As I Lay Living

Numbness. Pointless. Faulknerian manchildren. Larry David. I have tried so hard to beleive the negative philosophies in the world that I've ignored the validity of some of the nicer ones. I should be depressed, I should want to die. But medicines prevent that. Is that unnatural? I tend to believe in many natural aspects of life, aspects that revert to our hunter-gathering lifestyle, the way we were "supposed" to live. Like eating while standing, or being social. Two very strange examples. Elbow Grease. Momentum. I am nervous about Israel, afraid of being alone amongst many. My grades are plummeting, and I have no passion, or at least I do not pursue any that are fulfilling. I need to travel, much like Huck Finn, happiness is a lack of responsibility, and travel offers a type of that lifestyle. Like in previous posts, its all about movement, constant motion, everything in motion to the ocean. The road is the journey and the destination is the self. It may seem foolish to priase the soul-searching McCandless types for their lack of responsibility and care for their families, but as Rand puts it in her Objectivist creed, the goal is for personal happiness. I have come up with this a long time ago, and that was only 8th grade. I invented nihilism last year, and Existentialism this year. Next, who knows? Absurdism? Fuck my sleep. My schedule of sleeping is ridiculous, which is unnatural, something i am not fond of being. Being. Is. Was. Am. Are. Are these words representing something real or did we invent existence? Semantics and Noam Chomsky. Help us. Stutter. Deja Deja Vu. Obama Ben Gurion. Are there inherent truths? What makes a truth? The fact that it is always present? Then are we not truths if we die? Or do truths only surmount to specific units of time? Probably. So is it impossible to identify absolute truths? Science can only offer so many answers. And they are all theories, hypotheses except for laws. Can something be true if it just happens to occur over and over again? That seems weak. A box is true because it continues to exist for a time. Then eventually it becomes untrue. But everything amounts to nothing in the end. So what's the point. Sounds pathetic and stupid, but it seems applicable. Intense unstatisfaction is my motivator here. And I hope i find some. Truly, I do. Only time can tell.

i feel sick. i find it very amusing how this blog is basically like a map of my foray into depression, each entry marking another stage in the process. its also interesting how now im not writing it as much symbolizes, i think, the dwindling of my intelligence, probably worn out from everything during the summer and the medications. i feel hollowed out. but i do have hope. and it is always what has made me stay alive, save a few times where hope was lost, and that was the lowest of the lows. and now i can feel me reaching that point, with israel becoming more of an uphill challenge than an easy downhill slope. this is a make it or break it situation, and i feel like im more likely to break it, given my poor social skills with new people. i just need that gene or skill or knowledge and i can be fine. because, much like chris mccandless, i have realized that happiness is only real when shared, and i presently have little to none of that. israel is the light at the end of the tunnel, which could mean escape, or a head on train. its funny how i equate israel with automatic friends and ease from schoolwork, when it could easily be the opposite.

It's Official. I'm insane. I'm probably going to the hospital tomorrow, goodbye fair old world. And I have no will to save myself.

Another 16 years

So I realized that I have never really enjoyed anything in my conscious life. My life is a constant frustration, constant boredom that eats away at your remaining human frailty. I think its bothersome that society casts aside boredom as a non-issue, when it actually sits amongst the tenets of depression and anxiety and other higher class things of that nature. I also beleive that I wanted to kill myself because I am so afraid of death that when I had the feeling that I accepted death, I needed to take that opportunity immediately to take advantage of not having a fear of death. Now this is a blinding, paralyzing fear, enough to create a living hell, which is what my life is turning out to be. Coping skills? they have no use to me now. I feel like my life is coming beyond repair and my mind is permanently burned out. The only comfort I can possibly salvage is going along with this despairing fate of mine rather than trying to fight it. I dont understand how anyone can expect me to try to fight this torrent, this savage beast of life when I am so weakly armed and so weakly defended. they sit back and judge and watch while I act like David without a slingshot against a Goliath of torment. They yell things at me and toss little plastic pills but they just bother me more. The biggest mistake of my life was telling anyone how I felt, because it completely destroyed me and got rid of my only hope of getting help, and now that I am getting help, it doesnt work and only makes matters worse. Every ounce of hope is quickly washed away and seems completely fake and unenjoyable, and when Im not in a completely depressed mood I feel even worse that I am so empty rather than full of despair. Now, the only comfort I have is wallowing in my stupid self pity and exasperation and when I cry, and when i stop crying I want to cry again, weeping for nothing, desiring to go back to hospital, but to live there. I cant deal with a gradual change, I have no strength, I am burnt out from exhaustion. And I hate that the only time I feel remotely satisfied is when I am depressed. What a great birthday

I need to write. Like stories and novels and plays and screenplays and scripts and poems and novellas and anecdotes and the like. I need to prove myself in some way, and I need approval. For writing is the only thing that I can communicate to any other person, speech is overrated.

