The (long) Lost Blogs

Sometimes a woman comes along and stabs you. Often times, this just heals up and you can't tell. Sometimes they stab you and the ensuing infection leaves a hideous scar on you for a lifetime. But as should happen once in every mans life, a women should come along and stab you, and you should bleed to death there on the spot.

Im still breathing.

It should be easy to tell someone that you love them. Today its met with fear and restraining orders and a long silence that is the worst answer you're not actually getting. It's plagued me, forever, when I didn't say it, I lost everything; when I did, I never lived up to its subjective meaning.

Now I hesitate as if its verbalization is the final killing blow that must be executed at a scientifically precise time lest I find myself killed by the beast or exercise too much force and find the remains to unsuitable to use.

Is love on par with karma and God and Descartes thought, or is it just the same as plague, and AIDS, holding people back from their dreams and desires?

Would it be cheesy, cliché and Gilmore Girls if I said "Fuck you love"? Maybe i'm just Ani DeFranco. May I find the will in me to let her go enough to tell her I love her.

"The world is like a ride at an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it, you think it's real, because that's how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down and around and around. It has thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud, and it's fun for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time and they begin to question, 'Is this real, or is this just a ride?' And other people have remembered, and they come back to us and they say, 'Hey, don't worry, don't be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.' And we kill those people. 'Shut him up! We have a lot invested in this ride! Shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry! Look at my big bank account, and my family! This has to be real.' It's just a ride, but we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that, and let the demons run amok? But it doesn't matter, because it's just a ride, and you can change it anytime you want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money, a choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your door, buy guns, and close yourself off. The eyes of love, instead, see all of us as one. Here's what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride: Take all of that money we spend on weapons and defense each year and instead, spend it feeding, clothing, and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded and we could explore space together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace."
- Bill Hick

In an effort to be more respectful of the other myspacers with blogs, I kick around every now and again to see who's writting and what their writing about. It helps me keep up with people I don't see often.

Anyways, not everyone writes to be entertaining, I try to but I fail more often than not, judging by the lack of responce. Long story short, I was inspiried by another persons blog on my friends list.

So I don't talk to her very often (and perhaps thats why I read her blog) but sarah wrote the following line: "I'm just kinda laying in bed watching the news thinking that my laundry is sitting in the dryer and I should probably go and get it."

Why that inspired me I don't know. But there are certain lines you can just feel and it must be an internal subjective thing because some of the most beautfiully impassioned lines (im told) that I've read moved me less than my tax returns. And then stuff like this, I can know what its like to be there, at some 45 degree angle not wanting to get up, and I can imagine my orange mermaid t-shirt 3 miles away in a well light coin-op laundry mat with they plastic covering the lights so dingy and yellow that it looks as though the room used Simpsons-yellow to color it in. I can imagine myself wondering what people think as the walk by it, I wonder if their stealing it. I can feel how soft and warm it is and the smell of the fabirc softer.

I can hear the television play garbled background to my inner thoughts and can hear the wind blow outside. Its drizzeling and im the only one home. I can see myself sitting in the orange chairs stairing into the tumbling laundry and imaging what its like out on the bridges that overlook the river. I can feel the mist and coastal winds grip my face and confuse the stars with office windows and satalite towers with passing planes. I imgaine being warm inside my coat like my t-shirt in the dryer and the warmth is that of safety. My face still feels the rush of adventure.

Now im wondering if thats my problem, if I'll only accept adventure when I've got one foot on the stable earth. Am I too cautionary? Do I take safe risks? Maybe I should risk it all and love my life as a hobo that sleeps under bridges. Maybe thats the issue, that im always thinking the worst will happen. Maybe I'll win big and have millions. Maybe I don't want money. Its responsibility. "mo' Money, mo' Problems." yeah I said it. eat shit.

That scene, I knew it as soon as it hit me, but how it led me here I don't know. I can't imagine that in any other city, and I don't even know why a city is relevent here...except that yes I do.

I feel kind of akward writing this out in the open like this especially when I don't know if anythings actually there. I mean with Marie of course. I mean, what if this is all fun and games? What if im wasting my fucking time.

Can I live here forever, will she want me to move, does she want me at all? I wonder sometimes what my appeal is? I mean, alot of people get involved with me because they think im a nice guy. Then they leave because they think im an ass. Is she going to be the same way? I wonder again if im assuming to much and she cares at all. Im such a ball of insecurities about this shit the normal part of me can't stand it.

It's lonly up here, on the bridge with the costal winds in the rain. Its adventure, but the sailors and pirates, with the wind at their backs and the rain in their face. They all had something to come home to. The warm in their coats, like the warmth of the t-shirts in the dryer. It was a warmth that they knew well, and she waited at home for them. I wonder sometimes if Im the only pirate with no one to go home to.

"I don't think love exists, and im not picking on love because I don't think friendship exists either." - John Beckwith, Wedding Crashers

I went home today and for 10 mins things were ok. The my father found the apathetic condition my drug-head brother left the kitchen in. Never have I heard a man say as hurtful things to someone as my father will say to my mother.

Once, back at the writers circle, while talking global politics with Abdu, he said to me, "this Dutch cartoon isn't a wound to the islamic community, its a poke, but it has poked an old wound that hasn't healed yet, which is the occupation of Iraq." It was something like that. Point is, my brother is a constant source of the anger and frustration that each of my parents have felt from marrige. My father seems him as the embodiment of everything that is wrong with my mothers genetic code (which is subjective mind you) and my mother sees it as everything thats wrong with my father specifically.

