12.04.03

It's hard to think of an excuse for why I'm so broken up over the death of my grandmother. In my life, I think of death as the ultimate release, when our eternal spirits are freed from these restrictive meatbags we call bodies. But here, in realizing the aftermath of the passing of her, I can't help feeling destitute.

I also understand grief is a very selfish sentiment. That my pangs of sorrow and loss are not for the departed, but for myself. "What will I do without so-and-so...?" I understand that even if there is no "better place", that she was suffering from cancer, and that the pain is over for her now. Though, even now, in all my personal bitterness and contempt for the Heavens, Fate, God...whatever... I find myself hoping there is such a "better place". Heaven. Nirvana. Valhalla. It doesn't matter which to me, just so long as I know that the woman earned SOMETHING for dedicating her life to the lives of everyone BUT herself.

I try to ratonalize it, or factor it away, and I can't. Nothing can erase the feeling, like a knife in my gut, when I first laid my hands on that casket to carry her to the car. Nothing will remove the way I felt my face contorting, teeth clenching, holding back something that now, I realize, I should not have held back. I should have wailed at the top of my lungs. I should have made the Heavens take notice. From the moment that I walked into the care facility and found the curtain closed...and knew she was gone...to when I walked to the parking lot and smashed the bottle I'd been carrying, and I SCREAMED at the TOP of my LUNGS, to bawling like a child in my car...to driving to my family...to "making arrangements" with my family...to tolerating work and the daily routine, to being by myself...to being unable to be by myself...to the funeral, to the NEARLY OVERWHELMING desire to break down...and I didn't. And I wish I had...

Because now I'll just look strange, now that everyone else has just picked up and moved on. Maybe they'll shed a few tears on Christmas Day, since it will be our first one without her. While I'm still staring down my revelations.

I should have just let it out. But what happens if, even after everyone else has forgotten...I'm still here, holding on?

08.08.03

And a happy birthday to my sister.

Now, onto the problems at hand.

"Where were you last night?" She asks, as if she thinks I remember last night at all. I have a clear recollection of last night, but I'll just say I don't. I'll be difficult. Why? That's just me.

"You said you were coming back." No, I didn't. I said I was going to see my sick grandmother. That's all I said. Don't tell me what I said. I know what I said. I refuse to argue the point further. Arguments are trivial and inane. I don't argue. Period. And you don't want to goad me into a verbal altercation anyway. Trust in this.

The thing I don't get is... she's not my girlfriend. I've not had sex with her. We've kissed. That's the extent of it. I fear that's as far as it might go. Cause hell, let's face it, I'm just not the "walk on me" sort anymore. I'd rather I were, but damn it all... we all have to grow sometime.

And so I blow it off, and I can tell as I'm leaving that she's still pissed. But oddly enough, it doesn't bother me. I couldn't care less, despite my interest. Why? Because I know it's doomed to failure anyway. I know that either I am too damaged to really give myself to someone, or that she will do something to tear me apart. And I'm trying SO very fucking hard not to be a masochist of the heart and soul anymore.

What do you think she wanted me to say? "I don't recall saying I'd be back. But clearly I'm mistaken...because if you said I said that, then you must be right. You have ovaries, and hence, you're never wrong about anything. Yes, forgive me and my inferior form, for your uterus makes you my domitor, my purpose for living and the light of my life. I serve your will, mistress... and I forfeit my own will at the altar of your insight. I am not worthy."

Fuck that. Fuck feminism. I'm all for strong, independant women. I applaud and commend you, but don't expect me to fawn over you or wear a frilly apron. I'm nooone's fucking pawn. The GREATEST part is, when women trick themselves into thinking that I NEED them! Ha! I've lived many, many years without a woman in my life... I've lived for years at a clip without sex. I don't need sex...frankly, it's a recreational endeavor, given that I can't attain an orgasm anyway.

So, really, what the fuck do you want from me? I'm not kneeling before anyone, I'm not sacrificing myself to someone who will, in all likelihood, just hurt me in the end. I'm tired of getting hurt. I'm tired of getting taken for granted. I'm tired of women who behave without tact or poise or class or forethought.

And I love women, instinctually and individually. I love every woman walking (save the few who've pissed me off). Hell, I revere you. I'll never use you, never distort or attempt to own you. You're right, on some level, I'll always consider women to be a cut above men, but that's because I hate men. I hate them. Fuckers.

But FUCK feminism. Yes, I realize that my testicles make me less of a person. But I realize by most religious standards I'm going to Hell, and I don't beg and plead the Christians to come give me a daily reminder...though they do anyway. Fuck your ideals about the sexes. What do you REALLY know? Are you a man? Do you know what it's like to have your instincts working against your best intentions? No, you most certainly don't. That's OUR cross to bear, and kiss my ass if you think you understand it.

It's not my fault you can give life, and hence have a biological, monthly cycle. Estrogen...also not my fault. I don't mean to be so callous, but that's often how it comes out. I know you're mad. I can practically see your eyes swelling up through the monitor. But look, it's not my fault. I can't be blamed for every miscommunication. I can't be blamed because you're too damn proud to open your mouth and tell me you want me around. If you don't say it, I assume you don't. Pardon me for my complexes.

