If someone's said it best, steal it and use it as your own...
"That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can."
"I know I'm too much for anyone , that if I let myself, I'd love them all, I'd think they could fix me. But I know they can't, and it's enough, because every so often when a girl kisses me, touches my hand, my face, I remember that the world has light"
Bonus points if you can tell me who said them
Back to the original thoughts soon, very soon.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Just another night
Why is it that it takes me uprooting my entire existance for me to start enjoying New York? Why couldn't the happiness that I now feel every morning have come sooner? It's probably just be the giddiness of anticipation spilling over into the present, but I'll take whatever I can get.
Last night, was a rare event. The dynamic duo hit the NYC nightlife. Mad World and Old Man reunited to celebrate the randomness of a Wednesday night binge. The night started out as it usually does. A pitcher here, a pitcher there. Random conversation A, random conversation B. At some point, it was decided to visit one of Old Man's previous haunts, a little Italian restaurant in the West Village that we hadn't visted in almost a year. Going there made me realize just how much time I have wasted in this god-forsaken city. In discussing how we had changed over this period, I realized that I couldn't pinpoint a single memorable event that had happened since our last visit. It was depressing to realize that, just as this restaurant persists in its static state, I hadn't grown as a person in a year. A year... that's a little over 4% of my life. How can a person live like that?
Hopefully, a few years down the road, I will look back at my cubicle "experiment" and laugh. Laugh that I voluntarily chose to convert to a sedentary lifestyle. Laugh that I subjected myself to 40 hours a week of florescent lighting for 9 months of my life. Laugh that it took me so long to make a change.
When I told my friend Amy that I was about to move cross country, she just laughed at me. She called me a nomad...and she would know, she spent a semester abroad living in a tent in Mongolia... It's true. If I stay in a place for more than a year, I start going crazy. Literally. Any anyone who hung out with me at my one year mark in NYC can vouch for this.
I don't think I will ever understand how people can live in the same town for their entire life. How can people not want to explore, to break out of their boring routine. But then again, I do hate about 95% of the general population, so I guess it makes sense.
Last night, was a rare event. The dynamic duo hit the NYC nightlife. Mad World and Old Man reunited to celebrate the randomness of a Wednesday night binge. The night started out as it usually does. A pitcher here, a pitcher there. Random conversation A, random conversation B. At some point, it was decided to visit one of Old Man's previous haunts, a little Italian restaurant in the West Village that we hadn't visted in almost a year. Going there made me realize just how much time I have wasted in this god-forsaken city. In discussing how we had changed over this period, I realized that I couldn't pinpoint a single memorable event that had happened since our last visit. It was depressing to realize that, just as this restaurant persists in its static state, I hadn't grown as a person in a year. A year... that's a little over 4% of my life. How can a person live like that?
Hopefully, a few years down the road, I will look back at my cubicle "experiment" and laugh. Laugh that I voluntarily chose to convert to a sedentary lifestyle. Laugh that I subjected myself to 40 hours a week of florescent lighting for 9 months of my life. Laugh that it took me so long to make a change.
When I told my friend Amy that I was about to move cross country, she just laughed at me. She called me a nomad...and she would know, she spent a semester abroad living in a tent in Mongolia... It's true. If I stay in a place for more than a year, I start going crazy. Literally. Any anyone who hung out with me at my one year mark in NYC can vouch for this.
I don't think I will ever understand how people can live in the same town for their entire life. How can people not want to explore, to break out of their boring routine. But then again, I do hate about 95% of the general population, so I guess it makes sense.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
On a lighter note
I know I usually dedicate this space to tearful confessions that may one day land me in a mental institution, but let me stray for just a moment
This is from an article on ESPN's Page 2:
"Boston Red Sox: The Red Sox are the greatest franchise in the history of sports. I have nothing negative to say about a team headed to its second straight World Series title. I'm glad they're finally getting some national exposure after all these years.
