She
Is
So
Beautiful
But I must stop.
Why can't I be stronger?
Why can't I talk straight?
Why am I such a pussy sometimes?
I can't even get myself to talk the other one.
FUCKING FRUSTRATED
I shouldn't think about it though. It's a happier time in my life and now I just have to keep rolling with it. Friday will be nice, if things fall into place as I plan, I just want to DANCE. And I want to ROLL. I want to lose touch of reality for one night and become part of something bigger.
Let's not care about anything on Friday, I know I won't.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Fight Club
This song always had a really weird affect on me...
And you open the door and you step inside
We're inside our hearts
Now imagine your pain as a white ball of healing light
That's right, your pain
The pain itself is a white ball of healing light
I don't think so
This is your life, good to the last drop
Doesn't get any better than this
This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time
This isn't a seminar, this isn't a weekend retreat
Where you are now you can't even imagine what the bottom will be like
Only after disaster can we be resurrected
It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything
Nothing is static, everything is appaling, everything is falling apart
This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life
Doesn't get any better than this
This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life
And it and it's ending one-minute at a time
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake
You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else
We are all part of the same compost heap
We are the all singing, all dancing, crap of the world
You are not your bank account
You are not the clothes you wear
You are not the contents of your wallet
You are not your bowel cancer
You are not your grande latte
You are not the car you drive
You are not your fucking khaki's
You have to give up, you have to give up
You have to realize that someday you will die
Until you know that, you are useless
I say let me never be complete
I say may I never be content
I say deliver me from Swedish furniture
I say deliver me from clever arts
I say deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth
I say you have to give up
I say evolve, and let the chips fall where they may
This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life
Doesn't get any better than this
This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life
And it and it's ending one-minute at a time
You have to give up, you have to give up
I want you to hit me as hard as you can
I want you to hit me as hard as you can
Welcome to Fight Club
If this is your first night, you have to fight
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Short Story Part 1
I feel like writing and it's about time I actually started working on this story. I hope whoever reads this digs it. This is MOSTLY freestyle writing, on the spot kinda shit. I've had the idea for the plot in my head for a while but everything else rough draft, and it'll probably stay like that. Here we go...
The cross hair fell upon her face, her beautiful, tragic face. For weeks he would come out onto the roof of the store and just watch her dance her lifeless dance in the street below through the scope of his rifle. It was so hard looking at her, but for some reason he just couldn't tear himself away from her, nor gather the courage to put her out of her misery. Leaving her alive (intact) seemed to be the only thing that he felt left him connected to his life before the disaster. It hurt seeing her the way she was, but the situation prevented the feeling of loneliness from overwhelming him.
Memories of her floated through his mind. Memories of their wedding, of their children, of the gorgeous house they had lived in for only a short period of time. These memories grew sour with everyday he stared at her. These beautiful memories poisoned by reality; and even after all of the things she had done he still just couldn't do it. She killed them. She fucking killed them! Their three wonderful children consumed and eaten alive by his very own wife in front of his eyes. The scariest part was how much she enjoyed doing it. Even amongst the chaos of the moment, he swore he could see a slight smile on her face as she sunk her teeth into their infant son. These are the memories that really plagued him, the ones that made him wake up every single night and vomit from shock and horror. Memories that will stick like a molasses of pain and depression that no magic drug or doctor would ever be able to get rid of.
Why doesn't he just shoot her? She's dead already, just put her down, stop torturing himself. He didn't know. This long of time being stuck inside of a barricaded general store surrounded by thousands and flesh eating humans can create many conflicts in a man, make his mind masochistic prison. Like whether or not to make a run for it and try to find survivors, or whether or not to to shoot his wife, or to stop delaying the inevitable and just put a fucking bullet in his head. These are the conflicts that ruled his life now. No longer was it go to work or not go to work. No longer was it simple. Everything from his old life seemed simple now, no matter how supposedly "big" the decision was. This is true reality now. And the true reality is that everything's fucked.
