming. My family has made a decision to sell the family cabin. It is something that my father's father built. I remember lots of memories of the place. They are all good. The fondest memories of Joseph Martinus are at that two bedroom house. It was more than a house though. It was a family legacy. It was something that I had hoped we would inherit as grandchildren. I still remember fishing with him on Silver lake. I burned like a lobster in a pot of boiling water as the sun reflected off of those waves that softly rocked the boat. I remember my last summer I spent in Michigan and how that place was sanctuary. I understood Joe, even though he was gone more so that summer. I understood what that place meant to him. For the rest of us will be a memory soon. I can understand my Grandmother not want to keep it. I can understand. I just think that is another piece of home that won't be there anymore.

There are things that he doesn't say though. There are words unspoken in when he talks about my mom. He was never one to give up on things even when they are long over. That is something he and I share. When it comes to the people we love we just can't let go. When it comes to setting goals we don't stop. Perhaps that is why I have this biochemistry degree that I will probably never use. I got started and was to pig-headed to stop. It won't do me any good but I couldn't quit. It is why all my relationships go for too long. I hold on to something that isn't there for the other person anymore. I still hold on in some recess of my heart. There are days when I would deny as such but lying here seems rather pointless. He doesn't say it anymore but I know he still loves my mom. He doesn't say it but I know. I can only hope that he moves on and finds happiness somewhere.

When I answer the phone and my mom's voice echoes through the line, she is talking about her job and how much she doesn't care for it. She works with the dead, literally selling you the last lot of land you will own. It is yours until someone digs you up I suppose or the earth reclaims the stone slab that says you were here. The have gardeners to make that take a great deal longer than it would normally take. I am certain most people who take up residence in those holes hardly have any visitors at all. Most of them would be lucky if they are even memories the have been there so long. Instead, they are just dust and bone in a pine box.

She tells me about Kyle and how he has his own place now. I can tell she is proud of him too. She should be. He has done well for himself. He is going to make me an uncle. He looks up to me more than he should. He doesn't know too much about his brother. He does know that his brother loves him until the ends of this earth. That is about it though. The rest is a mystery I think. Heart to hearts were never our cup of tea. I never had good advice and in truth he has more experience with this world than I. He was brave and willing to take the risks that I never was. It was Kyle who gave me the strength to get over my last hurdle. His hollow threats sometimes make me laugh. Then again it is warming to know that those seemingly hollow threats of an enraged man who is only 5'5" tall coming to kick the ass of the person who broke your heart have that quality. It doesn't hurt that somewhere deep down I think he would do it if I had said he could.

The next topic is about her parents, my dearest grandparents. When the subject makes its way to the table I feel like hiding my head in the sand. They are not well. I know this. She doesn't have to tell me. Still, she does. I see it everyday at work and am able to distance myself. I don't know how well I would do if it were my grandparents. My grandfather remains as stubborn as ever despite his decline. It is endearing really. It is a quality I hope to have been fortunate enough to have inherited.

When she brings up my adopted siblings I am in for a roller coaster of an update as always. The latest news is that one was kicked out of the military for some test that he scored a positive on. I am certain that if you have read this far you could probably deduce what the hell I am talking about. My adopted sister, unlike the rest of the world, can not seem to fail upward. Instead her continued failure leads about where you would expect it. A girl who refused to finish school despite numerous opportunities and has wound up with around a 10th grade education at 20 is now pregnant with some spawn. I have no doubts the child will be cute. I also have no doubts that this girl with documented history of mental conditions will be abusive to the child as she was abused for years before she came into our home. Not much I can do about it. Truth be told I am surprised she wasn't already pregnant at least once. That is just the pessimist in me though.

Then the question that seems to be burst forth is the question that has been asked time and time again in one form or another. Since last I had written a blog I had made it known to my family that I was having a rough time. I started by telling Kyle. The word leaked. Imagine that. I got a phone call from my mom shortly there after. She was worried. My dad soon after made his call. He gave his best advice.

Sometime thereafter, my mother told me she wanted me to consider coming home. She had known for a long time that things in Iowa were not going so fabulous. I was miserable at my previous factory job. My relationships were in one state of shambles or the next. Though I have my share of good memories I can't say that the woman who I would have given my heart would have done more than stomp on it again and again. This will be the third time she has let me go. I can't blame her really. I hold no hard feelings but to say that my heart is not trounced upon would be to tell a lie and as stated I am not going to lie here. I see no point. Again, to say that I am saintly in the situation would also be to lie. I am not a saint. Never have I claimed to be. But that is something for another blog and another time.

I told her in a round about way that I was taking things the way I always take them. I never really had a serious relationship in Michigan and mores the pity because if I had I might be better adjusted to dealing with break ups. For those of you that know me, I spiral into depression, drink excessively, talk about committing suicide and the whole deal. It is really rather pitiful in all honesty. I am one huge pity party in fact. Did I ever mention that I hate pity parties? I really do. I write crap-tastic poetry that some would say borders on goth if it were still a popular genre. Instead it would probably fall under something emo.

Still, she is my mother and like any mother, when her child is in distress, she wants to protect me. Now, it has become more of an insistence that I come home. She makes the deal sound so appealing. No rent, just a car payment. She tells me that I could probably even transfer to the University of Michigan and finish this nursing stuff there. I would be doing my work in a hospital I respect as opposed to everything I have seen here in Iowa.

But, what would I know if I came home. Outside of my family, I would start again. There would be no friends from high school. They have all moved on. Maybe one or two would be there but nothing would be like it was because I would be expected to be the same as I was when I left. I would expect the same. They probably wouldn't be but what would be worse I think is that they were.

In truth there would be only two girls from that class of mine that I would want to see and one is far away from that home anyway. She is all the way in Washington building airplanes. The other I have lost yet again though I tried so hard to keep in touch. She is probably doing some job somewhere where she helps people. Occupational therapy is what it was I think.

The offer is on the table and though I had considered it for a while I don't think I can take it. The offer to go home. Sometimes I don't even know if I will recognize it if I get there. The same can be said for the reason I came to Iowa. Cornell isn't my Cornell. No that place has been raped time and time again as my memories are violated with each new construction project. The majestic beauty of that campus is gone to concrete, a cooper tower of death and a new ped-mall.

