Camus once said (maybe twice, I don't know)

"How can sincerity be a condition of friendship? A taste for truth at any cost is a passion which spares nothing."

Nietzsche said:
"Does wisdom perhaps appear on the earth as a raven which is inspired by the smell of carrion?"

Sartre said:
"I am not virtuous. Our sons will be if we shed enough blood to give them the right to be."

 The internet said:

A Breakdown is just ahead!

Fuck it. Really. Fuck it.

I really try hard to make a difference. I try to change, I try to prove my worth to my family.

Does everyone feel completely worthless in their family or is it just me?

The past year or so, I have been living alone with my dad. On weekdays, at home, I don't say more than a hundred words to my dad.

That means I spend 16 hours of the day silent.

Do the math, and you'll find that 2,880 hours of my last year has been spent being silent.

Is it any wonder why I don't feel like talking to my family?

My dreams lately are horrible. I don't understand why I can't get past certain things. One of my ex's appears in my dreams, in usually the most obscene and harmful ways. I should stop talking about it.

My dad tells me everyone ten minutes how disappointed he is in me, and my sister laughs quietly to herself knowing that I have to deal with even more shit.

I told my sister basically everything in my life, and I don't get a moment's sympathy.

Is it natural to want to harm your sibling?

The first house I lived in she wrote "I hate David" in chalk on the fence. Every time the grass was watered, I would see "I hate David" at the end of the year. That's the most distinct memory of growing up.

She always finds ways to prod and pick at everything I do. Any time she is present, I face extreme criticism.

Every single time I tell her my ideas, it takes a week for her to make fun of me for it. Any time I have a serious issue, she laughs it off.

I was bitten by a dog and bled profusely, and she couldn't stop making jokes out of that experience. She thinks I don't care about anything, and that I'm a failure.

Her and my dad constantly refer me to situations and scenarios where I won't graduate high school. My dad and sister openly insult me and pretend they understand what I enjoy.

FUCK

I honestly despise my family. You know why? Because they fucking patronize me. They treat me like a drug addict, a devil worshiping, violent individual. I am constantly berated for having ideas that they disagree with. I am approached with arguments that don't make linear sense.

If I could go one day without having to be associated with failure with my family, I would stop complaining and writing this post.

I can't believe I liked my sister.

I don't have much of a motivation to finish this post. I'll be fine soon, don't worry.


Why are there so many songs about rainbows?
And who gives a fuck anyway?
Rainbows are stupid, they only remind me
That my life is sick with decay

And so you are stupid, you choose to believe it
I know we're all gonna die
We'll never find it, the rainbow Connection
The sickly, the worthless, and I

Who said that "every wish would be heard and answered
When wished on the morning star"
Some asshole thought of it, some sucker believed it
And look what it's done so far

And it's so pathetic, that you are pathetic
And it's all you aspire to be
You'll never find it, the rainbow connection
The homeless, the wealthy, and me

All of us are gonna die
You could say nature's a facist

Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices
Swimming around in your head?
Some say "I'm lucky!" and some say "I'm Happy!"
But most say "I'd rather be dead"

And I know I'm lazy and apathetic
Sometimes that is all that know

Victory is in sight! What is that? Is that... fuck.

Today, my parent's other juvenile offspring arrived from binge-drinking state college.

She left me messages while crying. Called me while crying. It goes on.

I was at the family after dark eating ritual known as dinner. I actually was capable of expressing my anarcho-political ideals and premises of my radical thoughts. I, for once, was outspoken. No one disagreed with what I said, and I finally felt, that for the first time, I was respected in my family.

Sadly, feelings of accomplishment don't last long for Meidinger.

My sibling mentioned something I had long forgotten about. A chance to raise my academic percentage in a sect of education I was struggling in. My father became vehement. Now he is disappointed that I am not doing what he tells me. Foma.

He told me this:
"Your last article was about getting out and trying new things, and you did the opposite."

I wanted to say 'That's not entirely true.' Words, however, faltered in my throat.

"You don't really have much of a social life."

I wanted to say 'Really? I take offense to that.'
I was so close to standing up to my father. I was going to prove a point for the first time. I was ready.

Unfortunately, I was cut off by these words.

"I'm being completely serious about that." 

There's never a lower point in my life where the only parent capable of speaking insults you without batting an eye. The words felt like studs on a whip. I felt impaled.

What can I say?

"I'm sorry that you're a horrible parent and you raised me to not speak against or for anything?"
"I'm sorry I'm such a fuck up and that you have every right to be disappointed in me."
"I'm sorry you've had poor execution with all the promises you made me, so I'll do the same."

