I'm very worried that I am inadequate. Even with everything I do to become adequate, I feel it will never be enough. Not that I hold myself to higher standards, but that I will fall short of expectations. I am not destined for greatness. Even in the prime of my youth I recognize this. I am not especially talented, and there are few things I do better than most people. Even the things I love to do I feel I am outstripped by those much more talented than me, and that I will never be at the same level as those people. I wish there weren't so many high expectations for me to do well. If everyone believed I was going to fail, I think I would do much better in life, not only better than expectationa but better than I am doing at present. This bothers me greatly. I want to pack everything I need in a backpack, sling my guitar over my shoulder and set off down the road with no destination. Not a word of goodbye to anyone, simply leave. Not to say I wouldn't want to take a certain person with me, but she is much more adequate than I am, and would not need to escape a vast world of opportunities open to her. I feel that I am a detriment to my friends even, that I am holding them back from becoming more successful. I have no sense of consequence, no connection between action and reaction, yet i am paralyzed by fear. God I am so afraid it disgusts me. Worse yet is my excessive inability to do anything to help myself. I alternate between a catastrophic mania where I am unstoppable, fearless, and charismatic and a bottomless depth of self pity and frustration and sorrow. The sad thing is I miss the one person who I can ever say truly let me down. She was a narcissistic soul sucking vampire who drained the joy from everything and vainly abused her friends, yet she was so very incredibly easy to talk to. I almost looked her up yesterday. If only to see if her life has changed as much as mine. I earned freedom from the doldrums, surrounded myself with loyal friends and garnered the affections of a girl vastly beyond my league and have begun to condition my body into the best physical shape I've ever attained, yet I still wonder how she is doing. Pitiful really. The realization that nearly a year later and I'm still writing about her almost brings up bile. But I guess its hard to cut ties completely with your best friend, though the fact that I even considered her a friend is a mockery of the word. No, she does not keep friends, she keeps subjects. Anyone who does not feed her security of self-centric vanity is tossed aside, and anyone whose issues detract from her mirror gazing is cast away. Its ridiculously really. I have someone I feel I can talk to about anything, and she sleeps at this very moment perhaps ten feet above me. Not to mention Jessica, who I trust more than myself. Yet I still cannot shake the nagging memory in the back of my mind. Perhaps a little more time is all I need. Just a little more.

Unfinished slam poetry(sort of)

The English language is at its base descriptive, if often blatantly blunt at times, many venture no further than a trisyllabic dialect, choosing ignorance over eloquence. However buried by generations of American distaste for literature lies a depth of expression

Buried by cheesy slogan wordplay
Behind the one liners and sitcom repartee
Past political power puns and hope and change and yes I can
Beyond the cliche I don't understand big words testosterone fueled "man"
Lies dormant the lexicon of Shakespeare and Poe
Words in this culture few seem to know

Writing for me is vice. Vice and temptation and seduction and lunacy and limitless travel. When I write the pen becomes a conduit, spilling soul onto paper. Imprints of me scratched into hundred sheet composition notebooks. Little black books with mirrors inside, windows showing us reality. The closer we stand to the mirror, the less the reflection can be distorted by our own desires and biases and fears. The more I pour into a poem or story, the more I see myself in it, unashamedly splayed across the altar of my own work. So before you read, hear my solemn request. Open, judge, understand, accept. For what you see is the truest presentation of me I can ever make.

Motel Room

Rank of cigarettes on her breathe
Sickly scents of shame guilt and sweat
Stale, dirty sheets barely fending off bitter frost
Each touch spiderwebs shivers of lust
Reflexively repulsing
Wadded cash on the nightstand
Encounter defined
Materially purchased affection
Another night on the job
The world's oldest and loneliest profession

Captain.

The tattered blinds, barely fending off the unyielding morning sun, cast slatted shadows across my desk like forlorn trenches. My imagination wanders from the well worn keys to view embattled soldiers clambering over the breastwork into the shadowed trenches-a window to a war all but forgotten in the midst of horrorfare. The captain of this invisible squad allows his men a moment of rest, his thoughts wandering as always to his wife home in London, and his promise to return home to her. Yet here he was, putting his life on the line for the safety of his men, peering warily over the ridge of the trench. Only two shadows lie between the squad and the safety of the windowsill, the captain let himself begin to hope.