New York Yankees: Baseball Prospectus keeps track of a statistic called "Defensive Efficiency," which is simply the percentage of batted balls in play that each team turns into outs. The top team through Sunday was the Marlins, who turn 74.75 percent of balls in play into outs. The league averages are 69.3 percent in the AL, 69.8 percent in the NL. No team is below 66.8 percent ... except the Yankees, who have turned just 63.87 percent of balls in play into outs. The Prospectus Web site lists this statistic back to 1972, and the worst team in that span has been the 1999 Devil Rays, at 66.17 percent. In other words, the 2005 Yankees are looking like a historically awful defensive team, one of the worst of all time. And that, Yankee fans, is why your team will miss the playoffs."
I love that website.
This is from an article on ESPN's Page 2:
"Boston Red Sox: The Red Sox are the greatest franchise in the history of sports. I have nothing negative to say about a team headed to its second straight World Series title. I'm glad they're finally getting some national exposure after all these years.
New York Yankees: Baseball Prospectus keeps track of a statistic called "Defensive Efficiency," which is simply the percentage of batted balls in play that each team turns into outs. The top team through Sunday was the Marlins, who turn 74.75 percent of balls in play into outs. The league averages are 69.3 percent in the AL, 69.8 percent in the NL. No team is below 66.8 percent ... except the Yankees, who have turned just 63.87 percent of balls in play into outs. The Prospectus Web site lists this statistic back to 1972, and the worst team in that span has been the 1999 Devil Rays, at 66.17 percent. In other words, the 2005 Yankees are looking like a historically awful defensive team, one of the worst of all time. And that, Yankee fans, is why your team will miss the playoffs."
I love that website.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
One Last Time
I am thinking about throwing some sort of going away shindig before G and I disappear from the East Coast. If anyone has any ideas or suggestions, I'm welcome to them.
As of now, I am think about the second to last weekend in May, aka May 21st and 22nd, but that isn't set in stone. As far as I'm concerned, it can be every weekend (or weekday for that matter) from now until June 1.
Make me realize what I will be missing by leaving...
Just don't think for one second that my resolve can be swayed.
As of now, I am think about the second to last weekend in May, aka May 21st and 22nd, but that isn't set in stone. As far as I'm concerned, it can be every weekend (or weekday for that matter) from now until June 1.
Make me realize what I will be missing by leaving...
Just don't think for one second that my resolve can be swayed.
Monday, April 25, 2005
The Cusp of Happiness
I’ve found that my mood, more often than not, is intimately connected to music and my musical preferences. Lately I’ve found myself immersed in it. I crave new music, new sounds. Anything new. It’s mimicking my life right now. New, change is what I’m thriving on.
Last night, I was lying in my bed, unable to fall asleep. I found myself panicking over my uncertain future. Where will I be living after June first? What will I do for a job? Do I even care? I fell asleep realizing, that, no, I didn’t care. I just want out. And out is what I’m about to have. Out, completely. I will be away from just about everyone and everything that I have ever surrounded myself with. And when I think about this, I am not scared, I do not feel like I will be alone. Much to the contrary. I feel I will finally be able to be myself. No more of this life. I can start over. And it feels great.
Several times a day, I realize that soon I will be thousands of miles away from the ordinary. From this shithole life I’ve managed to build for myself here. And that’s a glorious thought. When it happens, a smile creeps across my lips. It’s an odd feeling, this smile. It has been far too long since I’ve found myself smiling for no reason. All I know is that I like it. I like it a lot.
Coupled with this realization, comes the spring like an explosion. One week its totally miserable, grey. The outside matching my inside. Then, here comes the sun. What is it about sunny days that make life more manageable? I stand outside of my daily prison and suddenly it's all okay. I feel the sun warming my shoes, my feet. I feel this warmth as I go back into the building and up to my cubicle. The happiness lingers like this feeling. Trailing me back to my routine. Pulling me away. Telling me to leave it all behind. And soon I will.
