Swan Song

I have been told a lot of things this year and I have refused to believe a lot more. There have been things people have told me that they perceived as plainly obvious but I have brushed off as false. Why? Because I believed they were false. I knew my perception was right yet theres was a little part of me that told me everyone else had the correct assumption. Whenever I'm right, I feel a fit of joy, a sort of euphoria form being correct and proving many others wrong. But when I'm wrong, I never know how to feel. I should be miffed because I was proven wrong, but at the same time I feel a sort of relief that I no longer need to hide from the truth anymore.
Last night I had a dream. Within the dream I had felt betrayed and mortified form the actions that had taken place, when in reality, in the conscious world I wouldn't show so much as a cringe to the event. Within the dream I threw the biggest fit. I threw things around and destroyed things I thought meant a lot to me. I had just felt betrayed. But I shouldn't. It would have had nothing to do with me in this world. Through that dream I realized that everyone was right about me when it came to things I didn't even know I was hiding. I know why I threw the fit. I know why I felt so offended. I care...I care a lot...I care so much. Everything makes sense now. Everyone was right to judge me.

To judge me and the other.


This was the 30th blog entry and will be the last post of the year. Until January 14th, "If you read...you'll Judge" will be on hiatus. I will not stop writing possible blog entries, so when I finally return from the holidays, I'll be able to post things rapid fire. But I need a break from servitude. These blogs are therapeutic, yet routine. I hope you enjoyed the "Deciduous Wing" saga. I'm currently working on a new, longer, more meaningful story based on current events I have found myself in the middle of. I'll probably do it in regular vernacular rather than poetry form to get the point across much more clearly. But maybe I transfer it into poetry form If im up to it. As of now, I've called it "Sleep Apnea". All I'm divulging at the moment is that it involves a comatose patient and her husband. Not to mention I've already began a third story that I'll probably work on after "Sleep Apnea" that is based on the dream from yesterday. But thats not until a few months from now.
Next year will be a whole new year....new beginnings. 'Till then, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy New Years.

Goodbye December.

Check it out....

....all through out the day tomorrow (12/11/07) I'm going to be posting a five part short story told in the form of poetry (i.e. stanzas, rhymes, what-not). Kind of like a "Divine Comedy" sort of text. Since my poetry is often cryptic, I'll give you the gist of what the story is about:

An angel is denied entrance into heaven after his "friend" denies his entry. As the aforementioned angel prepares for his trip to hell, he decides to show God that the angel who denied him is really a devil in disguise. As God turns a deaf ear to his plea, he plots to simply kill the angel himself and drag him to hell with him.

This entire story is based on the people you meet in life who you think you can trust, then they simply turn their back on you for no apparent reason. You want revenge or closure, but it always ends with you finding out something you didn't need to know or experience a consequence you didn't need to suffer.

And I've been through that many a time. But one specific time...

Guilts Inferno

I wonder how it's like to see a building burn down?
To see people screaming for their lives. You're just standing there, helpless to do anything about it. You want to help but you can't. You wish you could just run in there and put out the fire but your risking your own life and possibly adding to the already growing list of casualties. So all you can do is stand there. People are screaming for help...your help.
You want to help, you can't deny that. If it were up to you you would break open the nearest fire extinguisher and drenching the building in H2O-like freedom. But you can't. You don't have that kind of power. You want everyone to be well. But they can't. You yearn for everyones happiness. But you know that everyone can't have it. They'll die in that fire. The ones who escape will live, but you can't help but think about the ones who didn't.
You know you didn't start the fire, but for no reason at all you feel guilty. You feel like you had the power to prevent it even though you had nothing to do with it's ignition. Watching a building burn doing engulfs you in guilt like the flames covering the building. You wish you can help....but you can't and you can never shake the feeling that, even though there was absolutely no way you could have helped, you're to blame. But it's not you're fault. It's just not.

Without fire or the destruction of lives or a building, from what happened last night between a few friends, I now know that feeling of a burning building.

Team Mirrorshot (Rank #2)

Myspace isn't exactly a place where you can truthfully tell others who you are. Sure, there are some things you tell, but other things that you either embellish about or just don't mention. But that's nothing compared to a group of people I call "Team Mirror-shot".