No, Iowa doesn't seem like home anymore. Then again I know that Michigan isn't home anymore either. Maybe they never were. I might have a home in Ohio but I am not quite ready to move there. There are still so many things that I need to finish while I am here. As we had established, I can quit once I start. Who knows though. I won't ever have the cabin that Joe built, I won't have that sanctuary, but it would be nice to find just a slice of that peace he must have felt there.

Now all I need to do is pick up a phone.

Love, Luck, Lipstick and Lollipops
  • Listening to: NiN
  • Reading: nothing
  • Watching: nothing
  • Eating: nothing
  • Drinking: water
"You are better off without me."  It is a commonly heard phrase in my existence.  I hear it at least once in every relationship I am in and it often precedes the inevitable break up that will follow.  I don't know if those people are really saying what they mean though.  Instead, their words obfuscate the true meaning of what they are trying to say.  What they are saying is that they are tired of me and my bullshit bringing them down to where ever it is that I find myself on that day.  

Sometimes I hear it more than once per relationship as a person has convinced themselves that there might be something worthwhile to stay around for.  It might be perhaps because I am different compared to anyone that they have been with.  I think differently, speak differently, have a different take on this life.  Perhaps it is my sense of humor that is so twisted, the determination I have to achieve my goals or some obscure talent that I display that might make them stay just a little longer.  It doesn't matter though because the end result is the same.  I am told I a great guy but... there is always a but.  They shift the blame to themselves and then to some situation going on in their lives and so on.  Each speech is just a small variation on the previous one I have heard.  What I wouldn't give for some originality in those speeches.  If it were so, I wonder if I would feel any different right now.  I wonder if I would have stopped riding the spiral down.  I can't see why I would.  I am just a predictable as those speeches.  Still, it would be nice for a change.  

In the same sense, I wish that I didn't turn things around on myself but that is what I do.  It is my choice I guess.  In these instances I continue to wonder where I go wrong, what it is that makes love so hard to attain.  Am so different?  Am I so repulsive?  What would it take?  The only thing in this life that I can truly change is myself.  There is no way I can force other people to do anything.  They always have a choice just like me.  I chose love, they chose not.  If I knew how, I could shut the pain out that I feel.  

Pain maybe one of the only ways though that we know we are alive.  It is a measure, a way to tell that we exist.  If life could be beautiful without pain, I would have it so.  Yet, without pain we would not be able to appreciate those wonderful moments.  That being said, I never want to see beauty again.  I never want to see her again.  I don't want to see any of them again.  The memories don't seem worth all the hurt that they bring to the surface.  I am on the verge of tears every morning that I wake, some dream or another having reminded me of what was and what I thought I had.  It wasn't real though, it isn't real anymore.  All chemicals eventually wear off and loose their potency.  That is the love that I can get, the only love I can get.  It is just a chemical that wears off as my charm wears thin, as my personality becomes unbearable and one or two depressions later, I am unbearable.  

It is in moments like these when depression is paramount that I start to wonder and ask myself what I believe.  There are moments of inward reflection that make me wonder if I should go back to church.  There was a time in my life when church was a very important thing.  It was more than a ritual, it was a big part of my life.  I wasn't active like a great many of people whom I have met over the years.  I didn't participate in the choir or any of the post mass activities, thought I was an Alter-boy for a mass or two.  When did I loose that feeling?  What was that feeling that I had?  What purpose did it serve?  Did it give me faith or just fill a void?  I don't know.  I don't know if I am that same person who can put his faith in such ideas.  I know in what I believe and religion doesn't seem to fit in there.  

It is not for lack of trying, I went to church on Easter, and even a couple of times during the season of Lent.  I did so to see what I would feel and I felt absolutely nothing.  I used to ride such a high horse of morality, where in I knew what was right and wrong.  I don't know if I am so certain I was right, and I am convinced that in many cases I was wrong.  Still I look back and I look forward.  The past is not something I can live again and why would I want to?  That pain will never change.  That beauty will not be more beautiful.  Each moment would precede the other just as they had.  The future is uncertain and as it stands I don't know what I will make of it.  Still I can not help but look.  I look there, though I live now and as I live right now, I look inward at my sins.  I look at them in the face.  All seven are there.  All seven bring me to my knees, the razor to wrist, the bullet to brain and so on.

Lust, it is more or less the fun sin in my eyes.  It is the one that I would say I enjoy the most. I should not.  Lust, and my weakness for such pleasures is the reason that I find myself alone.  She simply wanted someone who was faithful, I could not help but look around at the menu.  Keep in mind I did not give into the desire simply looked.  It was enough though.  It was enough to break a sense of trust that was once there.  Some say that it is the way of nature and in the genes.  I know so many people who have chose to live above those debased needs and risen above.  It is a choice to give in.  It is a choice to even acknowledge such things.  Even more so than any else though, it is a choice to act upon such.  And so with such, when that which you had is gone, that which was great has left you are left with it to lust after.  You realize how great she was and you want her more than ever.  Maybe it is the most elaborate of deceptions or maybe it is more real now because you know the pain that such a loss has caused.

Yet lust is not the only sin I am guilty of.  No, I have all seven.  Gluttony, it is that which I fight so hard against.  For the longest time it was the vessel of comfort and the crusher of my self-worth.  It still serves as such though the ice cream and cookies have given away to brown bottles and demon rums.  As pain worsens, I suck upon the bottle to make it go away.  The alcohol seems at times be the only thing that numbs it all and pushes it back and away.  Then after all of that there is blackness and I remember nothing.  It is a peaceful sleep.  It is the one without dreams that dredge up thoughts.  It is the sleep that doesn't wake me up in tears.  To wake from it in and of itself is painful.  There is comfort in the darkness of it all.  There is comfort in the void, the place where there is no feeling, the place where there is nothing.  

Greed, I ask of anyone who bothered this far, who isn't?  Still, greed is a vice of mine.  I work and work and for what seems to be nothing as I spend money constantly on material things.  It is sadly how I show my affection and in someways it is how I know I am loved, when I am given things.  Is that strange?  I think so. I soothe pain at times by buying things.  I have spent a great deal of money recently on crap that I don't need in hopes that it will take from me this heavy heart.  Even when I am not hurting, I spend money on things that I am not sure are that worth while.  Living week to week is not what I want to do with my life but as I continue to give in, it seems as though it will be all I shall do.  All the money in the world can not buy one ounce of happiness and yet it doesn't keep me from trying.  

