(no subject)
so it is.
so i am.
so he is, so she is, so we are.
disgusting.
i dont know what to define as most disgusting of all, the fact that nothing defines an individual by constraining him or her to a specific group...or the fact that nobody feels accepted because of this.
disgusting, even, that i cant even comprehend what i have just typed into this forsaken piece of shit journal. its proabbly just teh confusion of words...
but it may not be. maybe theres something more in the demented vocabulary that taunts anybody who cannot find anything accurate todescribe something, especially something as indiescribable as an emotion.
words always mean something, whether or not they mean what was meant to be said. after all, nobody incriminates a "victim" of schizophrenia.
boundaries between such illnesses and normality are sometimes obscured by thoughts and compensations, but there is always a meaning, and always a cause. always a mind, always an emotion. always something to be said, yet nothing to induce the courage to say it.
there is always a regret.
of not being what you should
of not being what you want
of not being normal
funny, witty, simpathetic
or, above all else,
wanted.
there is always a fault, always somebody to blame, but mostly oneself. by being a somebody to contrast oneself from the crowd, one is the crowd, a victim to nothingness nonetheless.
to be wanted...
to feel for others is nothing
to sacrifice is to be held responsible for ones own destruction when there is nothing to return the favor.
and even if the favor has been returned, it is seen as nothing but a notion of mild and thoughtless repayment, due to an overwhelming instinct to be innocent of rejection, due to just another of many clouds of darkness looming over the lake of simplicity and joy, of, dare it be said, love.
pussy, pansy, jerk, asshole, victim, attention whore...be the insult what it will, but nobody can deny it inside. inside is where secrets may remain, but no false outward disdain for a denial of such a concept as devotion or compassion can tarnish that which lies deeper.
that which lies deeper...
bullshit is what everything is, as a fact.
follow up with some response like "well a mirror isnt made of bull shit!" but you feel me.
you feel me
unless you have some reason to possess a distaste for me, you feel me
and even then, youd only be ignorant, phased by your highness above me to see the hard, but tender, facts.
i dont know why id ever type such things to anybody or anything, but i can, and i am.
what does one, stupified by another, think but rapid and instinctual defeated thoughts for compassion or self-defense or honesty?
if one never speaks, youd never know that he has his tongue caught...especially one the same thoughts you worry about yourself
so i am.
so he is, so she is, so we are.
disgusting.
i dont know what to define as most disgusting of all, the fact that nothing defines an individual by constraining him or her to a specific group...or the fact that nobody feels accepted because of this.
disgusting, even, that i cant even comprehend what i have just typed into this forsaken piece of shit journal. its proabbly just teh confusion of words...
but it may not be. maybe theres something more in the demented vocabulary that taunts anybody who cannot find anything accurate todescribe something, especially something as indiescribable as an emotion.
words always mean something, whether or not they mean what was meant to be said. after all, nobody incriminates a "victim" of schizophrenia.
boundaries between such illnesses and normality are sometimes obscured by thoughts and compensations, but there is always a meaning, and always a cause. always a mind, always an emotion. always something to be said, yet nothing to induce the courage to say it.
there is always a regret.
of not being what you should
of not being what you want
of not being normal
funny, witty, simpathetic
or, above all else,
wanted.
there is always a fault, always somebody to blame, but mostly oneself. by being a somebody to contrast oneself from the crowd, one is the crowd, a victim to nothingness nonetheless.
to be wanted...
to feel for others is nothing
to sacrifice is to be held responsible for ones own destruction when there is nothing to return the favor.
and even if the favor has been returned, it is seen as nothing but a notion of mild and thoughtless repayment, due to an overwhelming instinct to be innocent of rejection, due to just another of many clouds of darkness looming over the lake of simplicity and joy, of, dare it be said, love.
pussy, pansy, jerk, asshole, victim, attention whore...be the insult what it will, but nobody can deny it inside. inside is where secrets may remain, but no false outward disdain for a denial of such a concept as devotion or compassion can tarnish that which lies deeper.
that which lies deeper...
bullshit is what everything is, as a fact.
follow up with some response like "well a mirror isnt made of bull shit!" but you feel me.
you feel me
unless you have some reason to possess a distaste for me, you feel me
and even then, youd only be ignorant, phased by your highness above me to see the hard, but tender, facts.
i dont know why id ever type such things to anybody or anything, but i can, and i am.
what does one, stupified by another, think but rapid and instinctual defeated thoughts for compassion or self-defense or honesty?
if one never speaks, youd never know that he has his tongue caught...especially one the same thoughts you worry about yourself