Myspace may be filled with a few white lies, but the most fake and inauthentic thing I see on Myspace are the "Mirror-shot" people. Let me explain this "Mirror-shot":
A mirror shot is when someone takes their digital camera into the bathroom with them with the specific purpose of taking a pseudo-sexy shot of themselves in front of a mirror. There really is no purpose to this photo opportunity besides and incredible hunger to be called a whore. For the only reason you're taking these pictures is to show off how easy you really are because you'll show off your goods in front of a mirror and post it in your profile for the whole world to see.
You narcissistic whore!!!

You put these lame and pathetic pictures on your page to show off that you can be "hot and sexy" and be nice and humble and "enjoy long walks on a quiet moon-lit night" as well. You think that counteracting the pictures with the words you say will draw any attention away from how slutty you look in those photos? NO Bitch!!!
You're drawing attention to the fact that you're are in serious need of anonymous dick inside of you and nothing else.
If you disagree with the notion that all you "Mirror-shot" people with the notion that all you want is attention and sex, why else would you be posting semi-pornographic of yourself with the intention of catching the eye of new "friends". You crave attention and you figure the only way you can get any is whoring yourself to random people. You think you're sexy by taking these photos of a mirror while looking away [you were prepared to be taken a picture of, don't pretend you didn't know the camera went off and you were pouting...bitch!!] but you're not. It's not sexy to be a fucking cum dumpster. It's not sexy to put yourself out there as an object rather than a person. You know what is sexy: self respect.

I'm not saying pictures shouldn't showcase who you are [I personally hate it when people use group pictures as their MAIN picture. One or two other people, fine. But a group...come on....but that's a whole other rant entirely] I'm just saying that if it's a picture of you....it's a picture of YOU. Not of who you want people to think you are. If you can, make it a picture of you when you were honestly not ready. There's no hiding then. That's how life is....unplanned. Nobody wants to know who you aren't. Show us who you are when your inhibitions are thrown to the wind and you're just out in the world being yourself...not in a bathroom in front of a mirror.
Unless it's funny. Because bathrooms are NOT SEXY!!!!!!

For God sakes, 75% of the time the toilet is plainly visible in the picture!!

Tuesdays With Marcus

I got up this morning and, like always, I didn't want to get up. Although, today more than usual. After all of my years of schooling, I always thought that the most disheartening thing in the world is hearing that alarm clock blasting away at my eardrums, completely destroying them in an attempt to wake me from my most peaceful slumber. The second I awake from hearing that alarm go off, I automatically know that the day ahead of me will not be a relaxing one.
When you hear that alarm, you instantaneously know that you were driven out of your euphoric dreams in order to perform an incredibly displeasing task for the day [work, school, picking/dropping someone off...we all hate these come the morning].

Today I heard that alarm clock knowing I had another ritualistic Tuesday morning ahead of me: Get my "less than 8" hours of sleep, wake up with absolutely no time to groom myself, I leave the house unheard and without notice from my parents, I race to the nearest bus stop and get on the first orange/white monster that races my way at 10 miles per hour.

As of late, I've had to deal with an apparent schedule change within the metro system. Nowadays, even my best efforts to make it out of the house before the stroke of six can't help me make the bus on time. I may make the first bus, but die to the changes, by the time I get to Lakewood/Firestone, that second bus has already taken off. Soon there after I'm left with the 30-40 minute wait for the next bus that I've become so accustomed to. Every week for close to two months, I've managed to rush out of the house only to have to wait as long as the average tardy person. I'll wait for the bus and slowly lose my temper which is something I NEVER do. I have no tim efor anything because I fear That I will not make it on time. Between the time I leave the house and the time I get there, there is nothing but worry, stress, and unrelenting fear. I hate Tuesdays with a passion.

I woke up today not caring.

It didn't matter whether I was late or not today. It's close to the end of the mester, and the teachers have all stopped caring. I didn't rush out today. When I woke up I sat at the side of my bed for five minutes contemplating whether or not I should even leave my room. When I finally went into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I decided to at least run my hand through my hair so that it at least appears "Not" slept-on. After that I turned the water and just stared at my ever-glassy eyes in the mirror for a few minutes. I looked at my blood-red eyes and wondered why I was punishing myself so much with this mundane and excruciatingly painful routine. I didn't deserve it. I don't deserve it.