But regardless, other things have been going on. I am seeing more clearly this idea of fate playing out in my life. I could be completely wrong, and probably am, but fantastic realities are so much more enticing to beleive. I see myself succumbing to this evolutionary fate that I bear that tells my body to die, and I honestly think that there are so many signs to suggest that I was meant to die, both through my mind and body, mentally and physically. I am killing myself without killing myself. OR, I can escape this fate by extreme measures, by leaving almost everything that is familiar and join something that was once beyond my scope of mind, something so radical or reactionary that is also real to me that makes me actually fight this suicidal infection. And I know staying where I am can only bring me so far in my journey, and so far I only see myself leading the way to the first path. That path tells me that my being wants me to die, that I am currently in a struggle with myself and the rest of the world, no support anywhere. I am hanging on by a loose thread right now whose savior is unknown. I need that moment, the sacred moment. I need a click, a snapping of the fingers, a genie with three wishes, I need help. Im getting help, but how can they help if they are only telling me to help myself, when I'm struggling with myself.

WTF

So I've been told by several cognitive seers and medical mediums that there's some sort of chemical imbalance in me, and if they read this, which they probably will, hello.
They mean well, wishing happiness and well being and objective health and function, and I heartily appreciate their help and effort. But I think I have found a reason of why I still feel so alienated. It's that they place happiness and well being and life as the foremost priorities for me and others. And it will apply to others, and they will be fully helped by their standards, and I'm glad for them. But its this idea and subliminal egotism in almost all people of trying to establish this abstract, manufactured rule of ethics and conduct and morality and purpose and loyalty and family that have been so ingrained by every society and every civilization in the animal kingdom and has been scared into everyone by the Judeo-Christian western societies. And this self-reinforces by making it seem "right" and built into man and beast. And it does work. But it relies on a stable human mind capable of accepting these manufactured laws and all rely on a sense of meaning and Godliness. And drugs can fix that. But who's to say that one person is right and the other is wrong? And drugs can answer that, and make me ask myself what I was thinking there and then and make me see the problem, but that cannot change what is real and that cannot change the fact that objective truth is impossible to prove. And the statements that these beliefs can be caused by something other than myself like depression just completely ruin my whole concept of "reality" or the lack of it. It's not a thought distortion or chemicals, these are seemingly logical observations of my world. By realizing the true physical and solely motion-oriented nature of everything, it is much simpler and real way of existing. It is extremely frightening, and that's why I think the human mind is designed to accept other realities in substitution or in addition to keep their body alive, which in essence is the role of genes and chromosomes. It's not animals that need to reproduce or live, but the genes and chromosomes. We are simply well-brainwashed hosts for the magnificently designed biological world. The genes aren't more powerful, just that their function and self-reinforcing, natural behavior is to reproduce. The "better" ones don't survive, just the ones that are well suited to the environment. I've been told I think too much, and that's why I believe these things and occasionally act on them, but how can someone say that's wrong when the same things have caused me also to be at the top of my class, and academia is something this human society so greatly admires? Am I cheating for my success? And that is the only thing I have, knowledge, and the only thing I can obtain to strengthen my understanding.
But what about when I know my mood and attitude will change, fast enough and often enough and to different places enough so that I can never find a comfortable place in life, constantly out of place from myself and everything else, and that total picture is what is so discomforting, and something i can't imagine as I am always occupying a certain mood to the extent that I can't fully see the larger picture except to know that it exists. And when my mood changes I will reject my old logic and either be stuck in transitional limbo or go to any other countless emotions that obsess my existence. I think I need drugs.
And what bothers me is when I do enjoy something like music or art or the company of others and the experiences all around me to be had and especially of the beauties of nature. The reason they are quitely and not obviously bothersome but still nonetheless is that I see no logic or reason behind it, and I have trouble accepting something without those. Again, drugs, I think, can help. And I can enjoy them for a time, but times like now come and de-rationalize that enjoyment, as well as every other gut feeling and thought, good and bad. And the worst times come when I can't even think about my beliefs like I am writing now, when my mind goes blank and language becomes meaningless, simply dead words with little to no neural activity that it sparks. I value moments like these, when what I beleive are reason, logic, and rationality come into play and paint a sensible picture of everything, even if, paradoxically, It may be subjectively irrational to others. Have my suicide attempts been well masked self-destruct mechanisms by my body? Like the movies, must I die or at least be unable to communicate because I "know too much"?
I know one thing, for those viewers at home, is that camp and its very social and forested surroundings provide, at least from what I experienced, some meaning and hope in society's reality and subjective truths. I know drugs can do that, but cease to make me happy when I reach that stage and occurs much more slowly.
Now I feel like this post may get me into more trouble than I've already put myself into, and I hope it doesn't, but at least its helped progress to a more concrete foundation, and something possibly, very minutely, that can give me back meaning that I beleive in, strong enough to ignore what I have written as "truth". I know that discussing it has and will continue to make me feel more stuck and isolated, depressed and confused. I need something real, concrete, like friendships or real pure, un-forest-preserves nature. And everybody has taken away those opportunities that can help me. I don't think myself as the depressed kid that the doctors and directors want me to be, someone that they've studied about and dealt with before. The mind has infinite cures, but also infinite agitators. From my experience, the other depressed/anxious kids I've met do hang out with friends currently and have or have had strong and real relationships. I don't even have or have had that, and just when I think I did, and reached that point when i could tell someone something serious about myself, like my depression, it rains shit and I missed it. As I type I'm noticing a mood swing from logical and mildly epiphanic to one of hope and now one of anger and agony. I can trust my parts, but not my whole. I feel like Im stuck inbetween heaven, hell, and purgatory, always changing stations.

