Below are the 16 most recent journal entries recorded in Tender Mercies' LiveJournal:

Monday, May 2nd, 2005
8:53 am	Nineteen Points to Nowhere? Look at thy compass, young vagabond. Does thy heart flutter to see its dial spin? Just a bit it does move, as an old man would Slow and careful steps to retrieve his necessities. Without a bit of time wasted with silly details. And then it stops. Where then does it point? Where then does it point? Darkning deadly with none to annoint. Where then does it point? where then does it point? Follow the movements and strike at the joints. A soldier once stuttered 'there goeth a beast' Yon compass nay sayeth which way will be east. together directions confuze and decieve and hence in your compass you must never believe. The cosmos do spin, but never say when. Endlessly tumbling in a vast ocean bubbling... How does one face forward in a rapidly spiraling orchard? The answer is as simple as a face pale as chalk. walk. walk. walk. walk. walk. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 25th, 2004
10:53 pm	Lumpy the Magnificent My words draw into the paper, typed onto the screen. A poem being built like a river dumping silt. purifying the earth with rich minerals. A picture forming on my tongue clay taking shape muscles growing taut hair flowing full music composed lovers betrothed and all such thoughts forever disposed (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 13th, 2004
11:59 pm	I need a health pack Not the little one that gives you minor repairation. Not the super one that gives you complete restoration. Just the standard sized one -- it'd be so nice. 'cause sometimes I feel like ive lost half my life. I see you. You're there, but I act so unfair. To all my friend I've failed, please just know I care. So irresponsible, just one phone call could make somebody's week and that would be all that it would take... to make a heart break if the promise never came... if the tears filled the lake. And that is where i go. to my river of woe, amidst the pool of dreams i'm pulled undertow. Drifting with the current, and the current events waiting for my health pack, fading like past tense. Hibernating, contemplating, In my sanctuary waiting. For someone to feel, for some one to heal fuck away the fake, and give me some one real. She completes me, She loves me, She gives me full life. And maybe some day, we will be husband and wife. i love you all -kyle (Comment on this)
11:19 pm	I wish I was invisible Stalking... Like celery sticks I was a ninja of the night sporting kung fu kicks A double roundhouse hurricane split to the lip of some git who kept talkin his shit Im stealth like solid snake and every step I take is soft like a kittens and mittens on christmas break. I step to the room all calm and quiet ready to resume and consume like a fucking riot. Violence feels so good you know it couldnt be wrong. Im such a badass, yo I got my own theme song. its got guitar like this and some drums like that a little bass solo - man that shit sounds fat you cant hear it though, cause its all in my head the sound drains away when your neck gets bled, I said to watch your back when you mess with the krew now you're choking as you're croaking and your face turns blue. You're bitches thought they got me, but they can't even spot me turned one inside out and chopped his limbs before they shot me. You know, little boys shouldnt play with gats, a bullet to a ninja? you know better than that. We're eternal, infernal mother fucking geothermal nuKlear warheads couldn't stop our blood shed. You're better off digging a six hole instead. And when you get done, jump in on the double, blow you nugget off bitch and save me the trouble. Fuck emotions motherfucker I give a fuck how you feel and killin all you lackeys is a waste of steel. Im from a nation indivisible with the warriors invisible, understand our master plan to make you bitches miserable. I want to kill everything. -love kyle (Comment on this)
Sunday, July 11th, 2004
11:13 pm	Subject (optional) In the future... They have phenomenally durable jeeps. And Plasma guns. They have robots and teleportation, too. But the one thing that makes me weep, -- And it's no fun -- The Flashlights run out of batery juice. What good is this beautiful future, If I can't even see it? No matter how many enemies I destroy, or how many methods I employ, My hands are still stinging from the blaster heat. And I'm still just a first level master chief. no unlockable moves, no bonus protection no stat increase, no secretive weapons Just this endless hell, this ring of despair Marine and covenant blood dampen the air. For what? What glory... The same old story Two peoples at war for the want of more. But there's nothing to gain. Only never ending pain. So I stick a plasma grenade to myself It's beautiful colors swirl like a tasty mcflurry of death. The white hot center bakes my armor, and I am soon swallowed by the fiery inferno to which I have condemned myself. If I die before I wake, I pray the lord bake me a cake. the end, Written by, Master Chief, Spartan warrior, and loving family man. 2040 - 2090 RIP (Comment on this)
