The meaning of life.
The Meaning Of Life.
July 6th, 2002, 3:43 A.M.
People disappoint me. I'm sick of pretending to be happy, for others. Some times, I wonder.. why I even do it. When someone talks to me, I watch, I listen, but I don't exactly comprehend what their saying, strictly because I don't want to. The ignorance of the average human being is nauseating. Even, as I walk down the street, watching people.. They hustle, as if having important things to do, more - then - likely.. just things to keep themselves occupied, so not to think about more.. realistic things. More importantly, what is realistic? I can't tell any more. I can't decipher the difference from being awake, to, dreaming soundly in my bed. And though, it seems that I do not even have a bed any more. I go to work, I come home, check my email, shower, change clothes, and leave to go out with "friends".. Come home before my Mom goes to bed, then leave, all night, come back 'home' to get changed, shower, and go back to work.
Some times, I wonder, do you have time for yourself? Most people, could say, ' no, ' that they were to.. ' busy ' to make time for themselves. But, as you walk down the street, as you work, as you sleep, you have.. time to think. Now days, thinking is the only thing I can hold sacred. I've been stripped of any thing else I've ever held sacred.. love, religion, friends, so much as to my own room, none of it, has meaning any more. And though, it may ' have ' meaning, I don't understand what those things are, or, why they were ever sacred to me to begin with. Lately, things come and go, to me, just as people do. And once, I had myself so convinced, that.. I would.. never find someone to cherish, to yearn to be held within their grasp.. ever so tightly, and never, never to be released.. I now know how incredibly moronic I had let myself become, when I met someone in which, I thought fulfilled those inner needs, and desires. For yes, I did fall, and with a dumfounded smash, did I hit the ground, and lie there, lie there crying, over something, in which, I was so relentlessly blind to, it turned in to that of my own improbable dream. Though some times... I wish that dream, though fake, was still occurring. And now, even now, do I cry, over losing that. It makes me think, though, should I be crying, over something in which, I never truly had to begin with. I like to think I had it, that.. I had him, and though maybe, it wasn't even 'him,' but, Us. Is it so terribly wrong? No, it wasn't. Now over, though, I smile to the times I was caressed within the grasp.
I cannot look at people, the human race, as every one else does, and, mayhap it is a confession, to my friends, or, even, to myself, something I wish not to admit. I look at every one, as.. a waste of flesh, the.. human criteria, is, in some forms, a down side of a disarranged, hierarchic nature. Perhaps it is why, I have so few friends. I could be ' friends ' with any one, though, I could not truly be friends with them. No, because, every time they would talk, their ignorance, would plague through me, sickening me. Ignorance, of every thing that surrounds them, and though they know the 'world' in itself, exist, they refuse to accept it for which it is. They refuse to accept people, for, what they are. And so, they continue on, with their hypocritical - customized lives. Living, for.. Something they don't truly understand, or just merely doing it, because every one else.. accepts it. And, if they go with every one else, their ' right, ' and any one else, with a different opinion, is outcasted, beat or neglected for this. I have noted, that, I will never, never look at any one the same, as every one else sees others. But, simply.. as a plague to the earth, in which falls due to the ill-bred, naive, humane race.
I wonder, when this disease will end. Sitting here, words locked inside my head. Or, when, I will sit within the darkness, staring off in to oblivion, rocking back and forth, allowing tears to stream from my face, sitting.. in silence, merely thinking, of why I can't leave this place. Thinking, of things.. Iv lost, further more, the people. I know, deep within, I'm fucked up. Mentally. It makes me nauseous, when people joke about being ' fucked up. ' I use to, though, I use to laugh about it. Until, one day, I realized, something was truthfully wrong with me. I've never met some one, whom could sit in the dark, for six, seven, even eight hours, in pure silence, and watch nothing, as it seemed, they would cry, and now, it doesn't even seem like crying, as it is unnoticed, until you can feel the hotness poison your flesh, hours later, as you snap out of your trance, and come to, wipping the sweet-bitterness from your outer soul. And, perhaps, even your inner-soul, as you try to convince yourself, that every thing is all right, and.. why you were shaking for hours, crying, and biting down on your hand, which now stained in blood, was a result of stress.. that no pestilence lied within you, and, even if it did, it was nearly, not enough, to make you... mentally sick. The only answer, I've come up with, is when I replay the vision of myself, dropping down to my knee's, and grabbing my head, in fear, of losing every thing, which, was truly, only one thing, the only thing, person, I ever would die for, honorably, without hesitation. until I realized, I never had him to lose. Is it.. so, fucked up?
