...a strong man pinching your nostrils shut and grabbing your throat

...a hammer lightly tapping the front of your skull, between your eyes

...a huge weight set on you shoulders, restricting your breathing

...periodic violent choking that fills your mouth with vile fluid

...a bat to your ribs

Imagine all that and you'll get some idea of how bad my allergies are today.  

can I do anything right today?

on that thought, have I done anything right this year?  hehe, I can't remember

christ, I'm not even on drugs and everything is hazy

its like that bad part of an acid trip...everything was going great, and it all goes wrong

spring break sucks so far

I need a real vacation

and maybe a lesson in humility

and humor

can it make sense to hate yourself for hating yourself?  I'm becoming inured to the pain....

why this latest emo rant?  Its midnight, I'm fucking tired, I feel like an idiot, and I'm lonely

interestingly, filling that gap that love once occupied with friends is not working

not even a little

hehe, Dane Cook says in one of his acts "When you aren't in love, EVERYBODY you know is in love."  xD  funny, because its true

and me?  what do I want to do?  I want to scream...not for the attention, but for the release...everything builds and swirls, colors unimagined, gorgeous and hideous, and I want to bleed it all out

and as I write this sentence, el hombre de blanco has returned to the fore of my mind

"Hello there.   I will be your murderer today."  I say.

He doesn't respond, and I laugh.

Its gonna be a long night. 

I've started this new position, up with Corrections Law.  I must say its very different than the Supply Room.  Proportionally, its divided about the same, between physical and computer labor.  But what I find most interesting is how "nice" everyone is.

You know...that nice where they don't want to be bothered with you but they also don't want you to hate them, so they place "nice" until they can get you to walk away?  Just a bunch of fake smiles and yes-sirs.  What's sad is I can already tell who the really nice people are, and they too are stuck in the perpetual rhythm of the lies.  But hey, that's what we get for working under the bureacracy of bureacracies.

It tickles my fancy for acting and my attraction towards games of deceit and whatnot, but I imagine I'm going to get pretty fucking tired of it.

Hehe, when I went down to pick up some tape for sealing boxes of documents, I went to the reception area to find out where a certain supervisor was.  One of the receptionists, who may very well be among the top five most beautiful women I have ever personally met, was there and I asked her if she knew where the supervisor was.

You know that look a person gets when they feel like they will be infected by something?  Like turning the corner and finding something rotting on the floor, or realising that you're eating a moldy piece of bread?  That's the look she gave me.

xD  Man, that hit me hard.  I know I'm ugly, or at the best of times, tolerable.  But man that look sunk my spirits.  It took all of my resolve not to show how it affected me, and I'm still not sure my straight face held.  The worst part?  This woman is a genuinely nice person, with a very soft way of talking and an air of innocence about her...which of course makes me think her look is justified because she'd have no ulterior motives to do that.  Did I mention I was thinking about asking her out?  Hehe...oh well.

To her credit, she recovered quickly and smiled and answered the question as best she could.  But at that point, I only half-payed attention as I was trying to stop my wounded pride from bleeding all over the place.  Well, all I can do is laugh, dust off, and get back to it.  I mean, what else is there to do?

Last night, I had a dream, a dream so real I swore it was reality.  All I know is that I was in the arms of a woman, a woman I loved and who loved me.  I could feel her warmth, her quiet strength.

And then he took it.  Her face, the feeling, all gone.  He took them, so that only a clouded memory remains.

I want that dream again.  I want to fall into it and be lost forever, to hold this woman again.  But he won't let me.

I hate him.  I hate him with all my soul.  But this is what he wants.

I wage epic wars with him, in a vain effort to reclaim what he has stolen and destroyed, or just to see his blood spilt.  But it will never be enough.

Come for me again you bastard.  If you come for me again, I will rip you limb from limb.  I will drink your blood from your skull and feed you to my wolves.  And should you rise again, I will be there.  I am done being the prey in my own domain.  Meet your destroyer.

Why?

Again.  It happened again.

Can I really be that hideous?  Can I really be that repulsive?  Does trying to be a good person count for nothing anymore?  Even the ones that know me, that have a favorable opinion of my personality...even they can't, won't, whatever.

I want to laugh.  I want to cry.  I want to rage.  I want to stop wanting.

There's no other explanation.  They recoil, they patronize, they smile through their teeth at me.  They fear me so much that they can't even tell me to my face that they can't, that they won't.  I'm told what "a wonderful friend" I am by those from whom I wish more than friendship.  I'm told how "there's someone out there for everyone" by those from whom I want helpful advice from.   Son of a bitch, I can't even get a straight "no" anymore.