A crack rang out like the first thunderclap of a storm echoing across a lonesome valley. The captain whipped his head around, searching desperately for the telltale spray of blood, another man down. Instead he saw his newest private staring in disbelief at the greased rag still touching his rifle. Before the young soldier could choke out an apology, before even the captain could begin to register his mounting fury, a clod of dirt puffed past the captain's face. In the next few moments time seemed to be suspended in an impossible world of light and sound and the sickeningly sweet smell of blood now coating the trench, bodies half tossed through the air, the screaming banshees of mortars adding to the confusion. In a single moment of clarity amid the chaos, the captain watched in slow motion as a grenade swung heavily over the edge of the trench, landing at his feet like an unwanted gift.

Ding! Alarm goes off, time for class!

/Anarchy/\Rebellion\

Why? Have a cause
Rage against the world
Because you can?
Get offended!
look for the answer
forget the question
Corporate Syndication
Liberation
Federation?
Dilluted democracy
Polluted aristocracy
Bohemia? Poverty.
Balance, the push and pull
and push and steal and rape and kill
middle class conformity
Rage! Rage! Rage!
Rejected by society or
Reject society
With a SCREW YOU mentality
The point? fight without cause
forget the reason
Live free or conform hard

Restarting my writing

Hopefully I'll be able to start posting here again, this time with more content. If you've been directed here from my facebook, please note that not everyone on my facebook can see the link, so do not share it with my family members unless they already know about it. other then that, feel free to share the link with any you think might be interested.

How I long to simplify it, pour my soul into the keyboard and hide it away, disguise it in tiny fragments scattered across the world, blown into the wind like bits of paper, write a wish and toss it to fate, scraps of lives tossed and carried far away, over the hills and the trees and the heads of the millions sleeping and not sleeping this night, a night like any another. A night like every other. A night like that night, the night we found bliss in that '69 'Stang, parked on the dam watching the moon watch us, reflection twirl and fade in the water below, a magnificent ballet of light, I felt small and at the same time I was the luckiest man alive.

Coming back to this blog and looking at the posts I now have hidden, a rage fills me again, unbidden, as fiery and twisted as the day it was billowed to life. Unbridled fury, searing at the edges of my vision so they simultaneously seem darkened and white hot. In fact a whole jumbled rush of emotions come on, not least of which is regret. but once more I force it down, swallow it until I'm ready to deal with it. Lindsays known better than to spoil the few days we've had together, which may yet be our last for some time, by talking about her but I can see the patronizing reproach in the corner of her eye and feel the sooothing sympathy in her fingertips.

Indeed, I'm just biding time until we can quietly sneak away for a tryst

Unfinished stream of consciousness

Blank.
Possible?
Lack of emotion.
Wasteland
Alone
Vigilant
Righteous
Wicked
Blurred line
Where do I reside?
Sliding.
There is no despair
Isn't there?
I won't let there be.
I won't let myself wonder
Whether she regrets any of it.
Regrets ever talking to me
Bearing that burden
I won't let myself wonder that.
That path leads to despair.
There is no despair
There is only forward.
An old friend may become part of my life again.
For that I am excited.
And my life indeed, is starting.
I can be my own me
What a terrifying and freeing prospect
Who am I
Identity is hidden by identities
Am I the me that knows more bible verses than the average Christian yet chooses to use them to refute Christianity?
Am I the me that listens to metal and pierces himself and doesn't give a shit?
Am I the me the wishes he could dress up in suit with a faded hat suitable of one of the bluesmen of old and hobo across the country?
Am I the me who wants to join the peace corps?
Am I the me that prefers to spend most of his time reading?
Am I the me that can walk for days without ever getting tired of being where he is and doesn't focus on where he isn't?
Am I the me that knows how to make a man reach for his wallet and steal it from him moments later?
Am I the me that wants to spend every waking moment holding a guitar playing to no one?
Am I the me that would love nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a someone and do nothing but watch the rain against the windows?

