What Is and What Should Never Be...

I will not take the time to format this piece in the usual manner. No 'nbsp's to space perfectly where the tab does not. Instead, I figure this will just be a simple straight forward one-sided discussion from me to you; the reader.
In my short life I have met many people. I may not have met as many people as I truly wanted to, but those that have stayed in my life have been the ones by which I judge the rest. This brings to mind a question for me. How can I judge the traits of the individual by the traits of another individual? Seems like an oxy-moronic statement to me, but I am used to those.
At this point I have 'cultivated' several friendships that, I hope, will last for some time. How can I find such marvelous people and then see them vanish? It's happened and I am sure it will happen again. That is why I cherish the people I have now instead of later. For, 'later' is not always a guaranteed time whereas 'now' is.
I sit here typing this out and asking myself what you, the reader, would think at the flow of these past paragraphs. Then it hits me. I do not care. I type as my mind tells me. The words flow through the scientifically named cells from my brain to my hands. It seems fluid and purposeful but it is lucid.
I have no true control over what I think. There are so many tiny thoughts flying through my mind. I pay no attention to them until one plants itself and develops into a larger, more prominent, thought. From there, I write.
Digression is a nice way of writing. It challenges a person's true creative ability. To link together two subjects that may have no relation.

I leave you here as I am to roll a cigarette and put shoes on.
Enjoy your existence while you have it.

This WIll Be A Fast One...

You know, I had an experience Saturday. It was one day that felt like multiple days. I believe that it might have warped my mind. I learned a thing or two about selfishness. One of those being that I have trouble being knowingly selfish. I cannot be selfish in or out of spite.

I want something more than a friend. Something so much more. Do I fear not finding this "something"? Well, I cannot be honest here. What I wish is only an attempt at being rational. I quite dislike being rational the majority of the time. My mind will not allow me to express my true desires.

My eyes see a beautiful woman. My body lusts for her yet my mind recoils in horror. I ask my why but there is no answer. I could attempt another third-party advisor, but my drug usage and chronic lying only shut me off from any real help.

This book shames me, and I want to destroy it.

This body shames me, and I want to destroy it.

This mind shames me, and I want to destroy it.

This soul shames me, and I want to destroy it.

My soul is empty.

I do not want shallow feelings and fast nights. I want to have a spiritual connection with someone. I wait and ponder the act of waiting.

I found what I want. I want simplicity.

I have this want to know about the "counter-culture". This want to be my father. A man I never knew but have met on many occasions in others. Sadness, lonesomeness, insatiable wandering.

I do not want to be where I am.

I am stuck here for now.

There Are No Words To Explain...

Here I sit typing what is to be an unformatted and most likely ill punctuated and spelled piece and yet I do not care. For the question at hand is as to whether or not people (those who are on a mind-altering substance) create this placebo high, in a sense. They do their drugs, respectively, and then put themselves in situations they would consider 'cool'. Be it coffee with a person, a social gathering in the hundreds involving drunken orgies and happiness supplied on the Mg spectrum, or, well, I am not sure I can show either extreme any better than that. From these 'cool' situations they reassure themselves about their purchase. For what could that money, that cold hard cash, have been put aside for? Food, perhaps, or maybe hygiene equipment (as is needed by many folks), or even, hell. I wrote myself into another sound argument.
Forgive my choppiness. Fuck it, forgive me for nothing oh fair readers!
For here I am typing with reckless abandon a drug addled man's brain.
This presents us with the prime question of what is the ceiling doing? Is it breathing or it just a bunch of crystalline segments in the dark orange to near pink-yellow that is just existing there is space? To be viewed upon by my eyes. Forgive me, English. I cannot quite use you properly to convey any thought. I am not merely viewing, but I am instead being enlightened. I have become at one with myself. The center is in sight.

The Lights Go On, The Lights Go Off...

