No Sanctity Here

Whether through indoctrination from birth or some self-motivation declaration, the majority of the human population proclaim faith in one god or another, a divine incarnation, a supernatural belief of some sizeless shape. While conversing with a friend on the bare surface of ideas of mysticism and magicks, it occurred to me that I, really, was devoid of any faith at all. To quote myself: "I'm fully willing to believe it, because the basis of my belief is that I don't believe in anything." Immediately after saying that, I realised that sounded like I was an athiest or agnostic; however, I don't subscribe to the utter and total denial of any supernatural or divine precense or existences. If anything is correct, I'm an agnostic, because I do not believe that it is possible to know if there is anything more there or not. I strongly lean towards the school of religion that indicates there is more to the universe than science and human fact, though. The bane of my life has always been the subject of physics, for I detest physics and see it as nothing more than humanity desperately piecing together subjective and flimsy theories to explain the inexplicable, and apply to palpable and very real aspects of the universe while confound us. I'm not saying, by any means, that there isn't a force which keeps us from flying out into the cold oblivion, but I am hardly satisfied with the idea of gravity, a force, where a force is mass multipled by acceleration, all mathematics created by humans in the first place. It all comes across as silly, watered- and dumbed-down explanations made for the sole purpose of satiating the condition known as curiosity and the torturous state of entire unknowing. Mathematics, at least, are not pretending to be laws and rules of existence, but, rather, a way to better understand the workings of the world and our slice of reality. Skipping off of that tangent and back to my main point, however, I do not see how someone can prove or disprove God or divinity, so I nod and concede that, in all possibility, there is some corporeal or incorporeal diety watching us from a cloud, or mountain, or Heaven, or whatever mythos one chooses to accept. I find it fruitless to argue faith and religion and theology, which I still end up doing, way too much, with people. In my own logic and mentality, there must be something to an ideal which, seemingly, spontaneously came to, basically, every culture and civilization to arise, independently, over the duration we, as a race, have dwelled on this rock. So, there could or couldn't be a God, or a Son of God, or a state of being where all is one and one is all, for all I know, let alone care. To me, it's a semi-disturbing and strange foundation to base one's belief system on, one of simply being unable to know or be certain of anything; still, that is how I think, or, maybe, how I don't think. But, that's not interesting enough to merit any more speculation and wasteful rambling than this amount, right here.
My previous entry, "Art: Force-Fed Expression?", isn't done, yet, as implied by the footnote promising continuation, just not now. More writing on it was superceded by that enlightenment. Or, should I call it a conversion? Or, perhaps, a revelation? A witnessing? Shrug.

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts - Don't Bother None (Ah, the irony)
Quote of the Moment: "God is dead." - Nietche "Nietche is dead." - God "Nietche is God." - Dead (Lame, lame, lame sequence of quotes that need to be executed, but, instead, I further advocate their circulation.)

Art: Force-Fed Expression?