I crack jokes about emo kids, I make fun when people think the world has turned against them.  I tell them that we are all too insignificant in the scheme of things to be involved in some big conspiracy.  And yet, here I am now, looking for something or someone to hate because I don't want to hate myself anymore.  Looking for someone to blame, some exterior force that is denying me everything that I want emotionally.  And yet I find nothing but my ugly hide. 

I can't do what I want, I can't say what I want, I can't feel what I want, because I try to match an ever changing image of what I'm told is an ideal.  I don't have the money to buy a new face.  I don't have the time to forge a new body.  So I try to be funny.  I try to be entertaining.  I try to be truthful, loyal, kind, helpful, considerate, aware, sympathetic, empathetic, strong, confident, humble, caring, farsighted, well read, cunning, sly, aggressive, reserved- everything I've been told I need to be or need to improve on.  And I have.  I've been all of these things and more.

So that leaves two conclusions.  One, I'm being lied to, even by those who say they care for me, who love and loved me, who call themselves my friends.  Two, that I am so disgusting, so physically undesirable that the mere thought of my embrace carries more dead weight than my personality does life.  Tell me now, which is it? I don't know anymore.

I sit here and clench my fists, listening to the friction of my fingers against the rough skin of my palms.  It is the only sound I hear.

Karen told me that rage, filling the gap of loneliness in me with hatred, was the pussy's way out.   But what good does anything else bring me?  I could sit here and shed tears, confess my sorrows like a blithering mess of an idiot.  But it solves nothing.  I'm left without solution or confidence.  I could laugh.  I could marvel at my misfortune, at the irony of it all, but that too leaves me sitting here with no solution or drive.  At least the hate makes me strong.

So you might say, "dust yourself off and try again" or "gotta get back up on that horse."  Yeah, you know, you're probably right.  That's probably exactly what I'm going to do.

"Too weak to give in, too strong to lose."

This hurts like nothing I've ever felt before.  I've built my life around the respect for physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual strength.

And what do I hear now? From my parents, from my family, from my friends, from those I want to love me?  What would best surmise that with which I have been officially labeled?

"You are inadequate.  You are unworthy."

Its going to be a long night.
 

Hehe, I'm rather embarrassed at that last little tirade. Not for its truth, because I really do feel that, but I'm supposed to be better than that.

I pride myself on my physical and mental strength, but I do have my lapses in concentration.

At times, I think..."You just came off of the best relationship you've ever had. Its only been 4 months, and you were spoiled with her, so now its time to get back to reality. Stop pissing and moaning around."

Other times, I think what I wrote in the last post.

Amongst most of the people that know me, I'm implacable. Stubborn and unmovable as a mountain, with a tendency towards cold aloofness and a harsh sense of humor. I've even been told by some that they admire me for my resoluteness, my ability to get hit and not flinch, or at least, get back on my feet again. (I mean that last part both figuratively and literally)

A few, like Karen, Maria, Erica, Katie, Manuel, or David know that behind closed doors, where I think my privacy is safe, I'm a big sap. I'm prone to becoming emotional and overly apologetic, even a little afraid of myself. Possibly the worst part is that those aforementioned people, because I value them so much, have to put up with a terrible and rude sense of humor

I've never believed in things I can't see, and put much more faith in things that most people would think are illusions. Some might be puzzled by this, as I am an adamant Roman Catholic, but I've seen God, Christ, and many an angel and demon, so its rather hard for me to say they don't exist. The point is that I don't believe in luck or exterior forces controlling me or influencing my nature or life. The outburst on the 7th was a direct result of that, because I really do believe that I am physically unattractive and it is this that causes and compounds my recent relationship roadblocks.

(Hehe, one can read that sentence two ways: either its the unattractiveness that is the cause, or my belief in it; I'm not sure which)

It hurts. It hurts because its always painful to feel rejection and loneliness. But it hurts moreso now because I seem to have little control. Problems in the past I could, as the saying goes "take the bull by the horns" and apply my preferred method of force of will or body to it, and get it to go my way. But I can't force love from someone, no more than I can force the world to stop spinning.

So what will I do? I'm not sure. I'll start off wading back into the fire for now, but I'm unsure where to go from there. I've been told, or rather, reminded, of a new weapon: casual disdain. It seems that you ladies see confidence where I have been seeing rude manner. Somehow, and God claim me if I know why, to lie and act like I don't need a woman when courting one comes off as intriguing or attractive if done properly. It is unventured territory for me, but I'm hoping it will work. Otherwise I'll have a side order of guilt trip to go with my plate of rejection and shame.