Monday, April 5th, 2004
1:22 pm	][D estilence There is venom in my blood. Fire scathes my eyes. The boss man tells me I'm weak, the doctor tells me I'm sick. All day is a nap, and all night is restless. I try to think, to stay awake but my body responds sluggishly, like a car that won't start. When my head hits the pillow, it feels like I'll never wake up. My birthday will come soon, and I will be too sick to enjoy it. Next week I will have no money to pay my doctors bills, or house payment, car insurance... 30 days to fix the roof. Dad still won't leave for california. He postpones his departure because he doesn't want to 'lose the bullets' he cant ship. I load shotgun shells into trucks, it can happen. He eats my food and takes my money, then scolds me for working myself sick. "Kyle, they will FIRE you if you don't go to work!" And what? Would you have no wallet to pick anymore? Would your son be as broke as you? I have never been depressed before now, I have never hated my father's actions before now. And I have never been so completely mentally and physically sick. What's next? 106 fever with no pain releiver I look sick as a beaver even though I use lever 2000 - in the mall I was browsing, and gamestops suscpition I was certainly arousing. Cause stumbled in to the geeky place and they sold me a game that was just an empty case. I'm too weak to even ride back up there, one o' my krew will see to it; restore justice from unfair. I'm gonna crawl back and collapse in my bed, cause I feel a strange heaviness goin on in my head. uh, peace. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, April 3rd, 2004
1:29 pm	sdrawkcab love. is such fingers, your through slipping sand Like chance. my had I know I yet, and everything want I her, want I .empty so feeling me leaves which reflection broken a askew, is world This .sense makes Nothing .wrong is Everything I still love you. (Comment on this)
Saturday, March 20th, 2004
6:47 pm	Please be rational Your sideways eyes find the time to complete all that we started on the night without sleep. I beg you and plead, without shame I implore, but nothing I do will excite you anymore. My time has gone bland, my taste has grown stale from beginning to end, I was destined to fail. but there are diamonds in the ocean, reflected from the sky If I could only reach them I'd be the richest man alive. Until that time we smile, we meet, we touch, we kiss, we screw --- repeat. Until the day I reach the sky, I'll always stare and wonder why. From here on in until I die, I swear an oath to never cry. Never. I said it. Sorry, Peter. Guess I'll never be a lost boy, now. (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 4th, 2004
10:25 am	2P JOIN??? insert quarter Today's art ---> http://www.deviantart.com/view/5611862/ Lately I've been feeling pretty lonely. The kind of feeling where you realize that something is absent from your life, something you desire. Not solitude at all, but the real genuine article. I find myself wanting the company of another. Not the type of comraderie I am accustomed with, but the type of relationship which goes beneath the skin. I want someone I can kiss, tell secrets to, and have dreams with. I was thinking about how empty my bed feels without someone to hold, how boring a bath is without someone's hair to play with. without that kind of person in my life, everything seems so dull. I have become co-dependant. It feels like I'm standing in front of an arcade game designed for two players -- you know what I'm talking about, the kind where you both look exaxtly alike -- only I am always playing solo. And on the rare occasion that I do get 'picked' it's only a temporary thing. No one seems to want me around for more than a fuck. Like the fat kid who gets picked last, I just fill a spot once, and then I'm history. I could bitch about this situation relentlessy, but when it comes down to it, it's all my fault. I had what I wanted once, but like the polar opposites of magnets, I always push when a female pulls, and pull when she pushes. I think this all goes back to the age of dinosaurs (1999ad) when I was in highschool and started getting the attention of women (god knows how.) But back then I was a much different little shit. I was still obsessed with pain and struggle, had lots of energy, and drew and played drums much much more than I do now. The only problem was that I was a hero worshipping straight edge christian fool, who believed everything people said. I was also hell bent on meeting