Story (never written)

I was walking back from the library today. And feeling cliche. And thought this-

How would my story read, if I were to be dead? Should my moral be myself, clutching the last few dollars in my bank account that I haven't handed over to the multinationals plummeting from a tall place in protest of my existence? What is my existence? Just wake up, go to class, try to comprehend. Go to my dorm. Try to unwind. Hear about how I don't comprehend enough. Feel like a disappointment. Go the the library. Try to comprehend and realize I don't. Sink to this. I don't like it. It's not how I want to exist. But, do I really have a choice? My story seems like it's already written. I think the tale of my failed ambitions, disappointments, and collapse has already been laid out. It's just waiting on me to realize it.

And I can't change it. To break continuity creates a paradox. And those always come crashing down (so long as you're not talking about them in relation the the government or the banks. They've got plenty. But I suppose those will come crashing down too, with luck).

This is my story. It's never been written. It's already been told.

Like sardines in a crushed tin

It still makes my heart sink every time.
It still drains a little bit of life every single time.
It makes me close up every single time.

No way out of this, now.

Less someone has a can opener.

Battle scars

The plains are scared with
evidence of the battles taken place.
Craters and UXO lay scatered
left behind by retreating armies.

The walking wounded wince
at the sting of their injuries.
Shot by those who do not know
what they fight against.

Lo, peace may never enter into the valley
for it has seen too many horrors.
Too many shells sit unfired
and bombs unexploded.

So the inhabitants do still weep
for their sons who rest there.
Who may never again see
tranquility it the valley.

Cope

Are coping mechanisms good or bad? Are they justifiable or am I a fool for allowing myself to maintain them?

I suppose this entry is quite bare. It's just a thought I had just now. And I can't decide which side of the fence to be on.

Silly

It's silly. Am I that thick?

Of course the world is a cold, dead place. I've come to think that I was silly to think otherwise. Silly to think that something more is possible. Silly to dare dream of a better time in a better place.

It's not going to get better.

We're going to keep denying everything.
The earth is not getting warmer.
We're not going to run out of oil.
We are not the main source of hatred.
I am a sane, competent, desirable individual.

It's all rubish. It's all in the trash bag that's leaning on the dresser that I am throwing out right now.

Unbalanced.

So, I have a bit of a dilema, of sorts, I think. I don't know how much I can invest in things. I have one heart, and can only love so much before the divisions of issues yank at it until it flies apart in an array of rediculous ideals and false hopes. So, what should I love? What can I love? Who can I love? It's a question I can't wrap my full mind around, and one I desperately want answered. I want to know if my ideals are really stupid or if they're not. If my hopes are even possibly true.

"Can you be any more of a slob?"

Answer: Yes. I could be. But, I'm not a slob. To me, a slob is... well, that's a can of worms. That I should bite my tongue on.

Valentines day has always, for the most part, been sour. Today wasn't really an exception. More work. No brakes. And still, I find that most people are still unable to express true love. The type that's not self interested. The kind that doesn't suit themselves. The non-facetious version. That I have only found in dark valleys and stable mountains.

So, I march on to my birthday. No longer an immature teenager. But still feeling like I'm surrounded by them, by and large.

I will

[radiohead song]

I should have bitten down on my tongue. No drama right? No. Not from me.

I mean, other people would let it slide too, I suppose. I can't ask too much from life.

I think that's today's moral. God gave me everything I asked for today, raised to the negative 1 power. I think maybe I get the point. I think maybe I see what he means.

I will __________________________________________.

There There

Stuck in a landscape. Walking through the forest. Ignoring the roots that rise up underneath me to strike me as I sleep. Ignoring the snickering of rats and wolves. Trying to ignore "So what?". Wondering why everythingeverythingevereything is still so unrealized. I am one of my word. I didn't mind. It can happen again. Though, forgetting is difficult.

Crackwhores, crazies, and backwards

Somewhere I missed the memo about "entertainers" using crack and having mental breakdowns are news. Do we have no conscious as a society? Does no one else realize that we are killing these people, that we are the very beasts driving them insane? Not only these people, but when do we realize we're creating the very phenomenon we're against in drug use and poverty. We are not helping ourselves, and worse yet, we seem to be against helping ourselves get out of this whole.

I think my current existence can be summed up in one word: Powerless.

Powerless to change the world. Powerless to even mention the fustration that causes, along with everything else I try at but eventually fall short. Powerless to critize. Can I critize? Am I right? Or is down the new up? Is immature the new mature? Is college the new high school? Do things ever change? Is change possible?

To the barricades indeed. I just wish there we're more trying to build them alongside of me.

control alt febuary 3rd

I thought I'd throw a computer funny as the title today. I feel lame because of it. I appologize to all who may read that. It's probably not funny.

Superbowl sucks. It's been a rough day so many times in the past. I think, I resolve I should say, that next super bowl sunday, I am laying in bed and closing my ears.

"I do it to myself, I do, and that's what really hurts, I do it to myself, just me, me and no one else."

I'll stop looking over my shoulder when no one is looking over it. I'll stop disliking people once they stop being queen.