Sloth is not something that many of my friends would accuse me of but I have it in spades nonetheless.  The great sin of apathy, laziness and the like describes me fairly well in a great many situations.  I have this fairly decent talent with drawing and art and I am doing nothing with it.  There are offers on the table and I either turn them down or I just never finish them.  I have tons of art projects I would like to do but I get nothing done.  Nothing.  Isn't that sad to waste such a gift?  Fuck, I have a degree in art for  God's sake.  I have a degree in Biochemistry too.  What was the point of all that if I am going to do nothing with it all.  All that knowledge is just locked away in the back of my head doing nothing.  All those art pieces, comic book panels, cartoons, paintings are all just locked away back their in the attic of my mind.  Makes me want to blow open my skull cap and let it all out, that is if I weren't so lazy.  That isn't the only instances of sloth however, there are many times and many things I could have done to save what was had and to avoid the pain that was to come.  I was to stuck in a routine and too apathetic to change anything.  I went from day to day to lazy to initiate some sort of evolution in who I was or what I did.  I guess that is why I look within to see what went wrong.  It is because I could have done something then but didn't, now I need to know be left with a hollow what if.

So linked to my slot is my pride.  At one point I had such an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment over all those things I had done.  I still do in many instances as I look down my nose at those who have not 'come as far as I have.'  I think I am so superior in my thought process, my ability to think to reason and so on.  I have all this great adoration for myself and my skills, my gifts and my talents.  Where has it gotten me?  I think so much that I drive myself crazy half the time wondering what I should do with the realization that I am completely in charge of every aspect of my life.  I think constantly of how the choices I make will thusly open new choices and bring about consequences and woes.  What good are all this education that would seem to put me above those who haven't taken the opportunity?  I am no more happy and as I stated I am not even using it. What is the point of being able to draw comics like a mad man if I don't bother to actually draw them?  What is the point of all this pride if all it does is distance me farther and farther from happiness?  What is the point of never giving in when you alienate everyone?

All of this, all of it makes me so angry.  There is a point I reach in my thoughts and with this pain that I find nothing but red in my vision.  Someone said once that I have a terrible temper.  I think they are probably right.  If in the right mood with all these thoughts floating through my brain like a sewage polluting the water, I can fly off the handle quite quickly and easily.  As if my heart becomes a fist, I seem to bottle it up waiting for the right moment to swing.  Which of those women whom I have loved can forget my Wrath?  Which?  None I think.  I think I have scarred the all in some way or another.  Only now do I come to regret how I had treated them when it was all said and done.  Still, I find myself on the verge again.  Each word and breath, every internet message, post, and word is a reflex meant to pass off pain in some vein attempt to get rid of my own.  It doesn't work.  It just makes me feel more like shit.  Sometimes it works and they hurt but somehow they get over it faster than me.  My venom is not so potent and for a scorpio I spend more time poisoning myself more than anything.  I am wrath and I want to do nothing more than destroy myself.  

Perhaps the sin that I am most acquainted with and which burns me the most is my envy.  There are so many people I envy for one reason or another.  I envy all those people I see who are seemingly happy.  Part of me just hopes that they are putting up a good facade and wants them to be as miserable as me so that I won't feel so alone.  Even in a room full of friends, even if I get a million words of sympathy and understanding, I still feel alone.  The things I see others with, material possessions, satisfaction in their work, success and so on.  Perhaps the worst situation I can think of came about today.  I talked to a the Bean.  You don't know the Bean, none of you who read this will.  We are close, as close as anyone can be from one stand point.  He told me some news that gave me such joy it was overwhelming, and such envy that it made me sick.  He told me that he is going to bring a bundle of joy into this world.  He is so happy and in such a great place right now.  I envied him so much in that moment that it saturated my being.  It made me write this stupid blog to make sense of it all.  I want his simple life.  I want to not care.  I want my heart in one piece again.  I envy those who have those things and I hate myself for not being more like them.

Please forgive me.  I die a little every day.  I surrender because I know I have been a pretender.  I suffer to survive.  You can have all this guilt and misery I wear so well.  I devise my own demise.  I am going to be looking at life through a telescope, the earth down there and so far away.  I know that there will be no woman to put flowers on my grave.  

Thank you.  Fuck you.
  • Listening to: NiN
  • Reading: nothing
  • Watching: nothing
  • Eating: nothing
  • Drinking: water
I am staring at a plastic bag. The logo on the front reads "Dollar General." Its contents are a mystery to me at the moment as I don't recall going to that store for some time. In fact the last time I went to the Dollar General it was to purchase candles for blizzard like conditions that were to come and go. The contents are simple, a couple of Lipton pasta dinners, some pens, a box of macaroni and chess, and two hats.

As I recall the bag had been set aside for the time to welcome a loved one with a warm embrace. The contents were looked over at that time sort of how I look at them now. It was with puzzled confusion. When the bag was brought to me I was hungry and someone who cared was attempting to feed me. Money was and still remains a distant memory. At that aspect has not changed.

I was jobless at the time, looking and still training for my current occupation. My back was strong then not sore like it is now. I lift nearly dead weight for a living now. Some are capable of ambulation but most are as sedentary as stone.

The lack of food was probably good for me. Instead of sitting around waiting for something to eat I would go out and do things. I would go to the gym, I would hang out with friends. I would read. Time the was a luxury that I had in abundance at the time. Time was something that I wanted to spending like an investment. I had thought that all those efforts would yield a desired interest on the effort put forth. The stocks bought were apparently not worth their weight though and I am broke now. Broke. Broke. Broke.

The contents of the bag are a reminder of things that were not to come to pass. These past few days are just the same. They are a strange reminder. The past few days were interesting. They were very interesting. I had a visitor stop by the apartment. The knock on the door was not so unexpected. In fact, knocks upon our door step are quite common as people decide that this apartment is some sort of hub of activity as well as a sanctuary for those seeking refuge from whatever they need. It is that in fact, for those who visit. Here they can come, talk and hopefully enjoy the company that my roommates and I provide without worry of the outside world and its weights.