Le sigh...I don't mean to belittle women's hardships. I know you have it rough. I know your menstrual cycle causes horrendous overloads of hormones, I know it's beyond your control, and I can imagine how terrible it makes you feel, from what I've been told by various women. I don't mean to undermine your emotions or your intentions or your actions. Just understand, all women really, that although I revere you, my experiences with you turn sour, and it's almost always your fault. Not that I am blameless or perfect...far from it. But I'm also not your servant or your peon. I am a person to, contrary to popular belief, and I'm not just going to let you cave my head in with your emotional prowess. I'm sorry, but, I do have to fight back. And since I don't believe that it's ever proper to hit a woman, I have to debate you. Forgive me for defending myself.

08.04.04

What's Your Problem?

My problem? My fucking problem is you're all intent on "blowing my mind". It's not bad enough, the LSD. The cocaine. The pot. The cigarettes and the coffee. The car payments and the daily routine. It's not enough that I've conformed to your simplistic bullshit patterns. It's not enough that I force myself to be sociable. It's not enough that I spend so much time in the presence of others, that I feel like a fucking ghost, anymore.

My problem is you won't get out of my hair. You won't stop breathing down my neck. You won't give me an inch. JUST FUCK OFF. My problem? My problem is your whiny two cent opinion of every fucking move I make. My problem is that you just keep pushing me further and further toward the edge. You get under my skin, you make my mouth taste of vomit and bile. Leave me alone. Let me be alone.

But everyone loves you. Everyone needs you.

But I can't love. I can't...or I won't. One of the two, and everytime I think I'm falling, I run. Why do I run, because I don't want to love. Because I can't stand the thought of everything happening all over again. So I find a reason to withdraw. I give the poor girl a fault, maybe one she doesn't even have. I give flaws to the perfect, whether true of imaginary. I put them there...why? Because I need some justification, don't I?

She's a slut. She's too non-commital. She's too flaky. Too self-absorbed. She doesn't give head. She's not expressive. She doesn't believe in "awareness expansion". Too hippyish. Too trendy. Too stupid. Too flighty. Too complex. Too suicidal.

Or, more commonly, most truthfully: She's too good for me. She doesn't deserve what I'm afraid I'll do to her fragile little heart and soul, because that's what's been done to me...and Heaven knows you have to break them before you get broken.

This isn't right, I know. It's not fair. But it's what I've learned, it's what I've been shown. I revere women, thanks to my mother, I feel somewhat inferior to them...on one side of the coin. However, as a result of numerous failures in the romantic department...I am also resentful of this self-perceived superiority. That I allow a woman to walk all over me, screw around with my cousin, turn my life into one big fucking episode of Jerry Springer, and then walk out the door to, presumably, go be the "cookie" in a circle jerk somewhere.

I just don't know how to give myself to someone anymore. So I hide myself behind a cigarette and I don't shave before I go out. I wear the least appealing clothing choice I have, I let my hair stay a mess and my nails grow long, with the dirt from working still crammed under them. I look like a derelict, I know. Why? I'm trying to keep you from approaching me. I'm trying to keep you, and myself, safe. So just let me...please. Let me be. Leave me alone. You don't want to get involved with me. I'll only drag you under.

But forgive me if I can't hide the way I feel.

5.20.03

On The Affairs of Others, and WHY I Don't Get Involved:

I should know better, by now, than to allow myself to be dragged into some sophomoric romantic drama. I really, truly should. In my experience, my attempts in chivalry never yield anything but completely negative and mind-numbing results. I do offer my most sincere apologies to all involved, that I bothered to give a fuck for so much as a matter of hours. Again...I should have known better.

Now that my viewing audience has reportedly...ahem...increased, I issue the following statements. A restating of my personal Manifesto, if you will.

I do not, I will not, I refuse to give a fuck. ROT in the graves you've dug yourselves. I can be cordial...I can be civil, but beyond that? Don't involve me. Unlike some of you revenants, I've grown up considerably. Granted, my more mature self may show these same seld-destructive principles, but I no longer wish to be involved in your high school-mentality over-dramatized bullshit.

If you had any ambition, any love for yourselves, any desire to make your lives BETTER, then I would be more than happy to extend myself to your aid. But you, you sons and daughters of Nihilism, you emotional and spiritual masochists...I've no love left for any of you. Flay yourselves to the bone with what you have dubbed (in error, might I add) happiness. You have successfully crafted your own prison cells. My role in this is neither that of the nay-sayer nor the well-wisher. Me? I will ignore your suffering as though it does not exist. And why? Because you brought it on yourselves. You hate yourselves. And I won't allow myself to be pulled into that trap again.

To the self-inflicted victims, I ask, "Why do you do this to yourself?" And to the sycophants, I ask "Why do you need so much to make others suffer, to ride on the coat-tails of your genetic, societal, and all-around superiors?" To the cowardly, I ask, "Why is your resolve only found in numbers?" And I challenge them all, and I implore them all to prove me wrong.

And to the victimizer...to the depraved...I issue my boldest challenge. "If you want to hurt someone...try hurting me." And again, I implore, I beg. Give ME the pain you so desperately want to distribute. I am the source of your frustration, aren't I?

On a more mundane level, I will give you my flesh and blood...but I'll take from you three-fold what you take from me. You may scar me, I will break you. You may make me bleed, I will ensure that you need physical rehabilitation. By way of your very existence, you rape the world and the psyches around you. And on this account, I will NOT sit idly by. But rather than protecting others...I'll just make myself a big, shiny target you can't possibly ignore. Bring me all the pain you can muster, and I'll send you back with more than you can bear. Bring. It. On.