So many things I wish I could have said, so many ways to redeem myself. Such hesitation.

Unstuck in Time

My father was telling me about when he had surgery for the removal of his tonsils. I imagined what he looked like at a young age, and I assume it was a proto-face of what mine is today.

He told me they gave him the gas mask.

What this reminded me of is when Billy Pilgrim, in Slaughterhouse Five, would wake up in different times and places. How he was once a child and soon a man in the blink of an eye. He would know when he would die, and he would know when.

I was telling a friend of mine that since we were friends before now, we're friends for existence.

I wonder if one day, I'll go unconscious due to some brain trauma, and I'll be seven again.

Maybe I'll be seventeen again, and the trauma will happen when I'm middle aged.

What I'm wondering right now is: What happens next?

Certain close friends are leaving, others are changing, and I'm meeting new people.
It's like my life has reached some sort of a horrible sequel.

What I can't seem to understand is why can't I just end it here, write up a script, sell it as a movie, and live forever in film? Why can't I just settle now and lay back until our we all die our inevitable deaths? That's something we can all enjoy.

One of these days I'm sure I'll be in a delirious state, likely related to a variation of manic depression, and I'll think everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

All the mountains we climb crumble into sands of time
No mail to send, to fair-weathered friend

Hold on

Let me think of an appropriate caption.

The Sea Nile Cat

I'll dedicate this post to my friend's cat.

Here's a brief tribute to this cat. (Only partially accurate.)

This cat apparently lived in Pasadena, in a communal front lawn of a disgruntled couple's house.

For some estranged reason, this cat lived with ten other cats.

When Charlie arrived in the Ploof Family Front Lawn, he had some sort of an infection. He was also a total asshole. Hiding in his bush all day, and angrily meowing at passers by, he was subconsciously deemed the one "Most likely to die first (in various infected cat related antics.)"

For some, ungodly, bizarre reason, he managed to survive. The other cats ran away, or died off (you know how Pasadena can be) while Charlie refused to give into his long awaited damnation. He was so much of an asshole, that Death didn't want to have to deal with the "Carry On Animal (To Hell)" paperwork.

Charlie now spends his days inside a log cabin, talking to himself. Ploof tells me he's senile. There is no explanation for his blatant outbursts of trivial conversation (in which he privately engages himself in stimulating conversation) while complaining about eavesdroppers. He lives with a dog that has separation anxiety, a German Sheppard, a guinea pig and another cat. The other cat is named Oliver, however, she struggles with a 'sexual identity' personal crisis.

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold. 

Outside of Society

I haven't fucked much with the past, but I've fucked plenty with the future. Over the skin of silk are scars from the splinters of stations and walls I've caressed. A stage is like each bolt of wood, like a log of Helen, is my pleasure. I would measure the success of a night by the way by the way by the amount of piss and seed I could exude over the columns that nestled the P.A. Some nights I'd surprise everybody by skipping off with a skirt of green net sewed over with flat metallic circles which dazzled and flashed. The lights were violet and white. I had an ornamental veil, but I couldn't bear to use it. When my hair was cropped, I craved covering, but now my hair itself is a veil, and the scalp inside is a scalp of a crazy and sleepy Comanche lies beneath this netting of the skin. I wake up. I am lying peacefully I am lying peacefully and my knees are open to the sun. I desire him, and he is absolutely ready to seize me. In heart I am a Moslem; in heart I am an American; in heart I am Moslem, in heart I'm
an American artist, and I have no guilt. I seek pleasure. I seek the nerves under your skin. The narrow archway; the layers; the scroll of ancient lettuce. We worship the flaw, the belly, the belly, the mole on the belly of an exquisite whore. He spared the child and spoiled the rod. I have not sold myself to God.

My dream last night. Please don't read if you love your god.

Last night I had this dream. I was with a group of my friends, when I went outside, into a dark night.

As soon as I exited, I heard a man crying. It was one of my exgirlfriend's father, saying that my exgirlfriend had died... in Europe.

I really didn't know how to respond, so I started to cry. It was bizarre.

Then her mother arrived, and was also crying to me. I felt alienated. So I went to the bathroom.

I've been to this bathroom before, in other dreams, and once again I found myself in a corner, when one of my best friends arrives. She asks me what I'm doing. Then another one of my friends arrives, and he greets me.

I felt calm, but for some strange reason, the two parents come back in. They start to say "We haven't seen you in ages! We're glad you're back!"

Which is strange, because I felt like they hated me. I haven't seen them in a year or so.

So I run furiously, and I sit down on a couch in some sort of museum-like building. To my right, I see a teenage couple about to have sex with a seven year old. To the left, I see two men raping another man.