Still, the face on the other side of the door was not one that any had anticipated. Perhaps it was for myself it was the half wakefulness of it all or perhaps it was shock. Mostly random visitors as a regularity leaves little room for surprise in my world. A smile and a loud hello were what rang in my disbelieving ears. A voice rarely heard, not heard in months, not listened to in a time that had almost been forgotten. It was probably six years ago since I had actually listened.

There was a certain amount of awkwardness. I mean there is always going to be. When matters of the heart are involved for me things are always awkward. It is kind of like there was a certain amount of awkwardness when I looked into the bag from the General. It was bought for practical reasons and the reason I thought it was bought had to do with something more. There are striking similarities when I look around my room. There are things in that room that serve simply as reminders.

The face on the other side of the door was another sort of a reminder but not so much a momento. It was a reminder in the flesh of a failed experiment of the heart. She was a reminder of who I used to be. The face was a reminder of what I have become. Perhaps it was to serve as a reminder that I have grown as a person. I think that in some ways I have. I hope in some ways that I have.

So there she was. She was back from some training of her own, all grown up as a new breed of military brat. Her smile was big. I remember that. That was one thing that didn't change. Her smile was still the same. She came in and it was a sort of whirlwind of a day. There was conversation about this and that. It was a bunch of laughs and awkwardness faded to a dull sort of hum. In a previous time, in a previous incarnation I might have still been sort of a bitter person and avoided the whole situation. Like a scared child, I would have run to seek refuge. With nowhere to run and no anger so to speak of I stayed.

The night was a whirlwind. I dug through some old things, momentos that I had found sometime ago and had contemplated keeping for a long time but eventually returned. There was no reason to hold on to them. The feelings felt were not the same. There was no anger to speak of left. There wasn't a single negative emotion left. It was just a good look back into a past that was done and gone. There were things that were learned but all in all it was just the past. We all made mistakes then. We all make mistakes everyday. To live everyday holding on to those mistakes is not a life worth living.

Six years ago was when things seemed to go wrong. Six years ago I was not ready to let go when things were over. They were over then. They will never come back as they were. The world is in a constant state of evolution. Everyday we change and so does everyone else, through an infinite number of possibilities and choices that we make on each day we exist we change. We all grow and some of us even grow up. Six years ago I was an angry man, angry at myself, angry at her, angry at the world. I am not that man anymore. I don't feel that kind of anger. I let go. I forgive and I forgave. I choose that path.

I guess in a way I will always love these people who have held a piece of my heart. I can not help but feel for them. Love and hate are such strong emotions that sometimes it is hard to tell them apart. The very feelings are mirrors of one another. They belong on two sides of the same coin. Now, I can simply tell heads from tails.

So what now? I guess I say that I will move forward and not backwards. I know that things will never be as they once were. We can not have the past back. Why would we want back all that bad even if there were some good? Why would we want back all that good if there were some bad? Nothing is ever the same. Nothing can ever be taken back and nothing can ever be redone. So don't live for the past. It has come and gone. Don't live for the future. It has yet to come and pass. It is being made in the present. So live for today. I know I will.

Mad love,
  • Listening to: Boys Like Girls
  • Reading: nothing
  • Watching: nothing
  • Eating: nothing
  • Drinking: water
Tuberculosis, TB, is an interesting little bug. It is a bacterial infection that gets into your lungs more often than not. It has been known to affect other parts of the body, but mostly it is the lungs. Unlike most bacteria, and I do mean most, TB is pretty indestructalbe once it has taken hold. Only recently, with the advent of antibiotics, have we actually been able to shed this disease from our system. That is not to say that the body doesn't have its own defenses. That is not to say that we aren't capable in some way of staving off this disease. We form tubercles, little tiny cellular walls in our lungs so that we can stop the rampant spread of this bacteria. So that we can prevent it from overwhelming us. Eventually though, if untreated, the bacteria always wins. It will burst free and invade more tissue causing a necrosis of the tissue. You will spit up blood cough alot and eventually you will die. I have similar disease affecting my heart right now.

I know that love is just a series of chemicals, a reaction in the brain it is nothing more. I say that because I am putting up my own defensive walls. I have to wall off this shattering heart ache before it takes the whole heart. You see, today ended three great years of my life. Today Leisl finally realized that I wasn't quite enough for her. Today, as always I was not enough. I gave it my best effort. I love her. I put forth so much effort recently. I had made many mistakes in the past, but for so long I have known that I wanted her to be my one and only. I thought that I had found something that was lasting. It was worth the effort but again that effort was not enough. I seem to always come up short here. I am never enough.

I won't hate this girl though. Not like the others. We had some really great times over the past three years. I used to have nothing but joy in my heart when I thought about the first time we met. It was over coffee. We were both so nervous. I can remember rambling on and on and on about myself while she sat and listened. It was cute. Right now that memory will only bring tears though. I am crying right now in fact. It blurs the words but it strangely brings the thoughts into focus.

How could I expect this to last? I couldn't I guess. There was always this fine balance that had happened between us. She would need to get away from me for a while and call a break to what we were doing. It happened the first summer we were together. It happened again after that second summer. Three times is permanent isn't it? That is a rule somewhere. I am certain of it. Break a heart three times and there is no turning back. Right now I have to focus on building walls though. I need to focus on building walls up around this disease, these chemicals so that I can function without crying. I need to find my antibiotic.

There is no real mystery to my mind. When it gets a hit like this it will eventually spiral towards thoughts of worthlessness. It has already started if you couldn't tell by the statements made previously. Still, it will be a downward spiral as always. Eventually, I will have suicidal thoughts. I will find my grandfathers straight razor and start running warm bath water. I never do more than take a bath and the thing is so fucking dull it couldn't cut butter but it is still there and it will be a thought. It will sit on the edge of the tub with a candle burning with in hands reach. But I will build a wall around that part of my heart too.

Maybe one day all these walls will come crashing down on my head and I will explode. Maybe I will just go haywire and snap. It is a possibility. They will lock me up when I go crazy that is for certain. I watched my father have a nervous break down once. Maybe there is some genetics to that. He was always on mood stabilizers after that. Mean as a snake and as violent as a hurricane when he didn't have them.