I know one thing for certain though, that there are two things that have led me to this place:
1. Atheism
2. Isolation

+ and -

What do you do when everything you do contradicts everything you beleive?
What do you do when in the deepest depression you can't remember happiness?
What do you do when in your greatest moments of hope you forget failure and despair?
What do you do when every seemingly true, logical fact can be proven wrong, and for nothing to replace it?
What do you do when you are beyond yes and no, beyond middle ground, beyond the infinite shades of grey?
What do you do when you reach a mental plateau so high that language cannot describe it, and the climber does not whether it is the most beautiful or horrific thing he has ever seen?
What do you do when your confusion turns out to be ignorance and stupidity all along?
What do you do when you are convinced every emotion is caused by differences in electricity in the brain?
Is it real if it is all physical? Or is it real because it is physical?
The answers, I assume, lie in patience.

Dear You,
On my own judgement, I have willingly chosen to take my own life. Suicide,yes. Firstly, I ask, please do not mourn too much, as you have always done. Treat my body as you have my 13/14/15 years here, as an undesirable carcass. Do not be sad or angry at me, or anyone else except yourself. I wish it would not have come to this, to guilt trip you, but yes, it is your ignorance, your lack of respect, your lack of concern, of humanity, of morality, of ethics, of knowledge, of common sense. You are the ones who have so blissfully ignored my pain, even if I couldn't show it you could have tried. I want you to remember me as a result of your ignorance of your fucking selfish selves. I hope you will learn from this and prevent further rescue missions such as this. Maybe this will be broadcast on the news, used in a newspaper or journal. I don't care, but I would prefer its publication so more people can suffer from their ignorance. You have not cared. You have piled things upon me like you have never believed. It is the lack of sociality that has contributed, too. The lack of any moral fiber in any people one can call "friends". I had no friends. They were all fucking losers who are complete idiots and are self-obsessed and unethical. They joke about things that are completely ridiculous. Everyone is like this though. The only way out is death, no matter what anyone says. I have contemplated over a new identity, but all people are bastards. The only way out is death, where there are no judges. Whether or not I will die is up to my personal will, and if I don't, then I have shamed myself, all a more reason to die. I have attempted suicide before, by self-strangulation by belts and shower hoses. I was have been too wimpy to die. But it has come to this. It is the hopefulness of the future that has kept me alive this far, but it has so fully dissapointed me. Millions of philosophical thoughts race through my head so fast it may as well burn up my brain, which I wouldn't mind. No one has helped me. I still love my family, but as I have seen, your lives would be much better without me. Same with all of your lives. It will g on as normal, since you have always ignored me. The growing pressure of society and school has compressed my thoughts so tight , I was contemplating a school shooting, but getting my hands on weapons was too risky. I have thought these thoughts for three months, after I read perks. It is much like Catcher in the Rye was to MDC. I am Charlie. I am him. Except worse, I have no friends. I have not benefited from teachers I would hope were helpful, such as my dissapointment with -----, and the romantic downgrading(?) --------. This lack of external action has so damaged my internal action I have been unsuccessful to try to save my life. I am leaving all that is mine to the people that need it. I have loved you, but I have not been truly loved. No one has had authentic caring for me, or that is not by guilt. If my suicide is unsuccessful, I will try to run away, and die on my own.
I don't believe in God, nor have I for the past year(s). These thoughts have consumed my life. I can no longer sustain this terrible weight. I must leave.
For statistical purposes, I have considered myself mildly bi-sexual and have diagnosed myself with bi-polar disorder. No rape or anything.
PS: Donate all possible of my organs.



This is the suicide note I wrote two years ago in Eighth grade. Not much has changed, except I don't hate other people in the sense that this note gives off. Seems so short when typed up.