Today, as I left the house, I stopped to throw the morning paper inside the house. I walked at a much slower pace (granted, I sped up because the cold air was REALLY starting to get to me). As I waited at Firestone/Otis, I didn't even notice that the bus was about a minute late. Normally I would be furious over a single second...but no. I was just standing there, listening to the Mars Volta, not a care in the world. After a while, I had forgotten what I was even waiting for. It didn't matter. Unlike other times when I would wait at the "In N Out" and slowly lose my temper at the bus that wouldn't come for another 25 minutes, I didn't even bother looking at my watch. I didn't even notice that the bus came five minutes earlier. The ride to Lakewood took even less time than it normally would. After awhile, I had even forgotten about why I was even on a bus. Normally when I get there I would only have a few minutes before my art history class would start.
Today I was a full hour and fifteen minutes early.

I may have deviated from my opening "alarm clock" theme, but I feel as though I have vented my frustrations to the point where I can finally perform a sigh of relief. Mmmmm....haven't had one of those in years. I once heard a saying in a movie (It was "Fight Club" by the way) that was rather lugubrious when I first read it, but now it makes so much sense:

Losing all hope is freedom.

Reader Discretion Advised

Two things...

1)My internet hasn't been working as well as it should be working as of late. I have been randomly cut off in conversation during my many sessions in Yahoo messenger. I can't talk to anyone anymore because I will randomly be cut off and the other person will think I ditched them. Granted, I only talk to about 7 or 8 people, but they're still friends damn it. Especially the one who i've managed to keep in contact with EVERYDAY despite me being here and her being in Irvine...she keeps me sane. I can't use AIM, I can't log into my college's website, I have a whole five muntes to type these blogs up. Though I've managed a new and much more useful and efficient way of typing these involving Mac office, it's still annoying.
So i've decided to shorten the lenths of the blogs and get straight to the point. It is when my internet is working PERFECTLY once again when I will increase the size to normal again.

2) I have a few "poems" written up that I will start posting over the next few days. I'd like to remind as well as tell for the first time that my "poems" are completely open to interpretation. Sure, I wrote them with a meaning and direct purpose behind the words, but I wrote them in a manner that is so convoluted and confusing to even decipher that reading it will often confuse and turn away anyway. I wrote them in that manner on purpose. I don't like confining a single meaning into one set of words. I have my interpretations and you'll have yours. I'm warning you that a lot of it will disgust you, worry for my mental health, and probably completely scare away if deciphered in a certain manner. But I promise you, NONE of the poems I ever write are meant to be taken literally. They are very dark in nature (as you most likely have already seen in the previous three) and often confused with suicide notes.
They aren't.
Now normally I'll end a blog with a final line of significance that sums up the deeper meaning of the blog that was just written. Unfortunately, there really is no lesson to this blog. So I'll end it in a non-nonsensical set of random words and text-language:

Jub jub =}

Goodbye December

It's a new month.
December.
My personal (second) favorite month. Next to September.
Why the preference you ask? Fuck you! But if you really have to know:
I believe that it's the lugubrious nature of the two months that draws my interest so much. Every time I think of December I think of trees covered in snow during a storm. I think of an empty house lit by a single candle. I think of silence. I think of peace. I think of joy.

September means the end of an age. Well, for me anyway. It is the end of confusion and a new beginning. As I exit one age, I enter another. In a way, December is the universal birth month for everyone on the planet. It's Christmas time!
As a kid, that's what used to get me excited about December. A time of presents, and Christmas trees, and TV specials, "How the Grinch stole Christmas" and that Charlie Brown thing-a-ma-jig. I think of brotherhood, a time where all differences and grievances are put aside for at least a few days. It used to be a month of Santa and his reindeer coming to my house to leave me that BIG gift i asked for. But time moved on. I grew older. December wasn't Christmas anymore. It was something else. Something with more substance. It was a month that could mirror my inner feelings. A month where I can relate to the chill of the wind and the fall of the snow (or in my case the rain.) December is my month...for now. How long this will last, I do not know. As time moves on, so does everyones personality and preferences. With every December comes the "new" year. We can never stop it. It seems as though a year never seems long enough to us. Whether it would be twelve months, or twenty four months, or however long a year would ever last, every years end feels like the end of the "new" year than the old one. We never feels like the year is less than new until that last day: December 31st. Then once that day comes, we prepare for the even "newer" year, and the cycle continues. The year goes by so fast, we never know how to handle it properly. It speeds by so quickly it leaves us all in a daze as to what really happened within the course of one solitary year.
But, with the end of the year, the confusion of the old new-year ends, and a new beginnings of the new new-year commences. Then that year goes by in a haze as well...and the cycle will never end.