Now, for a second, I think to myself "Where am I?"

The couple to my right is raping the seven year old and it looks like the young child is enjoying the disturbing situation it has been placed in.

Once again, I look to my left, and I see two men furiously raping the victim.

I run out of the room, in fear of being raped.
I run into my friend, who looks at me and says:
"Oh, you were in there? I remember when I first found myself on the couch, it wasn't fun."

So once again, I left, and made it to a train, where I met this woman.

She was the most ugly person I've ever seen in my entire life.
We talked about music.

I eventually got off the train, into a costume store that was located in Sunland, Tujunga. The store, however, was located in La Canada.

Now, I frantically tried to find the best thing to stuff into my backpack and leave the store with. I was deciding whether or not to steal grenades or capes. My dad was waiting for me, I told him I would be outside in a second, but it felt like a half hour. I was going through the store when I saw a video of my exgirlfriend. She was in some dark cave with a horizon inconsistent to the floor of the cave. I went out to touch her, and I said to her:
"I thought you were dead!"
I can't remember how the rest of the conversation goes, but it goes on.

You have serious underlying physiological issues 

-First review of post

Designed in blood we all sign

You give up and I give up and then we start over.

No compromise remains permanent.

What annoys me is the amount people will lie in the first few minutes of meeting them. They attempt to impress you with compulsive acts of spontaneity, and attract you with a 'fun-loving' persona. Burn those motherfuckers. Burn them with altruists and the optimists. People who aren't realistic deserve to be deported to the moon.

High on Rebellion

Patti Smith

What I feel when I'm playing guitar is completely cold and crazy,
like I don't owe nobody nothing and it's just a test
just to see how far I can relax into the cold wave of a note.
when everything hits just right (just and right) the note of nobility can go on forever.
I never tire of the solitary E and I trust my guitar and I don't care about anything.
Sometimes I feel like I've broken through and I'm free and I could dig into eternity into eternity riding the wave and realm of the E.

Sometimes it's useless.

Here I am struggling and filled with dread-afraid that I'll

never squeeze enough graphite from my damaged cranium to inspire or asphyxiate any eyes grazing like hungry cows across the stage or page.

Inside of me I'm crazy
I'm just crazy.
Inside I must continue.

I see her,my stiff muse, jutting around round round round like a broken speeding statue.
The colonial year is dead and the Greeks too are finished.
The face of Alexander remains not only solely due to sculpture but through the power and foresight and magnetism of Alexander himself.

The artist must maintain his swagger.
He must he must he must be intoxicated by ritual as
well as result. Look at me, I am laughing.

I am laughing.

I am lapping cocaine from the hard brown palm of the bouncer.

And I trust my guitar. Therefore we black out together. 

 Therefore I would run through scum.

And scum is just ahead, ah we see it, but we just laugh. we're ascending through the hollow mountain. We are peeking. We are laughing. We are
kneeling. We are laughing. We are radiating at last. This rebellion is just a gas our gas a gas that we pass.

I've got pockets full of kleenex and lint and holes...

where everything important to me just seems to fall right down my leg, and on to the floor.

I miss people. 

I miss my friend Bebe. It's been a year since I've seen her. 

I miss my friend Sarah, I haven't seen her in years, either.

They're probably off doing irresponsible things and trying to non-conform: sad little cases of counter culture.

(punk)

Conformity doesn't mean anything, it's just a label. Like the words nigger or spic. Racial slurs, what wastes of words. Bigotry.

I really like Patti Smith. Instead of The Runaways film, there should be a film for Smith. Protopunk is amazing shit, I think we can all agree.

I especially hate religious people who break their own rules. Hypocrites. Let's light hypocrites on fire.

My room is a mess, I should clean it up. When I clean it up, I'll have guests over. The guests will have fun and smile and laugh with me while we listen to 70's prog rock and  play acoustic instruments while we lay on my bed. Feel free to join, just email me.

I wanted all things
To seem to make some sense,
So we could all be happy, yes,
Instead of tense.
And I made up lies
So that they all fit nice,
And I made this sad world
A par-a-dise.

-Bokonon

Nietzsche Family Circus

I came across this comic. It's brilliant.

The Nietzsche Family Circus

Damned if I warn't a Saint

It's pretty obvious that if there is an afterlife, especially a fundamentally bad one, I'm going to it. Otherwise known as Hell.

I know I'm going to Hell, but aren't we all? You need to realize that staving off your 'sins' just gets you in the (agoraphobic) nosebleed seats. If you embrace your sins, you'll realize that the more you do sin, the better seating you'll get. I hope I sit next to Kurt Vonnegut and Kurt something else, but they'll sit me with the D's. I'll sit next to a ton of assholes named Dave. Fuck seating arrangements.

