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lousy agent

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2nd July 2010

5:26am: emotional rant, skipping advising. angst.
I think about you a lot. Often many times throughout the day. I miss you. I wish that I truly believed in the ideals that I propounded to you about the overly possessive nature of the ideals of romantic relationships. It isn't even about the specific acts. It is about how you shared the ideal and yet betrayed it thinkingknowing that I shared that value with you. It is about disrespect. I guess I am angry that you didn't hide your acts better. You didn't make the effort to prevent me from finding out. You are smarter than that. I am better without you anyways. I know that I am better without you. You offered me your honest affection. You truly cared about me. You really liked me. I don't know why, but you did. Is that what I am missing, or is it really you? I used to steal your adderall and you knew about it but didn't say anything until we broke up. I thought I was using you some of the time, and maybe I was, but I realize now how much more there was to it. I often forget why I feel some way towards something when I analyze it, and try to see what practical use I am getting out of it. When it becomes so natural to have something there, I take it for granted. When I think of you, I think of you crying, when your face was red and teary and you were begging for me to let this work. You were making promises to change and making big plans for the future that I wanted so badly to have happen. I wish... I don't know. If I wished it possible, I could call you right now and make it work. We both want it. But I something inside me won't let it happen. There is this stubborn, prideful part of me that doesn't want to see you get what you want because you crossed an arbitrary moral line that I had set, and you knew it when you were crossing it and yet you still did it. I forgave you and let it rest for a few months until I decided that the suspicion that had been planted in me from time after time of abuses was making it so I couldn't really bring myself to trust you. To me, trust is the absolute foundation of a relationship. I would either have to trust you again, decide that I was okay with what you did and therefor make the argument moot, or break up with you. I eventually trusted you again in our ancient past over a similar incident, and was let down. Again, in more recent past, the same result ensued. I don't remember how many times now. I can't trust you anymore. This time, I was wrong in my accusation, and I knew it. Once I realized that I was wrong, I realized that this was going to happen again, and again and that I couldn't live with it. The very fact that I was brought to the point of wrongfully accusing her meant that I couldn't be with her. I couldn't live like that.
And I'm mad at you for that. For your nature. For your infidelities. I am mad at myself. For caring about this. For wanting you still. For trying to move on. I don't want to forget you, but I can't forgive you. You were supposed to be the one, but you couldn't fucking pull it together.

30th May 2010

6:34pm: Writer's Block: Bone appetit!
If your pet were arranging a dinner party, who do you think they would invite and what would they serve?

 This is possibly the dumbest question LJ has ever had highlighted. Way to go dumbing down the whole blogosphere with this one. The saddest part is that there are people who actually answered seriously. These people makes me want to shoot myself in the head.

29th May 2010

1:44am:  Okay okay. I've been more morose lately than I have been in awhile. I'm having a fling with feelings again. I feel like I keep silently reaching out to the stars for answers and continue to receive the same cold shoulder of space soot.

28th May 2010

6:02pm: The universe made up it's mind. She's gone in a week. How stupid to have expected anything else.