She told me that there was a chance, a chance when she straightened out everything that her feelings for me would come back. I know that can't happen. I am a chemist and it is so rare that you ever get back something when chemicals change. Sure you can get something back that is like the original. When you dissolve copper into acid you can get it back. Sure you can but it isn't that same piece of copper you put in... just a dust that you have filtered out. Hope is not a luxuary I can afford at this moment. Hope is just a bastard child that always fucks you. You can't depend on hope. You can depend on walls. Walls are solid. The only thing that breaks them is a force beyond the power of man.

It will take an earthquake to break the walls I am going to build around my heart. Still, I can't say that they will be perfect. I can't confess that they will not break down under the weight I am putting behind them and something won't come leaking out. I don't ever make anything perfectly. I never have. Again, my best efforts are never enough.

So I have TB of the heart. Yeah. I need an antibiotic. I need some emergency treatment before this kills me. I feel dead inside and I am waiting for my body to catch up right now. I don't want to alarm anyone. I don't want to bring distress to your lives. I am sorry to have bothered you all right now. I will be drowning myself in several heart break punches tonight. I will probably make it a two-fer. I have enough ever clear, and walmart lemonade is cheap. It may not be an antibiotic but it will certainly do as a pain pill. It will be my tylanol because I can't afford real drugs. It will numb the throbbing in my head and make shattering of this heart.

For the first time after having started my new job I envy those little old people who are so confused as Dementia slowly takes away what they had and what they have. I wish it were more prevelant in my family right now. Sadly it isn't. Sadly none of my grandparents or parents even show the smallest sign. Their memories will remain clear and crystal until their dying days. Just like mine. Still I could wish for it couldn't I? We don't have chemicals to fix that and I wouldn't want to. It is the only way I can think of to deal with this right now. I want to forget the past three years. The good and the bad. Fuck, maybe I could forget this whole time in Iowa. The good and the bad and get back to a simpler time. I would miss some. I would. There are no chemicals to stop it for them and no chemicals to make this dream come true for me.

This may sound pathetic but I wish my mom and my dad were here right now. They couldn't do anything to fix the problem. They couldn't make the pain go away but something is still comforting about their presence. Maybe it is because their chemicals will never stop for me. Kyle too. He would be here and he would be my fist of rage. He is so angry. So very angry but he would do anything for me. He would do all that he knows and try to hurt what is hurting me. He would. I wish Elf and Joel were here. Their chemicals were always real. They never let me down. They always loved me. I wish all those alum from Cornell could be here. Ryan would give me wisdom. Mark would give me faith. Corey would give me something to laugh at. I have great people here and everywhere. I know that they will reach out to me in this time of need. I know that their chemicals are there. I know they care.

So as it stands, I am left feeling like a worthless wasted shell. I am building a wall around my heart. I am blocking off the biggest part of it. Like so many times before this broken record will repeat itself. When you give your best, when you give all you have and then that love isn't enough what do you have? What does that say about you? It tells me that I am a defunct model. Love, in the romantic sense, was not something that I was made to have. Never enough. Never enough.

I have a disease. Someone please give me a cure.

Thank you. Fuck you.
  • Listening to: Boys Like Girls
  • Reading: nothing
  • Watching: nothing
  • Eating: nothing
  • Drinking: water
Streams can flow in many different ways. At the beginning they flow slowly, trickling down with very little water seeming to move. Still as the impending waterfall slowly comes into view the pace picks up and the current grows ever stronger. At first you think you can fight it and reach the shore. If you had started sooner perhaps you could. There is a bit of fear that wells up as oars and boat struggle against the raging waters and you are tossed back and forth in your raft. Eventually, the thought crosses your mind that you don't have a choice and you might as well go with it.

Time is a great deal like a stream. It continues to flow and I am heading towards some more rough water. A couple of months ago, on the date of my birth in fact, I was laid off from my fairly laid back and comfortable job in the refridgeraitor factory. I was making a decent chunk of change there. Hell, I was probably making more than I deserved at nearly $20.00 an hour. I had done a bit of tooth and claw sort of struggling to get into that leadership position but in truth the work wasn't necessarily worth the pay. Back then, things were flowing easily. Time passed, but none too quickly that I couldn't keep up with both school and all my bills. Hell, I was making $20.00 an hour, so I should have been doing better than keeping up and for the most part I was.

Sure, there is and was the opportunity to claim some unemployment and my travels were much less than they had been (the trip home to Michigan for the holidays excluded). I am thankful that the system exists to be honest. I would be out on the street by now if not for it. I guess I don't look at it as a hand out as much as I used to. At one point I did. I just thought that people were taking money from the system and perhaps some are. Still, I know that I put in a decent share of that $20.00 an hour towards the system and am glad it was there when I needed it. It got me through some slow times, some

The thing is, I do not need it now and all that extra time I had, the time that seems so wasted now is going to catch up to me. I just have this feeling. Call it paranoia if you will, call it whatever you like but as it stands I am going to be working my ass off as soon as this new job starts.

That is right folks, I have found a new job. The wonderful thing about it was that I was pretty much hired right on the spot. Tomorrow, I will begin third shift working for an long-term care facility in the area as a Certified Nurses Assistant (C.N.A.). I have never worked third shift and I have a feeling it is going to make that river of time feel like we are on the rocks and headed toward the waterfall with no help in sight. Tack onto that that I will probably pick up some day shifts and be working six days a week with an option to work a seventh and you begin to understand why time will go from a calm peaceful ride for me to a torrent rocky adventure.

I am sure some might ask why I would go for such a deal. There are some reasons that are more practical and there are reasons that have nothing to do with practicality at all. The first reason will make the most sense and it has to do with the fact that this job will pay about half what I used to make at my previous job. Now I know it sound greedy but I established a certain life-style that I would both like to keep and in many ways, I am obligated to keep. I have a car payment. The ludicrous amount that it cost to insure a new car doesn't help with that. either. Tack onto that rent, utilities, loans, a small credit card (thank god I limited myself to under $1,000) and a few other luxuries that I enjoy like food and it all adds up. Those are perhaps the most practical reasons.