For as long as I have been alive, I have been interested in and, to an extent, obsessed with the world of art and artistry, the creativity, orginality, and innovation associated with it, and, at the lowest level, the politics circling around it. The visual arts; including paintings, prints, drawings, sketches, etchings, ceramics, scuptures, architecture, watercolours, etcetera; written arts, including newspapers, magazines, novels, novellas, plays, poetry, etcetera; performed arts, including music, dramas, comedies, tragedies, dances, movies, television, etcetera; the miscellaneous arts, including cooking, athletics, games, and a plethora of subjects I can't name, simply because I don't know of them, are all intriguing and interesting to me, and I take pleasure in studying and learning about them. But, above all, one thing which has always been perfectly clairvoyant to me is that it is all, and I mean everything I just named and alluded to, are recreational endeavors which are not mandatory to survive, and do not always need to be taken to heart.
A musician, dipping into the shallow pool known as shock value, throws on a g-string, leather corset, and blonde wig and wiggles his ass around stage, screaming profanity and sexual innuendo at a pace unimagined to those above the age of sixty, backed up by distorted, out-of-tune guitars, basses, and heavy, thumping, programmed drums. The mainstream media crys havoc and blasphemy, the churches damn him to Hell, the teenagers bang their heads and gyrate along to his music, the academics shake their heads and return to their pompous, classical, accepted music, parents rage on about how evil he is, so on and so on. The only thing I can think is, "Wow, that's pretty stupid and pointless," I shrug my shoulders, and move on, past that silly, immature stageshow. Why am I so apathetic? Because, I realise, he is just doing what he wants, and that has no impact on me, who I am, or what I think, if I don't let it. If you don't like what someone does, ignore it, unless it's a crazed reject from art school raising an army in the name of an organization known as the "Third Reich," you don't have to worry about him coming to your house, dragging you out back, and blowing your face off for not appreciating what he's done.
Art, no matter what form, conveys a meaning, emotion, or message to the exposed, whether or not that meaning is remembered or contemplated is up to the man or woman seeing, hearing, feeling, or smelling it is up to that single individual. A painting of the Virgin Mary surrounded by vaginas, or a depiction of Christ on the cross on a canvas smeared with elephant dung, or a toilet turned on its side and entitled "Fountain," are all legimate facets of some artists imagination, which he has decided to express to the public in a chosen fashion. While many disagree with the ideas or opinions displayed, that does not mean it's necessary to start a Holy Crusade to tear him down, nor is it necessary to ruin his business. If people voluntarily decide to give this man money for his art, so be it, that is their decision, completely irrelevant and detached from our own lives.
Respect, taste, and class are all subjective terms defined and enforced by society to its offspring, from birth. When someone fails to grasp, or purposefully shuns, the definitions put forth by society, it can lead to a number of results, ranging from mass homocide to angry, satirical performances on stage mocking the American Flag or Capitalism. It is my own personal philosphy that as long as you are not directly interfering with somebody else's life, somehow, then, well, whatever you are doing is fine. Murder, theft, and rape, obviously, do tend to "interfere" with someone's life, so I don't condone it. Writing dialogue to be spoken by an actor on stage, in a theatre somewhere, to be seen by 'goers attending the performance by their own whims, does not interfere with anybody's life by force, therefore, it should not be condemned as treachery or ungood. Ambiguity would arise in cases of parades in the streets, signs posted on property outside of your own, and loud speeches made from windows, I'd imagine, but, unfortunately, unless violating laws, people are free to do whatever they want while traversing about, in America. IF you let their words or messages get under your skin, practice ignoring the world, I'm a trained professional at it, it comes with time.
To be continued, at a later date...

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: Mr. Bungle - Legend of Zelda (A song not performed by System of a Down.)
Quote of the Moment: "Gaming is not expression, so it is not protected by the First Admendment" a paraphrase of Judge Limbaugh's ruling in the a case of the St. Louis Judicial system.

DISCLAIMER: This entry has been deemed irrelevant by the author, therefore further reading is entirely optional and against the reccomendations of the author. Thank you.
I don't really recall the exact contents of this quote, but it goes along the lines of: "All the best laid plans fall to ruin." Right, I'm sure the message is conveyed, at least. Today was seeming to be a superb one, full of opportunities and answers, events worth attending and, all in all, a good time to be alive. It even started out that way, despite bowling like absolute shit, due to having fallen asleep at this curséd desk the previous night, thus causing my back to be quite sore, all day. Still, bowling was the only "class" I had to attend, so, that alone, was exquisite. The remainder of the day free, I went out and even had a few things scheduled to attend. Lunchtime turned out to be a notch above the usual, to my own surprise and delight, followed by a nice, pleasant nap on a hard, uncomfortable couch. It beat the hell out of my desk chair, mind you. Wait, I'm doing something I swore I never would with this Blogspot, and that was meander on about daily events... Whatever, this day was a bit different, for me, and held some significance. Hanging out with friends happened, dinner, attendance of a set of most excellent one act plays, with the cancellation of one of the events I had scheduled somewhere in between. Sounds like an okay day, but it was, in reality, an alright day that had higher potential. The moon is in its final quarters, I predict a full moon tommorow night. Ironic timing, but only for me, because I'm not specifying why, here. (Insert wolf howl here)

Adios.

Currently Playing Song. System of a Down - Edgecrusher
Quote of the Moment: "That's not a baby, it's a balloon." - Husband, the second play performed, the name of which escapes me, at the moment.