05.09.03

I am nothing, if not patient. I am as patient as a headstone. I can wait, for years, if necessary, to be set into place. And so I will. I will just bide my time, until I can bear witness to the Reckoning. I'm speaking in metaphor...I can't disclose much else. But, much like my poem's ending line states: "To the wicked, woe betide."

Ooooh, the hour draws near. So very near. I can taste the blood on the wind. And I crave it. I'm anxious. My palms sweat. It's been far too long. I hunger and I crave and I'm desperate for the moment to arrive...but agian, I will be patient. I will wait.

I could talk about all the painful shit going on in my own life. How I'm terrified that my grandmother is going to die, very soon. I don't know if I'll be able to take that...but, I have to be strong. She needs me to be. She needs reassurance and comfort, not a bunch of screaming and crying.

Sorry to cut this short, but something rather urgent has come to my attention. If I don't survive the night...well, know that the Reckoning came and went. And the world was left largely unblemished.

Again...love one another, my little ten-watt humans. It's the only gift you have to give.

04.22.03

Some get the delusion, I think, that because they make a habit of visiting this site, that it is my aim to please them. Well, I can tell you for a fact that you're grossly mistaken. If you're looking for entertainment, feel free to check out some of my favorite sites:

newgrounds.com
theonion.com
ign.com

If you're looking for entertainment, there is an unlimited resource on the web. If you're looking for me, however, this is one of the very few places I'm to be found. If you want, or at least think you want to know what I'm thinking and feeling, well, cope with it when it hurts your feelings.

For those of you who've been detached from my life, and keep this silent vigil to make sure I'm "okay"? FUCK NO, I'm not "okay". I haven't been "okay" in quite a long while. I might never be "okay" again. I am not the clean and pure person I was, nor do I have any desire to be that vulnerable ever again. I have been changed, and so has everyone. The difference is most of you changed for the better. Take your vindication in that and just fuck off if you don't like who I've turned into.

For the guys, you can make sweet tender love to an electrical outlet. And the ladies, dry hump a splintered board. I'm not bothered by what you think. This is my way of airing out my discontent and bitterness, and it really isn't here for your pleasure. It's my RELEASE, do you not understand that?

Especially considering I'm emotionally toxic, and hence, undateable. Much as I yearn for romanticism in my life, I'm still not safe with my own instincts or emotions. My right hand is still functional, however. Rambling, but that's what I do.

Le Sigh... okay, let me put it to you this way. A bit more PG, for those of you with tender hearts and minds. If I knock you for something, be it a foolhardy marriage or just because you aggravate me to no end, or if I threaten to kill you because you've cheated on me, or if I make any number of references to your vital organs exploding, etc, etc... it is only because I genuinely think that you know better. That you, in your heart of hearts, understand that you're fucking up. And being a person who REALIZED I was fucking up when I moved to NY in the first place... I don't take kindly to seeing people walk into something that they know is doomed to failure.

But maybe I give you too much credit, maybe I overestimate you. Maybe you're just as ignorant (not stupid, but ignorant) as you present yourself to be. Maybe I should just pretend you're not there. Maybe I shouldn't try to offer some part of myself to you, even now, that you are essentially out of my life. But then, you're the innocent masochists who tune in, aren't you?

By now, it's no secret how fucked-up an individual I've become. By now, you realize that here, I'm not going to shut my mouth any more than I would in life. So...exactly who is the asshole here? The guy holding the candle, or the idiot who keeps voluntarily putting his face over the fire?

Noone asks you to come here, noone asks you to read this. If you do, then take what I say with a grain of salt...in that I also have this condition where I love saying some shit...just because it's what I think you expect me to say. Because I love to see how hurt or pissed off you get by it...even though you were fully expecting me to say it. Such is me. Love me or hate me. You can't forget me. Ever.

04.16.03

Why Can't Tim Fall in Love?

Why? It's not a simple answer, but a tried-and-true formula. I don't think anyone understands just how difficult it is for me to let go of what's happened to me in the past. I truly, honestly ACHE for a return of true, romantic, sensual, and overwhelming love. I long for it. Yet, everytime I enter into a relationship since the whole New York fiasco, I end up ripping some poor, innocent girl apart. And why?

I still cannot trust. It is not a matter of I will not. I cannot. I can't bring myself to trust. The truth is, I don't trust anyone who I haven't known FOREVER (and a few of them are even in question). FORGIVE ME my inadequacies. But when you disappear, and your explanation seems even slightly questionable, there is no point in seeking to continue the relationship with me. From that point on, I won't be the same man. I will not let this shit happen to me again.

And most recently (and most painfully, might I add) there was Maggie (if you desire that I strike your name from my website, only tell me so). I could have lost myself in this woman, you see. I could have allowed her to swallow me whole and been so lost in what was blossoming that I would never again have any sight of myself. It could have happened...and you don't know how it pains me that certain issues arose. I'll give it to you...it could be perfectly innocent. But, I've shut down already.

I come to the conclusion that I am not ready. That despite the fact that sixteen months have passed since my heart and soul were shattered by deceit and betrayal, I have not mended. My heart is bitter, and my soul is contrite. You don't...you can't possibly know how I ache for love, companionship, and understanding again. But...I just can't let go...

Forgive me for being so full of venom. I've been tainted and poisoned by the past...and I can't get around it. Forgive me.