It's amazing how how life goes so fast that it won't let you enjoy it yet allows you enough time to know it's there.
Just enough time for joy...
...just enough time for peace...
...just enough time for silence.

Meh...

Meh...
it's what i say when i don't care for something. When something doesn't "wow" me or just plain fell flat in impressing me. For example, this is yet another filler blog. A very "meh" blog. I probably won't remember writing it as you probably won't remember reading it. This, just like a few other blogs, aren't very breathtaking blogs. I seem to be posting a lot of these lately. Kinda sad.
Is my life that devoid of entertainment that I can't come up with a single interesting thing to write about from a 24 hour period of living.?
Ok, let me give it a try...
I got my Macbook back after having it's hard drive die. Yep, die. I took it in to get it fixed and blah blah blah...see I don't even care about that. Yes I'm happy that I have it back and am now using a superior computer, but what does it really matter in the long run.
If I walk down the street and some crazy crack head stops me, pulls out a gun and points the barrel straight at my head and he pulls the trigger...what will a working laptop matter?
Sure, my loved ones may feel sad about my death, but people who see this on the news (if my death is even important enough to make the news that is) who have no idea who I am will look at the newscast and for one day, if even that long, will care about a dying young teenager in lower-middle class America.

When that day finishes they'll wake up the next day with a vague memory of the newscast before and simply utter the word "...meh."

Sexy Filler

This is a random blog about sex. (as suggested by a bud O' Mine)

Doesn't anyone but me realise that sex (or making love) isn't as "beautiful" an act as people make it out to be? Two people joining together in a seremony of sorts of love. When you get right down to it, it's a guy sticking his dick in a womans vagina until he ejacultes semen in or around said woman.

So beautiful?

Then again...

I wonder how it must be to be a pron star then...where your job is doing nothing but having sex with several, sometimes annoymous, partners. Soing an act thats supposed to be pleasurable to do everyday as a JOB. Everyday doing the same thing, same positions, same acts,...different people though. Developing and destroying relationships simultaneously. Sex is no longer an act of love or pleasure but just an activity you have to do everyday. Having sex is no longer looked forward to but is dreaded as much as going into work on a Monday morning.

Walking that same rut everyday, going in and coming out (pun not intended, but why not) of work everyday without the feeling of true accomplishment. I mean sure, you may be helping young lonely teenagers and divorced men everywhere, but other than it's really an empty business. Being in porn just makes the aformentioned statment about sex not being beautiful true. It's a mundane form of entertainment that is constantly repeated with several of the same acts and possibly the same people. (Dont ask how I know this By the way) It's all the same. They make sex out ot be some loveless act done with the most random of people. It's sometimes portrayed as violent, or apathetic, or an act of rebellion as opposed to a romantic act between two people who love each other very much.

In a way, sex is beautiful because these two people can trust each other enough to do away with their inhibitions and do this act that can make a person so vulneralbe that the only person they can confide in during this time is the one person you truly love. And porn took all of that and just destroyed it.

Sex is no longer beautiful...but a chore.

(Btw, thanks Karen for this classy classy blog suggestion)

Silence In Gravity

If we could fall forever, there would be no worries.
When you fall at first, all you can think of are the possible outcomes of your landing. Severe injury, death, paralysis.
If you kept falling, eventually you'll forget you're even falling. You've been away from the ground so long, you'll most likely forget how it feels to stand on two feet. Your thoughts of anything else will eventually disipate. You'll only know what you know is around you. You only know the wind pressing against your ear. You wont know stress, or confusion, anger, melancholy. All you see is the sky above where you had fallen.
Nothing will matter anymore. Even the iminent pain you'll have to endure when you land will completely erase from your mind.
Nothing matter if you fall into nothing forever.
Soon enough you'll stop thinking completely because theres no use for it. Why would you think about something when there's nothing around? You'll just fall and fall and fall and fall...
...and fall...
...and fall...
...and fall...
...and fall.