Its April 11th 2005, the year is flying. But I welcome this. I dare the time to pass even faster. I dare June 1st to come. I dare the world to try to keep me here. I’m already gone. Everyday, I mail in my daily performance. But no one notices. People tell me that they are sad to see me go, that I shouldn’t do it. How selfish. It’s this very attitude that I am running away from. If they think I will get to LA and fail, running back to the east with my tail between my legs. They are mistaken. Gravely mistaken. If only they knew the real Tim. The Tim that is happy for no reason. The Tim that follows the motto “everyday should be a good day to die.” I used to believe this. Not only believe this, but embrace it. Everyday began with a promise and ended fulfilled. I was happy. I want that back. I know I can have it. Its right outside my grasp, begging me to play with it. I won’t disappoint.
But what will I do once I get out there? Should I confine myself to another cage, toiling away at another job that stifles and slowly kills me? Or should I risk it all and have fun. Make no money and save nothing. I could go for that right about now. What do I do now? I collect my inflated paycheck every other Friday and waste it. Waste it on shitty times. I drink it away to forget that I am miserable. I tell myself that everyone goes out and drinks, that its normal. But is it? Or is everyone begging to forget their problems, their mistakes as well? I think they are. Only they won’t admit it or do anything about it. Well I will. Fuck them all. I see they are dying inside just like me. At least I have the courage to admit it to myself. And that makes me stronger. I know this and its reassuring. Why don’t they see how miserable they really are? Man wasn’t meant to sit in a chair and work on a computer all day everyday. We are instinctually hunter/gatherers. We need to move back to that as a society. I honestly believe that. I’m tired of seeing people getting fatter and dumber by the day. It disgusts me. I get physically ill when I see it. I may sound like a stuck up prick, but I’m sorry. It’s the truth. Someone needs to tell these people to wake the fuck up. Do something. Read. Better yourself. Anything. But they never will. So fuck them. Time for some Darwinism.
But I’m getting away from my purpose of this little rant. I want to say that I think I am finally on the cusp of happiness. I know that one day, I will wake up, the sun will be shining on me and I will have a smile on my face. For no reason at all. And I can’t wait…
Last night, I was lying in my bed, unable to fall asleep. I found myself panicking over my uncertain future. Where will I be living after June first? What will I do for a job? Do I even care? I fell asleep realizing, that, no, I didn’t care. I just want out. And out is what I’m about to have. Out, completely. I will be away from just about everyone and everything that I have ever surrounded myself with. And when I think about this, I am not scared, I do not feel like I will be alone. Much to the contrary. I feel I will finally be able to be myself. No more of this life. I can start over. And it feels great.
Several times a day, I realize that soon I will be thousands of miles away from the ordinary. From this shithole life I’ve managed to build for myself here. And that’s a glorious thought. When it happens, a smile creeps across my lips. It’s an odd feeling, this smile. It has been far too long since I’ve found myself smiling for no reason. All I know is that I like it. I like it a lot.
Coupled with this realization, comes the spring like an explosion. One week its totally miserable, grey. The outside matching my inside. Then, here comes the sun. What is it about sunny days that make life more manageable? I stand outside of my daily prison and suddenly it's all okay. I feel the sun warming my shoes, my feet. I feel this warmth as I go back into the building and up to my cubicle. The happiness lingers like this feeling. Trailing me back to my routine. Pulling me away. Telling me to leave it all behind. And soon I will.
Its April 11th 2005, the year is flying. But I welcome this. I dare the time to pass even faster. I dare June 1st to come. I dare the world to try to keep me here. I’m already gone. Everyday, I mail in my daily performance. But no one notices. People tell me that they are sad to see me go, that I shouldn’t do it. How selfish. It’s this very attitude that I am running away from. If they think I will get to LA and fail, running back to the east with my tail between my legs. They are mistaken. Gravely mistaken. If only they knew the real Tim. The Tim that is happy for no reason. The Tim that follows the motto “everyday should be a good day to die.” I used to believe this. Not only believe this, but embrace it. Everyday began with a promise and ended fulfilled. I was happy. I want that back. I know I can have it. Its right outside my grasp, begging me to play with it. I won’t disappoint.