July 6th, 2002, 3:43 A.M.
People disappoint me. I'm sick of pretending to be happy, for others. Some times, I wonder.. why I even do it. When someone talks to me, I watch, I listen, but I don't exactly comprehend what their saying, strictly because I don't want to. The ignorance of the average human being is nauseating. Even, as I walk down the street, watching people.. They hustle, as if having important things to do, more - then - likely.. just things to keep themselves occupied, so not to think about more.. realistic things. More importantly, what is realistic? I can't tell any more. I can't decipher the difference from being awake, to, dreaming soundly in my bed. And though, it seems that I do not even have a bed any more. I go to work, I come home, check my email, shower, change clothes, and leave to go out with "friends".. Come home before my Mom goes to bed, then leave, all night, come back 'home' to get changed, shower, and go back to work.
Some times, I wonder, do you have time for yourself? Most people, could say, ' no, ' that they were to.. ' busy ' to make time for themselves. But, as you walk down the street, as you work, as you sleep, you have.. time to think. Now days, thinking is the only thing I can hold sacred. I've been stripped of any thing else I've ever held sacred.. love, religion, friends, so much as to my own room, none of it, has meaning any more. And though, it may ' have ' meaning, I don't understand what those things are, or, why they were ever sacred to me to begin with. Lately, things come and go, to me, just as people do. And once, I had myself so convinced, that.. I would.. never find someone to cherish, to yearn to be held within their grasp.. ever so tightly, and never, never to be released.. I now know how incredibly moronic I had let myself become, when I met someone in which, I thought fulfilled those inner needs, and desires. For yes, I did fall, and with a dumfounded smash, did I hit the ground, and lie there, lie there crying, over something, in which, I was so relentlessly blind to, it turned in to that of my own improbable dream. Though some times... I wish that dream, though fake, was still occurring. And now, even now, do I cry, over losing that. It makes me think, though, should I be crying, over something in which, I never truly had to begin with. I like to think I had it, that.. I had him, and though maybe, it wasn't even 'him,' but, Us. Is it so terribly wrong? No, it wasn't. Now over, though, I smile to the times I was caressed within the grasp.
I cannot look at people, the human race, as every one else does, and, mayhap it is a confession, to my friends, or, even, to myself, something I wish not to admit. I look at every one, as.. a waste of flesh, the.. human criteria, is, in some forms, a down side of a disarranged, hierarchic nature. Perhaps it is why, I have so few friends. I could be ' friends ' with any one, though, I could not truly be friends with them. No, because, every time they would talk, their ignorance, would plague through me, sickening me. Ignorance, of every thing that surrounds them, and though they know the 'world' in itself, exist, they refuse to accept it for which it is. They refuse to accept people, for, what they are. And so, they continue on, with their hypocritical - customized lives. Living, for.. Something they don't truly understand, or just merely doing it, because every one else.. accepts it. And, if they go with every one else, their ' right, ' and any one else, with a different opinion, is outcasted, beat or neglected for this. I have noted, that, I will never, never look at any one the same, as every one else sees others. But, simply.. as a plague to the earth, in which falls due to the ill-bred, naive, humane race.
I wonder, when this disease will end. Sitting here, words locked inside my head. Or, when, I will sit within the darkness, staring off in to oblivion, rocking back and forth, allowing tears to stream from my face, sitting.. in silence, merely thinking, of why I can't leave this place. Thinking, of things.. Iv lost, further more, the people. I know, deep within, I'm fucked up. Mentally. It makes me nauseous, when people joke about being ' fucked up. ' I use to, though, I use to laugh about it. Until, one day, I realized, something was truthfully wrong with me. I've never met some one, whom could sit in the dark, for six, seven, even eight hours, in pure silence, and watch nothing, as it seemed, they would cry, and now, it doesn't even seem like crying, as it is unnoticed, until you can feel the hotness poison your flesh, hours later, as you snap out of your trance, and come to, wipping the sweet-bitterness from your outer soul. And, perhaps, even your inner-soul, as you try to convince yourself, that every thing is all right, and.. why you were shaking for hours, crying, and biting down on your hand, which now stained in blood, was a result of stress.. that no pestilence lied within you, and, even if it did, it was nearly, not enough, to make you... mentally sick. The only answer, I've come up with, is when I replay the vision of myself, dropping down to my knee's, and grabbing my head, in fear, of losing every thing, which, was truly, only one thing, the only thing, person, I ever would die for, honorably, without hesitation. until I realized, I never had him to lose. Is it.. so, fucked up?