Night

Why is the night so lonely? The sun has gone, and the moonshine is the piercing, bright light that stares at you trying to get some answers out of your sealed lips. The stars are out of focus and billions upon billions of miles away, so too are the alone. That invisible wind too sneaks up on to your cool brazen neck with a chilling ease that sends dark electricity down your nerves. The water is always cold and deep at night. The happy ones are asleep, and the lonely ones awake, to find no one. I try to make the night a positive thing, as in that it has substance, when it really could be the absence of day. Is it night or just no longer day? The cat's whisker shake in that mucky shadow of the orange streetlight. So too are the streets whisked by with the those scratchy red lights of cars, of tired people's going to places they don't want to be, from the places where they don't want to be. Night is a place of temporary, uncomfortable escape. A bleak end to the endless days. A dead end to the circuit. Where words assemble themselves over dried coffee stains among the ghoulish smog precipitating into ash. The smoke is dirty and crisp, tobacco and gasoline mix well with cough syrup and rusty hubcaps. The lovers are all going indoors and the drinkers are going out to smoke and smokers are going out to drink. The fluorescence of the roads allows for endless driving. There is only rain at night.

Mixed-Up Confusion

Those childhood stories of north and south and of good and bad and of right are making me insane. The common man's reality is formed on this basis, and so too is society, but I can't comprehend the truth in this idea. There are infinite variations of gray just as there infinite numbers in between 1 and 2. There is no jump. There is no border. There are no heroes and villians. There is no clean and dirty. There is only the possibility of everything. There is likelihood and probability and statistics. No facts, only chance, maybes, uncertainties, guesses, luck. Is the common man's reality truth? We can only know that it is self-correcting. This is a term I made up to explain certain schemas and realities and facets of understandings that design their own, irrefutable rationales. Sort of how people beleive the bible because it says its true. But more complex in different scenarios. Physics and biology and chemistry and language are all based on assumptions and theories based on facts from the ideologies they come from. It says its true, so it must be. Do mentally challenged people's realities and comprehension skills differ because it is incompatible with the one's created by the average, normal masses? Would mentally challenged people create a generally functional society (a very broad usage here, not in the traditional sense, but more general lifestyle) if say, most people had the same type of what we call autism? Their brain woudl all be wired similarly enough to share common fears, pleasures, etc. just like common man. So from this hypothesis can we presume societies and facts and sciences and language and beauty and comfort and love are all products of the brain and its chemistry? I beleive this is why I have such a hard time in life. My brain, my understandings and mental constructs naturally differ (slightly enough that I can function and socialize and communicate). I have a hard time expressing what I experience possibly due to the incompatibility of language with my mental one. And what is one were to not understand the concept of truth? Not even the concept of falsehoods, but of neither, in a state of ethical and mental chaos? Is my focus diverting from philosophy to psychology? Or merging? What I desire is not certain. Is what I want an understanding of the brain or of reality? Which is real? And what does it mean to be real? These are things a 1-minute old baby can understand, but I cant.

The Guide To Immortality

My biggest fear, or perhaps my greatest focus, is on topics related to the extent and purpose of life of living, of existing. I don't really believe in a true "old, bearded, controls-your-fate" God, and I believe that has caused much of my troubles, my "never-ending rut", if you will. But for some reason, perhaps its the lessening of stress or enhanced rationalization of my beliefs, but I've been beginning to grasp ideas and plans and schemes that can satisfy and fulfill my desires without contradicting my values, ideals, and so forth. These prospects seem so ideal, that I mourn for the days when these seems unfathomable, and long for the days when they seem as close as ever. I've often told myself that happiness and satisfaction is simply caused by self-suppression and suppression of facts and personal values, and I beleive that I am at a point where this may be my fate. I've valued truth for so long that I've come to the conclusion that truth does not exist and merely relative truths inside fabricated and pre-formed worlds, and then the truth of language seems to fade away and I can't understand my own thoughts.

Everyday now I've been thinking about leaving, but its began to lose its meaning and seriousness, and the reality of escape and movement (see previous posts) seems further and further away. I don't know if its something wrong with my brain or a mental disorder or what, because I can never seem to define it and my thoughts are so permanent and vague that it reaches past existentialism to the point where logic rips itself apart and language and senses are useless and only abstract thought can barely touch. Its this desire for a godly soul, divine intervention, when I doubt its existence, and Ive been trying to prove to myself that there's some human spirit connection, but I excuse that as my secret hippie longing. I try too hard to be what I want to, or there's no such thing as settling. And I cant decide whether human goals are universal or are individual, and if individual, how can I develop a relationship? And if universal, than why can't I break this isolation. And the moments of bliss that keeps me from breaking down every day are the moments with nature, and with real human contact, seldom if ever. And once again, I am so wrought by the fact that this blog-thing might make me seem like one of those depressed idiots who ramble through school and their teenage years, and blah blah blah Maybe I develop grudges because I can;' be accepted by anyone. or don't beleive I can be, or feel too high-and-mighty too. And Im afraid Im developing too much of a egotistical, some-word-i-cant-think-of attitude and priding myself on my exaggerated experiences and intelligence, but it is the only redeeming thing I can create about myself; to justify all that I do and think and like and dislike, but im sure thats how everyone feels or else they woudl change themselves to become right.
So I guess humility is the ability to recognize the limits of the human mind.