He hated them with every single bone and muscle in his body. Those stupid, pungent creatures that somehow managed to ruin every persons life in the entire world, old or young. He couldn't even call them humans anymore. They didn't discriminate, they killed everyone that got within biting distance and they didn't give a fuck who you were. Unbiased slaughter. Nothing, absolutely nothing could stop one of them from making your little world, theirs; except for a bullet.
He didn't know what to think of all this other than how much he hated it. This was all so unnatural, but yet, nature can be pretty fucked up sometimes. Maybe this was our punishment for neglecting our duty as humans, or fucking up our planet so bad. We'd never know. Not at least until we died.
So he finally decided.
Fuck it all. This staying alive was pointless. For all he knew he would be there, on top of that general store for the rest of his life, for however long that was really going to be. It would all be just a waste.
He lifted the rifle slowly to the bottom of his chin. The cold barrel of the gun made his throat tense up with nervousness and break out into a cold sweat. He couldn't tell if the pain was from choking back relentless tears, or if he was just pressing the gun so hard against his throat it was crushing it. Its not like the subject even mattered, everything was about to be better than it ever had been before. Just a few more seconds now. He wanted to be calm when he did it so he could leave this world with a sense of peace. He kicked off his shoes so he could pull the trigger with his toe instead of having to struggle with reaching. The last thing he wanted was to have to bleed to death. After a full ten minutes of complete silence, he felt that it was time. Cold sweat had made his feet slippery, proving it hard to get a good grip on the trigger with his toe, but he finally did it. The countdown began:
5........
4.......
3.......
2........
1...
And then there was a scream.
I apologize for the bad grammar but i kinda bombed English class in high school everytime I took it. The segment seemed kinda short for me but this is only the beginning I guess. For those who stumble across this I'd really appreciate feed-back, even if it's in a few years from now. Be critical, be honest, but don't be a fuckin dick. PEACE.
The cross hair fell upon her face, her beautiful, tragic face. For weeks he would come out onto the roof of the store and just watch her dance her lifeless dance in the street below through the scope of his rifle. It was so hard looking at her, but for some reason he just couldn't tear himself away from her, nor gather the courage to put her out of her misery. Leaving her alive (intact) seemed to be the only thing that he felt left him connected to his life before the disaster. It hurt seeing her the way she was, but the situation prevented the feeling of loneliness from overwhelming him.
Memories of her floated through his mind. Memories of their wedding, of their children, of the gorgeous house they had lived in for only a short period of time. These memories grew sour with everyday he stared at her. These beautiful memories poisoned by reality; and even after all of the things she had done he still just couldn't do it. She killed them. She fucking killed them! Their three wonderful children consumed and eaten alive by his very own wife in front of his eyes. The scariest part was how much she enjoyed doing it. Even amongst the chaos of the moment, he swore he could see a slight smile on her face as she sunk her teeth into their infant son. These are the memories that really plagued him, the ones that made him wake up every single night and vomit from shock and horror. Memories that will stick like a molasses of pain and depression that no magic drug or doctor would ever be able to get rid of.
Why doesn't he just shoot her? She's dead already, just put her down, stop torturing himself. He didn't know. This long of time being stuck inside of a barricaded general store surrounded by thousands and flesh eating humans can create many conflicts in a man, make his mind masochistic prison. Like whether or not to make a run for it and try to find survivors, or whether or not to to shoot his wife, or to stop delaying the inevitable and just put a fucking bullet in his head. These are the conflicts that ruled his life now. No longer was it go to work or not go to work. No longer was it simple. Everything from his old life seemed simple now, no matter how supposedly "big" the decision was. This is true reality now. And the true reality is that everything's fucked.
He hated them with every single bone and muscle in his body. Those stupid, pungent creatures that somehow managed to ruin every persons life in the entire world, old or young. He couldn't even call them humans anymore. They didn't discriminate, they killed everyone that got within biting distance and they didn't give a fuck who you were. Unbiased slaughter. Nothing, absolutely nothing could stop one of them from making your little world, theirs; except for a bullet.