ONE girl. just one. THE girl. The perfect one. The absolute best. and this person, I would pour my heart out on, and smother her with my sparkly dew drop tears of joy. and all that shit. well, things dont always work out like that. but even so, I thought it was perfectly legitamite to treat other girls like shit while I pursued the ONE girl. (who was so perfect her shit didnt even stink) To make matters worse, I actually met the one girl. and we fell in love with each other. The only problem was, that the one girl had a guy. now this part is important because it was the moment that destroyed my past and shaped my future. One dark, rainy evening by the river, we held hands and she tried to kiss me in the way that lovers kiss -- I wanted to return her affection so gravely. But I could not. I saw no honor in kissing a woman who already had a man. It was my only chance at achieving that silly goal. Everyone I stepped on and hurt up to that point should have killed me for not going through with that one fucking kiss. I treated everyone like crap, and when it came time to get my reward for being such an asskissing little fucker, I didn't even have the balls to step on that one last person who would have put me on the pedestal I so desperately desired. I don't really even feel like writing about this anymore. I guess what I'm really trying to say is: "Hey bitches, I'm single." and I could do that in an AOL chatroom with as much success. Maybe I'll go to some public places later and yell that out randomly. Or maybe I'll just drive my car around looking tough until one hops in. I have a lot of money now too, perhaps that would pursuade a honey into my arms. Then there's always alcohol, and statuatory rape... I could always walk around in a suit and tell hot chicks that I'll make them into a famous star, poke them once and then jump town. I could also design an incredibly gorgeous female robot programmed to please. none of these things is me though. I guess I just need to redefine what I am, and what I want from a woman. And that's what I'll do. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, February 21st, 2004
9:44 pm	Programmed Event (insert dialogue) Play sound effect_'cancel1.wav' Message: "Greetings friend, can I help you?" Call shop: normal - half sell value potion50, shortsword100, leatherarmor100. EndCase: "Thank you for your patronage, please come again." This is life. I have come to the conclusion that life is a programmed series of events. (Im not talking about the Matrix, fuck that stupid movie and its terrible 2nd and 3rd chapters*) I'm talking about the entire universe must first have a basic setting: Color. There is some galaxy which governs (like a video card) the universes display capabilities. Next comes the numbers. The assigned values and variables that make up existence. Combined, they create the blueprints for reality. Everything has values, and a certain degree of randomness to make a contrast. Strong weak. Smart dumb. Happy sad. Beautiful ugly. From this contrast, the very powerful and inexorable good vs. evil struggle arises. This is because the universe is written in the duality code of 1s and 0s. lets say one, or 'on', is light. Positive. And the Zero, or 'off', is the darkness. Negative. Now we have laid some pretty stable foundations, to which we can build up our theory. Everything has ones and zeros in it, it's an integral part of programming after all. But nothing has the same amount, or the same order. This brings about an uncertainty factor, thus the 'game' is different every time you play. Let's look at what we have: Color(graphics) Numbers(code) Now we need something to power these dormant forces. Thus, there must also be some kind of engine, a processor perhaps that decides how all of this is to be interpreted. I would think that this could either be a divine (god) giant mega, gigo bastard processor, or many many many many smaller ones, all bussed together (man) Either way, it still works out, and it isn't illogical that the two of these could coexist. As for the programming part which I intend to focus much of my thoughts on, it seems as though life is a written series of events. The first event that happens when the switch 'birth' is activated, is time. During character generation, (pregnancy. we have rules and laws on geneaology. read them - gregor mendell) all of the creatures attributes are decided. These are starting statistics, and maximum positive and negative numbers. Like height, or girth or how strong you can be, but also how short or weak or fat you can be. how much you can love or hate are always equal. The Time switch causes events to happen as the timer operation runs. As it goes, you grows. This event is prevalent, and ends with a natural death. Again, the uncertainty principle can take your life at any time, but