Imagine this, if you will: You suffer from an impairment or disability that, in some way, makes life slightly bit more difficult and annoying. This is something that you can not help but think about, at least, once per day, and, in general, it's not a matter that you like or are that thrilled about. So, when people remind you of it, bring it up, or ask you about it, you explain it, and don't want to talk about it much more than that. Now, take that situation, and make it a disability that is not readily visible on your physical appearance, something which is below the surface, so nobody is really aware of it unless, through some act that makes it blatant, you indicate it to him, or you directly mention it. Friends, sometimes, bring it up, usually in a tone of disbelief, as though you have forgotten about it, or they can't grasp exactly what you mean when you tell them what is wrong with you. Even when you tell them what's wrong, some people even present you with a solution, in a tone like you would to a child or a retard, that you know wouldn't help, so you point that out, and they don't believe that it would not change anything. Sounds annoying, yes?
My vision is abnormal. Don't ask me why, but through whatever reasons: genetics, an act done young, incomplete development, I don't know, my eyes are incapable of being corrected to a level beyond 20/40. So, you say to yourself, damn, that's not that bad, you just wear thick glasses or something. Riight... No. What the medical terminology 20/40 means is that what the person sees at 20 feet, the average person can see at 40 feet, twice twenty. I have never had 20/20 vision, so I don't know what's it like to see like everyone else, but the world seems ecstatic to throw that in my face every turn and step I take, though. People point things out I can't see in the distance, I'm trying to find someone and I just can't... It's a pain.
Also, on top of that, I am colour-blind. When a human is colour-blind, it does not mean they see in grayscale, contrary to what popular belief is, it means that he lacks the ability to identify certain colours and differentiate them from similar tones. Some common cases are blue and green, red and brown, purple and blue. If you happen to be familiar with the colour wheel, you'll notice it usually had to do with one colour and another that is made up of that first colour and another: blue and green, which is blue combined with yellow. I have it with several sets, and, usually, in dim or insufficient lights, I might think a shirt I have on is green, but I notice it is blue in the sunlight or higher lamplight. Again, nothing I can really do about that, I live with it, and it is irritating. Especially so when friends, or people, in general, can never seem to comprehend why or how I can't tell that something is olive green, not yellow.
Due to factors I don't really understand, partially having to do with my light blue eyes, partially due to constant dilation, I believe, I am overly sensitive to large amounts of light. When I walk from the outside into a darkened room, for instance, it takes me, at minimum, thirty seconds to focus enough to see where I am. Grocery stores, hospitals, offices, and areas which, typically, are set up with flood or flourescent lighting, are just way too bright for me, and I don a pair of sunglasses to compensate. Now that I no longer wear glasses, because I had laser surgery in an attempt to get rid of, for one and primarily, my thick prescription glasses, and, to a lesser and more idealistic degree, hopefully improve my vision, a bit, I wear sunglasses, a lot... In fact, most of the time, in places where most normal people take them off. I do it not because I'm simply trying to "look cool," but because it cuts down on the light, which helps me see more clearly. On that same note, amber-tinted lenses seem to be the best for my eyes, I guess, because of the placement of red on the colour spectrum. When I am able to have the time to focus in the dark, also, I am capable of seeing more than what most people can, too. A recent example would be that, while watching a play, (A most excellent one, actually) the stage darkened per a fade out, and I was still able to see the players on the stage... That struck me as a bit odd, which I pointed out to my friend sitting next to me. To quote him, all in all, I have some weird vision.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, irks me more than someone telling me I need glasses. Someone sees me squinting to read something, they loudly and enthusiastically advice me to do so, I tell them I used to, but I had surgery, then they have the god damned gall to tell me, "Well, it didn't work, I guess!" Ugh... Sure, maybe their intentions are good, but they're, essentially, doing the equivalent to walking up to a man in a wheelchair, slapping him on the knee, and saying, "Gee, you need to get you some new legs!" Of course, they don't know that's what they're doing because I don't wear a sign around my neck that says "Visually Impaired," but... Well, when I explain it to someone, and they still tell me I need glasses, or, occasionally, say something to the effect of "Wow, your eyes really aren't all that good," my only thought is to overcome the urge to gouge their eyes out of their skulls and spend every day for the remainder of my life reminding them that they have no way of seeing.
Embittered? Hell, yeah, I am. I don't drive, at the age of nineteen, because of my vision. Not because of the distance I am able to see, it's legal to drive with 20/40, but because of the amount of time it takes me to focus my eyes on the dashboard after staring out the windshield. I doubt anyone would be comfortable driving when it takes them thirty to fourty seconds to read the speedometer. Also, I have a hard time catching, mostly because there is very little chance for me to follow an object moving at high speeds. So, yeah... It's a... Pain, for lack of other words, my vocabulary slowly degrading the later in the night it becomes, and the more aggravated I get thinking about it.
In conclusion... The next time you feel the urge to give your expert advise as someone entirely unfamiliar with the intricacies of optometry to a man or woman you see having trouble reading a sign... Shove it up your ass, because you don't know if you may be pissing another person in my same shoes off.