It's only when you finally hit the ground that everything comes back to you at once and things becomes much too overwhelming to handle.

Nothing

This blog has no purpose. Just like everything else I try in between the somewhat important events in my life, this is just filler.
I can't sleep.
For once im trying to get things back on track, but my body has gotten so used to doing nothing and waking up at ludicrous hours, it won't allow me to fall asleep. I'm trying to make myslef do things right for once...and I won't let myself do it.
FUCK.

So here I am. Awake.
Again.

Accomplishing nothinhg.

Devil In L.A. County

It's been one week since the "greatest Night of my life". I might have embelished a bit, but damn it, it was definitely a great night. I went with my good friend Erick B. to see one of my favorite bands: Coheed and Cambria. Now before we went, I had been thinking that maybe I wasn't going to enjoy myself. This is mainly because of my shy nature. I couldn't imagine myself being one of those fans throwing their fists in the air to the rhythm of the song. This wasn't my first concert, although it was my first time seeing this particular band, and every other gig I've been to the crowd was either dead or seated. Even when I went to see the Smashing Pumpkins (a band I love MORE than Coheed), sure I sang along to the songs but since it was a festival-like event not everyone was there to see then and, therefore, didn't get into the music and left me feeling weird to do anything or mosh to "Bullets...". But at the Wiltern last Sunday, EVERYONE was there for Coheed. When the first bands started (Fall of Troy and Clutch), I did what I thought I would do (and normally do) to bands I've never heard. I'll head band a bit, but never acquiesce to liking it. Then Coheed and Cambria came on, and I (along with my fellow Coheed fans) went fucking ape shit!!!!
The opening song, "No World For Tomorrow", had the whole theatre singing along. In the song, Claudio sings the lyrics "Raise your hands high..." and I knew during a concert fans would stick their hands in the air to the tune of the song. I thought I would just stand there and headbang like I would normally do...no. I stuck both my hands in the air with devil horns in each fist and screamed "RAISE YOIUR HANDS HIGH" at the top of my lungs.
Granted, halfway through the opener, I was shoved around with other fans fighting for my place at the front of the second section. "I was here 7th, let me go in front of you" I would imagine they were thinking. Some other blonde fucker even went as far as pushing and pulling Erick's hair for not giving up his place for people who got there after him. I even missed "Junesong Provision" (One of my favorite Coheed songs which they rarely play and they did just this once) due to all of the pushing and shoving. But by the fourth song (Out of maybe 17) none of it bothered me. I was immersed (sp?) in the concert and moshed with my fellow fans and sang my fiucking ass off. Especially during "In Keeping secrets..." and "Devil In Jersey City" respectively.
I love those songs.
Afterwords, Erick led me to the back to meet the bass player and drummer, Mic Todd and Chris Pennie. They signed stuff and we all chatted VERY briefly. Besides the fact that I didn't meet Claudio or Travis, it was a complete night. I felt at home the entire night.
These were my people.
Nothing like a good concert to force you out of your shell and truly enjoy yourself. When you're with the right people, there's no way you can ever have a bad day. It's only when you're with the wrong people or the wrong crowd where you experience a series of downers in your life. Make sure you know who you're friends with and where you decide to go in life. If you're a "New york" type of person, don't move to "Alabama"...get me? If you choose the right environment to live in, then trust me...you'll have no complaints.
(I know the title of the blog was enough but lemme have one more "Devil In Jersey City" allusion. By the way, next blog, poem.)

Don't let them scare you...enjoy yourself.

10

I was only awake for about ten hours yesterday. I didn't accomplish a damn thing. Every night I seem to stay up late for absolutely no reason at all then fall asleep at about two in the morning so that the next morning I'll wake up at ten to twelve. Then that day I'll repeat my mundane string of activities that barely count as a life. Ten hours of what...watching TV? Playing guitar? Writing? Do these things help prgress society in any way?
The way my life has been going lately has been reminicent of this past summer. Waking up late, doing nothing, falling asleep even later after talking to friends late into the night. Only this time I haven't been talking to anyone very late. What have I been doing?
I know that I normally joke around and say "wasting oxygen" but now that I look at it, that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm not hanging out with anyone. I'm not talking with anyone. I haven't left my house too much recently. What am I doing?
I could have been following so many activities I had wished to have pursued at one time. I could start a band, but every GOOD musician I know is in a band and everyone else doesnt have the time for it, so that's out. I could write my many many unfinished screen plays, but I seem to be so "busy" with school work I dont have time to waste (or computer memory) to finish any of them. I could read my many books I have purchased and never read but it seems as though I'm too swampped with the books I "HAVE" to read to have time to read them.
All of these excuses with no foundation. I'm preventing myself from having a fulfilling life. There's no one else to blame.