The second reason seems far less practical than the first but falls somewhere in the middle of the whole scheme of things. I want experience. I am going into this field with next to none. I need to get things done and soon I will be starting nursing classes and won't have this luxury of extra time to work a 60 odd hour work week. I don't want to still feel like a noob some two or three weeks down the road. Certainly there will always be new things to learn, especially in this field where each resident has his/her own special needs and care plan. Still, I want to get a routine established so when time comes to cut back an hour or two here and there I will be able to.

Lastly, I really want to work with these people. They are great and deserve the best care possible. Aside from that my co-workers seem pretty nice as well. I want to establish a good reputation as a hard worker so that when the time comes and I have my LPN (nursing liscense) I might be hired on at this facility or get a good reference elsewhere.

This new path that I am taking, tis trip down a different stream so to speak, is not without cost. I plan on loosing a few hours of sleep per night for starters... I don't think it will hurt though since I sleep for like ten hours anyway. In addition, my game of nearly 1.5 years has come to an end. I am sad to see it go and as I was ending it this Saturday I was despiritly thinking of a way to keep it going. Alas, the conclusion was made and the longest story-line I had ever run came to an end. It is fine by me and I am coping. Someone else has volunteered to take over it is a credit to myself and those who helped me run it that the game will continue. I will still get to play a small advisory roll I think. I will NPC one of my characters via email but allowed for the game to remain open and free of NPC burdens. That will do in most of my social life and I probably won't even get a regular attendance at Perkins. That is the one event that saddens me. Such is life though and if one is going to move on sacrifices must come. The memories will last as long as I am around, however and that will have to be good enough for me.

That is all for now folks.

Love, Luck, Lipstick and Lollipops
  • Listening to: She Wants Revenge
  • Reading: My CNA hand book
  • Watching: nothing
  • Eating: nothing
  • Drinking: water
There was a time when I was more committed to blogging about my life and all its little significant and rather insignificant details.  I thought that I had some great words of wisdom to depart or some realizations and revelations that might shake the core of this world to its very core but like so many times in my past I was mistaken.  I am not complaining.  I figured I would get that right out of the way.  I figured that I would put that right up front.  This journal thing, these blogs have been a saving grace so many times.  They have allowed me to be as emo as I needed to be. These writings, both personal and public have given me a forum to be as unjustified and hurtful as I desired with near complete annonimity save perhaps for the select few on the inside.  There were those who may have got the jokes or understood the content of what was said.  In some small way I had hoped that people would perhaps feel some sympathy or some empathy for this fat fuck who felt that his troubles were like the weight of the world placed upon his shoulders.  In so many ways I felt like Atlas.  I felt as if I were born to bear the weight of the world and in all actuality I probably didn't even hold up my own share of this small rock that I was doomed to carry.

So often I say things and then like so many of us I am a hypocrite with my words, not having my actions follow through.  I wrote once some beautiful words, some of them quotes, others my interpretations of the words of great people.  These words expoused a freedom that was unknown to me before hand.  It was a sense of liberation that was unparalled.  When I spake and wrote such magnificent things I felt so high and mighty now I often look at myself with contempt.  It is not contempt for having written those words but for having failed to adhere to the tenants that they expressed.  I stated once in quoting a great man that Existence precedes Essence and I believe I was right in that.  Still I find myself looking for excuses to things and trying to blame others.

When I first quoted that I think I was mostly trying to convince myself more so than anything else.  I was trying to come to grips with what I was reading and the way that I was allowing it to change me on the inside.  It was shaping my mind.  It would not have changed me if I did not let it.  It would not have been truth if I had not let my mind recognize it. I could have just as easily denied it as I had denied so many other options in my life prior.  I could have let not let it influence me just like so many do not let reasonable argument influence there belief.  I claim no divine providence or inspiration for the things I say.  My hand is guided by my own mind.  Others claim that someone else speaks through them. If this is true than blessed you truly are but I am not one of you and I can only speak what I hold as truth.

So I have failed in my belief system and I am reminded of the obsurdity of some of my previous claims.  I guess I just have to remind myself to not slip into old frames of mind ingrained from earlier ages.  Often it is so much easier to blame an outside source rather than to turn the high powered analytical scope that is my eyes to the mirror and see what is really there or to simply turn them off when looking and see someone who is enlightened or achieving where others around seem content to flounder and faulter.  Sometimes it is easier to look at yourself as perfect and a standard to live up to rather than as someone who is flawed.  I know I am ont perfect though.  I guess it is a start.

There are a few things that have sparked this rant I suppose.  The first comes with a visit from Kentalicious.  In the past I have been an ass.  I can admit that. I like who I am though and I don't feel a need to change myself for that very reason.  I can elicite the response I desire from most.  I can get a rise or a laugh out of some and others I can make take a moment of reflection and still some I can even get to take a look at this place in a different way.  It isn't so much a talent, just a way of being and perhaps the patients to argue a point.  It could be a bit of stubbornness too.  Somewhere along the way I have earned the ire of some people whom I had held close in friendship.  I take a long look back to the events of that time and I realize how ignorant I was.  I look now and see growth and perhaps a road paved with good intentions.  We all know where those roads go though.

Nevertheless, it can be said that things went sour.  In many ways this was my fault.  Still a lesson was learned and I took from that time in my life what was necessary.  I can choose to agonize of the instant in time.  But again life is just a series of moments and each one ending just as another has begun.  We can never have the back the past.  It is forever locked away to be remembered or forgotten.  We so often choose to remember those moments that were painful.  I don't know why this is?  Perhaps it is because they seem so much more important.  Perhaps we only learn our lessons and define this existence by our trials and tribulations.  Perhaps we define who we are by the suffering that we endure.  I don't know if that is how I care to live.  Can I escape that if it is human nature to do as such.  Since, I know not what human nature is I suppose then that it could be said that the previous statement is absurd.  Instead,  I think I want to live for the moments of joy and bliss.  I will take what lessons I need from moments of hardship and let go of the rest.  Grudges are seemingly pointless.  I think I am going to choose to live for those good moments.  Let others think what they will of me and let that be as it is.  I can only try to change their opinions but I can never make them think any more or less of me.  If that is the case so be it.  We will take from each other what we need then and move on in true isolation. After all, I can never claim to know  you better than you know yourself.  In that way we are islands, roaming on the sea of life.  Occasionally we will make waves with each other, sometimes their will be collisions, tidal waves and earthquakes.  In this there will be casualties.  We can only provide some damage control for ourselves in realizing that it is only a little water that was splashed or perhaps a little shake up and let it go at that.