nothing is pre written. It is just a system operating from instructions. As we mature and meet people we begin to interact with them. What we learned from our parents is what we were programmed to do. And as such creatures so capable of mimicry and copying each other, programming leaves visible imprints on everyone. For example, creature Dan, is defeated. Depressed, he seeks creature kyle for council. "you can't win all the time." kyle says in response. (which is probably what his father told him under similar circumstances.) And so on, dan tells this information to another creature who passes it to another. infinitely. Thus creating the mass conceptualization, society, culture, religion. All of these were instituted by master programmers in the early days of life. The first people to stop pissing on themselves, were also the columns on which modern thought rests. Many of the great philosophers spent thier entire lives to come up with something as rudimentary as 'carpe diem.' Things which are so ingrained in society that even the biggest moron on the planet can ramble them off without thought. 'a watched pot never boils' some asshole says, prophetically. 'A watched pot never boils' an ancient scholar etches into a tablet, hundreds of years ago. Perhaps we have reached a programming plateau. With so much wisdom already known, we don't feel challenged enough to make new ones. Hopefully, we can raise ourselves to a higher elevation (enlightenment?) and overcome this mental stagnation. Until then, we will simply cross over into eachothers lives, leaving imprints of our habits, expressions (shizzle my nizzle) practices, codes, virtues, and flaws on everything we touch, without tipping the scales of infinty very much in either direction. I have no suggestions as to how we can break this stalemate, but I have a simple, rough idea. Perhaps when you see someone in your next visit to the agora (marketplace) you could take the time to comment on thier smile, or taste in clothing, rather than hiding in some kind of militaristic clicky friendship, which prevents you from caring about anyone else. I guess I am just saying something I was programmed to say, "If you can't say something good - don't say anything at all." I'd like to thank the individual who started that trend, because it seems to lighten everyones mood substantially. Let's start somewhere small, eh? Endcase: Move event left,left,left,left, face down, wait.. Wait 1.0s Play Sound Effect "byebye.wav" *animatrix was cool, except for the uh.... vampire hunter d bloodlust/madhouse one. Looked cool, stupid story. and uh, the ghost house is the best one. next to... detective story. damn. That was a cool movie. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 17th, 2004
4:59 pm	Purity? Some argue that man was born with an inherent ability to discern good from evil, and that guilt is the 'angel on his shoulder' telling him what is right. They say that this must be some kind of omnipresent force, perhaps wrought from god, which carried from the first man created up until the last. I would like to beleive that there is some kind of guardian divinity watching over my actions, and guiding me through this life, but the concept of an inborn ability to do good is foolish. Some people seem to forget that the bible isn't the sweet bedtime story we make it out to be. When it comes down to it, it is just another science fiction brochure written by old men long dead. This book seems to also be the resource from which so many scholars pull thier information from, as if it is some kind of special miracle tool, capable of solving any problem. Likewise, it is the same place this stagnant concept of inborn godliness arose. When monkeys began to walk and speak, they began to glorify themselves and name everything. They named the nameless trees, beasts and birds. They categorized everything into neat sections, and at the top of this biological pyramid was the bright and shining race of homo sapien. The all glorious, all knowing, chosen children of god. Horseshit. As if it wasn't enough to dominate a planet, man then had to make a god for himself. to perhaps explain the 'evils' of the world, the devil was created, also known as the scape goat of existence. Your book isn't holy, it is the toilet paper of an asswiping, ass kissing race of self rightous bastards, and it has plenty of shit smeared all over its pages. (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, February 7th, 2004