My father just screams, and my mother feels bad for Jarrod so she just hands out cash for stupidity. He's a detrement to all that matters, a black hole of empathetic morallity that society is built on. What kind of man leaves noodles all over the stove, dumps what he didn't eat in the sink, and allowed what ever he was cooking to explode in the microwave without cleaning it up. I may be a slob in the mind of some, but only in what is mine. You don't need to be in my room and/or car, but everything I use with other people is as clean as I found it. God I hate that kid.

Anyways, My brother pokes both of my parents, and Im just reminded what is and what should never be about marrige. It made me think I put too much stock into the women I date. Like I expect too much of them. I don't really have anywhere to dump all of my problems, theres no where I can really go to just tell people my day. Sometimes Megh listens to me, but I don't think its appropriate to constantly address things with her and we pass like ships in the night most times. Everyone else is either not a friend, too willing to talk about themselves, or not able to give a shit.

I guess I can just dump my shit here. Well MySpace, I want to get married, but I sometimes wonder if I just want something stable. I mean whos to say the marrige I jump into isn't as dysfunctional as the one I was looking to show up.

I don't know, and the other things thats pissing me off is not so much women but the idea of a significant other. Im going to cut out the roundabout talk here because this is taking too long.

I havn't had sex since like, last March, and frankly its pissing me off. I cna't make myself just sleep with any ho I meet that night, so really it coinsides with my inability to find a mate. And thats about as sticky a situation as it gets, I don't know what color the light is im stopped at, at this point, all I know is that im stopped.

I hate this entry and most things today, Im sorry if you made it this far. Tomorrow something happier, Ill even try for funny, don't hold your breath.

I always knew I'd end up here, but now that I have, I don't know where I am, or what im doing. You can never prepare yourself for loss.

Cliches are sad realities and everything familiar hurts to look at. Time alone only serves to remind you of other people and the future and present are passing fancies. The whole world becomes the past and memory.

What hurts more is that this quagmire is still moving, its nothing im stuck in, or am left with. Im knee deep in a "situation" and I seem to keep fucking it up. Everytime I'm depressed I make the worst decisions ever. Sadness robs me of knowing myself. What I feel I want, in hind-sight is the worst thing I could have asked for.

And I don't learn. Im looking for the door back out, or the door back in, But I don't have any senses left. Nothing give me the passion anymore, I cna't taste, everythings a chore.

Escapists have always confused me, I never knew why they couldn't find a way to make themselves the fun person they were when they had altered their reality. Now I think their just trying not to be themselves for a moment in time.

This is not an entry, but a series, and its a horrible start but im trying to feel my way around an emotional state in the dark with clamy hands, Theres no sharp emotional texture, its all vauge depressions in the flesh with an uncertain degree of pressure.

For entertainment purposes, I hope I regain feeling in my mind sooner than later. I'd cry for help to all of you, if I could realize what it was I'd be crying for exactly.

The pain of attrition is a psychological killer. Feeling like you can do nothing isn't the worst kind of pain, but its close.

She's miles away and I wish I could help. Im miles away and I wish I were older, on beyond age, and time and youth. Being a male at my age means being tied to change. You can't help but what to move on a do something else. I don't want something new or something else. I want what I want and for the first time I think I can honestly say I want what I love.

Still nothing. Away, away, away. Away is what I want, and what I can't get from that which I don't. I never wanted this. I was to play rogue sentry to the masses that followed you. My only salvation is that I've come to find the same is true. Or so I think. Maybe I'm as delusional as they are.

Here im followed by a great unwanted. And chase quick fix solutions that I can't catch, that wouldn't help me anyway. And neither can you. I lie awake in bed at night wishing the function of my arms could be fulfilled. They will fail me even with you here. You're as illusionary as they are, and in 10 years you'll be another scar on my left ventricle, and Ill tell me phantoms that I love you still today.

Please hear me out on this one. I don't think I'm telling you anything new Julia, but im a man. I make mistakes.We're all mortal.

I understand its the best for you, but its not very good for me, im dying here and I wonder if you can see it at all. I'm starved; romanticlly, soically...sexually.

I've tried to blind myself to the passions I know, but they don't catch my eye from across the room anymore. Thier here taking my palms down with their own. I'm looking into their soul here, I can smell them on my clothes. I know the smell of her flesh.

Yes, I know it borders on lewd, but its what i've reduced myself to. I cannot wait for the fantasys of distance and mind to manfiest in front of me. I can't see how this should come between us Julia, it was my most primal of needs coming out in natural nessecity.

Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't deserve you. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't there, sitting in her room everytime I closed my eyes at night. Sometimes I feel her lipsticks oiled texture on my neck as I try to wipe it off, and there in bed, when no one can see me. I close my eyes as tight as possible and see if I can still see her in the fuzz spots that form in my minds eye.

I don't know where I am half the time. I walk the noon time sun like its neon signs in the windows of late night diners. I step in puddles and watch my reflection ripple out from under my feet. I see what I've become, here amounst the filthy water, and I am left to wonder whether its the rain from my brim or the tears of another dead woman trapped in my imagination.