Next, though not necessarily inspired by Mr. Kentalicious, he was certainly there for the second viewing.  A documentary has come into existence and it is informative to say the least.  In some ways it disturbs me in other ways I am thankful for being educated by it.  I confess ignorance first and foremost when it comes to other individuals.  They baffle me.  I will always think of people in the terms I understand and the terms by which I define them.  In that respect, I know that I can never completely understand other people in any respect save in the terms that I understand myself.  Basically others are alien to me.  I can understand suffering.  Suffering was a big part of what were talking about earlier if you have made it thus far.  I can understand trials and tribulations.  Again it was briefly touched upon.  I guess, some would say I experience empathy.  I think to some respect we all experience it but then we all probably secretly don't admit to feeling a sense of schadenfreude.  What did I just say? What is this composition of letters that comes together in a form that most won't recognize?  It is a German term.  It means quite literally, happiness at the misfortune at others.  I am sure I don't need to give examples of times when I have thought to myself that I am glad I am not someone else.  It strikes me as odd that this is the sort of attitude that some of the subjects of this film seemed to express.

It was with a somewhat sickening holier than though attitude that the subjects of  "Jesus Camp" went on.  At least that is my interpretation.  You are more than welcome to watch the film and take away from it what you will.  I thank the directors of this documentary for being so informative and giving me this information.  I have a hankering to show it to as many people as I can gather together.  I will tie them down in chairs if need be hold their eyes open with some strange torture device and... well that is a bit too Clockwork Orange I suppose.  Nevertheless, if you have seen the film I would be interested to hear more opinions about it.  Apparently these people are raising an "Army of God" preaching as if commanded by the divine.  There is so little humility and such and over-flowing amount of pride.  I am not saying that having pride about a belief or pride is a bad thing but to me there is a line that even I draw.  I can tolerate a lot and I try to not let things get to me.  If they are a bother in fact I try to deminish their importance to me.  Still to  have children stand outside a planned parent-hood clinic with red tape over their mouths. The word Life shamelessly etched in permanent marker on that tape.  Perhaps I have let it get to me in a way that I should not.  Still, what place is it of these individuals to use these children for this political agenda.  It sort of sickens me.

Still, I digress for that  is their right if I am not mistaken.  If someone could prove me wrong i would so very much appreciate it.  In this instance I would more than gladly be wrong but if I were wrong about the subjects of this film being able to express themselves concerning their beliefs then I would not be free to write this long rant would I?  That freedom is a double-edged sword is it not?  I guess you might call me somewhat of a nationalist.  I do love my country and perhaps that is what truly floored me about his film.  I appreciate the freedoms I do have though they seem to be dwindling one by one as more and more of our privacy is invaded all for a sense of security.  If I weren't here i couldn't take these existential beliefs that have come to me and enjoy them as I do.  If I were not in this country perhaps I would not have such access to this information to be so informed and to learn, to be educated and choose for myself.  I wouldn't be aware of the choices before me.  Perhaps I wouldn't know that if I hadn't chose to recognize something than that thing really has no particular meaning.   That if we don't recognize something as having importance than it doesn't have worth.  Perhaps I am repeating myself but I can not help it.  Look at your history lesson.  They are all subjective and written by the victor.  Mayhaps that is what is so unsettling to me.  This one mindedness that this country is to belong to this Super Christian Left movement and that it won't be a perfect country until they have weeded out all dissent from the nation.  One of the individuals on the program stated first that she loved this democracy but that we are ultimately doomed and we will destroy ourselves because we are given such choice.  Our diversity will destroy us.  Our ability to choose will destroy this great nation.  The words here can not express the sort of rage this stirs in me.

I suppose I should wrap this up soon.  If you have read this far you are probably going to sleep soon from my continued droning on.  That or perhaps I have stirred something in you who reads this.  If I have then I have accomplished something more than I could have ever hoped.  I spoke once in sarcasm about how my words might change the world.  i was very bitter when I wrote that little blurb about myself.  I talked about all the things I could have done with my life and my acceptance that I had chose not to for whatever reason.  I spoke of optimism for a future that is now fast approaching.  I just got a letter that says after a long wait I can begin my education in the schools nursing program.  There was a conundrum for a moment when it came.  It was not the same faltering I had felt when I decided that I did not want to be some great doctor or surgeon but rather a fork in the road.  As always there were several choices before me and whatever they were I will live with and be happy with the one I have made.  It is my intent to begin my education for my LPN as soon as this summer.  Live with the choices  you have made and dwell not on what could have been.  Again, life is a series of moments all wrapped in the choices made.  Each moment brings a new opportunity and a new choice.  You can never have those moments that have passed back but there a seemingly infinite number of moments to come.

In one moment I wrote some sarcastic post about how I had hoped my words would get to someone.  I never imagined they would.  I knew they had meaning to me.  I knew what they meant.  to me and in the end.  Here we are two years later and some reads it.  They were closer to home than I had imagined but I guess the words had a lot more weight that I had guessed.  It started some strange chain reaction.  It is a strange that my words have me on the strange edge not knowing what they meant to everyone else who would have read them.  I know how one person felt but my mother called me hysterically taking completely out of context what was said.  It was two years old though still very true.  I have heard that it made some of my family cry.  I have heard that it made some of them upset.  I have not confirmation on any of this really just hearsay from an overly excitable mother who wants to protect me or at least know what is going on.  I really don't know.

Love, Luck,Lipstick and Lollipops
  • Listening to: The Shins
  • Reading: My CNA hand book
  • Watching: nothing
  • Eating: nothing
  • Drinking: water
The Rules

The 1st player of this "game" starts with the topic "6 weird habits/things/hates about yourself" and people who get tagged MUST write a journal about their 6 weird habits/things/hates as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says "you are tagged" in their devpage comments and tell them to read yours..