10:01 am	You left me when I needed you most Did the miles that spanned between us amount to more than me? Was there some strange occurence that my blind eyes could not see? Nonconfrontational. You are my father, slipping further into debt. Hiding from his problems with his face buried in computer games. Fearing his face in the mirror, depressed by his own inactivity. You are my guitarist, who kicked me out of the band with an instant (boink! you got dicked!) message. Your fucking insensitivites. lie to me. "You're a great singer and all but-" Just slide a note under my doorstep, don't dare speak to my face. Run from me, far. back to your safe desktop and cross your fingers, hoping I don't 'hate you.' Because we don't want any little inconveniences. now do we? Was that all I was? An Inconvenience? There was you and your busy little college life amidst all your new friends and shiny playthings, your entire future unfolding, And lo, this creatures shadow loomed over you always. your boyfriend. said with distaste and denial. am I really with him? this thing? I'd better arrange to have this dealt with (far away and with as little confrontation as possible of course.) I knew from the moment I heard your voice cracking on the phone that it was over. But why.. why sugar coat it. Why try to make me beleive that it was your fault. try to ease me into submission by whispering gentle things into my ears. must everyone do this to me? must everyone lie and embellish and massage my emotions to keep me from 'lashing out?' I'm a peaceful fucking person, so just tell me the god damned truth. That's all I want out of life, and all I care to place faith in. but never again, will I place faith in anyone like you. I was crushed. I am still losing my house. I have lost everything else. I am out of contact with my friends, I am lonlely. I am away from those I would have sought comfort with. I am without a job, without a cause and without a future. but I had you. I had a fuel which allowed me to burn up all the trash I surrounded myself with. Why did you stop feeding me? it must not have been worth the trouble. now I am ashes, hot embers and withered whitened wood. I hate that you make me re-evaluate my self worth. you make me constantly look at my body, my habits and my nature looking for what it was that triggered this calamity. Searching in vain, because the reasons I heard were lies. so take your stupid fucking christmas present when my friends see you at megacon and enjoy it. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, January 8th, 2004
6:15 am	Glorius Terminus I ran outside into the dark air of night as if called by an unknown force. A desire to eclipse all other desires behind a curtain of shadow. I remember a foolish excitement spurring me on through the cold as I raced towards my destination through the sleepy Californian streets. It waited for me, the voice that called, and I could not linger. The breath of the gods blew into my face smoothly, harshly, bringing tears to my eyes. Finally, there they were, the mountains, beautiful rolling hills spanning all around as if they were the bones of the planet. I began plodding up the side of the grass, leaping over fences with a mad fever. I had to know, I had to see what was beyond. I needed to conquer the hills and be rewarded with chance to see the city in all its nightly splendor. I was like an eager boy, tearing off to catch a glimpse of his sweetheart. As I ascended, I realized how unaccustomed my legs were to this new kind of climbing. A foreign, dull ache began to creep up my thighs and calves. I didn't care, I knew what I had to do. It was too cold sweat, so I desided not too after all. The only indication my stamina was waning were the ragged gasps of breath I took. I passed by a curious horse, and then by an interesting tree. And then when I could run no more, I turned casually back towards where I had come. That was my mistake. For in that instant, I was trapped. I could see her in all her majesty. She wore a robe woven of gold, and all throughout her body was her glowing lifeblood, pulsing here and there like little angels. The wind carried her whispers to me, her promises and her truths. I stayed up there on that hill for a long time, thinking of nothing at all -- simply trying to absorb the entirety of it. I said goodbye to her through the window of an airplane, my birthplace, my home. The future of us is an uncertain thing. (Comment on this)
Thursday, December 4th, 2003