I feel so deviant. I am proud of what I do. I'm a Social Pterrorist.

I feel especially good today. I've learned to enjoy the sun's burning rays. I've enjoyed it so much that I shiver in room temperature. It's so bizarre.

My life is turning out lovely, even though I see trouble ahead, I welcome it. Everyone is beautiful today. I declare the month of March the month of eternal beauty! Hail Satan!

Beauty is a sin, not to religion, but to our culture. A girl hung herself recently because everyone said she was too pretty and too beautiful, which is kind of fucked up, isn't it? People demoralize the wrong statements. (That previous statement indicates I approve the demoralization of certain ideas. Please take this in the worst possible way and have me be held responsible.)

"How do we know that we're not dead and this isn't Hell?"
-Marilyn Manson

Beauty, talent, fame, money, refinement
Top skill and brain
But all the things you try to hide
Will be revealed on the other side.

Now the D and the A and the M
And the N and the A
And the T and the I-O-N
Lose your face, lose your name
Then get fitted for a suit of flame

Apollyonic Apologies

I heard someone whispering a foreign language in my ear. Thank you, so glad you are.

I think this post has to be justified. I don't think many of you will understand what I mean by that.

Last night I dreamt of Dishdawash and I traveling through a bookstore. We had stared at a book titled 5,000 Days and 50 Nights, by William S. Burroughs. I suppose it's up to me to title the book I'm writing 5,000 Days and 50 Nights.

Yes, I am writing a book. It will be the history of the Saints.

I am going to be busy on 3/27. I have a Saintly celebration and one of my kind friends has taken the liberty to write a song about the post I wrote "Behind Closed Doors." Thank you and your friend.

I apologized to an ex-girlfriend an hour or so ago. It's strange how you feel that life destroys you, and it turns out you were raping yourself the entire time.

I've experienced an emotional trainwreck these past few weeks. I would like to thank the Academy, for tolerating my self-loathing and supporting stability. Tomorrow look's like it's going to be a sunny day, let's praise Glorious Satan for the warmth.

I've been listening to Streetlight Manifesto's 99 Songs of the Revolution, what a fantastic album. I recommend you all listen.

If I could do anything before I left my highschooling, I want to perform for all those people I love. There's not many, but I feel a bit more welcome to strangers lately.

Whenever I approach trees, I always look closely at them. The tree may seem like a single entity, Earth's tiny follicles. When you look closely, the tree is a whole universe its own. I like trees.

For some reason it seems that the movie is slowly ending, and my life is just going to be a distant memory of people I crushed and the hours I spent reveling in my self-loathing 'abandonment.' I'm sorry to everyone who loves me, I know I'm quite insane and distant sometimes, but I appreciate you staying here. It means the world to me.

Did you lose faith?
Yes, I lost faith in the powers that be
But In doing so I came across the will to disagree
And I gave up, yes I gave up and then I gave in
But I take responsibility for every single sin

Saint Peter and the Wolf/The Blood of Ravers

Once again, I found myself in a Saint Voyage.

I returned to where the last Voyage had began, and the Saints Ploof, Medusa, Dishdawash, Sir Paranoia, and a new Saint yet to be named greeted me.The Saints had once again entered the liquid brainstate. The Unnamed Saint was the individual I became close with on the Celestial All Saints Day. Not to be confused with Saints' Day, which occurs in two weeks, on Marching 27th.

Medusa exclaimed "YOU'RE ALWAYS WEARING THAT SHIRT WHEN I SEE YOU!"


I had asked Ploof and Medusa had informed of the previous events of the day: viewing the latest 3-D viddy and talking to strangers.

Unlawfully, we all huddled into the death machine, and journeyed to Ploof's abode. On the way, we found a "FREE SHIT" sale on the corner of the street.

Once again, I felt loved by the Saints, crouched with my head between my knees in the death machine, I felt home.

When we arrived at Ploof's cabin, Sir Paranoia awarded me with a special cloth. These clothes were known as bandanas. Bandanas are used as facial flags to identify which side of a NonSaint Organization you are apart of in the ghettos near my homeland. This bandana is white, and it has a hole and bloodstains on it. It had belonged to an enemy of Sir Paranoia, and it has the blood of ravers.

A raver is a neo-hippie, as Sir Paranoia had told me on Octoberesque 3rd, the Reminiscently Saintful day.
A raver is an individual who consumes a chemical known as MDMA. These teenage 'outcasts' decorate themselves in Kandi. Kandi is when you synthesize kindergarten arts'n'crafts with drug abusers.