1.  I am pretty fat. (Though I am working to trim it down)
2.  I can seem pretty obnoxious until you get to know me.
3.  I am a scorpio and it has been said that I have the personality to match it.
4.  I think everything I have ever made was a masterpiece immediately upon completion.  I rarely complete things however and then when I look back on them a year later or so I am not satisfied and want to add more or re do them.
5.  My initial inspiration came from comic books and for the longest time it is what I had wanted to do with my life.  I wanted to draw comic books.  This site is a testament as to why I am just not good enough.
6.  I have a degree in biochemistry and I am working on becoming a nurse.

Ummm... now who to tag....
  • Listening to: She wants revenge
  • Reading: My CNA hand book
  • Watching: Frisky Dingo
  • Eating: Some microwave crap
Somedays there isn't a place in the world that you feel safe.  
Somedays you are reminded of all the terrible and horrific things that man kind can do.
Somedays the world holds  you by the neck and throttles the very life from you.

In this world I feel like someday is coming soon.

I got a phone call.  It was a painful one.  Listening to the emotions that ran so high was perhaps the most frustrating thing that I could hear with these two ears.  I listened as ignorance and self-pitty poured fourth like a damn that had burst free.  It spilled over as if filled with this sense of loathing that came from no-where.  I can't say I understood it.  I never understand it quite frankly.  I can offer sympathies, I can offer an open ear but these kind offers soon turn to nothing short of frustration on my part.  Perhaps it is because I have never been patient.  The age of the internet has not done wonders for my lacking in that area either.  The prodcution of this machine which almost instantly produces gratification for communicative needs and other services is perhaps the devil incarnate and I worship it.  

In this conversation I am bombarded by words that I can not begin to express in this missive but for lack of any other outlet I suppose I should try.  

When someone tells you that they want to be someone.  Be it because of adoration or some sick form of envy, you try to tell them how wonderful they are.  It is a constant war of point and counter point, to no end.  You can not win when someone holds the other so highly.  Even when that person is perhaps one of this earth's most horrible monsters in your opinion.  

What kind of person lies to the face of everyone they say they care for?  Who holds back a wonderful secret?  When the lies catch up what do they do?  How many people will they hurt?  The questions could go on and on.  The most important question though is who wants to live that lie?  Who envies that life?  I don't, but I can think of a few people who do.

What is the point of being loved if you are loved for something you are not?  I love someone.  I love her very very very much.  I love her for who she is.  I don't want her to be something she wants.  She doesn't need to change her hair to make me happy.  She doesn't need to change her body.  She doesn't need to do anything.  She just needs to be her.  

Why there is such adoration for someone who is a monster beneath the mask?  It is not perfection that is loved but an illusion.   One day that mask will fall away and everyone will see.  You will be left wondering why you wasted all that time.  Everyone else will be wondering how they didn't see.  I will laugh at them and weep for you.  You don't deserve this.  You deserve better.  Your idol should be not be so beneath you.  

I digress.  

On to more bright and fuzzy topics.  I have found out a way to achieve a master's degree without having to go through all the hoops I had thought prior.  Instead, given that I have a bachelor's, I can go and get a master's in Nursing and Health Prof. at the Unniversity of Iowa.  This will be pretty much awesome.

In addition, though I am laid off, I will be taking advantage of the things have transpired.  I will be going to get my CNA.  That stands for Certified Nurses Assistant.  Now if I handn't had such a heartbreaking phone conversation earlier, this day may have just been perfect.

Love, Luck Lipstick and Lollipops
Today someone paid me the greatest compliment I have recieved in a while.   They said, "Shiney, you were the last great C&G President."  I am humbly honored they think so.

I wish people wouldn't judge me without first coming to me and finding from me the truth.  I hate it when it is assumed that things were done by this kid which are in fact not my fault.  People will be people though and they are really just nothing unless I allow them form .  I don't know why I bother to give people such significance.
Life has been busy as of late.  My appartment looks terrible, no thanks to some lazy people who can't seem to clean up after themselves.  That just really pisses me off in general.  I make an honest effort to clean this damndable dwelling only to come home to some place that looks like a fucking trian wreck.  The sink is full of dishes, the living room is crammed full of crap that I am just about ready to toss and the bathroom looks like a toxic dump.  I fucking clean this place everytime I have a saturday off from top to bottom and every week it looks like this again.  It isn't like one of my room mates actually works more than twenty hours a week so when he is home why can't he clean his shit?  I mean frankly he makes most of the mess with the dishes and I am staring at a fucking land slide of his laundry which is sitting next to a recliner.  The take out Chinese he and his girl had the other day or maybe two days ago now, is still sitting on the table with an open container of sweet and sour lying on a dirty plate.  There is a bag of garbage which has been sitting in the kitchen for two days now too and hasn't been taken out to the dumpster.  For fuck's sake what is wrong with you lazy fucks!?!?!?!  

I am not spending my only day off this week cleaning up after your asses!  I mean J.H.C. I paid half your rent for two months now and your brother paid it for two as well I think, why can't you fucking do something worth while and at least keep the place clean?!?!    

That is my current complaint I guess.  If I see one fruit fly in my appt I am gonna kick his ass out to the fucking curb.  

On another note, a more positive though slightly upsetting note.  I am switched to first shift at my boring, mindless job.  This seems bad at first, but I realize that me waking up early means I get to be out of work at an hour where things aren't all closed and I also might actually get to work on art since I will be awake during the day!!!  

Rock on!

Thank you.  Fuck you.

I have a bunch of things that I would like to put on this site, however, lack of time and mostly lack of money prevent this.  I have about fifteen drawings from various phases in my life that I think would make fine editions to the gallery here on deviant.  Some are old, some are new and some are still works in progress.  Several of them involve this whacky crazy comic idea that I have had in my head for as long as I can remember.  Which probably means it stretches back to my high school days when I was an ignorant kid who's life revolved around such things.  I suppose some obsessions never die.  

It is in my head that I keep most of my ideas for paintings but I haven't the time nor the space at the moment to do any of the work that I would like.  Before, in college, I had all the time in the world to just make art in my studio, but now that I have graduated and entered in the world beyond I find work and other pressing issues consuming most of my time.  


Holy crap!  My site finally works.  Kick ass!!!  I am so happy.  Deviant art you rock!  Thank you to all the people who were so kind.  I am sorry to them if I seemed impatient.  You guys who read this thing, thanks for your support.