27th May 2010

11:00pm: An empty auditorium
but empty.
6:22am: free thought: self doubts finally put down into some words
I feel like I have lost the ability to communicate effectively. That is, of course, assuming that I ever had it. I never feel like there is anything that I can add to a conversation. Whenever I do try to talk, the words come awkwardly. I pick corresponding words, but not the ones that accurately portray what it is I am trying to say. If I correct myself, I have lost them. If I don't, they don't understand. I take the wrong things too seriously, and the right things less seriously than I should. I can't pick up on anything anyone says. I feel like I am constantly out of touch with everyone around me. I can't understand how anyone can possibly enjoy spending time with me. I am boring. Really boring. I never have any ideas on what to do because everything is equally absurd in my eyes. I think too abstractly. I am socially awkward. I don't take seriously a large portion of what people say to me. I am drifting in a large lake, with wind blowing me back and forth. I am going to fail. I am going to burn in a giant ghastly pile of shredded phone books. I have literally nothing to offer the world, or the people around me. Except my physically manifestation, but I refuse to donate myself to anyone but those I enjoy. Which is rare and startling that some of them enter my presence repeatedly. I don't know anything at all. I am confused. confused. confused. I never talk about my physical appearance, and I rarely think about it. This is not bad persay, but I do look ridiculous. I am bland in fashion, as well as in looks. I don't have any particularly striking physical features. I am in terrible athletic shape. I am tired all of the time. I don't exercise. I don't do anything to keep up my appearance for the world. I have no artistic ability to speak of. No artisan craft. No useful talent. No useful knowledge. I don't have any strong beliefs. I don't have any real goals except eventual self-sufficiency without having a completely dull job. I don't really have any heroes. All knowledge is human knowledge. All the women I love are floating through walls and disappearing into surrounding rooms. I staple my last hopes on things of no consequence that are long shots at best. I am paranoid. I am too self-involved. I am self-destructive. I will destroy this whole place by removing the support from our feet. I am scared. I am worried. I am concerned. I am afraid. I am still paranoid. The only thing people see in me is themselves. I am going to burn a hole through my esophagus. I wanted so badly to believe in something, but nothing compelling enough came by. Little almosts. I am delusional. I am irrational. I quote people I know nothing about. I claim ideas I know nothing about. I wasted time writing this list. I am petty. I am fishing for rationale. I am fishing for help. I am fishing for understanding. For perspective above all else. I wish I were the eye of the universe. I wish I didn't have hormones. I wish I didn't have genitals. I wish I could castrate the desire to live like an ancient Greek hero. I  misunderstood your motives. I am still not entirely sure, but I am not entirely sure of anything anyone does. The world of peoples is a circus of fleas who, without even knowing, perform for an audience that is entirely unknown to them. 

11th November 2007

8:20pm: Earlier today I was burning a candle and the wax was melting onto my desk. I scooped it up and tried to make a wall around the flame again, but it burned and it hurt. I was determined and I sure did try. I know you would've been proud. But the fire was hot and the wax was melting further, with my fingers right behind. I didn't bleed at all. Burns don't really bleed very much, and even less if melted wax is sealing the wound. It hurt so much, but I really didn't want wax on my desk and I really didn't want the fire to be so unprotected.

Please don't cry, this was my own idea.


I have wax all over my keyboard now and if I didn't know which letters were which instinctively, I would never be able to get anything down. I cannot use my the shift key on the left now because wax is keeping it from pressing all the way down.

10th October 2007

12:47am: to succeed in this, i need only remind myself you are only in it for yourself. i need only remember every conversation we've had with each other. if i could pick the street i lived on, everyone from my lj list would be on it. HAHAHA - how sappy and silly.

4th October 2007

12:28am: The trick is to be so completely honest
that it hurts (both you and them).
Honest to the point that
they don't know what to think.
"Is he crazy or just plain nuts?"

Let them know everything.
Everything. Everything.
Let them judge if they will.
(And chances are,
they will.)
Every time you empty yourself,
refill with the fresher thoughts.
Be like a mirror, and hide nothing.

27th September 2007

4:14am: Now that's mighty strange, isn't it?
I feel a little bit better.

26th September 2007

1:20am: "China owns your afterlife."
"Air now proves unhealthy."
Search foreign headlines.
Spot each absurd new law.

Forget Creation rhetoric!
Leave alone middle high!
Cast your searchlight downwards,
and spot your policy(fallacy?)!
History has already started happening,
and you're still wasting time.
Just living life is not enough.
I know, I'm sorry kid;
it's time to grow up.
There are things out there
that affect all of us.
Most of what we think does, doesn't.
Most of the  things we think doesn't, does.
It sounds cliche,
but it's true.
It's the real world.
The future isn't built already.
And it wouldn't matter if it were.
"We are all in it together"
and that isn't always good news.

22nd September 2007

1:04am: Not only is the world made of sand, but there are ants crawling around in that sand.
They supposably make up about 15% of the biomass in that sand and yet it is an extremely small worry (at least to people outside of Australia).
Just absurd and absurd and oh my.

16th September 2007

10:02pm: I think you take things too seriously.
You assume that just because it is written in word and put on a page that you can trust it.
Or if you can't trust it, that at least you can judge what the writer thinks about.
You assume if he writes about moving people sideways, than that is what he does.
Or at least thinks about doing.

And to be fair, where else can you arrive to with the directions posted?
I guess I just assumed, completely without reason I admit, that you would know better.
We barely meet anymore, so deriving the solution from what is observable is natural.
I would probably do the same thing.