I have never felt as isolated as I have right now. I honestly feel that one day i will literally explode, my thoughts will emerge from my brain at rapid speed forever. This is my only outlet, but it is not even so, it is just an outreach of my thoughts. I can't communicate, and I dont know whether I should blame myself or others, and this is too part of the problem. Being the never-ending skeptic, I can not settle for any answer, leading to a continuation of the floods of thought about every single thing and whenever I try to come to a conclusion about anything at all, skepticism kicks in and I am helpless. I can not make any decisions, I am not free. And I am even beginning to lose my ability to communicate, its getting harder for me to write, and I feel like I am developing a slight stutter. I lack communication skills to the point where nobody can feel enough compassion for me to realize it or for people to recognize my isolation. And part of it too is that even what I am writing now, I dont want anyone else to read, for fear of judgment and discrimination, but so too do I want people to help me and feel compassion and be a true "friend" or whatever. And when that occasionally does occur, I dismiss their inquiries as annoying and I refuse to acknowledge any compassion or outreach, whether or not it is genuine or not. And so too I can not identify with anyone, being skeptical of everything. And so too I hate to look at other people in similar situations because I label them as losers and have really negative feelings and emotions about them that make my blood boil, and I hope so intently that I am not one of those loner/emotional people, though I feel like I am. And this fear is what angers me the most and furthers the progression of this isolation; to not be labeled like this kind of person. Everything seems to have negative connotations and emotions, some feeling or something that cannot be explained in words, its like a "gut" feeling but beyond that. And the few things that I do enjoy are masked by these "gut" feelings, that they too become even more heart wrenching that I desire them so much but can never acquire it. And I justify my inability to acquire these types of positives by assessing the untruthfulness in them and the inauthenticity of these. The "masked positives" I am talking about include things like love and true happiness, but also physical manifestations of satisfaction, truth, relationships, communication, reason, logic, food taste, quality of arts, etc. And by doing that I push myself further in isolation, in addition with the idea of proving that I have mental disorders but not wanting to be discovered while wanting it, and the idea of wanted pity, but still no pity at the same time. Doublethink, maybe. And how can I have these currently "masked positives" if right now I believe them to be false? But I do not even know if I am correct now. Right now, after escaping for awhile, I have these extreme feelings of ennui and complete and utter existential despair that seems to become me. And these are coming more and more often, and I am frightened they will consume once and forever, as I can recount almost to the day that this consuming initiated itself, and I feel that any type of therapy could not treat me, I feel like these thoughts are forever engraved in every cell and every atom in me, that not even lobotomy could cure me. And I look at myself and can not picture these thoughts in my head, and makes even more frustrated, and i cannot tell anyone this because no one will listen or wants to listen or will understand these. And I displace my dissatisfaction all over the place, and i feel like a machine and there's so much I dont know and so much I unlearned from when I was younger that i need know to beleive in again, but truthfully. And i cant understand or accept truth, and i want to, and the only thing making me keep typing this and not fall on the floor is this inkling of hope of escape, which I interpret to be what my constant suicidal impulses to be. And right now when i added "constant" is proof that i want pity, but i know that sometimes I dont want it for fear of further alienation, but theres no hope in coming closer to people I admire. And the one person I believed I might be able to trust constantly leaves me and criticizes me and feels like I am disposable, and yet I keep returning and selling myself to them because it is the only thing I can hang on to. And I get angry that people read and hear and "understand" thigns they really and truly dont, and am even angrier that people will read this and not understand it and dismiss it, when I have this encompassing, currently true and real feeling of isolation, and no one can comprpehend the level that I feel, and I fell angry and jealous at people with more isolation, for reasons I get angry at too and wish i hadn't had. And its been an hour. Goodbye, maybe.

A Utopia should be defined as a society where distress is caused by individuals' faults rather than faults of the government or any authority. Where citizens provide less but receive more. Where every error can be fixed. A Utopia is not defined in the way it deals with peace, but with conflict.