But what will I do once I get out there? Should I confine myself to another cage, toiling away at another job that stifles and slowly kills me? Or should I risk it all and have fun. Make no money and save nothing. I could go for that right about now. What do I do now? I collect my inflated paycheck every other Friday and waste it. Waste it on shitty times. I drink it away to forget that I am miserable. I tell myself that everyone goes out and drinks, that its normal. But is it? Or is everyone begging to forget their problems, their mistakes as well? I think they are. Only they won’t admit it or do anything about it. Well I will. Fuck them all. I see they are dying inside just like me. At least I have the courage to admit it to myself. And that makes me stronger. I know this and its reassuring. Why don’t they see how miserable they really are? Man wasn’t meant to sit in a chair and work on a computer all day everyday. We are instinctually hunter/gatherers. We need to move back to that as a society. I honestly believe that. I’m tired of seeing people getting fatter and dumber by the day. It disgusts me. I get physically ill when I see it. I may sound like a stuck up prick, but I’m sorry. It’s the truth. Someone needs to tell these people to wake the fuck up. Do something. Read. Better yourself. Anything. But they never will. So fuck them. Time for some Darwinism.
But I’m getting away from my purpose of this little rant. I want to say that I think I am finally on the cusp of happiness. I know that one day, I will wake up, the sun will be shining on me and I will have a smile on my face. For no reason at all. And I can’t wait…
Before the family vacation
A country away and still my mind is in New York… what am I missing? Are people having fun? Fun with out me? Realizing that they don’t need me around to have fun? In reality, that should be the furthest thing from my mind. I am flying over the pacific, for the first time in my life I may add, on my way to Hawaii. A week in Hawaii. I should be excited, but why is it that my mind is elsewhere? Why do I always wish I were somewhere else, doing something different?
I really wish I could go to erin’s birthday party. It’d just be good to see her again. It’s been so long. Since my last birthday. Eleven months. It’s scary to think that. Where have the past 11 months gone? Gone and nothing jumps to mind that I’ve done in that time span. I’ve gotten a job, moved, but I haven’t grown as a person. In fact, I feel I’ve regressed a bit to the college mentality. Now that I’m living in Manhattan, bringing woman home is now an option. It makes me feel so hollow inside. Somedays, I truly believe that I am an emotional shell. Will I get them back if I meet the right girl? I can only hope.
I doubt it. I doubt everything.
Who knows? Whats done is done and can’t be changed now. That’s the sad part of life. Nothing can be undone. Nothing.
There are some theories that hell is our lives gone wrong. That every choice made is the wrong one. Every outcome the worst possible. Would we be able to differentiate this from our actual lives? Or would we think that maybe, some day, things will turn around for us. But they never will. Thus is hell.
Other theories say that we are destined to relive our lives over and over again. That this is reincarnation. Only we are unable to change anything we ever did. Every mistake made is redone, every disaster repeated ad infinitum. Comforting.
It should be noted, though, that I don’t believe in heaven, hell, or reincarnation.
Wouldn’t that take the meaning out of life? Which, in my opinion, is to use the time you have to the fullest extent possible. If there was something afterwards, why bother trying to accomplish all your hopes and dreams? No, I’d rather believe that this is it. If you waste it, it’s your loss. Not that I live by this tenet. If I did, there’s no way anyone would be able to convince me to sit in a cubicle for eight hours a day.
That’s for damn sure.