12th September 2007

10:23pm: I wish I had a friends that stayed out late and did math like a bunch of  ruffians. Sit around all night and throw numbers back and forth like real hot shots in the making.

Or at the very least, someone who knows more than me and could help me out, maaaan.

10th September 2007

9:32pm: intermission to something else
I will readily admit it,
there isn't much sense in constantly changing journals.
But I feel I must do it once more.
Just once more.
There is just one little, small,
9:22am: I am sorry that I do not know when it is
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

28th August 2007

11:06pm: and you sit there looking at the air
somethings are made pretty and there's no reason why.
there's no reason to expect anything else but what you see.

yeah, there are mysteries and there are things we don't know.
some of those things will even be beautiful in ways we can't grasp until we see it.
not everything will be wonderful, unless something got knocked loose in you.
some screw that holds the ugliness up against the inner wall of your head so you see it properly.

somebody will write crappy poetry about it and you'll read it and know it's worthless.
it will still get published and you will wonder why.
maybe that is why: so you can wonder.
8:53pm: For my own benefit:

Fundamentals of Archeology
1:00pm - 2:15pm

Contemporary Chemistry
4:00pm - 5:15pm

Elementary German
6:00pm - 7:40pm

Fundamentals of Archeology
1:00pm - 2:15pm

Contemporary Chemistry
4:00pm - 5:15pm

Intermediate Algebra
6:30pm - 9:30pm

Elementary German
6:00pm - 7:40pm

27th August 2007

11:29pm: http://ugv.abcnews.go.com/Player.aspx?id=556758

yeah, yeah. an outside source and one of violence, but maan... a battle royale of nature.

19th August 2007

12:26am: You want to avoid manipulating and being manipulated? Stop caring. Speak what is on your mind and do what you really want to do. All else will fall into place.
12:16am: There was a fight. Contender One had thought to win the bout with his wits, and used his words to throw his hits. Contender Three was next in line because Contender Two had fallen down and hit his stash of wine. His battle tactics were, he thought, a surefire no-lose. He would win this fight without even seeing a bruise. He took from his bag a pistol and a mag. And he shot him. And won.
the end.

18th August 2007

1:22am: Analyzing people is a game.
I've learned that when I play it too openly, people react strongly.
Most people get uncomfortable and possibly offended. They get angry or shy away.
Most of the time I play this game with myself, but sometimes I speak out and see if I am correct.
Some people are attracted because they see someone has taken note of something most people do not. They feel special and singled out. Someone finally understands some small private part of them or is at least interested in finding out. People want to be pried open and cared for. Most of them don't want it to be easy, so they close themselves up tight. They put up all sorts of traps and walls in the way so anybody who isn't serious can't get in. If they find someone has just slipped in and taken a peak, it gets to them. They think either their defenses weren't tough enough or this person is special.
I hope I'm wrong.

17th August 2007

12:52am: I find myself writing about his character a lot, even if he didn't say or do what I assigned to him. He's just a strong character, and a good source of material. I think I got the better part of the deal in the end.
Current Mood: okay

15th August 2007

11:58pm: I am shaving for the first time, and my aunt is in the next room. She is crying with my mother about something. They are both sitting hunched over the coffee table in front of a television set on mute. A pastor is waving his hands about hellfire excitably on it, as if he were telling a story to children. I look over at him for a moment, and I cut myself shaving for the first time. I tear a piece of toilet paper from the roll hanging from its station. I just hold the paper and stare at my face. There is about an inch long cut below my chin, slightly above my Adam's apple. There is a lot of blood for so little a cut. Is there more blood in my face than in the rest of my body? I wonder if there will be a scar. I've always wanted one, and one right on my neck would look real tough.

I look back out into the hall to my mother and aunt. I want to see how they'd react to seeing my bloody face. I bet it would get them to stop crying for a few moments. I'm sure I'd get in trouble for scaring Ma. It doesn't matter though, since neither of them are paying me any attention anyways. I stood there until some of the blood traveled down my face and a drop fell off my chin. I instinctively reached out for it and missed. It landed on the carpet in front of me.

I walked back into the bathroom and wiped off the blood from my face with the toilet paper.

13th August 2007

1:16am: And we have a man who speaks no words,
until he is desperate enough to find them.

every syllable he leaves torn up
crying, begging you for a moment:
his choice of tact, sad words,
they wring desk lamps like wet rags.

honestly, he's just scared shitless.
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