I'm purposly wasting a perfectly good life for no reason at all.

Knuckle Children

Masturbation is gay and here's my theory why: for males, to masturbate yourself is to grip your penis and furiously pull it up and down until you ejaculate. A sexual act very reminicent of what is called a "handjob". Between a man and a woman, a handjob is a simple sexual act to be shared between the two lovers. Why is this considered a loving act you say?...uh...I don't know...why are hands great substitutes for vaginas? There are some questions that should remain unanswered.
A handjob shared between a man and a man is oobviously an act shared between two homosexual lovers...or a forlorn drunk guy with ten bucks and a male prostitute. And as you can see, in technical terms, masturbation is a self hanjob. A handjob given to a male from (you guessed it) a male. So by choking your chicken, you're technically performing a homosexual act by giving a guy a handjob. Sure you're probably thinking of some sexy lady or raping holloywood's biggest A-list celeb...or not...but that doesn't change the fact that you are jerking off a penis. Hence, homosexual act. Hence, gay!
Every guy whose comfortable with his sexuality will disregard this and be comfortable knowing he's definitely not a homosexual and be able to continue on with his life without worrying how other's percieve his orientation. Then again there are those of you who'll read this and think "NO! I'm the manliest man's man and I'm NOT gay! Im going to stop masturbating." And if you think like that, then maybe you are gay and just hiding it. When you know you're not gay, you have nothing to prove. And if you are gay, then once again, you have nothing to prove. But if you're going off about how "Not gay" you are or how "queer" doing whatever activity is...then you may be hiding something from us buddy.

So next time you think you're too masculine to do or think something that you might fear others will percieve as gay, think to yourself, "Do I masturbate?" then read this blog again.

Duality

I've come to the point where I can't enjoy being happy. Where all I can do is lament. It just seems as though for every great day I have something else in my life will eventually crap out. If I have a great Monday, I'll have a shitty Tuesday. If I go to the greatest concert in my life with friend A, i'll get into a fight with friend B the next day and stop talking to friend C the day after that. If I get an "A" in this class, God forbid, my fucking house will burn down the very next hour. I can't enjoy happiness because misfortune seems to follow too closely. I'm not going to name specific events just yet, but so far this week (especially when juxtaposed with Sunday) hasn't been exactly the greatest. Maybe physical but mostly psychological. Right now I'm just pointing out that I can't enjoy things anymore. People usually tell me that "Everyone has their bad days" but I manage to fill the average persons yearly "bad-day" quota within the course of a week. I can't win anymore. Which is why I'm trying to find some sort of solace in disappointment. It's always when something horrible happens when a mircale of some caliber occurs moments later.
If you must know:
Within the last week, shortly after the concert, I remembered things that have always haunted me. I realised that there are things I've yet to do and demons I've yet to exorcise. Some thigs Ive thought about and tried this week that im not proud of (no, not drugs or suicide!) and people I feel I may have betrayed over the past few weeks and months or have accidently disconnected myself with for no apparent reason. Once again, I'll shall leave the details unknown, but this should sum up a few things. Not everything...but a few things.

I'm afraid to be happy. I'm so afraid that I yearn, no, I pray for misfortune just so that I'll know that the next day will have the slightest chance of having the sun shine on my porch. But it just seems that I can't have two things work out for me at the same time.

At least then, knowing when I'm down, theres only one way to go...up.