He didn't know what to think of all this other than how much he hated it. This was all so unnatural, but yet, nature can be pretty fucked up sometimes. Maybe this was our punishment for neglecting our duty as humans, or fucking up our planet so bad. We'd never know. Not at least until we died.
So he finally decided.
Fuck it all. This staying alive was pointless. For all he knew he would be there, on top of that general store for the rest of his life, for however long that was really going to be. It would all be just a waste.
He lifted the rifle slowly to the bottom of his chin. The cold barrel of the gun made his throat tense up with nervousness and break out into a cold sweat. He couldn't tell if the pain was from choking back relentless tears, or if he was just pressing the gun so hard against his throat it was crushing it. Its not like the subject even mattered, everything was about to be better than it ever had been before. Just a few more seconds now. He wanted to be calm when he did it so he could leave this world with a sense of peace. He kicked off his shoes so he could pull the trigger with his toe instead of having to struggle with reaching. The last thing he wanted was to have to bleed to death. After a full ten minutes of complete silence, he felt that it was time. Cold sweat had made his feet slippery, proving it hard to get a good grip on the trigger with his toe, but he finally did it. The countdown began:
5........
4.......
3.......
2........
1...
And then there was a scream.
I apologize for the bad grammar but i kinda bombed English class in high school everytime I took it. The segment seemed kinda short for me but this is only the beginning I guess. For those who stumble across this I'd really appreciate feed-back, even if it's in a few years from now. Be critical, be honest, but don't be a fuckin dick. PEACE.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Today was nice
Today was such a good day I just had to right about it. Work was nice and easy, I had a few great conversations, I hung out with Jocie who is AWESOME, listened to my favorite music, and played video games with Dan. Today couldn't have gotten much better, but you never know. There were some things on my mind but for the most part I just kinda shrugged em off and acted like myself, even when I was high. I need more days like this. As soon as I get a car I feel that they will be. But now it's time for sleep cuz I have to go to work in the morning. Fuckin SWEET.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
This first of many
I don't even know what to write. I created this because at the moment, my thoughts and emotions are moving at this insane pace that the only thing I can think of doing is writing. It's so hard to even begin so I'm just going to keep this first post as short as my mind will let me.
My soul and my body bear hidden weights that are only visible through the feeling that comes along with them. Emotional ghosts show their ugly faces only to disappear into nothingness after leaving me in their wake. I am a product of my emotions. They hold this grip on me that I have been trying to control since as far as I can remember. Therapy never helped. Medication altered my body. My hobbies turned me into an anti-social zombie. And drugs only became a problem after I tried to use them for help. Something that did help me though, but still turned out to be a problem, was having some one by my side. Some one to talk to, some one to lay next to me and just forget about everything. But all of that just turned into this repetitive torture I put myself through trying to make myself feel better but failing. Relationships that drug out for unhealthy lengths of time. Trusting people with my emotions that shouldn't have been trusted at all. Those who read this think you know me, and I'm not going to lie you probably do. But there's more. More than anyone else has seen that needs to be let out. As I write this I get the sick feeling that I might be judged. That others will just see me as being dramatic or whiney. So be it. This won't be the only kind of stuff I write for future reference, but this is me.
My soul and my body bear hidden weights that are only visible through the feeling that comes along with them. Emotional ghosts show their ugly faces only to disappear into nothingness after leaving me in their wake. I am a product of my emotions. They hold this grip on me that I have been trying to control since as far as I can remember. Therapy never helped. Medication altered my body. My hobbies turned me into an anti-social zombie. And drugs only became a problem after I tried to use them for help. Something that did help me though, but still turned out to be a problem, was having some one by my side. Some one to talk to, some one to lay next to me and just forget about everything. But all of that just turned into this repetitive torture I put myself through trying to make myself feel better but failing. Relationships that drug out for unhealthy lengths of time. Trusting people with my emotions that shouldn't have been trusted at all. Those who read this think you know me, and I'm not going to lie you probably do. But there's more. More than anyone else has seen that needs to be let out. As I write this I get the sick feeling that I might be judged. That others will just see me as being dramatic or whiney. So be it. This won't be the only kind of stuff I write for future reference, but this is me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