The Glue

I found something. A key, a piece, a marker, a theory of emerald stone. The universe and everything in it revolves around a simple concept, among others. But the idea that prevails and rules above all is movement. This transposes well to either physical, scientific things or metaphysical, mental concepts. The universe, in its physical manifestation is built around movement. The big bang led to an expansion of atoms and particles, yielding stars and planets and gas and stone, etc. Orbits yield seasons and years; thus time is an idea of movement, constant that is. All matter is based on the concepts of kinesthetics, of moving atoms and particles that produce solids, gases, or liquids. The human body is based around movement, electricity in the synapses, oxygen throughout the body, blood, semen and eggs that yield life. Heat and cold are concepts of molecular movement. There are chemical bonds that slow movement. Science too yields a concept parallel to that of societal ideas of home, of belonging and loneliness. These bonds are never permanent, as are homes and comfort as time rips these away, as the constant motion continues. Home, though, can exist as a point in time, something impenetrable by movement, like a fact, a truth. But this argues that facts and homes never really exist; permanence may be an illusion. A device to overcome the one fact of constant motion and a need for motion, but also a need for stability to keep moving. Society leans toward progress, towards change. Its the life cycle, travel, promotions, music, movies, food, books, everything in civilization, in humanity is based on movement of some type. Moving towards more food, toward safe shelter, progression. Toward arable land, toward survival. Intertwining Darwin here. Movement is also part of adaptability, but evolution does not concern emotions or the physical manifestation of the universe. We strive for movement, for escape. That is key, escape. Whether children are excited to eat sugar to get "sugar high", or teens do drugs and alcohol or watch sci-fi or love gossip, it all involves escape. College is a more physical representation of escape but more so on an educational level apart from whatever "home" they came from. Early adulthood-adulthood yields alcoholism, drug use, or marriage and dating, escaping oneself to understand another. Older people tend to accept their fate of desiring escape and generally pine for the old days or live through others like family. ESCAPE and MOVEMENT. These are key fundamentals and human ideas.
At least this all connects at a personal level. I love the times when I am on the move, especially on the open road, with so much freedom, so much movement. I love to walk, to run, to move to fly, anything that gets me away from where I was.
Maybe this is all obvious. But everything makes so much more sense. Yes, there is still a shitload more, but now I know that answers do exist. Whether or not I can apply it personally or globally is up to me, but time will tell. I've always wondered why I'd been depressed for so long and suicidal, not because I wanted to cease to exist, but to escape. To leave and never to return, but there's a whole world and 6.5 billion other people to escape to. I long with all my soul and heart for a home, but with that is a lonesome longing for travel. For experience? Perhaps, but more so for movement, for change, for progress, for evolution. Man's infatuation with time travel, cars, airplanes, fiction, history, the internet. All forms of escape, of travel, of movement. Satisfaction is a false idea generated by hope, it doesn't really exist in a stationary form. Satisfaction lies in hope itself.

Home is Where The Home Is

Do you ever feel that you set a time in the future where you plan all these amazing things youre gonna do like travel the world and have kids and learn cello and go to a drive in movie and sleep in the snow and read the bible all the way through? And then youre supposed to "find yourself" or realize the purpose?
As far as I can tell as a meek observer, our society is extremely hostile to this. BE BORN CRY LEARN LEARN WORK LEARN LEARN WORK EMOTION EMOTION HORMONE WORK WORK WORK EARN PAY PAY MARRIAGE CHILD WORK EARN PAY WORK EARN PAY WORK EARN OBLIGATORY GOLF/BOOK CLUB WORK EARN PAY WORK EARN PAY SMILE WORK EARN PAY CRY WORK EARN PAY PRIDE WORK EARN PAY SHAME WORK EARN PAY RETIRE EARN PAY EARN PAY HEART DISEASE EARN SLEEP SLEEP DIE. Its a goddamn cycle I tells ya, a cycle of excruciatingly meaningless proportions. How is anything ever going to be intrinsic and artistic and meaningful if everyone begins to pulled into this cycle. This is more important than anything, than Obama than Iraq than terrorism than global warming than cancer. Because what is their purpose and meaning if we dont even know. And Im taking the pleasure of using the royal "we". I havent really talked to anyone about this. But Im just trying to get some meaning from everything and its the hardest Ive ever had to try to do and probably the hardest thing Ill ever do. But hwo can I continue if I dont know where Im going to and why? I'm late, Im early to what? I have a flat tire, but who cares? A hybrid 35 mpg highway mileage is just as good as a 2 mpg hummer if you don't even know who you are.
And I can feel the answer is there, waiting for me to find it. I dont know what it is, an answer sounds dumb. Maybe a certain person or a song or a book or an idea or a blade of grass. I don;t know what it is and Im not even sure ill know what it is if I come across it, but I know it exists, thats for sure, or at least thats as far as my wishful thinking will lend itself. And I cant find it here, stuck in this safe haven of insecurity, fear, and naivety. Sounds like a terrible place, right? My feelings and visions of home are filled with these ideas and concepts and I cant wait to leave. This place may be as good as any other to an unbiased passerby; it has its resources and is generally suitable for most. Too many bad thoughts plague these asphalt streets, down to the sickly winds and up to the weeping drone of traffic. I made this place a hell and I have to leave and never do the same again. Its too late for redemption, my home is gone and I have not yet found my new one. And it is being built. It is being built by abstract concepts. By logic, by beauty, by compassion, and by reason, and by comprehension. They have fled from this place. I cant picture a new home right now, of any kind. I can't imagine getting along with any group or anything right now. Everything is alienating.

Home can exist, comfort can exist. I just have a hard time believing it.