03.24.03

You knew this was going to happen. You know I cannot keep my mouth shut, no matter if there is no real "you" out there viewing this. I do know of a specific person who reads this page, however, and to her, I want to say this.

You're an idiot. You can chalk that up to "tough love" of a sort. Mutual friends informed me that you needed to talk to me, sometime before the event of late. And I hear things. I check up on you, even if you don't know I do. Don't mistake it for forlorn, long-repressed love. I'd go back to NY before I'd pursue that avenue again. My feeling that way isn't entirely your fault. I don't want to get you in "trouble" (and I always thought you were smart enough not to put up with that sort of over-bearing bullshit...-sigh- no pleasure in being wrong, I suppose.

I call you an idiot, because for months, all I hear is how you DON'T want to do this. How you're unsure, how you have doubts. And as much as I've told myself that I would not interfere, that I would not raise my voice or a hand to intervene, it's been very hard keeping my mouth shut. Do you think he'll change? I've known him a damn score longer than you, I must say. In time, a man learns things, usually by hard knocks. He and I...we had quite a few.

And so I give him the benefit of the doubt, and I assume that he has, with time, done like everyone else I know, and grown up a bit. And then, after I heard about his li'l tantrum after our brief meeting at a particular Chinese restuarant? Oh, darling...

I'm in no position to judge. I endured two years of absolute bullshit, knowing very well that I shouldn't have. You will do whatever it is you feel you have to do. You know who you are, and you know who I'm speaking to. I leave this empty for your benefit, not mine. After all, I've been back in this fucking podunk town for quite some time, and there are numerous people whom I've heard are going to "kick my ass"...and yet, none of these chickenshit cowards have come for me yet. Imagine that.

And I'll tell them like I tell certain bitches who threaten to have people kick my ass, "bring the people you don't like. Anyone who comes for me...is not coming back." And I mean it, blood and bones. Shut your mouths, and come get me, you fat-backed fuckers. I'm not going anywhere.

Ahem, back to the point...(forgive me, it pisses me off when cowards talk shit about kicking my ass to a group of females...so scary) If you had doubts, you shouldn't have done it. Easy as that. And I won't be the one to say "I told you so", you know that never was my style. And I'm not the shoulder for you to cry on either...because I only have the strength to be the pillar for a few.

In addition..I wouldn't know all of this, if it weren't for your telling everyone about how miserable you are. So then, if this makes you happy, stop bitching about how miserable your life is. Take responsability for your self and your life, and stop whining. You made your choice, darling, live with it or undo it. You've got only one shot, and Heaven and Hell just might not exist, so live, for fuck's sake.

ALRIGHT. Now, onto what I had planned to scribe tonight. I am not an anti-soldier, anti-military individual. Some call me Anti-American, and on many levels, I have to agree. I don't hate my country. I love my country. When it comes to the term "country", that really only indicates the land itself, and the people living therein. I love them, one and all...and I want to grab every last American up by their chubby little cheeks and shower them in affectionate kisses. No, really. I do.

I love my country. I hate the fucking government. Bill Hicks likened our governmental institution to a puppet show, that there were two puppets, one on each arm of one man. I find that tragically accurate, as far as observation goes. Each and every day we live is not for our benefit, but the benefit of the diplomats and the stuffed-shirts. Even if you go out, get a job, work very hard, go to college, get a degree, get even more adept in various fields, and pull down a job somewhere making six figures? Someone, somewhere, is rubbing their hands. Others are benefitting from your success, moreso than yourself. And it isn't the people who NEED the benefit, no, I can assure you of that. It isn't the people dying in the streets, it isn't the urban youth running drugs because he was kicked out of school, and can't get a job, because noone's made an effort to reach him.

No. It isn't the poverty-stricken or the terminally ill. It isn't any of the number of people who NEED help. It's the blood-sucking, life-wrecking, totalitarian, facist, bullshit MACHINE that benefits. The handful of men who run American government and commerce, it's those fat-cat assholes in their ivory towers who are benefitting. No you. Not me. And not anyone who needs the aid.

You wonder why I hate the government? You wonder why I drink? LOOK THE FUCK AROUND YOU. We're waging a war that means NOTHING. We are waging an absolutely pointless war, where the United States signed an agreement, stating that if we overthrow Hussein's regime, we become the sole proprieters of their oil. And THAT'S what this fucking war is about. You can give it the lovely buzz words and catch-phrases like "Operation Iraqi Freedom". Your breath is BEFOULED with all the SHIT you're talking. We're not idiots, and we're not whores. This government stopped being an institution for the people quite some time ago. I believe our constitution states that we can overthrow it anytime we wish.

But none of you will ever try, because the government uses the media, it uses every resource it has to keep you docile. And when it can't keep you docile, it terrifies you. It makes examples of people, and noone can live in fear. Noone should have to.

Fuck these United States. I'm starting a fund that will enable me to move to the Netherlands. That's really the only place that isn't maddened by the United State's propoganda machine.

And in addition, The American Christian God reminds me of Hitler. Take that.

02.15.03

I believe I'm going to vomit.

War. War. War. God wants war, Bush wants war. Everyone in America (except the American people...therein lies the irony) wants a war. I only wish there were some magical way I could grab President Dubyuh up by the short hairs and slam his face into a computer monitor...so that he could read this.