I'm staring at the faces of my lovely little demons, in this moment that is supposed to be happy.

I laugh.

They grow angry with me.  I should have broken my spirit by now.  I should have given in to what they want.  Any sane man would.

I am not sane.

Quote of the Day:

"Hi there.  My name is John.  You are in violation of the balance.  Leave immediately, or I will deport you. 

All of you.  Go to hell." - John Constantine to a large group of demons. 

A question:

Why is it "immature" to love fantasy?

It is seen as childish or silly, nothing more than a temporary fix for those who don't want to deal with their own problems.

It could be the truth for some.  But for many people, this simple assumption is terribly incorrect.

We want more than we can achieve.  It is this drive that leads humanity to greatness, to render the unknown and impossible down to its constituent parts, make it known, and make it possible.  It is this same glorious drive that allows the imagination to conceive of impossible realms of faerie and power.

Fantasy lets us give our hopes, dreams, fears, loves, and pains new life, an aspect that makes it both vivid and personal.  What benefits do Elves, Orcs, Dwarves, Trolls, Angels, Demons, Spirits or Goblins grant us?  They grant us a communal identity as humankind and show man how the path to extremes changes and alters one's fate.  Fantasy makes man into human.

It is in these realms of fantastical imagination and impossibility that our most human and real side comes forth, passion flowing like wine, power withstanding like a mountain.

It is an escape.  But it is a necessary one.  It frees us from the drudgery of monotonous, everyday life.  It gives us examples on how we might see light and darkness in our own world.  It gives a new perspective on values and needs, instead of those conjured by the few who, for purposes of self gain, seek to impose their values and needs on us.

Never have I felt more alive than in my own mind and imagination.

Reverend Jesse Custer, protagonist in the comic "Preacher" has this to say to his girlfriend about why men try to protect women.

"Seems to me there's something you don't know about men, and that's that we can't help this shit.  I mean, I don't know if its genetic, or if its to do with what we get taught, or if its just because it's expected of us- but it's what we do, okay?  Because to help a girl when she's in trouble, or stop her getting into trouble, is just the right goddamn thing to do.  And I know you're as smart as me, and as capable, and my equal at just about everything- I know you're empowered, or whatever the hell you call it- but I swear, I even think about a single hair on you head getting harmed and all that bullshit goes right out the fucking window..."

"My point is, there's only one thing in this life that scares me, and that's the thought of you getting hurt again."

Point to the Reverend Custer.

Ouch.  The man in white almost broke through.  I was having a fairly enjoyable, albeit slightly dying chat with some guildies, and he jumped to the front of my head.  I tried talking to start talking to Karen, hoping it would drive him off, but she wasn't actually around, so it didn't work.  To any of the guild members who may ever read this, I apologize for bailing.  And if you do read this, you'll understand why I can't explain.

He's not choosing the bad times anymore.  Before, I guess his goal was to try and make the shitty days unbearable, but I'm too stubborn for that.  Now, he's making moves when I'm enjoying myself, I assume to damage my credibility or, at the very least, sour my happiness.

I know he's a figment of my imagination.  I know he isn't real.  I know its my mind giving my fears form.  But I'm having trouble explaining why my mind would be ruining things it enjoys.  So I blame him for now, because its easier to think of it that way.  Of course, I may be getting so used to the pain that I'm subconsciously rejecting good.  But I refuse to concede.  Why?  Well, it wouldn't be me otherwise. 

You need to get a grip of yourself before you act stupid.

I'm laughing my fool head off right now.

There is this image from a book I read where a warrior is standing amidst a broken city.  The people have been saved, but the city is burning.  And from the carnage steps forth an enemy which, for lack of a better phrase, is unto death itself for the warrior.  He laughs, finally ecstatic because all of his charges and hopes are crumbling around him, and things become simple.  He laughs at the face of his enemy, finally happy to see the eternal peace near.

Am I committing suicide?  Nope.  Too proud for that.

But I can only hold myself up for a little while longer.  Hehe, my passions are getting the better of me and it seems only a matter of time before I take my notions of honor and boundaries and throw them out the window with the force of a hurricane.

You fool.  You've been denying the slavering beast for too long.

My mind and heart disintegrate, but not so much that I am granted an ignorant bliss of not knowing its happening.

I'm laughing my fool head off right now.

Let the good times roll.

http://radioblogclub.com/open/59351/thanks_for_the_memories/%5Binfeksion%5D%20FOB%20-%20thanks%20for%20the%20memories 

It seems he won't listen

Like he's trying to ignore the past.