    What is there to say for these past few days, the past weeks, the past months? To be a fully honest person would be to harm others, and in turn I would harm myself. So why say anything if I cannot say something nice? The question is rubbish. There are times when rashness and shrewdness are virtues. Yet another question as to why these are situational virtues arises at this point.
    To judge and damn without thought; society does this.
    To judge and damn without thought; religion does this.
    To judge and damn without thought; individuals do this.
    We are all the same and no one is, in truth, a unique 'flower'. I state truth here and there are those who will ask me to clarify on this statement. From one to the next everyone is alike. There are differences in appearance, in skin color, in the way their hair is fixed. Though, what makes a person unique? Can a person be truly unique? I say no and state this as truth. For a person to be unique they must be as no one else is. Argue the idea of a fingerprint and how no one has the same print upon their fingers and palm as you might, but what is the skin upon which those indentions form made of? I digress at this point and attempt to argue a point which is far too hard. As I know the countering arguments as I would make them.
    What I want to say is that each woman and each man is conceived in a similar manner; is built the same. We serve no other purpose other than to eat and defecate, to fornicate and reproduce, to breathe and die. So why should humanity attempt to find a reason to be? Does the concept of a purposeful existence cause a sense of ease and comfort in people?
    Humanity leads an aimless and quite listless life. We are born to die, and die to give room for those that will follow. Find no reason to live but instead live for everyone. Do not be selfish and shallow in the attempt of creating a false sense of 'uniqueness'. For no one is different from any other person that is alive or has been alive.

A Synopsis of a Breakdown...

    I recently stated that "I am alone in this massive wicked world. In this he finds comfort in a constant. In this constant he has sorrow for finding such comfort in such a miserable place in his mind. For in this darkness there is a glint of light, and yet the darkness is all consuming. Does not abate, does not abdicate, does not cease. And within this hollow place there is no hope." What do I mean by this? I have hit a point where I am on the verge of quitting. This is reminiscent of a time when I sedated myself just so I could get through the days. Of being alone and being forever apathetic to the cares and concerns of others. Those days are upon me once again. The ways in which I dealt with them are changing. Now, more than ever, I feel the urge to run. To find sanctity and solitude by wandering and never knowing a 'home'. In truth I need no material nor monetary possessions. At the core of my being suffering is what makes me strive. Happiness is simply another commodity accrued by those who take comfort in surrounding themselves by that which does not make them a person. Here I sit questioning what I am doing, how I am living, why I am living. I have tried and yet death denies me. So what more is there for me here? Why continue a fraudulent existence?

We Burned to the Ground, Left a Grave to Admire, And As We Reach For the Sky, Reach the Church of White...

    What's to say of being in a place you loath? Yet you have to remain there. Starting from scratch as you have before many times. Finding a place of your own making in the world. Defining yourself as something more than what others perceive you for.
    This is the third time I have moved to this town. The first time was exciting, the second a return, and the third a sentence to remain. I have come into my own in the time away, and I now feel a bit more at home in 'myself'. I am who I am, and must make the most of what was given to me.
    This town depresses me so. There is little to nothing to really do here excluding drinking the day away. Be drunk before two in the afternoon and sleep the rest of the time away. What is there to life in this god forsaken place?
    I talk as if this were hell, and to some extent it is. I was born in a small town, I spent the majority of my childhood in a small town, and here I am wasting away the younger adult years in a medium sized mediocre town. Evangelicals, Baptists, Catholics. They are all here, and they all are out to convert.
    Why the sudden break to religion you ask. How better to get a view of an area as per its religious background? I live in a state that has been said state for only one-hundred years now. Take a look at New York and see the original religious preferences. Over time they become lax and not as crazed and zealous. Sure there are those who break this idea, but consider the bigger picture. This state has the constant of religious activity that looks down on 'life'. It provides a scapegoat for people to throw all their fears upon.
    I digress, though. This post is more about feeling as if you are wasting your time somewhere you should not be. A big fish in a small pond per se. The larger the pond the bigger the fish is able to grow. I am that fish, and this town is my pond.

I leave you now with a marvelous Beirut song.