GIVE THE FUCKING PEOPLE THEIR LAND BACK. MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS, YOU IDLE-BRAINED HICK!

This war is senseless, absolutely revolting. How many people have to die for the Almighty Dollar? You think I'm sick? Look at your fucking leaders. A bunch of impotent Texans with multi-million dollar phallic symbols of mass-destruction. Dead children everywhere. We treat you unjustly and cruelly. You blow us up. We blow you up. You blow us up. We blow you up. On and on and on until noone's left but the ignorant fuckheads who started this in the first place. The United States government, and Hostile Enemy Whomever. We're all going to die, yes. But I'm not in any particular hurry to get there.

President Dubyuh is a jackass. Impeach him and do away with democracy altogether, or just reinstate Clinton. Yes, he was an adulterer (ohh...sinner) but the man...nevermind. Just, forget it. Do what you want. Blow the whole fucking world out from under us, if that's what gets you off.

02.07.03

What is it that draws you to me? Is it the way I look, how I sound, the way I think or feel? Is it my heart and soul, or am I just another plaything?

Don't think me egotistical. I speak only from the impression you are giving me. Do you want me to lose my mind? Do you want me to use you? Do you want to use me? Are you addicted? Do you need to justify your existence?

I'm not here for your amusement. I'm not here to entertain you, though I am quite the entertainer. I'm a person, no matter how twisted the things inside may seem sometimes. I'm not like you. I won't ever be like you. There are things more important to me than the quick and the dirty. My heart means a great deal...no matter the direction it tugs me in.

Ahem...so, to all the spiritual rapists of this day and age; To all the traumatizers and victimizers; to the Weak and the Frail and the Petty; To the Nay-Sayers and Doubting Thomas's; To the SHIT DISTURBERS, to the SADISTS, to the CORRUPT, and the EMOTIONALLY BANKRUPT, and the FOUL, and the PLAGUED:

YOU ARE WEAK.

I...we...are strong. And one day soon, we'll choke you out with your own discontent. We'll teach you the meaning of life...of being alive: There just might not be one. Rather than focusing on the trivial and the temporary and the fast...focus on the lasting, the pure, and the true. Only there will you find your peace. Only there will you find redemption.

Only in that, is life worth living.

"Love One Another."

02.02.03

I believe I'm misplaced. Not so much misunderstood...just misplaced.

This area, this town sucks the life out of me. With all of its ignorance and its out-dated logic. FALSE logic. It's like a fucking Jihad. All of these right-wing, conservative Christian, red-about-the-neck (and to the bone, might I add) facist, neo-nazi, narrow-minded ten-watt human beings on one side of me. To the other side, hackey-sack playing, latte-sucking, (i could insert pot-smoking...but I won't be the recreational user who speaks out against habitual users. I was addicted to cocaine, for Christ's sake), New Age, Earth-muffin, idle-brained, Rule of Three twits to the other side of me. I have nothing, per se, against either group. What you do with your mind is your business...whatever gets you through the night.

The problem is, I expect problems with Christians. I expect to get handed tracts. I anticipate getting ostracized, ridiculed, spat-on and baited into physical altercations. I expect their narrow-minded perspective to infringe on my rights as a living, breathing (and often reluctant) human being. People hand me tracts, tell me how much they'd LOVE for me to come to their church (you should see the look on their faces when you reply, "Actually, I'm an ordained minister, presently attaining sainthood, in my own religion.") What I dislike, however, is that you New Age fellows, you Pagans and Wiccans...and every other divergent Right-Hand Pather, are starting to adopt their practices.

Let me explain this slowly...I care about as much for the ten commandments as I care for your Rule of Three. I care as much about Christian Tenants as I do about Wiccan Tenants. I've got a better rule for you...the Rule of Plausable Deniability.

The Rule of Plausable Deniability essentially states that if I do not believe in your doctrine and your dogma...IT DOES NOT APPLY TO ME. I do not subscribe to it, and chances are I never will. Take up your Tarot decks and file them next to Benny Hinn's faith healing (don't get me started...televangelist...suit with solid gold buttons) under "T" for "TIM-O-THEE DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK."

And yes, you can continue to state that your way is the right way, the only way and the true way. That I'm wrong, and that it doesn't matter if I don't believe...I am still subject to the whims of your perception of the universe.

Ahem...blow me. Just open your simple little mush-mouth and fellate me. I'm fed up with you.

Basically, religion should be seen but not he...not seen either. Keep it to yourself. Gives me less of a reason to be annoyed. And if I'm not annoyed, it significantly decreases the chance that I will destroy you, comprende?

I'm sorry. There are some wonderful people out there of all faiths and walks of life, I'm sure...rare, but I'm sure they exist. It's just sad the the majority has to ruin the good name of the few and the scattered.

Fuck God (and anybody who looks like Him).

01.31.03

I started this whole corner of the web as an online expression of my thoughts and feelings. I suppose I needed an outlet at the time. Perhaps I still do. I've noticed the changes in myself, simply through what I've written. Now, there are no "I love you"'s left to issue. No shout-outs to my homies.

The major relationship of my life, the one most seemed to think would eventually end up in marriage (go figure), ended and left me questioning my own existence. After that? A string of failed attempts. Rebounds, most would say. It really boils down to one thing: I need to be loved. It's not something I want, I don't truly believe in "want". I think there are merely different levels of "need", each with its own sense of urgency.