There is something about seeing beautiful landscapes that makes you ache to have someone to share them with. Someone who can understand that beauty can't begin to describe the breathtaking sight of a horizon perfectly arching over harshly rugged rock formations, framing the strangely familiar yet utterly alien shapes hidden in the formations. That wild untamable force that is nature never fails to take my breathe away, leaving me disappointed every time I return to this drab room. Yet I must return, if I am ever to have someone to share in that triumphant rush of joy at the sight of something so expansively beautiful that words cannot express it, but the desire to become part nature fills your soul, pressing into every crack and seeping through the gates of pain and despair. The knowledge that you could stop breathing at that moment and feel no fear, for your life must be completed to have seen such a marvel, yet at the same time there cant possibly be a sight in heaven more utterly pleasing than the one before you.

returning to this blog.

Today throughout the entire day I was treated like an adult. Like a fully capable of rationale thought person who has the right to make their own decisions about life. It was such a welcome change from being around my mother I almost didn't even know how to act. I got my first of hopefully multiple piercings. I asked him if ihe thought I should get it and he just said if you want it. I didn't even comprehend for a second being able to make that choice on my own. Perhaps my mother has crippled me from being able to make my own decisions in the real world. Perhaps I only got the piercing to spite her, and to further distance myself from the closed minded attitudes of the people I've been around for so long.

On another note, spent the weekend with Lindsay and Sarah in part, while Lindsay spent the whole weekend trying to get into brianas pants. Which I found intensely amusing. It did however force me to examine my feelings for both of them. As far as Lindsay, she was and is my first love, and I will always hold feelings for her. I'm truly happy that she is with Sarah, and I'm even more pleased that that fact makes me happy. Sign of maturity I suppose. Briana... My feelings for her as a friend were horridly muddled by the breakup with Lindsay, when Lindsay disappeared I panicked I guess and ran to the closest person after with boobs as lindsay puts it, which unfortunately happened to be briana. I suppose I did have a crush on her, but it was never as serious as all that, and I honestly don't think we would make a good couple. She is a good friend, and I hope for it to stay that way.

I suppose it's my fault nearly all my best friends are gorgeous women. If ever manage to get a steady girlfriend I'll probably have to deal with drama about that. That doesn't really seem like something I'll have to deal with for a while though. Sadly. Then again maybe not, I'm poor again. I guess not having a girlfriend does have its perks. I can spend my money on me. Although sex would make up for that. Just saying.

I really don't care who reads this. I'm tired of worrying about other people judging me for what ive done or said. If someone wants to stop talking to me over this so be it, I'm better off without the added drama and heartache.

And I've realized something this week. I bounce back. Last week and the week before I was depressed and a couple times considered just throwing my guitar into the car and driving as far away from here as possible. This only because I'm too apathetic for suicide. But this week, while granted I didn't leave the house but a couple times and spent all my time playing a new video game I felt content, once again focusing on my own happiness instead of seeking fulfillment from others. And while that might not be enough in a week I can look back and say, ok I was happy then how do I get there again and force myself to find what it is that truly makes me happy, or at least as close as I ever get.

One final thought. My lesbian friends posing naked for each others tattoos is the most kick ass thing ever. Nothing says I love you like a picture of your spouse naked permanently inked onto your body. God bless america.

Taking a break from writing my book

Love

God

Miracles

Hypnotism

It only exists if you believe in it

So how can you believe in it?

Are we born to faith? Only when we can reason well enough to form our own conclusions do we find ourselves at a choice. Ignore our skepticism and believe simple because we have always believed?

I believe that knowledge is a false idea.

Certainty is arrogance.

The senses are easily deceived.

Everything around me could be a hallucination, or a dream, I could be in a coma right now in a world nothing like the dream one I reside in.

I'm wandering now

Do try to keep up

We like to wallow

Humans that is

"Get back on the horse"

Only implies that you don't want to

I feel so uninspired with my life

What hardship have I faced that hasn't been self inflicted?