I stole images of the night with a camera, but sadly, I do not have the images yet.

Ploof had us watch a film. A stop motion animation film. It was a modern interpretation of Peter and the Wolf.

The night progressed, and the remainder of the night was spent laughing hysterically at a box with a bright screen. Listening to music and telling stories to one another. 

The night was concluded with Sir Paranoia transporting me from location to location. He had told me that the night before he had driven two of his karass with two inebriated strangers. The strangers had told him of a location in Tujunga. I grew up in Sunland, Tujunga.

We drove into dark streets of the destroyed town, listening to Sergei Prokofiev's compositions.

Once more, the Sir Paranoia's death machine had ascended beyond the level of the human Earth, in the mountains of Tujunga, in search of a new Saint Spot.

 There was no success to be had. Sir Paranoia and I returned to our homes.

Sir Paranoia has concluded that I am a child of the liquid brainstate.
 

I am the ocean
Lit by the flame
I am the mountain
Peace is my name
I am the river
Touched by the wind
I am the story
I never end.

Blogging Folly

Whenever someone does something that people say "That's stupid/lame," you develop a fear of what you're doing is actually stupid/lame.

Unless it's drugs, everyone who matters loves those bad chemicals.

I'm not trying to be 'cool' or 'badass' when I write posts for this, and if anyone assumes I'm doing this for attention, you're wrong. I do this because it's therapeutic. It also gives people who don't know me a good view of who I really am.

I don't like many people, maybe it's because I'm the hardest guy.

Glucose. We all need glucose.

Did you know cheese is healthy? I had absolutely no idea, but it is. I eat a lot of cheese, too, so that's quite a relief. Just last Sunday I ate a 1/4 block of cheese while watching the Oscars.

I need to pick up new issues of Maximum Rocknroll and Razorcake, but the local newstand seems to not have them any more. That fucking sucks. Apparently the dude from Rancid goes into that store a lot, but I don't listen to Rancid, so it doesn't matter.

If I ever make it to be as famous as Rancid (after I actually start to try), I would kill myself or break up the band. If Hot Topic ever sells my t shirts, I'll donate my fists to them.

Fuck everything, really. I mean it in every sense. Fuck everything, fuck everything.

Have you ever heard of anarcho-capitalism? It exists, but doesn't make much sense.

Anarchy is great, did you know Argentina has been in an anarchist state since 2001? It's pretty safe, I fucked a chick who went down there. But while she was in Argentina, I was cheating on her. OOPS! Not really.

Cheating doesn't mean shit. Hookers have relationships. You can fuck someone and not love them, most people do. If you love two people though, you're going to have much worse issues than 'cheating.'

Why do people hate Jews? I just discovered Holocauster Tycoon.

Stream of conscious. That fucking ice cream truck is scary.

Anger?

I get angry sometimes. I wonder to myself now "Why did I get angry?" I don't know, but having this ignorance sure get's me pissed off.

Periodically Insane/ Intimacy Issues

Broken? Yes. Bipolar? Probably.

I have no structure, there is no cycle.

Brilliant.

Now I'm over here.

Isn't this pointless?

I think it's Existential. 

I am over here now.

This post represents how stable my life is.

Fuck, I keep on talking about myself. This is getting redundant. Very redundant. Oh so redundant. So much redundancy. How redundant can this get? How redundcan't it get? 

Today, I ordered food under the name Mumia Abu-Jamal.

If you know me, you will know how promiscuous I am.

I've had this fantasy, it's not sexual.

I want to be held by a bilingual girl who whispers loudly a language that isn't English.

I prefer intimacy without commitment. 

That's all I have to say about that.

Inadequacy and disappointment

I am disappointed in so many people.

Everyday I see the people I didn't put the effort in to maintain their friendship. I can't forget them. I expect people to change, to be smarter, to be more aware, but no one ever changes.

I wish I understood why certain people do certain things, but I'm drawn to the conclusion that they are weak. So am I.

No one really expects themselves to change, just the world around them.

I wish I could feel different, I wish I could change, but every aspect of my life slowly dulls.

No one understands negativity. It's not something you can control, it's not something you can just turn off.

My standards of friends are too high. I'm losing acceptance.

I don't want to be bothered, I don't want to be present, I don't want to be anywhere. I don't want to be anymore.


 
Please don't pray for me, I get by
Empty sentiment
Is something that I'll never need

Allergic to People

People irritate me. Clusters of bodies and oxygen dependent beings are everywhere. I want space.

I would much rather be close to one person than the hundreds I pass by everyday. We pretend that no one else exists, and we just keep our heads forward and get to our destination.