I have changed. I was young and innocent. Now, I'm still young, by most views. I find myself trying to reclaim that innocence. Watching "I Spit on Your Grave" for the first time certainly didn't help. Very disturbing film, especially for it's time. If you have not seen it, I recommend it. I will never watch it again...but it is an excellent test of one's own humanity. I was...angered, more than anything. I'm fortunate enough to be a man, if you can call such a thing fortune. That movie simply made me want to go to a bar, grab up the first rapist-type fellow I saw, and beat him into a fine red pulp of unidentifiable MEAT.

I want to be enrolled in school already, I want to resume my training in martial arts. I want too much. And I've so little time to do it in. I feel like I'm working on a timeframe, and walking the wires somewhere between Heaven and Hell. I doubt I'll ever learn to take my time and just enjoy life as it comes. I have so many goals, I don't want to die without scars. But I don't want to die with this many impending regrets. Just love me.

And, it's amazing. Since giving up cocaine nearly a year ago, I haven't gone through a single day without thinking about it. Since my darling Wolinda died, I haven't gone a single day without thinking of her. If I believed in the Afterlife, I'd kill two birds with one stone. Light myself up to the point of severe anuerism, and know the feeling of her tender fur between my fingers again. I can't convey to you how much I miss her. People have told me, since I was a child, the pain of a lost loved one fades in time. To these people, I shout a resounding: "FUCK YOU!".

I'm afraid that my cries and screams might start tearing the corners of my mouth. I fear that the muscles in my face are stronger than my skin. I fear my solitude. I'm no Superman. I'm no Ricky Martin (don't bother asking where that analogy came from...I'm not sure myself. This is free-association after all.) I only want a few things back that were unjustly stripped from me. I could live without the love of a passionate, intricate and beautiful woman...if only I knew that at night, I could bury my face in the soft down of white fur and weep quietly. It isn't fading. It isn't fading. WHY GOD isn't it fading!?

I cry out to god as a force of habit. I don't believe He's there. And if He is, I don't believe He, in His infinite wisdom, gives a god damn (get it?). And failing all that, He must be remarkably lazy. And if in fact man is created in His divine image: We Are All Fucked.

The Church of Sarcastianity will draw the curtain on its revival on April 1st, 2003. We're stronger than ever, with the addition of a host of new influences. I will retain the joy of knowing that I will be the primary target of all violent action, being the figurehead of the organization. We're seeking support in other regions of the world. We may very well have the East Coast covered, in a very short time. Watch your ass, DC.

In addition, despite the eviction of my bandmates, I hope to begin recording for either of my bands in the next few months. Again, I speak as though I actually have an audience...I realize I do not. Not really. But, just in case I've got stalkers who prefer to remain anonymous...keep an eye out here. I'll inform you more about the Church of Sarcastianity and my own upcoming creative works.

I think...that's it.

8.9.02

I want to feel nothing again. My my my, how the world fucks with me. And how PISSED OFF it gets when I throw shit right back in its face (you know who you are). You've deceived me, written me off, disregarded my existence, completely taken me for granted for too long. As a result, I REFUSE to be a vehicle for your deception, I've been a victim of it long enough.

You shallow, contemptuous, self-centered, egocentric, petty, deceitful CUNT. FUCK YOU and all your kind. Try drinking and driving. May those fucking kidneys of your POP in your sleep, you selfish manipulative BITCH.

Choke to death on my mother fucking cock, and fucking like it.

6.14.02

I feel the need to be regressive. Watch me spin the web. I need to retreat to a time before this most recent pain, this most devastating loss.

Without giving away real identities, I'll attempt to recant this story to you as accurately as possible.

All throughout Junior High and most of High School, I was enraptured. I was tainted with the imperfections I have now tangled myself in. Her name was Meredith. And throughout most of my teens, I couldn't shake her.

Whether it was some hormonal rage or some true semblence of fascination, I couldn't tell you now. I know that she was coveted in my school as some sort of trophy. I know that even I, in my youth and ignorance, made a few lude comments to her, when only inspired to the vainest of details.

I'd like to apologize to her for it...simply because I'm finding "Peace" with myself, on some level. I think all the torment might be starting to subside, and I might be functioning like a thinking, feeling person for the first time in my life. People brand me as an "asshole". The sentiment was never truer than it was in my youth. I was lashing out at the world and refusing to accept it. I was being a Pretty Hate Machine...but I was overweight, ridden with acne, just like all the other boys my age, and still coping with puberty. I loathe this period of my life, moreso than any other, for I can truly see myself as one of the ignorant, ten-watt humans I now advocate against, in this frame of time.

At any rate, as I aged, I imagined myself in her shoes. Blessed and cursed with beauty that was almost unreal...and paired with that sort of intrigue that comes with knowing nothing about a person. I admit, I knew nothing about her really...only that she had an irresistable appeal to me. No, I never acted on it really. Any attempts to talk to her always fell flat on my account. She was with the "In" crowd, either by choice or association...and I, the eternal outcast (primarily by choice and circumstance). I can imagine the laughter that would have filled both sides, if my own presumptuousness ever placed us together, even in my imagination. She would have been laughed at for pairing herself with a "freak" and a "faggot". I would have been laughed at for being company to a "soulless pop-culture drone". But then, I always did have a problem seeing things the way ANYONE else wanted me to see them, even when the viewpoint was expressed by those of my caste.