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: Fantômas - Page 10 [15 Frames]
Quote of the Moment: "Me llamo... Hotel..." - Mr. Lynch, "Home Movies."

I have such an urge to sit down with a large sheet of drawing paper, a few drawing pencils (Not of varying hardnesses or anything, I draw with a 2B, always have), a pencil sharpner, an eraser, and draw for a long time. For two or threes hours, draw lines, shade, and highlight, create a spontaneous drawing, imagined on the spur of the moment and unplanned, as I used to do in high school, when I was in art class. Out of everything from my past, that is what I miss the most: an hour or two devoted, entirely, to sitting in an art studio and working on art, uninhibited and with free access to a variety of materials and mediums, each and every day.
However, right now, as though it were a reflection of my life, my surroundings are simply too cluttered and cramped to allow me the room to spread out and draw without having to spend thirty minutes, beforehand, cleaning and organizing. I, somewhat, want to go to campus, but that limits my access to materials and conveniences, plus would provide a distraction or two or fourty, no doubt.
So, I'm just substituting writing for drawing, like I have been doing for... Well, a long time, now, I suppose, maybe six months. At one time, I was a prolific artist, producing, at minimum, one work a week, every week. Now? I don't believe I have done more than five complete, finished works of art in the past two semesters of college. I am hopeful that, next semester, when I'm actually in a studio art class that I will, ideally, get back to my old level of artistic satisfaction in the venue of drawing or whatnot.
I enjoy writing and take an amount of satisfaction from it, but it's never the same as visual arts, for me. A drawing is a focus I can concentrate on for hours without trying or exerting effort; I'm content to shade, draw, paint, smear, or whatever for hours on end, without thinking about the length of time or amount of work I've gotten done. Writing, on the other hand, has never been a subject I can stay persistent on, hence why I usually produce short but dense poetry. After an hour or two of writing, it is common for my train of thought or central idea to derail, and I slowly degenerate exponentially towards rambling without a tether to any stable ground. A perfect demonstration of that happening would be this Blogspot, where I try to keep a thesis and main idea going and not lose sight of those, but tend to just truncate my entries before concluding completely.
Oh, well, that's just something I've noticed about myself over the years, but is really irrelevant and dismissable, truthfully...
In the same manner that my natural environment seems to be affected directly by how my life is going, the weather seems to be flowing along in the same tides as my emotions. Of course, astrologers or other mystics would probably inform me it would be the vice versa case, where my emotions are shifted by the weather, but... Well, I wouldn't argue that, as I can't, technically, disprove that, being my emotions have been unpredictably rising and falling, but I don't like the taste of it. Last week, the temperatures were becoming higher and higher, and my mood was in high spirits, as well, but, then, yesterday a rainstorm came through, and I've been a bit more mellow and apathetic. Yesterday, I was standing by someone and talking, gazing upward, past the building looming before me, at the skies, which were rumbling and brewing with rainclouds, dark and grey, foreboding and harkening for the wilder spirits to be let loose. I could not help but relate to that state, one vergining on a grand release of tremendous force, but only in the preparation stages, pending a trigger or cue enabling it to proceed...
It sort of fits, and I love this quote, so I think I'll put it here:
Quote of the Moment: "...Then, you wake up one morning, and it's the grayest day of the year, and you just think, 'Hey, maybe I'll take a razor blade and slit my wrists so I could see some colour!'" - Lewis (Louis?) Black.
Actually, my state of being has been more consistent with who I've seen and what I've been doing lately than the weather, which I, personally, find a more likely explanation. Eh, but that doesn't make it sound as profound, I suppose. Soon, the semester will be oever, my freshman year of college completed, successful and a failure to me, an advancement and detriment. Such is life, I guess: one, never-ending trudge towards death, simultaneously attuned to a constant, trying climb towards an unknown height that summons you forth, despite the ease it would be to lay down and remain on the same level, always.