I really wish I could go to erin’s birthday party. It’d just be good to see her again. It’s been so long. Since my last birthday. Eleven months. It’s scary to think that. Where have the past 11 months gone? Gone and nothing jumps to mind that I’ve done in that time span. I’ve gotten a job, moved, but I haven’t grown as a person. In fact, I feel I’ve regressed a bit to the college mentality. Now that I’m living in Manhattan, bringing woman home is now an option. It makes me feel so hollow inside. Somedays, I truly believe that I am an emotional shell. Will I get them back if I meet the right girl? I can only hope.
I doubt it. I doubt everything.
Who knows? Whats done is done and can’t be changed now. That’s the sad part of life. Nothing can be undone. Nothing.
There are some theories that hell is our lives gone wrong. That every choice made is the wrong one. Every outcome the worst possible. Would we be able to differentiate this from our actual lives? Or would we think that maybe, some day, things will turn around for us. But they never will. Thus is hell.
Other theories say that we are destined to relive our lives over and over again. That this is reincarnation. Only we are unable to change anything we ever did. Every mistake made is redone, every disaster repeated ad infinitum. Comforting.
It should be noted, though, that I don’t believe in heaven, hell, or reincarnation.
Wouldn’t that take the meaning out of life? Which, in my opinion, is to use the time you have to the fullest extent possible. If there was something afterwards, why bother trying to accomplish all your hopes and dreams? No, I’d rather believe that this is it. If you waste it, it’s your loss. Not that I live by this tenet. If I did, there’s no way anyone would be able to convince me to sit in a cubicle for eight hours a day.
That’s for damn sure.
The end of a family vacation...
And that’s it. The vacation is over. I’m at thirty thousand feet again, or however high airplanes fly. The trip ended significantly better than it started, but I still wouldn’t call it a worthwhile vacation. I think its just because I’m used to being alone. I think I would have found this trip much more relaxing and fulfilling had it just been me. So many potentially perfect moments were spoiled by conversation. Granted, I had some memorable moments, but they were few and far between...
Like on the dark sands beach when I wandered off alone. I could tell that my sister just wanted to climb back up the cliffs and get going, but my Mom let me wander around, take my time. Everything was so quiet and peaceful. It was perfect. I wish I could have sat there for hours, just admiring the beauty around me.
But then I had to return to the complaints and annoyances that are my sister. What a contrast. Thank god for the hundreds of miles that separate us and our daily lives. Not that I don’t love my sister.
I just need my space.
Like on the dark sands beach when I wandered off alone. I could tell that my sister just wanted to climb back up the cliffs and get going, but my Mom let me wander around, take my time. Everything was so quiet and peaceful. It was perfect. I wish I could have sat there for hours, just admiring the beauty around me.
But then I had to return to the complaints and annoyances that are my sister. What a contrast. Thank god for the hundreds of miles that separate us and our daily lives. Not that I don’t love my sister.
I just need my space.
A 24 Year Old Child
Think happy thoughts; think about anything other than the norm. Clear the cobwebs and let the inner child speak freely…I don’t think he wants out. I think he’s happy locked in his windowless room. Happy wearing out the carpet in an ever-perfect circle of incessant pacing, muttering to himself about nothing in particular. But don’t disturb him, it may be the last thing you do…
Once he takes over, I cease to exist. The Tim you see is no longer me. I get shoved to an afterthought. I become cold and distant and won’t look anyone in the eyes. The fragility amazes me. That is when people should worry, when I’m not talking it’s for a very good reason. The smallest problem will set me off. And you don’t want to see me angry. I’m vindictive and just plain mean. At that point, violence is never far off…
Once he takes over, I cease to exist. The Tim you see is no longer me. I get shoved to an afterthought. I become cold and distant and won’t look anyone in the eyes. The fragility amazes me. That is when people should worry, when I’m not talking it’s for a very good reason. The smallest problem will set me off. And you don’t want to see me angry. I’m vindictive and just plain mean. At that point, violence is never far off…
Question and Answer
So Tim, how have things changed for you since you decided to grow up, decided to move on past the immaturity and become a contributing member of adult society? Do you feel your life has gained meaning? Do you cherish the job security and health insurance that comes with the nine-to-five life?