Her beauty made her as bludgeoned as my rejection of the world. It alienated her, just as much, I think. And she fell into that same category of "Great Expectations". People expect too much from those who are either superior...or simply appear to be. She was emulated, whether she knew it or not. Envied, sought-after, and completely the pin-cushion of the world surrounding her. I...I was hated and feared. Often I wish I'd had a gun under my trenchcoat...so during those particularly nasty incidents, I could flash it in the face of my collective "Peanut Gallery".

She's bartending now, from what I've seen. I assume she's also attending college locally. I said hello and made a few idle smalltalk questions to her several months ago, when we were fleetingly employed by the same corporation. After that...I can only guess. I doubt my reappearance was as significant to her as hers was to me. I'm no longer enfatuated, mind you...it's merely sentimental to see a face from the past, particularly one you so admired.

I'm through rambling. Allow me to close by saying I've found an enfatuation that is far more rewarding, one that apparently returns the sentiment. I'm blown away by her. I was merely feeling reflective.

PS - I miss my cat.

4.23.02

Hands of destiny are steadily sliding into position. Fate's coming full-circle. Maybe now I'll be free from all of this bullshit the masses, and a few specific former so-called "loves" would slam down my throat.

I'm fed up with games. Under the premise of playing, they're fine, of course. When it's under the guise of a false honesty, then they're simply malicious...and generally show what kind of shallow empty people employ such uses for their own macabre ends. Bah. Let the world be unwritten...I've found the meaning now anyway. It only makes sense that it would all collapse before I've truly had time to enjoy it.

But I'm Born Again...just not in the traditional Christian definition. No. I am risen from my own ashes...reforged and maybe a bit more twisted than before. But this is always the case, I always bounce back...and I always go on living. I am always the survivor. Making music helps, really. The latest song expressed with the Chyldren of Apathy is entitled "Emptiness". I know the function of the song...it is my anthem for proclaiming and renouncing all that has befallen me. I am admitting my own emptiness. I am declaring it for the world to hear...and I'm telling you how it happened, as vague as I might be in my lyrics.

Alone and so very desperate
I am waking up in bitter tears
I've seen all the things that I have loved
Becoming the sum of all my fears

Hate blooms in my vacant heart for you
Nothing you can say will make it mend
You deserve all the pain I can give
You won't live to see the end

Merely the first verse...I don't want to spoil you. All I can say is that the recorded version should be finished by this upcoming weekend, all obstacles unaccounted for...with any luck, the first CoA sound files will be available into next month. I may possibly include our covers of a few Type O Negative, London After Midnight, Tool, and a couple other covers we have...depending on legality. I'll have to look into that.

As I said, I'm vague lyrically. There's not much I can truly express to you. You simply have to have lived inside my head for an extended period of time...and given that there is no magical doorway into my psynapses (ala Being John Malkovich)...such things are impossible. The parties involved and the parties responsable know why...and that's all that matters. I'm thinking about taking a trip to NY to staple my first CD to that bitch's forehead. I would send her a copy...really, I would...but to do so would do what I've promised I won't do: waste another instant of my time on her.

Kerry's really better for me anyway. A Leo...if not a textbook case of one. She battles against injustice like a demon on a field of sinners. She's really quite amazing. But then, I'm enticed by the beautiful and the amazing these days (rather than simply the amazingly debauched and morally stagnant). Don't ask me to explain...you know I'm no good at that. Check out my biography, if you get a moment. Nancy was the first to send me a useable blurb about me...and she's fairly accurate...maybe. I'd like to think I will be a king one day...I'm destined for better than what has befallen me in my time. I'm too powerful a personality to be degredated by the wastes of flesh that walk the earth like so many George Romero creations.

I'm not a zombie. I'm just jaded. It's not that I don't see your suffering...I just...am apathetic to it. You've earned it, all of you. You've begged for it. Pardon me for not shedding a tear. You're all self-destructive, petty children, fighting over societies trinkets and baubles. You deserve suffering. Maybe it will teach you that the material doesn't matter. All that really matters?

Doing Unto Others. It's how we mark the world. Me? I'm forgoing off-handed vengeance. I don't agree entirely with the phrase "The best revenge is to live happily". Nor do I think I really know how to live happily...it's been a very long time since I've felt happiness. Love along isn't enough...you need understanding. And I think maybe I've found that. And maybe...just maybe...I'm not so Hollow anymore.

4.13.02

My oh my...is this ever outdated. Well, I shall preserve these entries, simply for the sake of having no further content to add at this time. Consider it insight to less than a memory. Reminiscence of a scarred existence.

I abhore the period of my life presented below. Weakness. Allowing myself to be comformed to another person's designs for me. I am what I am, after all...and as we've learned through the most painful of practices: Times change. People don't. Leapords don't change their spots, it seems. Ever. So...all you can do is skin the proverbial cat. And what an enlightening experience that turns out to be.

Reading this makes me want to bleed from my occular cavities. I want to stab needles into my eyes until a mixture of juicy eye fluid and ichor saturate my face. Yum. But all the pain in the world can't kill me...not really. I'm unbreakable. And that's really more a curse than a blessing. I'd love to be broken. I'd love to feel my spirit contrited by the weight of the world. Such a feeling is out of reach, though. That's the sweetest irony.