Sad.

We all have lives, we all exist, but we don't even acknowledge a stranger's existence.

I can understand though, most people have the capability to drag you down into a pit of fire. A lot of people have the capability to do something horrendously stupid (ex: pilgrims).

Trends are horrible concepts.

To attract certain people through what you wear and listen to completely destroy the reason why people wear and listen to what they enjoy. What used to be philosophical and political ideals are now fashion statements.

Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery.

Fuck imitation.

A Fish named Ernest

There was a fish, he was a good friend of mine.His name was Ernest Swimingthatway.

Ernest lived with his friends, constantly swimming, not doing much in his life. The days turned into a single memory, falling back onto themselves. Ernest really didn't understand that there was anything more in his life than to be happy, so he stayed happy.

He had a friend, Clitfish Johnny. Don't ask us how he got the name.

Ernest and Clitfish Johnny decided to slowly move away from the school of fish inch by inch everyday. His gay father once told him "Never trust a Clitfish, because they'll ruin your life."

Clitfish had separation anxiety, but Ernest never really had any friends, so they got along pretty well. They didn't like the same music, Ernest liked Folk and Clitfish liked Death Metal, but they were friends. Ernest preferred watching Kubrick films, but Clitfish preferred Carpenter. Ernest really liked fireworks, Clitfish didn't give a rat's ass about fireworks.

Ernest didn't really care about how different they were, because Ernest was fascinated by Clitfishes. Clitfishes are a very arrogant type of fish. They are the assholes of the sea (how ironic).

One day, there was this UFO. Technically it's a USO. Unidentified Swimming Object.

This USO was nothing to fuck with. Like Wu Tang Clan.

The USO created massive waves and blared 80's glam rock and left beer cans wherever it went.

Clitfish told to Ernest "Look at that motherfucker! Do you see that bitch?"
"Yes, I do, it looks dangerous." replied Ernest.
"Fuck, dude, shit man. Look at that! Look at the hooks, too!"
"My gay father once told me that I should not eat what's on the hooks."
"Why did he say that?"
"He said it would give me 'the swims.'"

Clitfish started to closely observe the hook, and had an epiphany.
"Fuck it, Ernest." he said in the most sincerest of voices.
Momentarily, he bit the hook, and pulled. The middle aged man above the surface threw his last bottle of Miller Lite, and began to reel in his fish.

Ernest was traumatized. His best friend, Clitfish Johnny, was about to enter the unknown world. He would be away from his waterly domain and never return to his life.

Ernest spent many years in utter confusion. Not depressed or sad, but confused. He thought to himself the revelation behind willingly move on into the next world.

Ernest eventually wrote a book, Old Sea and the Man, full of anti-bureaucratic idealism. He realized that conformity was not the life he wanted to live. Ernest Swimingthatway eventually killed himself. Fishes who meet Clitfishes tend to be that way.

Ernest Swimingthatway learned in his life what I learned today.

You cannot be free and happy.

Clitfish Johnny realized in a moment of great truth that he could not live forever with the other fishes, instead, he took a risk and decided to escape his mundane lifestyle and discover what no one else could have told him.

Ernest Swimingthatway influenced Swimztche. Swimztche influenced Fishler. Fishler lead a fishy genocide against the Clitfishes. That is why Clitfishes are no longer around.

Ernest's gay father died of SAIDS (pronounced sades).

Now I'm just making bad jokes.

My point being is that you can't be happy if you're free. To be happy, you need stability. Commitment is needed to be happy, because commitment causes comfort.

Even though Clitfish Johnny offed himself, he realized that his life would never change, and would be wasted if he had decided to stay with the other Fishes.

This is all true, everything else is Half True

I was at a house. I realized there.

I had a dream a few nights ago.

I was having sex with a girl in a cheerleader outfit in my old bathroom in Sunland. As soon as we finished, she had a miscarriage. I had a miscarriage. The baby was split in half, half in her, half in me. I urinated the half baby out of me, a single colored deformed blob of flesh was in the toilet. I flushed the toilet. I realized I could never tell one of my best friends about this moment.

The girl I was having sex with has the same name as the girl I first had sex with.
The cheerleader outfit relates to a girl I want to have sex with, who is a cheerleader.
The miscarriage represents a girl I could have had sex with, who was having a miscarriage when I first met her.



This led me to a string of conclusions:

We rely on untruths

We 'need' to find the truth

Our faces are dictating who we are

Constantly living lies

there is no truth because we are lying to ourselves

why did we do what we did?

Unsure

there is no cycle

human race is an amplified human brain that rely on untruths.


