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Lockwood

Michael
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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
The_Shiney_One
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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.
Lockwood.
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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.
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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.

Lockwood
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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.
Lockwood
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