At any rate, enjoy what meager collections I have here. I'm dreaming up another format for my random meanderings in free association, rather than having them all lined up on one page. Better for the reader, perhaps. Not that anyone has ever read these anyway, with the exception of using them to distort my will. What a cunt. But...who's laughing now?

Me. On the inside.

5.22.2000

Drinking Heineken, watching the screen. Very bored.

I have nothing to do online anymore. My domain is prepared, I just need to get the credit card. I'm going to see if I can get someone proficient in Flash to do some stuff for sarcastianity.org, it beats learning it myself and coughing up more money for the program. I hope someone will. Blah.

Listening to Selected Scenes from The End of The World while I drink my beer and stare at the screen...and type this.

Wish Melissa would get here. A LITRE OF GIN!?!?! *grin* I love you, baby.

Product of Holland.

Senseless drivel? Perhaps. But...there's no real end to that.

My office manager hasn't left yet. That's shitty. I want him to quit, god damn it. He's actually been pretty cool to me for a while...but still...it's the thought that I COULD be an office manager if he'd just leave!

Cutthroat. I am a fucking cutthroat....I love it.

5.14.2000

A boring fucking Sunday. Nothing better to do at 7pm, so I'm updating my site again. Why the fuck not?

This weekend is essentially my one year anniversary with Melissa. Yes, a year ago, my parents went away for a week for Bike Week in Myrtle Beach (it pays to have Biker parents...they leave alot), and I had Melissa and Mary down for the very first time. Despite my parents' beliefs...it wasn't planned, really. Melissa was going to come down that weekend, but found later she didn't have the money for a hotel...and I wasn't working at the time...high school student and full-time loser.

So I opted to stay home, as I had missed alot of school and graduation time was drawing near (a good thing I did too..I'd STILL fucking be in high school if I hadn't). I talked to Melissa that night online...remembered she was going to come down...and told her I could have her over at my house. A good time was had by all. *grins* And we've made it a year, with four months or maybe a bit less until we move in together. I'm thinking about taking up a second job to either: 1. Get the money faster, or 2. Get MORE money to go up with. Every penny counts...yes, I've even been keeping loose change in a jar. I'm turning into my miserly father. I don't even loan money anymore. I bought Randell and pack of cigarettes once...that's about it.

Nothing more I can really say...except that my parents aren't home, so....PARTY AT MY HOUSE!!

Yeah...like I'd let you in.

I love you, Melissa...Happy Anniversary.

Today I was put back on the phones at work...I did a damn good job. 25 sales in 2 hours. Which is somewhat...you know, amazing. Also, my office manager turned in his two weeks notice today...so I'm hoping my boss will pull me over to the side one day soon and ask me what I think about becoming the office manager.

I don't have seniority...there is one guy there who's been there longer than me...and he has management experience. However, he also has health problems that keep him from coming to work as regularly as an office manager should.

But I do know the equipment...and overall, I think I'm the most qualified person for the job. It certainly won't be either of those two chicks...ha ha ha ha! I know I'll win over them. It's really only Dick that will give me a run for it. So hopefull, I'll be moving up in the world soon.

Wolinda's eye looks much better. She had me worried.

I might go see Gladiator tomorrow.

Really, really, REALLY miss you, Melissa. My parents are going away for a week and she can't come down. I'm sure everyone out there has experienced something similar...sucks ass. That's how we first met in fact...one year ago. *smiles* I love you, baby.

What else? I think that's it really. I haven't been dreaming lately. Very odd.

The following phrases will never leave my lips again: "I can't", "I don't understand", "I didn't know", "I can't help it".

I can...or I will at least try. I will understand. I will learn. I WILL help it or die trying. I've let myself get stagnant. I've let myself get comfortable in depression and loathing. I've gotten used to failing...so I keep doing.

No longer.

When you look at your life and realize you nearly destroyed everything you hold dear with your own hands...let's just say it isn't a good feeling. One of those things that makes you SICK to your stomach with yourself, with your actions, with your lack of consideration.

No more will I lose faith in myself. There are plenty of people out there to lose faith in me. I'll just have to dedicate myself to making sure the ones that matter don't.

I have to consider things other than myself...I focus so much on getting what I want that I endanger it. Kamikaze. And then sometimes, I just don't focus at all...this will end.

I'm finally getting a grip on what my relationship with Melissa means to me...what Melissa means to me. And it's time I started letting her in more...no matter how terrible I am at that. And I still hate myself even if just a little bit for what I've done...the closest to Heaven I can ever hope to get...and I endangered that. Can you imagine the way it cut me to ribbons to see pain in her eyes?

But...then, those events are bygone, though an issue still for me. I must become...better? No, not better. I just have to start understanding.

Just when life is going your way..some asshole has to come along and boot you in the skull.

Something's wrong with my kitten, Wolinda. One of her eyes is dialating much larger than the other. It's really, REALLY worrying me. I hope she's alright. A couple of weeks ago, she hissed at me...that's something she just doesn't do. Wolinda's never anything but sweet to me...my little princess. It really scared me.

On top of that, my job is officially a waste of my good fucking time. My hours and wages have been cut...and so I'm currently on the hunt for a better opportunity. Too bad Software Etc isn't hiring...I COULD work there for 12 hours a week...no thanks. I may put in at some banks, I dropped off about 10 applications in the mall today.

Well, that's really about it...sorry this isn't as...melodramatic as some of the other stuff I've placed on here. But then, this is how I'm feeling...so, it makes sense to me.