Well, let me see. How many ways are there to say “No”? How can I show you how hollow my life feels? I feel like a parenthetical expression with nothing to add. I could lie, I could pretend to enjoy sitting in my working class cage. Pretend to enjoy filling my days with the same self-referencing loop of menial paperwork and empty tasks. Get up, shower, 4/5 train to Brooklyn bridge, coffee, cubicle, lunch, cubicle, gym, 4/5 train to 125th, bed. Add in the more-often-than-not drinking binge and you have my life in 10 easy steps. Lest I forget to mention the most exciting part of the day: ripping of the previous day’s Dilbert to reveal the day’s pearl of nine-to-five parody. What has my life become?
Come, wake me from my stupor. Grab me by the shoulders and shake until I collapse, until I remember what it feels like to be alive. Until I remember what it is to desire something better. Until I remember that I once had motivation. I’ll be damned if this is how it will end…
Well, let me see. How many ways are there to say “No”? How can I show you how hollow my life feels? I feel like a parenthetical expression with nothing to add. I could lie, I could pretend to enjoy sitting in my working class cage. Pretend to enjoy filling my days with the same self-referencing loop of menial paperwork and empty tasks. Get up, shower, 4/5 train to Brooklyn bridge, coffee, cubicle, lunch, cubicle, gym, 4/5 train to 125th, bed. Add in the more-often-than-not drinking binge and you have my life in 10 easy steps. Lest I forget to mention the most exciting part of the day: ripping of the previous day’s Dilbert to reveal the day’s pearl of nine-to-five parody. What has my life become?
Come, wake me from my stupor. Grab me by the shoulders and shake until I collapse, until I remember what it feels like to be alive. Until I remember what it is to desire something better. Until I remember that I once had motivation. I’ll be damned if this is how it will end…
Boom...
I feel it coming, the mid-twenties crisis. I sense it gathering momentum like a bowling ball dropped from thirty thousand feet. I know one morning I’m going to wake up and be unable to look myself in the eyes, and not just because the mirrors in my shitty apartment stop at the middle of my neck.
Here I am: twenty-three, almost one year removed from college, and I have managed to regress back to the job of a kid who just retrieved his GED from the decorative mailbox adorning his parents’ front lawn. Here I am: a magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa, mathematics and physics major, making seven dollars an hour, working with people who, odds are, don’t even know how to spell college. Here I am: a failure to myself and everyone around me.
Let me be the first to say it, “I am underachieving everyone’s hopes for me. I need to find a ‘real’ job. I need to grow up.” There, it has been said. Now, never repeat this to me. The last thing someone who knows they are failing life (I wish life’s grade was curved, god knows its bell curve is shifted a tad towards the low end) is to be told that they are failing. Even worse than this is when some tries to delicately skirt the issue and drop little innuendos such as, “Speaking of ____, have you considered…”, these never end well. “Ohhhhh, so you think that I should be doing more with my life? You know what, I never considered that! Thanks for pointing it out. While we’re pointing things out, you may want to step outside of my reach because I’m about to punch you in the face.” And so on and so forth.
Something just struck me and I can’t help but point out the dramatic irony which is simply too good to be kept as such. I am writing these very words while perched on my high-school bed surrounded by my high school belongings and my high school life. That’s right, I’m at my parents house (and by parents I mean mother and step-father, but I am a child of the nineties so that goes without saying). How did I get here? In a car my mom pays for that’s covered by an insurance policy that my mom pays for and with a gas tank freshly topped off using a credit card that, that’s right you guessed it, my mom pays for. How many strikes do you get before you’re out? Well I guess that makes it 749 consecutive innings without a hit, walk, error, fielder’s choice, foul-out, or hit-by-pitch for the home team. You can do the math if you feel like it, but take it from a math major, that’s a hell of a lot of K’s.