I hate the staying power of illness and discomfort. I can never remember why I feel desperate or angry or scared, and usually its some ill-remembered dream that made me this way. My dreams usually consist of something important or scary happening and me not knowing what to do in them or me dealing them badly. The thing is I cant remember any specifics, so I have no way of knowing whether something actually went wrong in my waking life or just my dreaming state. Can't I get a break from emotion? Dreams suck, actually. If I wanted to dream I would watch TV or read a book. They are interesting, when I they can be recalled though. A lot of them have to do with failure or music....what would Freud say? The music ones are mostly positive, except when I was giving John Lennon a ride and drove off the Golden Gate. He was probably pissed.
Time moves way too fast. I've probably mentioned this before, but I feel like its not just me, but that someone changed the clocks to move faster. It might be because I haven't listened to that much music recently, its all sporadic. I cant recall the last time I listened to a full album, beginning to end.
Whenever I am very tired, or ingest some toxic-like substance, my legs, and specifically, knees hurt. It happens all the time and its very strange. So if I ever complain about knee pains, Im probably either irritable due to lack of sleep or on an acid trip. Either way, stay away from me.
How long did it take Kings of Leon to find the exact right settings for their guitars? Because its perfect. And same with Hendrix. Is it just their guitars or did they just turn some knobs? Maybe my guitars are just crappy.
I played video games for the first time in about 3 months. For a while recently I felt the urge to buy more, but now I see I wont play them and they dont seem that much fun without other people to play with. And I don't see the reason for collecting records that much anymore, which is the one thing I like to do. At least at this moment, nothing seems capable of satisfying by unknown desires.
Hopefully, thats just leg-hurtin' talk.

You thought I'd leave you, huh? I almost did. I was reading my past entries and realized the whole conundrum eardrum fee-fi-fo-fummery of poetry and writing. Logically, its all a bunch of shit. Seriously, "jingle jangle morning"? What the fuck? It doesn't mean anything. To try to reasonably extract some sort of meaning is very hard to do, and even when one can, its just for the sake of finding real meaning. that's why books and songs (less so poetry) are so special because you can't "scientifically" prove their power and in animal minds they mean nothing. Perhaps it is the human power to create aesthetic meaning for these incomprehensibles. Of course, a lot of it is actual crap artsy-fartsy whatnot, but what isn't is amazing and how we can enjoy it is beyond me. And the fact that it takes such little time to create something so massive and interpretable (take Dylan's ten minute writing of Blowin In The Wind or Kerouac's few weeks of writing On The Road) is astounding to say the least, sure most of it is stream of consciousness, but if it comes from the mind than surely it must be more than nonsense.

Take Pills

I love Kurt Vonnegut. To death, with puppies and cherries on top and sprinkles and whatnot. The thing is that I've never read any of his books. Now, before you judge me and point your old crinkly index finger at the fluorescent computer screen at three AM with your Imported Brazillian Hazelnut Coffee in the other hand, hear me out. Or read me out. Well, stay, don't go out. So read me in. From the pictures I've seen, the quotes I've read, the stories I've heard and the videos of him, I can tell he knows something, he has some writing power. Magical? More so mathematical. Writing is basically math, but a lot of guessing and subjectivity. I finally learned the difference between subjectivity and objectivity this weekend, after a year of trying to remember the difference. Thanks, Ivan Pavlov. Could be very important one day. KV's aura is so overwhelming, and exudes brilliance in his words, I can't explain it. Even if the books sucked, I would still love him. Its the thought that counts, right? Same with Dylan, Chan Marshall, etc.. Their music could suck, and the lyrics be dumb, but there is something about how they talk and speak and how I perceive them that makes me believe them, put all my trust in them. Idols? Perhaps. False Idols? Perhaps. I don;t care, as long as I believe. It's all I have now, I can't care about the truth anymore. It just doesn't fit. Like the roads I hate, that always lead to something undesirable, even if youre leaving you know where you were and you know you will return. I need to fall in love. I thought I did it too often, but I realized I have never done so. All the women I have wanted to love have been named Lauren and Naomi. Weird, right? Twice, in each case. And also Rena. I hope nobody who knows me reads this. Actually, I don't care, because it doesn't matter anymore, even thought some of those people named have not left my thoughts. Let script run free, the whole point of writing is repetition, isnt it? Or else it woudl just be like writing in the sand or thinking. But I have bad memory. But my point is, truth is impossible. Unless I take pills.