And all you want to say is that you miss him,

Burning with the pain of being left for last.

You have every right to be mad,

To be angry, to hold a grudge,

Because he almost ruined what you had

And still refuses to budge.

For reasons unbeknownst to me,

You chose to ride the storm out.

And now you have him back and ready,

Ready to be with you and ease your doubt.

He loves you and you love him. 

He may be a jerk, a fool, and just a man.

To forgive him for the occassional sin,

Please, do what you would and what you can.

You are in the right and he was in the wrong,

But there will be time to plead your case.

You need each others' warm embrace,

So that you both can remain strong.

http://radioblogclub.com/open/141230/nickelback_animals/Nickelback%20-%20Animals

Hehe, swamped with work and I'm glad I brought my mp3 player.  Convenient little bastard it is.  The above link is the first song that came up, and it got me pumped.  Speaks of losing inhibitions and letting the inner beast in all of us out.  And having sex along the way

stop it, please stop it

I can't take it anymore

please stop

these are delusions, nothing more 

you can hurt too many people

don't be so selfish

but its true

NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!

You are stronger than this!  You are the visage of resilience.  Nothing can stop you.  This is another foolish emotion of something that cannot happen.  You will isolate it and destroy it.  Nothing else is required.

Don't be stupid. 

Do you have any idea how much she loves you? Any idea?

You were gone for weeks, for whatever reason. She never once strayed. Everyday its incredibly obvious how she feels about you. She's beaming when you do something fun together, she's distraught when she thinks you might be mad or ignoring her.

I don't know if you're trying to push her back a little, if you really think my motives are suspect, or if its some silly matter of pride, that it insults you to think of your woman talking to another guy. But it doesn't matter.

If I wanted her, she'd know it and you'd know it. I've never been shy about my feelings, and when I want something, I go out and try to take it. I don't wait for it to come to me.

All I'm asking is to enjoy a movie with my friend. There is no reason not to trust me, and especially no reason not to trust her. You don't need to be a pain about this.

You're a good guy. You're funny, more handsome than I am, intelligent, and you have her wrapped around your little finger.  Why would she pick me?  I'd be honored to call you a friend. But she's my friend already. And I think its more than fair for you to trust her and I.

Oh, and before you accuse me of butting into your relationship, let me say this. Your relationship is your business. I am not trying to sabotage it. I'm not that underhanded. I'm not telling you to be a better boyfriend, and I'm not saying you're a bad person. I don't know you well enough. But I know her. And I don't care who you are, she's a saint and deserves more trust that what she gets from you now.

Well, I feel pretty goddamn good today.  I'm in my good jeans, a nice blue shirt, and black shoes and leather jacket.  I've never been one to care about how I look to people, as long as my objectives get accomplished and my appearance doesn't create problems for me.  But I do enjoy that feeling of looking good.  It helps confidence and posture, and gives me a reason to strut, aside from my own arrogance

Hehe, I'm required to go to the mailroom later with a shipment of boxes.  I think I'll use this confidence to ask the cutie working there if she will be interested in a cup of coffee

And the fire alarm goes off....shit.

There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea.
You became the light on the dark side of me.
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill.
But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and
The light that you shine can be seen.
Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh,
The more I get of you,
Stranger it feels, yeah.
And now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey.
There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
You remain,
My power, my pleasure, my pain, baby
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny.
Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?
But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen.
Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you
Stranger it feels, yeah
Now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey,
I've been kissed by a rose on the grave,
I've been kissed by a rose
I've been kissed by a rose on the grave,
...And if I should fall along the way
I've been kissed by a rose
...been kissed by a rose on the grave.
There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
You remain
My power, my pleasure, my pain.
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny, yeah
Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby.
But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen.
Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you
Stranger it feels, yeah
Now that your rose is in bloom,
A light hits the gloom on the grey.
Yes I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey
Ooh, the more I get of you
Stranger it feels, yeah
And now that your rose is in bloom
A light hits the gloom on the grey
Now that your rose is in bloom,
A light hits the gloom on the grey.

Beautiful.

http://radioblogclub.com/open/118508/kiss_from_a_rose/Seal%20-%20Kiss%20From%20A%20Rose

I've had a pretty shitty day. First, I get a warning that an old enemy is back in town and wants to pay me a visit. Which is fine, nothing I can't handle, but when I ask my brother for backup, he says no. I've bloodied myself and my brother's enemies, and asked nothing in return until now. So we argued and he stormed off.