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: Nomeansno - State of Grace.

Uninhibited, pure sleep deprivation is an intriguing creature to study. I, as much as I know it's unhealthy for me, perform "experiments" in how long I can function correctly without any rest, so I have a large number of "trials" to draw from to make certain conclusions. I have noticed that after approximately one day of no sleep, with no caffeine intact or large quantities of sugar, it seems that parts of my brain shut down. It is, somewhat, disturbing when it happens, because it's almost instantaneous and a noticeable shift in how I act. For one, I, for whatever reason, lose all ability to put any inflection or energy into my voice, and it just becomes a flat, mostly monotone, gravely noise from the bottom of my throat, no matter how hard I try to change it. That's outside of the typical symptoms of no sleep, of course: tired, lack of energy, lethargy, the sort of things you would expect. Also, I become slower to make remarks about things, and even fail to come up with plausible, sarcastic quips to spout at whim. Oddly enough, though, I become more able to just smoothly and continuously joke on a "lower" level, with material which is more random, crude, and unintellectual. There have been few people to witness this state, though, as I usually put some coffee in my system during the course of time nearing one day without sleep, but there have been a few spots here and there where it happened around other people. After some time, though, I regain my voice without sleep, but that usually does involve downing some java.
Even without any coffee or colas, after two days or so without sleep, I get hyperactive. This is a disconcerting sight to behold for those who know me, too, as I am usually a low-key, toned-down, (To an extent) and... Well, just anti-hyperactive individual. Seeing me bounce around, talk faster, and smile and laugh a lot more often would throw myself off, if I were able to observe myself from the outside of my body. However, and luckily, this hyperactivity doesn't usually last more than four to six hours, and I no longer become as a giddy schoolgirl, to my own relief.
After that, I just gradually become more and more out of it, unable to focus on anything, inattentive, sluggish, unimaginative, and unsophisticated. Going from day three to four is rather uneventful, just, mostly, examples of me laying my head on surfaces and not moving for awhile, not responding to statements directly made to me, and other indications that half of my brain has blacked out.
The interesting part is when I reach four days and beyond without sleep, which I've only done twice, and, on the second time, I was only able to achieve that length without rest because of a fever. Delirium, hallucination, and lose of muscular control are the only things I remember from those two times, the memories being quite hazy. Nothing hugely out there, mind you, just minor "false" images, such as someone lifting their arm or turning their head, then I realise they didn't actually. I, also, recall swearing that a few people had changed their hair colours, but nobody actually had. And by lose of muscular control, I don't mean seizures or spasms, just not being able to keep my arms at my side, or my fingers staying curled, or my eyes and head twitching. All in all, it's not a very happy or uplifting picture of a man, and those were times I wasn't all that proud of myself for.
Lately, I've been keeping myself up too much, for multiple reasons, mainly due to restlessness and the inability to disperse the thoughts in my head enough to have a clear enough conscious to even sleep. An unpleasant habit I've picked up is falling unconscious at my desk while drawing or some such activity during which I pause momentarily, then, after an instant seems to pass for me, I wake up with horrible cricks in my neck and a very sore back. I should stop tormenting my biological clock for stupid, inane reasons that are irrelevant to my existence in the end, really.
Heh, it's pretty amusing that I'm writing about losing sleep at 3:30 AM, at least, to me and my addled state of mind. So, I think I'll be going to bed.

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: Gang of Four - We Live As We Dream, Alone
Quote of the Moment: "Life is but a dream, you know, that's never-ending. I'm ascending..." - Yoko Kanno, "Cowboy Bebop."