2:01 am	Inflicting Pain is essential to me My mother gasped as she glanced over at my hand. "What happened to your knuckles, Kyle?" It's quite simple actually. By looking at the soft red-and-pink wounds, you can easily tell which parts of my hands came in contact with the rough nylon bag most frequently. The grooves are mostly in between my knuckles, and more so on my right hand than my left. Essentially you can defer from this that I am right handed, and therefore more liable to interact with it. There are other more tracable scars on this hand as well, as a result for my inherent need to use that particular hand first. For instance, the jagged crescent shaped laceration near the palm was caused be shielding myself whilst falling onto broken glass. Then in the center of the hand is another, deeper scar which I earned by protecting my body from yet another jagged piece of glass (this time it was wedged in the wall and I was falling towards it.) Either way, there is a lot of evidence of masochism here. From just these things alone, the punching bag can represent a need to hurt others/hurt myself - but the glass was simply a self defence reaction. The right hand is the common instrument my mind selects for either activity. The left often follows along with whatever the right does, but doesn't really have any scars to show for all its work. It has a supporting role in a play that the right stars/scars in. What is this inherent need to cause pain? Since I was very young, some part of my behavior reflected an inner belligerence. As a child I conquered my playmates, terrorized my enemies and victimized all those who didn't recognize me for the shining slimy atomic shit head I was. This behavior continued until middle school, where I was no longer able to swath a path of destruction through my classmates. now there was a feeling of not belonging, of not being important. I became a dull, lackluster entity that filled space in the hallways, looking for a way to once again reign as king shit. I did so by working my tongue into a sharp little poison weapon, which could kill others slowly and painfully over time. If someone intimidated me, I used my brains to dominate them. I would stab them with my insults until they were broken fools which I could stomp into pieces. I could feel thier hearts crush like glass under my feet. I don't know why I stopped. It felt so good to win over the people that I thought I had to prove something to. Perhaps it was the maturity that made me grow out of such things or maybe I just moved onto the next challenge. It was when my friend christian placed me onto this massive metal bench, and asked me to press the weight as many times as I could -- this was the next challenge. This was my new way to hurt. When you pressed quickly, the weights would clank like some kind of irritated machine, trying vainly to spit out your change. Other times you would go for maximum tolerance, and there would be that moment between all the determination and the pain and the sweat where you would see your goal and realize it on one brutal exhalation. The bar would lower back down onto the bench and you'd get this sense of relaxed completion. When I wasn't working out, my muscles would buckle with pain -- a reminder that I was gaining strength. Suddenly, one day I looked into the mirror, transfixed by the appearance of musculature I was unfamiliar with. Instead of seeing the weak vessel I was accustomed to seeing there, I saw strength. I became obsessed with forging my body into a weapon, which would portray power to all who beheld it. In doing so, I invented many, many sports which would make it possible. Sometimes my friends and I would go to some desolate field where onlookers were few -- and proceed to beat the shit out of each other. When I didn't have friends to hit or lift weights with, I would strike at my punching bag. We did these things with such consistence that in short time we became little terminators. everything was gray and pointless if it didn't present a challenge, a pain, and finally a reward. People were stupid to us if they weren't able to control thier bodies like warriors. And those who could earned our unspoken respect. (Sounds kind of like the plot to Fight Club, doesn't it? Well let me tell you, if you had a split personality you'd learn about it pretty fuckin' quick.) This pattern for pain continued for a long time. I still run until I cant breathe anymore, I still hit the bag until my hand is raw. The reward is vague, and pretty much a personal thing you set for yourself. Even in activities totally irrevelant to this I often cause or recieve pain to simply entertain myself. I draw these sinister pictures depicting the most absurd scenes of violence. I buy the goriest first person shooters and horror movies just to giggle at the gratifying shower of fake blood. I drink alcohol until it's shooting out of my face. When I kiss, I bite. When I make love, hand cuffs are present. Just enough pain to make it good is perfect for everything. It's funny that I have never questioned this pattern of pain I seem to follow. Sometimes people agree with me, other times they mark it off as tasteless sadomasochism. The events of my life don't really allow me to care about what people think, if I don't like them to begin with. Only the opinions of those I like matter. Looking down at all my scars, the raw flesh, bruises... muscles gained through hardship and tedious physical excersizes, I accept all of the things i've done to finally marvel at the reward -- the finished product. The happy dog that did the 'trick' until its master gave it a treat. Fuck consequence, I have confidence. I will hurt myself. I will hurt people, I will crush kill win conquer and when I am saturated in blood and spit I will raise my tired arms and scream. I await the newest aveneue of pain, which will lead me to the highest highways of ass-kicking happiness. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 2nd, 2003