Chronic Substance Abuse and Alcoholism is Whack-O

I don't need drugs. I'm not saying that as a "drugs are bad for you" type of person. I'm just saying it as a person who has a wild enough imagination as it is. I always saw drug users as people who led a very unfulfilling life and need that extra boost...that extra "high" to get what they've been lacking in life. You always hear pot smokers saying that things are SO much more interesting when you're high, but for the most part I can already enjoy things enough sober. The way I see it, if I can't enjoy something while not high, then I probably won't enjoy it. This goes for drinking too. I could never understand how people can find fun in getting "Fucked up" when the definition for getting fucked up is in a way "not being well or being far from ok". Not only do I not need drugs for entertainment purposes, I think the things I think about are fucked up enough without having substances introduced into my system. I don't need to think unhealthier thoughts than I already have. I'm good where I am. Especially after what I've seen these things do to people. And I have to say, I didn't like what I saw. But that's a story for another day.

But for now...to my druggy and drinky friends...thanks but no thanks.

The Limewire Generation (Rant #1)

Fuck Gene Simmons. Fuck KISS. They aren't rock stars or guitar heroes. They're fucking ATM machines with make-up. Their music sucks and the only reason they're so rich and famous is because they're living action figures who sell their faces left and right. I would bet a good 60% of their money isn't even from record sales but selling fucking "KISS condoms".
What proof do I have that KISS isn't rock? In a recent interview, Mr. Simmons was bitching about downloaders and the record company being stupid about their money making ideas. Heres a link:
http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/news/interviews/gene_simmons_downloaders_should_be_sued_off_the_face_of_the_earth.html

Now stop me if I'm wrong, but last time I checked, to be a great musician doesn't exactly amount to how much money you rank in. The only thing you need to sell records these days is a good marketing plan and any random sucker with a face. As KISS previously proved, you don't need talent to sell records. Which the SADDEST thing I have ever written that is true.

There are so many great bands these days that go unnoticed in favor of the "flavor of the month". Thye record company constantly overlooks talent and focuses on what can make money the quickest. And what's worst is that we buy into this notion that the only music we should listen to is what's "hot" at the moment. The only solace I get from this is that once the flavor of the month has faded away, it'll be the end of them.
Here's a quote:
"There is nothing in me that wants to go in there and do new music. How are you going to deliver it? How are you going to get paid for it if people can just get it for free?"
That is what Gene Simmons actually said. Another thing that bothers me about absolute wastes of sperm like this is his relelntless hunger for money. He obviously doesn't care about his fans if he's saying stupid shit like this. He never did. Everytime he'd say thank you to his fans during concerts was a blatent lie. What he was really saying was "thank you for seeling your nut sacks to me!". Now if he's up on making money, then record sales and downloaders shouldn't be a bother. Most of the time people download music so that they can test the waters of music and not have to waste money on something they may possibly hate. Not to mention that if they like it they'll more than likely go out and buy more of the same and go to the shows and buy the merchandise. You'll end up being reimbursed for the music that was downloaded. If your not so good, then you don't deserve to be making money for your crappy crappy music.

Gene Simmons, wipe the dollar bills from your eyes and take those coins out of your ass and wrap your grotesquly long tongue around this: Downloading will not stop anytime soon. You have more money and things going for you that entire cities will ever experience in their lifetimes combined so you shouldn't be complaining about ANYTHING...so shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down. Your moment in the limelight is LONG gone, so stop acting bitter about that. Go sell your condoms and keep your mouth shut!

And "Detroit Rock City" was a SHITTY movie! Just like the song.

Glaze

I like glazed donuts. It's my favorite kind of donut. It's just too bad that everytime I eat them, I can't help but think that im eating circular bread covered in semen. As I was eating one a few minutes ago, I looked at the napkin and it just looked damn disgusting. It was white, sticky, and smelled funny. Yet I kept eating beacuse, damn it, I'm not a homophobe. And I have very strange ways of showing that. I still consider myself a closet homophobe even though I consider myself liberal and understanding. I think it's my catholic upbringing that gives me these small, conservative thoughts every now and again. Sometimes I'll use my friends as an excuse. One of my best friends is gay...how do explain that? Therefore I have nothing against gays right? Then there are days like a few minutes ago where I'm afraid to finish a delicious meal because I'm afraid of mentally swallowing semen. Which is why im thankful for some closed minded people sometimes. Sure, it pisses me off sometimes that people may think gays aren't people. But when thewy say stuff like "We should fuckin' strap them on a rocket and send them to the sun" or something like that I laugh and think about how much more clear minded I am than ohter people. Sure I may not agree with gays, but at least my mind is evolved enough to tolerate them.

But still, I should try different donuts from now on.