Everything is half true, since we cannot judge things by their own solipsistic views on existence.

Behind Closed Doors

Behind closed doors, we are all shameful.

The monster that you harbor inside of you is released into your physical world.

I spent most of my summer days nude. I recommend you do the same.

The person we all hate to reveal exists when we are isolated. Behind closed doors, your secrets and your life seem to fade away.

Closing the door unlocks your brain.

Behind closed doors, I'm a different person. I rage. I thrash. I sob. I fear. Although you may never see me do this around others, I still exist to myself in the raging, thrashing, sobbing core of a human being.

I fail to understand why we need to retain ourselves, but I was taught like the rest of us to show no emotion in the crowded world.

Socialite activities are a quiet war. We attempt to upset and abuse strangers by stabbing them in the face with our wits and knowledge. Intelligence was never conceived as a weapon, but we try so hard to have equals lift us one step higher in the communal rankings. The very same rankings we obsess our lives over. Ego.

I don't like it.

I don't know if it is naturally human to repress how we are around other beings. Was it a defense mechanism? Was every act of humanity a minuscule or massive defense mechanism?

Are the ideas I type a defense mechanism?

Yes.

I intentionally use this domain to remove certain types of people from my life.

I stereotyped. We all do. Our brains pick up patterns, which is why we are capable of all the magnificent events and inhumane tragedies our bloody history and legacy display to us.

Behind closed doors, we lose our shells.

Recently, I have let people see who I really am. I lose my inhibitions to efficiently give to them pieces of me. The pieces are broken to you, but to me, they are cells to the sentient.

To my fair weathered friends who I leave bits of my sanity to, I want you to know that you are now part of me. You'll stay that way, because these pieces are permanent.

Behind closed doors, I am away from my pressure, away from my reality, away from the materials that chain me in the company of guests.

Behind closed doors, I am free.
I am alive.

I want to delete everything

Right now. I want to delete this blog. I want to delete my facebook. I want to delete my AIM. I want to delete everything.

I deduce that I am in a bad mood. Or apathetic.

Counterproductive.

Yes, that's it. I'm counterproductive.

It feels like someone has drained all my motivation, all my desire and all my passion. I feel so dry and fucked. I can't feel my head, my hands don't feel right. I dwell on things I regret today. I regret cracking my knuckles every twenty seconds, I regret not wearing socks, I regret not bringing headphones. I regret insignificant and barely bothersome events that have happened today.

Feeling like shit. Thinking about my future, thinking about  my past.

I've managed to stack up unnecessary bullshit unto my conscience.

I feel dead.

I'll fuck the world today
I'll fuck the world today
I will break everything and throw it all away

My Life as I don't know it

Fuck my life. I can say I have no direction, I have no plan, and I have absolutely no care for where I go.

I have my friends make promises with me so I can ride on their coat tails. Effective? Maybe.

It's bullshit, this life is. I was born in America. Manufactured in the 90's, my generation is notorious for it's general lack of regard for any form of civilized society. I had to learn how to become a 90's teenager, unlike you 'lucky' fucks who lived it. You're all twenty or thirty now. Why are you even reading my blog?

My teenager years will be remembered for scene kids. That's right. Scene kids. Those fuckers who decided that wearing all their parent's old generic clothes were still appreciated and in style, and that throwing body paint on themselves would make them more distinguished and appealing. 

It fucking doesn't. What do scene kids represent? Some sort of hippie movement? Some sort of free love and let's rave and take E all day ideology? FUCK that.

My generation is completely ass-fucked, and I didn't even like being stereotyped. 

I hate those stupid 'grown up' people who would say something to me like: "Oh yeah! I remember when I was a Satanist! I'm so happy I outgrew that stage."

You know what? Suck my dinger. 

You're trying to lead some holier than thou bullshit to try and feign superiority because you're too fucking intimidated that someone younger than you was more articulate than your compulsive 'standing out in the crowd' shit. I don't know everything, I don't have the college education or the academic grades or the occupation and stable source of income that you do, but at least I fucking know that it's a weak move to try and put down someone who's socially beneath you. Is your dick that small? Yeah? Fuck you.

I say things like "I remember when I was like that." I don't mean it as an insult, I just remember being in that same mindset. 

My perspectives change a lot, unlike those typical dumbasses who spend their weekends partying and their nights on facebook. I actually enjoy doing other things that drinking vodka and listening to shitty music while trying to grind with some bitch I'll never fuck. 

I am not the type of person who will argue with you until you shut up. If you metaphorically bludgeon my ass against a wall and fuck me with the club, I will accept defeat. You earned my bloody asshole.

I completely lost my train of thought.