…Now that the contestant has chosen door number one, let’s see what’s behind door number two: a high paying job, beautiful girlfriend, and a future brighter than a 10 kiloton nuclear explosion. Too bad all that was behind door number one was the aftermath of said blast.
Here I am: twenty-three, almost one year removed from college, and I have managed to regress back to the job of a kid who just retrieved his GED from the decorative mailbox adorning his parents’ front lawn. Here I am: a magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa, mathematics and physics major, making seven dollars an hour, working with people who, odds are, don’t even know how to spell college. Here I am: a failure to myself and everyone around me.
Let me be the first to say it, “I am underachieving everyone’s hopes for me. I need to find a ‘real’ job. I need to grow up.” There, it has been said. Now, never repeat this to me. The last thing someone who knows they are failing life (I wish life’s grade was curved, god knows its bell curve is shifted a tad towards the low end) is to be told that they are failing. Even worse than this is when some tries to delicately skirt the issue and drop little innuendos such as, “Speaking of ____, have you considered…”, these never end well. “Ohhhhh, so you think that I should be doing more with my life? You know what, I never considered that! Thanks for pointing it out. While we’re pointing things out, you may want to step outside of my reach because I’m about to punch you in the face.” And so on and so forth.
Something just struck me and I can’t help but point out the dramatic irony which is simply too good to be kept as such. I am writing these very words while perched on my high-school bed surrounded by my high school belongings and my high school life. That’s right, I’m at my parents house (and by parents I mean mother and step-father, but I am a child of the nineties so that goes without saying). How did I get here? In a car my mom pays for that’s covered by an insurance policy that my mom pays for and with a gas tank freshly topped off using a credit card that, that’s right you guessed it, my mom pays for. How many strikes do you get before you’re out? Well I guess that makes it 749 consecutive innings without a hit, walk, error, fielder’s choice, foul-out, or hit-by-pitch for the home team. You can do the math if you feel like it, but take it from a math major, that’s a hell of a lot of K’s.
…Now that the contestant has chosen door number one, let’s see what’s behind door number two: a high paying job, beautiful girlfriend, and a future brighter than a 10 kiloton nuclear explosion. Too bad all that was behind door number one was the aftermath of said blast.
And so it is...
Here we go. I’m trying it again. Seeing what escapes my mind when I allow it to flow out of me. All I can feel is inner tension. It’s eating at me every time I breathe in and every time I breathe out, every time I blink, every time I swallow. It’s all I know. And it’s all I want. It’s better to feel sadness than feel nothing at all. And I’ve been devoid of everything before. And yet, no one would guess it to look at me. No one. Everyone sees me and thinks I’ve got it all together, got it all figured out. But I don’t. And that couldn’t be further from how I want to be. I want to feel love and joy and happiness. But I just can’t. Normal everyday things stop me in my tracks and make me feel as though the only option is to collapse and cry myself stupid. Cry myself away from everyone and everything. I feel alone in crowds and crowded alone. What are my choices then? I see none. All I want to do is space out, read depressing books, and listen to heart wrenching songs. I want to know that my feelings aren’t special and isolated to me. That other people feel what I am feeling. What happened to them? Did they overcome, or did they succumb? It used to be that every other though was about how to be happy. Now, it’s the polar opposite. It’s escaping everything by losing everything. I don’t mean possessions; I mean everything inside me. Everything that makes me, me. All I see around me are people going through the motions. Breathing in and out not out of necessity, but out of habit. And habit is not what I want. It’s not what I need. I can’t believe I’ve been here for a year. In this shitty apartment in a shitty section of shitty Brooklyn. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been told that all I need to do is find love. Find a girl who completes me. But if I can’t offer the other half of the puzzle, how will finding a girl complete anything? It would just be something else I would lose. Something else to destroy me. I’m fragile. I pretend I’m not, but you can reduce me to rubble with a single glance, a single phrase. Now, it’s not even a word or phrase, it’s the lack of conversation that defeats me. I feel dizzy writing this and even dizzier rereading it. I feel as if I am going to pass out with the weight of these emotions. It doesn’t even feel like I am part of me anymore. I feel like I’m standing over my shoulder watching myself type this. Wanting to tell myself to snap out of it, but I can’t. I can’t even control myself. That had been the one thing in this would that was under my control before. If you can’t control yourself, what can you? It’s the only thing that truly belongs to you and the only thing someone else can’t take away. The thoughts in your head are your only possessions. And mine are running away from me faster than I can express them. If I look up, I know I’ll see that I am being suffocated by my own cloud of despair. And I don’t know what to do…
The truth
Main Entry: tim·o·thy
Pronunciation: 'ti-m&-thE
Function: noun
1: a semi-satiating morsel of useless information
2: a self-destructive colloid of sarcasm and apathy in an alcohol solution
Pronunciation: 'ti-m&-thE
Function: noun
1: a semi-satiating morsel of useless information
2: a self-destructive colloid of sarcasm and apathy in an alcohol solution
What can we forgive?