Hourglass of Words

I have to write quick. I forget fast and learn even faster. I think my goal is to try to understand everything, to be everyone, to stand in everyone's shoes, to compassionate with them, to sympathize, to empathize, to finalize, and categorize, to privatize, and to clear the skies. I can't belong to a group, it's too limiting. I can't be labeled or judged, its my biggest fear. I can't be me, I have to be the universe. Yeah, I guess you could say I am jealous of God or whatever cosmic force(s) sit in their ornately decorated throne. But because I want to belong and understand everything, I consequently belong nowhere. And in the back of my mind I feel like my aspiration, this universal wisdom, is itself labeled something. Do I care what its called? No, and I hope it has no name. But it can still exist. But does something exist if it has no name? If it is not recognized? if it is not important? I suppose. Who ever said too much knowledge was dangerous? Well they were right. Its human nature, universal nature, to group things. Its called perception, and we can't avoid it. Everything is labeled, if its not it can't exist. Maybe I can't exist the way I want to be. I don't want to be stuck with a group, with limits and fears and expectations. But I don't want to be an independent or whatever. I don't even want t be me, and I don't even know who me is. I'd be a good actor. I am a good actor, but I want to get out of character, I need to. But alas, Will said it best.
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players"
Did he imply that we are not true individuals? I'd like to think so.
Forget this velveteen shadow of a convoluted mind, I am alone, I'd like to think so until someone comes along. I want to blame others, but its mostly my fault for expecting so much, for misestimating society's capabilities, my society. Can blame heal? If genuine, perhaps, but blame breeds guilt, and guilt breeds blame. And I am pure-bred.

Cosmopolitan Hitler

He was a poor young lad
Grewed up in the slums of a brickyard
Everyday working for his dear old Uncle
At the brickyard
Where he grewed up
Now this young lad grewed up in a brickyard
Where he worked hardly for his uncle
And he became muscular and strong for his demeanor
So strong he could work at a brickyard for his uncle
In fact he did so, before
Now this young lad became just a
Lad
His strength also manifested in his mind
So strong he could lift an idea
Two or three at a time!
nobody knew, not even he
Of his strengths.
You see, muscles are shameful
Anysome should know that
So he hid it until an even hour in the even
He did not read, but he wrote books
Books he read and learned from
He wrote the same book
Twenty-three times
It was a great book I must say.
It was called
Cosmopolitan Hitler.

Jigsaw

I feel it. I feel something new, something big. Could be good, could be bad. A giant jigsaw puzzle has been layed out before me. At first, I didn't know what I was doing, maybe putting and flipping over pieces that I knew made some sort of recognizable shape. That was easy and clear. But I finally realized that there is a whole and final picture, and I try to grasp all these billions of pieces at once and flip them over and put them together. I need to know the picture, the image, the bridge, that goal. I don't have it, someone stole the box, or I destroyed it, or it was never there. But I can't do anything because I am trying to do everything at once, knowing a breakthrough could be just around the corner. I want to throw away this puzzle and forget, I beleive it could work. Or I need help, real help. Someone, anyone who is good at puzzles. Or just knows about puzzles. I am destroying myself trying to reach something I don;t even know. Or is it building myself? I sometimes say it does, in some weird way. But I need to remind myself that it only happens in movies and books. Those are perfect problems and puzzles. Reality is incomprehensible, or so I want to disprove. I need to though. I've seen the trailer and must watch the whole movie. I know there's an end, a satisfactory end, to this puzzle. it could be a huge white sheet, but I'll be satisfied. It may as well be, every piece I found is the same. i want someone who finished the puzzle, has it framed in their house on the mantle. Drinks gin with friends, and late at night shows them his accolade. There must be.
One sixth of Bob Dylan is dead, another sixth has some gold, and my great Uncle is going fast. Stocks are falling, prices and deaths rising, ignorance spread like butter, knowledge like air and brains like tripods. The sun is menacing when it shows up and the water is like dust. Time moves too fast for its own good and my hands are always cold.
Is this where you have lead us Julius? Alexander? Titus and Napoleon?
Sometimes too few people lead too many people.

On checkboxes and wires

I love it how when you sign in somewhere online there's that little check box waiting for you that says "remember me". It seems like such an easy solution to everything. I wish I could check that box next to things in books or life or in trees or in eyes. I constantly forget things. I beleive I should carry around some writing paraphernalia to remember everything. It also makes everything so personal. "me" I love it. It seems so nostalgic like a woman saying this in some seductive manner and in an overly dramatic whisper to a once loved heart torn man. Riding off into the sun on some foggy morning. Its as I imagine Casablanca to be, even though Ive never seen it. I envy wires. They know where they start and where they end. Its a simple, purposeful life for a wire. Much like people. They can be used for good, 9111 calls or asking to go on a date. Or can be evil, used to prepare crimes or to harass people through the internet or telephones or television. They can be famous - when Dylan plugged in. Or infamous - strangling someones suicide. Most wires seem to have purpose - i.e like humans tend to have some sort of religious purpose or somesort. But there are those existential wires, loose and lost. Those still packed, children, fetuses, and recluses. Are they in pain? In freedom? Or awaiting to be opened? Most wind up tangled, lost in a rumble of other wires. Others need adapters, people need to adapt, wear masks, permanently. They are thrown, tossed around, replaceable. Too many, though, everything shorts. BAM! Fire.