Hail Satan

Where the blowjobs at?

I resent a lot of persons, places, and things. 

Why do people treat me nicely? I don't enjoy most of them. I don't see why they tell me I'm smart or why they think I'm some sort of 'interesting character.' I'm a dick. I am an asshole, I lie and cheat and steal and hurt people. It's the way I've learned to function, but only the assholes win.

I am an asshole, a Satanist, a Bokononist, an apathetic nutjob who prefers to eat my lunches away from the mass collective. I would much rather stop attending school if it weren't for the small amount of people I've met. Speaking of my school, it will become a massive pool-pah next year.

Human beings were designed to fail. I am designed to fail. Through those failures I will succeed, as the process of my life has shown me. 

I am a loser,
I am satan,
I am jesus christ,
I'm me.
There are no winners in this fucked reality.

Wait! If you're going to chop that baby in two...

...Can I have some?

My First Editorial: Get off your ass before you fucking die

By DAVID MEIDINGER
Staff Writer

Lethargy and teenagers is a match made in genetics. The time we enter adolescence, a flurry of emotions and mental indecision render us into a state of apathy.
Everyone has a friend who gives up on life, the person who lives inside their house, stumbling across the internet all day, not knowing what to do next. This time in our lives only comes once, and we cannot let it be wasted.

Facebook and television programming has turned our society into sycophant drones. We are taught to live by the ways of mass media, and not how our ancestors had lived. Our ancestors lived on the land, our ancestors hunted and explored their world. Their descendants now ‘struggle’ and ‘survive’ in a world that caters to their every need.

Comfort breeds apathy in the pubescent mind. Small, insignificant displeasures prevent us from appreciating how little we have to work for our comfort. We have learned to consistently depreciate everything in our reach.
As a human being, we develop technology to simplify our lifestyles. The irony is that technology complicates how we understand ourselves. By creating a supply of gadgets and tools to distract ourselves, we fail to look at ourselves. We’ve created a world that interferes with our selves. Technology does not reveal ourselves, existing outside of it does.

Last year, my life consisted of school and returning home to use the internet. The weekends passed by like hours, and the weeks felt like months.
I didn’t go to summer school last summer. Instead, I went on an odyssey of mindless wandering and incredible concerts. I didn’t know it yet, but I had eliminated my lethargic tendencies.

The life of a student consists of strenuous work that doesn’t give immediate results. This is the most detrimental process to put the developing brain. The students will grow impatient, live in confusion, and lose hope. This is proven by the ‘sophomore slump.’ The sophomore slump is when a person, or group of people, fail to measure up to their first success. The cause of the slump is the lack of rewards a person sees after feeling accomplished. The slump is when you cross the finish line in first, but the crowd had left minutes before you made it.
The sophomore slump is directly related to depression, and the feeling of worthlessness.

To eliminate the slump is to give your life purpose. Students depend too much on school to give them direction, instead of traveling without guidance.
To live, you must explore. When you climb a mountain, you do not conquer the Earth, you conquer yourself.

In this era, we have adjusted to staying inside and taking the outside world for granted. Instead of sitting in your dark room, alone, you should go outside and live in the world that surrounds you.

Living in solitude and isolation may be calm and safe, but it can cause xenophobia. An indiscriminate fear of what you don’t understand will be harmful to your required social skills. This will create obstacles in getting what you want.

Life isn’t glamorous for the couch potato. Commercials and sitcoms tell the couch potato what life is. Life is not thirty seconds of an actor living to background music. Life is the adventure that we, as living organisms, were born to experience. You cannot learn life from text books, computers, or television programming. Life is a journey full of hardships and mistakes, and no one can win the human race. There is no defined reason that we are alive, there is no universal truth we can all follow. The world is not black and white, but many shades of gray. You cannot differentiate between the real world and your world unless you live in both. The more humans travel, the more we communicate, the more we live can help us change the world. If we learn how to function on our own, we can then learn to care for the collective.

If you are reading this, please stop. You are wasting time. You need to stand up and listen to the world around you. I cannot tell you what happens next. No one can tell you how your life will turn out. The important idea is that you will come to appreciate your life. Your life is no where close to what people tell you.
It is your turn to stand up against the current, and voyage into the world unknown.
Henry Rollins once said “A traveler is someone who doesn’t know where he's going. A tourist doesn’t know where he is.”

I can only hope that if you read this, you understand the idea I stress. No one is in control of your life but you. Make a difference in your life, and soon your life will transform from a sorrow existence to a thriving passage into a life that no one could have explained. Your life might end tomorrow, or it might end in decades, but life isn’t worth living if you aren’t willing to spend it.