I know I've rambled on this before

But still

:3

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The Modern Guide for the Misunderstood Messiah

One might think being a messiah is altogether difficult. That it requires divine inspiration, that only the son of a god can carry out the role. Think carefully however, on what so called holy texts tell us for certain regarding these messiahs. First and foremost, they are entirely human. These so-called deities come to earth and become human in every way, so they can be, by definition, in no way supernatural. This rules out divine inspiration. So, now what do we have? Regular people with epigrams, hollow words to be interpreted as wisdom and misconstrued, and literally hundreds of generations of secondhand accounts of a handful of miracles. If that's all it requires then why do we not call magicians messiahs? What separates them from the average person? Persuasion?

Cardinal rule of being a messiah, is being vague enough that your message can be totally misconstrued. It really doesn't matter what your message is, as long as people can contort it to fit their desires. Keep in mind however, that people as a rule do not want to be totally happy. They wallow in their guilt, their shame, their depression. As long as you feed them something to fuel their guilt, they'll ignore the rest of your message and focus on their self constructed depravity.

Keep in mind however, that as a messiah your good intentions(if it's possible for one to cause so much suffering with good intentions) will be the cause of wars for millenia following your death. which will be painful and early in life, due to people being unable to cope with the parts of your message they disagree with. the sooner you are dead, the sooner they can begin to misinterpret it.

Till Death

Till death do us joyfully reunite,

Hand in hand in that wondrous twilight land

S

Sacrilege! I sit upon that sagacious saddle of sanctimoniousness, sending salutations to savage sections of a segregated society, subsisting on the souls of supercilious and the stand-off-ish, the setto starters and the sacerdotal scientologists. My scimitar of sabotage slices through the sacrosanct superfluous pseudo-solemnity of the synagogue, that sanctuary to spiritual proselytization.

Words from Vocab book

I accredit your credence in his creed to credulity, not a creditable deification of deities, a pantheon of divine divinities. He is sacrilegiously an atheist theologian, leader of a theocracy that apotheosizes pantheism. Consecrate his execration of sacraments as sanctimoniousness, he sanctions this hierarchy of so-called sanctity.

Abstraction

Dare I bequeath myself to descend from my sanctum, proud and mighty on the hill surveying the mottled landscape, creatures of habit scurrying to and fro unchanged in their ways across millennia.

Self image

Social self-image is formed by one's opinion of the opinion of others.

I'd like to say it doesn't matter but that's not true.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but time doesn't heal all wounds.

I have an unfortunately powerful memory. I say unfortunate because I can remember every single time I've ever felt embarrassed since before I can remember really anything else. Every awkward moment, every time I've been wrong, every biting comment or criticism I allowed to slip between my defenses.

I relive these moments every time I feel self-conscious, and while I'd like to say they make me stronger they usually reinforce my insecurity.

Back to my original point, one's self image is like the reflection in a mirror. You can choose certain aspects of you image, even make changes, yet you are never fully in control of the image.

Just something I'm thinking about right now.

Limbo

I realized I'm in a limbo period in my life. Caught between two stages in almost every aspect. Skill and intelligence and whit and passion strain against the ties of age and ability. it totally bites.

Escape part 17

Birds can't talk, I reassure myself for the third time, glancing at the hawk perched on the telephone line outside my house. I refrain from peeking around for a leather clad femme-fatale hiding in the bushes.

Peyote!

say it fast, johnny cash, talk real slow, move your blowhole, dress in black, cadillac, fool em all, curtain draws!

Escape part 16

I glance back at the pier. The bird ruffles his feathers in a semblance of a wave, perched atop a pile of luggage She dips her head, mouths farewell. I wave back, pretending to bid adieu to New Orleans. So the line has truly blurred. Just something else I won't have to deal with for a week

Author's note: This may be the last Escape for a while. I wrote this at the beginning of my cruise, and things changed considerably since. Rest assured when I have more I will post it.

Wrote during christmas break

Arms tight against my chest

Bracing against the cold

Bitter frost

Reinforces

Loneliness

Damnit

Why can't I just be happy

Force it

Like everyone else