12:04 am	Safety Sometimes I avoid people. Or make up little excuses as to why I can't see them. I rehearse these little scenarios and draw in a little bit of fact and a little bit of fiction to create this myth which madly needs to be told. Mostly I just hesitate. In that moment I'm pulling at everything imaginable I might be able to use to my advantage. Much like the reaction your body gives you when you are drowning. Clawing ever upwards to escape a watery grave. Perhaps this is a survival instinct? I realize that as I get older, this instinct must have been strengthened. Younger, I was more amiable, and ready to do things and see people I didn't like. Now everything I do is weighted. I put it on a scale and measure the costs and the effort and energy, tally results, look for gain, try to watch out for snags. It's less of a decision and more like an intense political debate which could decide the fate of a country. If I stop doing these 'safety measure,' does that mean a part of me has given up my will to live? Would that mean I would drown instead of flail towards the surface? I wonder about things like this when I see it happening around me. Like a wild dog caught on the scent of a scenario he's seen played out over and over again. This endless dance is full of safety measures from the mundane to the extreme. Some people think abstinence will simply make them better, respectable people whilst others still think it will make them better than YOU. There are people who are hygenic, and those who are vain to the point of sickness. There are those who wash and scrub thier hands, terrified of the invisible assassins all around. Perhaps these are the most extreme creatures, those most closely linked to the natural cycle of life. After all, the more you resist death, the more 'alive' you must be. In retrospect I must say again, does that mean the one who is unhygenic, uncaring and always late is someone who has no will to live? With the information you have, it seems like a simple mathematics word problem. 'Jimmy works 50 hours a week and makes this much, Joey only works part time and makes this much.' You can't help it, but who do oyu like more already? Jimmy probably works those hours to help save money for some grand design he has. Jimmy has a future, a will to live, some kind of safety. Joey is probably some lazy bastard who's scrounging money for his harrowing drug addictions. As filthy and as dirty a person as he is compared to Jimmy -- I can assure you, as different of people as they are, dunk thier heads under water for a few minutes and see what they wanted. AIR! They wanted to live MORE than whatever the fuck might have been going through thier heads moments before. What is it then, to truely not care about death. I wonder if it is even possible at all in the face of something your body is designed to fight against. Even so, sometimes I wish I could take the safety off, and just let the emotions/decisions fly like bullets whenever, wherever. I wouldn't care who or what they hit, what they saved, who they killed. When the gun is pointed at me, will I have Zen? (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, December 1st, 2003
11:45 pm	Let's get this out of the way. This isn't for you, or to please you, appease you or to comfort you. This isn't to piss you off, or to enlighten you, or to aggravate or hurt you. This is here for me. This is mine. Or more accurately this is ours. We're going on a little journey together, just you and I. Forget everyone else, tonight it is just you and me, side by side, holding hands walking through this shit as surely as gabriel led dante into hell. From this point I'm not turning back, I have needed this for so long, an outlet for my thoughts. People are too impersonal, and even less absorbent, making them useful tools for venting frustration and nothing more. This is where the real emotion comes out. Traditionally, this is also where it stays. Welcome to my private little theatre, wherin you can witness all the happy little horseshit happenings of my existence. Stay, go, I don't care -- it was mine before you ever were and it will remain so long after my death. The one posession I will always retain transcends these bitter lip-biting words, and goes beyond worldly vanity and desires. That is my essence. This is about me. (1 Comment |Comment on this)