Aero plain

This is a very short story that I wrote many years ago (10th grade) after an incident that I've never forgiven myself for occurred. There are no central characters or conflicts. It's just a short narrative about regret. Not to mention around the time I wrote it I was really into the Smashing Pumpkins (which will explain its somber theme and final lines which is a song of theirs) I recently found it and well....here it is:

The pilot engaged his engines and was ready for take off. The stewardess had given the passengers their safety instructions for the ride. The plane began down the runway as everyone prepared for the imminent airborne journey that would be their home for the next five hours or so. Five hours of a multi-ton metallic machine hovering in the sky. Five hours of residing in a single area and feasting on ill-prepared meals. Five hours of being utterly helpless as to what happens on the ground. The man in row M, seat 17, sat right next to the window knowing what he never told her. Knowing he won't touch the same floor as her for hours to come. Kowing that the plane might not even make it's destination. The next five hours would tear his mind apart knowing he had the chance to share his voice i with her ear...to give his being to her. For the next five hours, regret will be his one and only companion. The airplane flew high...it turned right, and he looked left.


Told you it was short!

Thuck Yo Momma!!!

Rap is as good as dead. Time of death you ask: 2:14 pm November 14, 2007, Wednesday afternoon. Have you ever heard Pablo Francisco’s stand up where he makes fun of Grammy winners for their rap songs with titles such as “Suck yo momma”?
Well today as a friend and I were perusing the Best Buy in Lakewood for CD’s, we were unfortunate enough to hear Black Eyed Peas alumnus Will I Am’s new single. The chorus includes Will I Am asking a woman “Where did you get that body girl?” and the girl innocently replies (and I quote) “I got it from my momma”. At that moment my friend and I looked at each other, him filled with equal disgust, and we both grimaced at the lousy attempt at lyrical poetry on Will I Am’s part. When the song mercifully ended, the radio DJ (who had a Spanish accent which made the following events even better) announced the name of the song. It was called “I got this fro my momma” and at that moment (and excuse my imminent deviation from my literary “accent” if you will) we proceeded to “crack the FUCK up”. My friend had doubled over in laughter and I had lost my breath at several points. It was unbelievable how uncreative that song was and how horrible it sounded to our ears. We were hearing “Suck yo momma”…LIVE!! It feels as if one of two things has occurred: either musical artist thee days are getting lazier and lazier as the dollar bills appear more frequently in front of their eyes. OR, the record company these days appear to think that today’s buyers are so stupid and tone deaf that we’ll buy damn near anything. Maybe they’re right. I mean, if stuff like “I got it from my momma” is fucking selling…then there is no future for music. It’s horrible living in a world where you can’t be successful unless you follow the trade, where if you think outside of the box you’re considered obsolete, where money is the thriving fuel behind what we are led to believe is good and bad.

We’ve slowly let society choose for us.

Requiem

Many of you know me as the quiet guy: the guy who sat back and simply watched all the action take place. "He was always smiling but I didn't know if it was with us". Many of you know me as the serious guy: the guy who never laughed or never really went along with the crowd and laughed with everybody. Many of you even know me as the funny guy: the guy who'll always cheer you up, who'll never turn off and completely barrage you with jokes. "He's never serious". I wish I could tell you which of these three masks is my true face, but I can't. I honestly don't know who I am. This is exactly why I started this blog. Normally I'll write in a journal so that I can figure some things out for myself, but lately I find that it's best if I let people in once in a while. In a way, this is therapy. I write my thoughts, and you'll slowly figure out why I act the way I do and how I get through the day whilst maintaining what one may consider "sanity". Until you figure that out, consider this a eulogy for what was once my mind. Prepare to read things you'd never even think would cross my mind. For the most part, I hope you'll laugh at my cynical commentaries on life and humorous observations I have on the most esoteric of subjects. Maybe you'll sympathize with my vengeful outlook on the things I find annoying and superficial. And there are other things which I hope you dont take the wrong way...I tend to write very lugubriously and some people have went as far to think I was suicidal. I'm not. Just to reassure you, I'm incredibly against acts such suicide. I honestly don't know what I'll post. Then again, isn't that the thrill we all strive for in order to find excitement...the unknown?

Read on my brothers and sisters...and welcome to the sick sad world that is my mind.