Ugh, the idea was that I'd write that relatively brief entry, then turn in for the night. Unfortunately, it's so bloody hot, I can't even consider sleeping, yet. I can't friggin' believe that it is April and I have to resort to my air conditioner to not be sitting here, sweating! I know that, because I live on a pennisula, surrounded by the ocean and two rivers, weather here is rather sporadic and prone to fluxuate, but this year has been particularily insane. It has snowed three times this first, fiscal quarter of the year, and it usually never snows; the very first time it snowed, it clocked in at a foot, a foot, I tell you! Sure, the second time, it didn't even accumulate on the pavement, but an unpredicted, midday flurry in February? Then, God only knows why, a few inches of snow and ice decided to come visit in March. If that wintry whirlwind of wacky weather wasn't enough to confound any local, I don't think Nature has made up its bleeding mind about exactly when Spring is going to set in, because it's been cold, warm, cold, hot, chilly, cold, and now it's a wonderful week of balmy temperatures in the eighties and nineties! Anyway, enough of ranting about the lack of a climate, onto what I intended to write about, the last bit of Sunday morning's unjustifiably murdered post.
I understand that I can come across as an absolute asshole, someone who is unpleasant, unhappy, negative, cynical, pessimistic, uncaring, thoughtless and sarcastic. This has never really phased me, before, due to the facts that, for one, no matter what, in the end, I am perfectly happy with who I am, and I, also, understand that superficial and surface-level assumptions of my character are unreflective of my inner, true person. Moreover, even those who know me the best, who have prodded and explored my mind and heard my thoughts and philosphies, fail to, still, grasp and understand the total picture of myself; I doubt anyone is capable of doing so, basically, aside from me. At times, though, the one who is clawing for answers about what and why I think certain things happens to be me.
In social circles, there always exists certain levels of friendships. At the bottom, there are some who can not stand each other, who barely tolerate the presence of one another, and would not even momentarily be compassionate or considerate of each other. A notch higher are those who simply do not think too highly of each other, that may or may not like or enjoy the other's company, but does not despise that person, nor loves and savours him and wishes to expound their time together. (I default to the masculine pronoun "him," because I am not a radical feminist nor politically correct, and, also, understand the latin roots of the English language.) Thirdly, among a group, some, essentially, do not care about others; moreoever, they possess no strong or substantial opinions of the other. They pass in the street or walkway and nod, but whether or not one of them stops and chats is irrelevant to the outcome of their days. The degree of a friendship above that is what most people classify as "friends." They share information about each other, spend time, voluntarily, and seek to do so often enough to be accountable for as a sizable chunk of each other's time, trust exists between them, and an interest in some of the same subjects, so on and so on; an innumerable amount of traits make up what a true friend is, but, I'm sure, you get the picture. A relationship superceding that with another person breaks the boundaries of simple "friends" and hinges on a romantic or intimate relationship, and all logic, rational thought, common sense, and any semblance of the ability to objectively analyse the situation breaks apart and falls away into oblivion.
I have lived for my entire known time of possessing consciousness without ever experiencing a relationship that dwelled in that grey, unmapped territory. I'm one of the cleaner persons you'll be able to find: I have never drank, never smoked, never did any drugs, never broken the law beyond a minor infracture, and never lost my virginity. I don't take any real shame in that last fact, being I possess a respect for the opposite gender and a sense of chivalry and romance, at least, in my own terms. (Find for me any scenario where one is not a virgin and has never experienced a deep relationship without the involvement of a one night fling, drunken mistake, or other similar situations, and I'll not associate those three traits as one. Well, it is possible to not possess the respect and chivalry and, still, have the virginity due to being an absolute recluse, antisocial figure, overly (in my opinion) religious person, etcetera, etcetera... But, the point was aimed more towards the worst case.) So, on the emotional plane, I definitely rank a newbie, and, hell, my only date is ambigious as to whether or not it was in itself. So, you should be getting the image about now of a man who is a, subjectively speaking, straight arrow with decent morales and the like, but keeps to himself, is not that outgoing, and has been trampled over his entire life.
But, the flip side to the coin is that, while I have been told by a friend that my very appearance is that of a man who does not wish to be approached, the truth is quite the opposite. While, I may be wearing sunglasses and headphones, or, in some examples, a black trenchcoat and maroon fedora, (Hey, I like the style, not the social stereotypes associated with it.) I do not mind, in the least, if someone interrupts my music to talk and interact. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I take a special pleasure in being brought out of my introverted bubble, being it indicates, to some amount, that someone has enough interest to go to the trouble of getting my elusive attention, something a more apathetic or unconcerned person wouldn't. Socially speaking, I am not impaired, I do not lack the ability to socialise, in any shape or definition of the word. It is, mostly, that when I am alone, I do not mind it, and I choose to occupy myself with self-absorbing activities like listening to music, reading, drawing, and writing to pass the time between actively being with a friend. I'm a loner; I have always been independent, which is why it does not surprise me in the least that I have cultivated the appearance of someone who is unapproachable: I don't blend in with the crowd, at all, and am completely atypical. However, this, as of late, hasn't been serving me too well in my own favour...
At times, when in solitude and in the act of walking, aimlessly, (An activity I engage in, often.) the weather may exceptional at that time: perhaps, the trees' leaves look alive, the temperature is cool, a slight breeze, animals scurrying about, birds in the trees, singing, the Disney-esque scene from a movie where all is well and right with the world, you know the jist. During those times, the only thought that seems to cross my mind more than once is that I wish I could be sharing the scene with another. Yesterday, I was in the movie theatre, watching Ice Age, and, as much as I love my folks, all I really wanted was to be there on a date, with a woman beside me. Well, I had half of that, but I'd prefer the woman to, for one and most importantly, not be my mother, and, two, to be a slight bit younger. (Please, no offense to those who prefer older women, it's just a matter of my own, personal taste. A... twenty-five or more age difference is over my limits.) Also, I'm facing an inkling of dissapointment, as, this week, a girl I may or may not have decided to ask out, finally, revealed she was going out with a man, so, as you can imagine, that eliminated that option. Of course, it was, also, a case of me, literally, sitting on the decision to bide time until I knew her status, since I saw her so disoften that I couldn't assess the answer on my own, lacking the needed amount of information and ability to observe. What it boils down to is that I'm facing a spiel of loneliness and, currently, no way to directly dig myself out...
Well, I digress, per the fact that I am babbling and I have drained, pretty much, the contents of my memory of what I wrote and lost on Sunday morning.

