This is more than likely directed at many of you.
Laughing.
Cough.
Talking. Laughing. Sarcasm followed by "jk."
Laughing, moving. Chair tilting.
She's fat, he's an asshole, they're probably doing this, he's probably out having sex with her, these people I hate and here's why, I cant stand her, he's annoying, he's stalking me, they're hypocrites, let's do this and that to show them how much we hate them, I ignore her, I avoid him, "shit" "fuck" "bitch" "G**D*** it."
Talking.
Talking..
Talking...
...
Noise.
And for what. Why. To bitch and bitch and talk negatively about this, that, and them. That's all it's been for days.
So many people living tenaciously to the beat of the generation. And what does that beat consist of...
Bitching. Smoking. Drinking. Talking about people you hate. Listening to music written by people passionate about making noise with as much bang as possible, but never truly grasping onto a picture beyond bitching, smoking, drinking, and women.
Songs about women can be great, but if every song you ever write is about a relationship, where's the creativity. Sure, you might be a wiz with words, but it all means the same damn thing.
Fill yourselves. Gorge in anything a fanfarenade of all but the end. It's an easy way to take your mind off inevitability.
Talk about people, work, food, money, things you hate (you have more to say about that than things you enjoy), sex, drugs, music... as long as it keeps your wondering mind clinging to the finite.
Philosophy, important as it is, is dead.
Too much to live for, even alot to die for without considering the consequences.
It seems like everyone is nervous. If they arent having fun, what will they do? Think? Oh, well no one who lives by the prospect of fun wants to be left alone with themselves.
I wonder sometimes how much you'd hate yourself if you really had some time to get to know you. And so we run from the very thing which gives us that ability.
You cannot lose yourself in a crowd.
You cannot lose yourself in a keg.
You cannot lose yourself through the sound of music.
You cannot lose yourself through a mess of leaves and paper. Even if you find yourself at the end surrounded in flaming disease.
When enough years creep by, you will find that reality is patient, and it will wait forever in the bowels of your brain if necessary. Because reality is confident. It knows you have to face it before you die, and the longer you wait, the more it grows. The heavier it becomes, and the harder it falls upon you.
...
Why do you complain? Are you bored? Are you restless? Are you afraid of what noise will fill you if you decided to stop talking?
You do it so much now that it's like a second nature. It's a reflex- an involuntary action spawned from nervous repetitiveness.
And it's a scar on the face of humanity.
With a population so largely accursed by it that it's becoming evanescent.
I apologize that this seems so pejorative to all of you, but I just want you to question yourselves when it comes to how often you complain or make fun of people who are overweight, unintentionaly irritating, "creepy," "stalking you," or anything else of that nature.
It makes you seem incredibly insecure.
It's childish, which should go without saying. But apparently it doesnt.
...An easy way to test yourself:
Hold an entire conversation without talking negatively about someone, or complaining about something.
It's afflicted myself as well. Maybe now you understand why Im so quiet. I think what you all think, but I restrain myself and note the tendency to become unecessarily condescending.
For this reason, Im striking myself from the "I hate Derek Passel" MySpace group. Fish is right, and Im terribly sad to say I accepted it.
My advice to all of you...
Spend some time with yourself. I'd hate to be so surprised to know who I am.
Take a look at some photographs of you as a kid, and wonder what you've done to that kind, loving child. What has become of this bright-eyed, hopeful little thing.
This was your doing.
End.
Cough.
Talking. Laughing. Sarcasm followed by "jk."
Laughing, moving. Chair tilting.
She's fat, he's an asshole, they're probably doing this, he's probably out having sex with her, these people I hate and here's why, I cant stand her, he's annoying, he's stalking me, they're hypocrites, let's do this and that to show them how much we hate them, I ignore her, I avoid him, "shit" "fuck" "bitch" "G**D*** it."
Talking.
Talking..
Talking...
...
Noise.
And for what. Why. To bitch and bitch and talk negatively about this, that, and them. That's all it's been for days.
So many people living tenaciously to the beat of the generation. And what does that beat consist of...
Bitching. Smoking. Drinking. Talking about people you hate. Listening to music written by people passionate about making noise with as much bang as possible, but never truly grasping onto a picture beyond bitching, smoking, drinking, and women.
Songs about women can be great, but if every song you ever write is about a relationship, where's the creativity. Sure, you might be a wiz with words, but it all means the same damn thing.
Fill yourselves. Gorge in anything a fanfarenade of all but the end. It's an easy way to take your mind off inevitability.
Talk about people, work, food, money, things you hate (you have more to say about that than things you enjoy), sex, drugs, music... as long as it keeps your wondering mind clinging to the finite.
Philosophy, important as it is, is dead.
Too much to live for, even alot to die for without considering the consequences.
It seems like everyone is nervous. If they arent having fun, what will they do? Think? Oh, well no one who lives by the prospect of fun wants to be left alone with themselves.
I wonder sometimes how much you'd hate yourself if you really had some time to get to know you. And so we run from the very thing which gives us that ability.
You cannot lose yourself in a crowd.
You cannot lose yourself in a keg.
You cannot lose yourself through the sound of music.
You cannot lose yourself through a mess of leaves and paper. Even if you find yourself at the end surrounded in flaming disease.
When enough years creep by, you will find that reality is patient, and it will wait forever in the bowels of your brain if necessary. Because reality is confident. It knows you have to face it before you die, and the longer you wait, the more it grows. The heavier it becomes, and the harder it falls upon you.
...
Why do you complain? Are you bored? Are you restless? Are you afraid of what noise will fill you if you decided to stop talking?
You do it so much now that it's like a second nature. It's a reflex- an involuntary action spawned from nervous repetitiveness.
And it's a scar on the face of humanity.
With a population so largely accursed by it that it's becoming evanescent.
I apologize that this seems so pejorative to all of you, but I just want you to question yourselves when it comes to how often you complain or make fun of people who are overweight, unintentionaly irritating, "creepy," "stalking you," or anything else of that nature.
It makes you seem incredibly insecure.
It's childish, which should go without saying. But apparently it doesnt.
...An easy way to test yourself:
Hold an entire conversation without talking negatively about someone, or complaining about something.
It's afflicted myself as well. Maybe now you understand why Im so quiet. I think what you all think, but I restrain myself and note the tendency to become unecessarily condescending.
For this reason, Im striking myself from the "I hate Derek Passel" MySpace group. Fish is right, and Im terribly sad to say I accepted it.
My advice to all of you...
Spend some time with yourself. I'd hate to be so surprised to know who I am.
Take a look at some photographs of you as a kid, and wonder what you've done to that kind, loving child. What has become of this bright-eyed, hopeful little thing.
This was your doing.
End.