(no subject)
Regret is not an emotion I favor, let alone feel often. I know that in truth I'm what you'd call a bad person. Bad is a simple word, but the directness of these words are sometimes the most concise, or all encompassing.
I'm genuinely indifferent to the feelings of most people I know. I often think the trauma I was exposed to as a child is what made me so apathetic. Fear of being hurt again by loved ones made me a loner for quite some time, and then when I met Zach I actually found someone I could trust.
Quite naturally I fucked it up to every possible extent in due time. I'm not perfect, nor do I ever aspire to be anything close to the idea. I like to use drugs, sleep around, and serve myself before anyone.
Sometimes I think I lie so much just because of the challenge of maintaining the facade. Life is often tedious and non-stimulating to an almost banal degree. Now suppose you start casually flinging bullshit around. It spices things up a bit. Having to perpetuate the absurdities amongst the known ones makes for an interesting lifestyle.
Having given it up, I find it difficult to differentiate between truth and fiction. And once again I am shown just how irrelevant the two are.
People believe you if they -want- to. Truth or lie, they accept or refuse both depending on their upbringing, being naive, or just sheer ignorance. I can spin a yarn of tales so convincing I have people who have known me for years accepting -everything-. Ironic. What I've actually done with my life is far more interesting in my opinion, than any crap I may have spread around in my time.
Whatever. So what? The almost obsessive need for "truth" is bullshit. I admit I adore history, but I realize the fact that the victorious write the stories we rather meekly accept as fact. Not to mention glossing over the uncomfortable realities of how we came to our land, power, wealth, and what have you.
Never mind we tortured, raped, wrote bogus treaties, and generally dehumanized the native american. Who fucking cares? We're here now. Fuck them.
But the petty and shallow who gleefully devour every propaganda piece of bullshit from the news have the gall to call the Iraqis evil. They say terrorists aren't worth having life, fair trials, or whatever buzzword is on the media lips these days.
I sicken and grow weary of all of it. These days I escape by reading books and figuring out what kind of relationship I may have with the current female. Not so much of the latter. It's not often on my mind. Base animal desires first and foremost, of course. But without alcohol and marijuana my life is pathetically empty. It was before sobriety as well, but I didn't give a fuck then. Nor do I now, I just accept the fact that I am a failure on many accounts.
I still have my pride, intellect, and rage. Which many lack to some degree. Slinging burgers? Whatever, monetary gain is a moot point for those obsessed with material goods to fill the holes in their lives. Sure that's the verbal cop-out of a poor man. But whatever, it's what I think.
What sucks about being so smart is knowing the expectations of others, immediately caring about what they think, analyzing the fact that to need that approval is a basic human function, dealing with the conscious recognition of how sorry that need is, and above all... the fact that all these thought processes are occurring in a wet-wire network of electrical impulses and meat which will eventually die and be no more. Makes it all seem rather irrelevant, doesn't it?
So what to do? I don't know. I refuse to fuck up so badly again, that's for sure. I won't place trust in others ever again. Enjoy their company? Sure. Savor the interaction and intellectual discourse pertaining thereto? Indubitably.
^- This is from yesterday, got booted off. Thank the gods for auto-save.
Back from a 10-4 shift. Greasy and in horrible need of a shower. And once again I have some infection. I wonder if I have HIV or something of that sort. I'm -always- getting infections. My diet is a hell of a lot better now, mainly veggies and fruits instead of junk food.
I don't feel like writing at the moment, and yesterdays rambling seem to fill the need to babble.
I'm genuinely indifferent to the feelings of most people I know. I often think the trauma I was exposed to as a child is what made me so apathetic. Fear of being hurt again by loved ones made me a loner for quite some time, and then when I met Zach I actually found someone I could trust.
Quite naturally I fucked it up to every possible extent in due time. I'm not perfect, nor do I ever aspire to be anything close to the idea. I like to use drugs, sleep around, and serve myself before anyone.
Sometimes I think I lie so much just because of the challenge of maintaining the facade. Life is often tedious and non-stimulating to an almost banal degree. Now suppose you start casually flinging bullshit around. It spices things up a bit. Having to perpetuate the absurdities amongst the known ones makes for an interesting lifestyle.
Having given it up, I find it difficult to differentiate between truth and fiction. And once again I am shown just how irrelevant the two are.
People believe you if they -want- to. Truth or lie, they accept or refuse both depending on their upbringing, being naive, or just sheer ignorance. I can spin a yarn of tales so convincing I have people who have known me for years accepting -everything-. Ironic. What I've actually done with my life is far more interesting in my opinion, than any crap I may have spread around in my time.
Whatever. So what? The almost obsessive need for "truth" is bullshit. I admit I adore history, but I realize the fact that the victorious write the stories we rather meekly accept as fact. Not to mention glossing over the uncomfortable realities of how we came to our land, power, wealth, and what have you.
Never mind we tortured, raped, wrote bogus treaties, and generally dehumanized the native american. Who fucking cares? We're here now. Fuck them.
But the petty and shallow who gleefully devour every propaganda piece of bullshit from the news have the gall to call the Iraqis evil. They say terrorists aren't worth having life, fair trials, or whatever buzzword is on the media lips these days.
I sicken and grow weary of all of it. These days I escape by reading books and figuring out what kind of relationship I may have with the current female. Not so much of the latter. It's not often on my mind. Base animal desires first and foremost, of course. But without alcohol and marijuana my life is pathetically empty. It was before sobriety as well, but I didn't give a fuck then. Nor do I now, I just accept the fact that I am a failure on many accounts.
I still have my pride, intellect, and rage. Which many lack to some degree. Slinging burgers? Whatever, monetary gain is a moot point for those obsessed with material goods to fill the holes in their lives. Sure that's the verbal cop-out of a poor man. But whatever, it's what I think.
What sucks about being so smart is knowing the expectations of others, immediately caring about what they think, analyzing the fact that to need that approval is a basic human function, dealing with the conscious recognition of how sorry that need is, and above all... the fact that all these thought processes are occurring in a wet-wire network of electrical impulses and meat which will eventually die and be no more. Makes it all seem rather irrelevant, doesn't it?
So what to do? I don't know. I refuse to fuck up so badly again, that's for sure. I won't place trust in others ever again. Enjoy their company? Sure. Savor the interaction and intellectual discourse pertaining thereto? Indubitably.
^- This is from yesterday, got booted off. Thank the gods for auto-save.
Back from a 10-4 shift. Greasy and in horrible need of a shower. And once again I have some infection. I wonder if I have HIV or something of that sort. I'm -always- getting infections. My diet is a hell of a lot better now, mainly veggies and fruits instead of junk food.
I don't feel like writing at the moment, and yesterdays rambling seem to fill the need to babble.