All I want is the best for our lives my dear,
and you know my wishes are sincere.
Whats to say for the days I cannot bare?

A Sunday Smile

Another Day, Just Breath; Another Day, Just Believe...

    So here I am writing my final entry into this thing in the place I am. I see that I move around a bit for the age I am. to me this is a good thing. For change is a necessity in my life. Without I go stale and lose all meaning to who I am.
    To say I am sad that I am going is to say a cow goes 'Moo'. I came into a home and to a family that I did not know and that did not know me. I leave having gained a greater amount of closure on who my father was and what he did with his life. The choices he made were not that best in the world, but I am happy he made them anyhow. To be me and to see such horror in the world is to affirm that there must be a few good people in the world. I believe my father was a good man. He made poor choices as we all must in order to learn. The only thing that I am aggravated about is that he did not learn from those choices. As I have not in many of mine.
    The more I came to know a man I did not a, a man I could not, the more I began to see that I am like him. That his flaws, characteristics, intellect, near everything was passed onto me. This break from my original thought of nurture versus nature. As now I feel that a lot of what we are as people has a lot to do with what we inherit from those who gave birth to us.
    In all, I am glad I stepped into a place I did not know. Into a family with problems that reminded me of my childhood. Into my skin. At this point all the uncertanties I had are all but gone. There are still a few, but far less than I came up here with.
    If this were a normal post I'd leave you with some music. Unfortunately, there are nineteen tracks I have and I am not willing to post them all. Just imagine some good Balkan brass, some synth, and a little face-melting guitar work in your head.

So Don't Get Any Big Ideas, They're Not Going to Happen...

    I had a conversation earlier tonight that made me think of you. Where you might be these days and how you might be doing. You followed your dreams and that is the last I knew of you. Inspiration is what you gave me. Such as that I might follow my dreams as you did.
    I am failing currently. Which brings me to wonder if your dreams have worked out as you wanted.

You were always a beautiful dancer.

    I wonder if you remember the night we danced for hours on end. Our minds elsewhere, but our bodies were together. The stars were out. They illuminated the ground as we moved, and you laughed lightly and said you had never been happier. There was no reply from me but a smirk.

That was the happiest I had ever been.
I wish I had told you that.

    I want to know how New York is for you. I want to know how that problem worked out and if you lived through it. I want to know if you ever read that story I wrote for you. I want to see you again.
    I remember how frightened you were when you found me on the floor. I remember the first time we were high together on the library lawn. I remember us messing with the Dewey Decimal system in the basement. I remember rearranging books and discussing how it related to metaphysics. I remember running through the field and losing each other.

I remember you.

    We agreed on no emotional attachment. When it was said we both just laughed. The last time I saw you we both cried as you said you were leaving. When you left there was nothing to keep me in that town, and I soon left.


You will know the meaning to this song:

Radiohead - Nude

That couch is still in our field.

Cause I'd Like To See You Often, But I Don't Need To See You Often...

    As of late I have had the compulsion to write. What to write I can never be sure. Of trauma or of someone finding their soul? Of existence or of other's finding you not to exist? Everything I write conflicts with the previous story in my little notebook.

As to how to write?
    That is another thing that brings uncertainty. What is there to a story that makes it complex; that cause intrigue? Why do people read a story? Do they feel a bit of themselves in the writing? It all starts with a single word and ends up in some other place. Much as these posts do.
    I distract myself from writing these days. Telling myself that I am accomplishing something. That somewhere people are yearning to read my writing. While, at the same time, I repeat that no one wants to read the ramblings and choppy sentences of a twenty-some-year-old with no real knowledge of the world.

Knowledge of the world.
    Makes me laugh every time I think of it. There is a part of me that wants to say I have lived so much more than most people will in thirty years. That means I have ten years on people. Ten years I am squandering if this is true. Wasting on pointless projects that will bring no real value nor advancement.


It has been too long.
Animal Collective - Grass
Electrelane - Saturday
Don't hesitate. Just listen.