Do these random thoughts have connections? If I stare at them long enough, will the truth, if there is such a thing, become apparent? Will my synapses fire in a new and original way? Do I even want them to.
If you had the key to life and happiness, would you use it? I would throw it away, give to to the first person I saw on the street. Better yet, I’d give it to the first person I met in my dreams. Who better to forever hide the answers to life and death than a figment of your own imagination who you will never conjure again. But why would I do such a thing? I feel that finding these answers bundled in a neat little package would defeat the purpose of life. As if seeing them all lined up like cigarettes in a pack would end existence. By throwing away this key, by forgetting that this pack of truths even exists, I would be saving humanity. And isn’t that the key to happiness in this life anyways? You see the answers without ever opening the box. Magic.
But then again, why would I want to help humanity. More often than not, they are why I don’t have happiness in my life. I say fuck them, take that key, insert and turn. Watch the world crumble as you see the face of god. And smile as the whole of existence fades to nothingness, with only yourself knowing its all about to end…
If you had the key to life and happiness, would you use it? I would throw it away, give to to the first person I saw on the street. Better yet, I’d give it to the first person I met in my dreams. Who better to forever hide the answers to life and death than a figment of your own imagination who you will never conjure again. But why would I do such a thing? I feel that finding these answers bundled in a neat little package would defeat the purpose of life. As if seeing them all lined up like cigarettes in a pack would end existence. By throwing away this key, by forgetting that this pack of truths even exists, I would be saving humanity. And isn’t that the key to happiness in this life anyways? You see the answers without ever opening the box. Magic.
But then again, why would I want to help humanity. More often than not, they are why I don’t have happiness in my life. I say fuck them, take that key, insert and turn. Watch the world crumble as you see the face of god. And smile as the whole of existence fades to nothingness, with only yourself knowing its all about to end…
Knowing....Not Thinking
"Sookie...I am numb"
silence isn’t golden, its dark, heavy, and dead.... like sweat, seeming to come from my very pores.... just don’t let the silence swallow....
everyone is staring and i don’t know why. why wont someone fucking reach out to me.... i see people, they dont fucking see me. they just look, stare, contort their faces and walk away shaking their heads. its so quiet i can almost read their minds. “poor boy” “what a loss” “fucking stuck up rich kid” “pathetic dreamer” fuck them, they dont know me or want to know me, they want to idealize me, like everything else in this pathetic experiment called life.
silence isn’t golden, its dark, heavy, and dead.... like sweat, seeming to come from my very pores.... just don’t let the silence swallow....
everyone is staring and i don’t know why. why wont someone fucking reach out to me.... i see people, they dont fucking see me. they just look, stare, contort their faces and walk away shaking their heads. its so quiet i can almost read their minds. “poor boy” “what a loss” “fucking stuck up rich kid” “pathetic dreamer” fuck them, they dont know me or want to know me, they want to idealize me, like everything else in this pathetic experiment called life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