Second, I failed my last pre-cal test. I've done very well on the others, but I mixed up some identities and got half the questions wrong.

For the lovely toping for this shit-flavored cake of a day, I left class early, being disappointed and frustrated about the bad test score, and when I got home, my old man freaks out because he thinks I'm ditching again. Even after I show him the test score to prove I went.

So why is there a smiley face in the title? Do I have a morbid sense of sarcastic humor? Well of course I do But that's not the point.

I go to the fridge because I want a beer. I haven't had one in a long time, and I'm thinking maybe getting a little drunk will distract me. I open the door and something green catches my eye. A little box of minute maid apple juice is sitting there. Karen gave it to me, leaving it in my car on Saturday, hoping I would drink it. I told her I would, but I hadn't until now. I grabbed it, came to my computer and started writing this entry.

Right now, the apple juice is sweet, cold, and tasty. The sun is out and the wind pours gently through my window. And as for those other issues I just mentioned? I don't give a shit. ^_^

And thank you for the appa juice  

Well well well.

You've come back to town for a while.  And word has it you want to see me?

I wonder what we could ever have to talk about....

I hope for your sake that you've learned to be diplomatic.

If you haven't, I won't hold back this time.

And for those of you that know him, pass him this message here.  A warning would do him some good. 

http://radioblogclub.com/open/130148/lost_in_hollywood/system%20of%20a%20down%20-%20mezmerize%20-%20lost%20in%20hollywood

Give it a listen.  You might learn something  

http://www.cripplingdepression.com/index/113

Enough said. 

I've cried two times in my life.

The first was in the fourth grade when I fought three sixth graders. They beat the hell out of me and it hurt pretty bad. What happened to help me? My father let me cry, and then he told me to go back to school and beat the shit out of each one of them individually, which I did. It was a weird way of consolation, but it helped nonetheless.

The second was when my mom went in for knee surgery. I was being strong for everyone else, telling them that there were good doctors helping my mom. But in truth, the doubt and worries that plagued them all seemed to focus in my mind, as if I was gathering the fear from them into myself. Charlene was the only person who knew, and when I broke into sobbing at her house, she rubbed my head and hugged me.

I now have a third.

You see, my mother is the sweetest woman I've ever known. She wouldn't hurt a fly, and she is generous to a fault. If you don't like her, there is something deeply wrong with you. There is no debating that fact either. It is impossible for a sane person not to like someone who is so genuinely nice.

It is doubly ironic that just last night, I explained my worst dream ever to Karen, because now that dream has been replaced in its horror.

I'm sitting in my living room, chatting and drinking with Karen and her sister Jen, having a great time. I hear two gunshots coming from down the hallway. I'm on my feet faster than I can even think about it, and I order Karen and Jen to get the hell out of the house and run. As I begin to run down the hallway, my brother pops out of our room and cuts me off. He has heard the shots too and is running towards the source. A second pair of shots ring out, though I don't know the target yet. My brother gets to the end first, and looks left into my sister's room with terror on his face. I know in that moment that my sister is dead. He looks to my parent's room, and only says "No....why?" before he is shot three times in the chest. Without thought to my own safety, I round the corner and see my mom standing there with a handgun, every round of ammunition expended. My father is dead on the bed, shot twice in the head. My sister is laying in her own blood behind me, as is my brother. And my mom killed them all. She reaches for another magazine, and hammers it into the gun. She raises it up and aims at me, but I'm quicker than she is. I grab her wrist and aim it at the wall as she pulls the trigger, hitting the off-gray wall several times. With every ounce of strength in my body and tears streaming down my face, I punch her as hard as I can in her chest. In that instant, I feel her ribs break and her heartbeat go irregular, and I know I've killed her. She drops the gun and stands for a moment before pulling down the blankets and getting into bed next to my dad. She asks me to give her a kiss good night and says thank you. She goes to sleep, never to wake up again.

I'm crying over her body, holding her. I get up and walk down the hallway, staggering out of the front door of the house, into the yard. Karen and Jen are standing on the sidewalk and I walk toward them, but before I can make it, I collapse and fall. They run up to me and try to get me to stand. I roll over and they see my filthy and teary face and they gasp. I look up and say "Its over. You're safe. I finished it....I killed her." I pass out as I see both of them crying in terror and confusion.

And then I wake up. I cried for about ten minutes in the shower, screaming and raging at myself because I had no other focus for my pain. That was the third time in my life I cried.

Actually, as I write this, I'm tearing up, so I guess you can add number four.

And nothing and no one is here to make the pain easier this time.