Adios

Currently Playing Song: Soundgarden - Fresh Tendrils
Quote of the Moment: "They just look at my mouth, look at my mouth, look at my mouth and say, 'Hey, man, I know where you're coming from.' Yeah... BULLSHIT!" - Fugazi, "Furniture."

First, above and beyond the necessity of anything else, this task must be completed, for it is one of great importance, one of such huge and monumental significance that mere words can not ever dream to convey the sheer magnitude of the implications and ramifications carried through this message which simply must be heard, which must be said emphatically and with a degree of respect and dignity rarely bestowed upon any mortal ilk... *cough* *clear throat* *cough* *shift collar* *cough* *clear throat, again* Ahem:
"I am old... Old beyond my days... Much like one who has... Lived for a very long time... A time which stretches over... Measurements of time extending many years, consisting of... Many months... And... Many days... Many days, containing many... Minutes... Which hold within them... A large number of seconds... I had a wife, once, but she is dead, now... She was too old... "
Okay, I just had to get that one out of my system. For those of you outside of the sphere of knowledge, that would be a reoccuring, pointless inside joke developed between me and a friend that has expanded to include all I know; one which is simply too fun to build upon and make larger to resist doing exactly thus. I can, literally, ramble on in a silly, geezer voice for five minutes about nothing, in the same manner as above, upon request. The inspiration for that struck me when I was watching Gladiator with aforementioned friend, and the very first instance of the elderly Emperor's appearance, where he just silently walks along in a cloak and hood, elicited a simple, short sentence, "I am old," in a strained, raspy, old man voice from me. Yes, it'd be best to be content not to ask, usually, with anything involving... Erm... me, in general.
Well, that was part of that lengthy message I wrote Sunday morning and lost. I will, most likely, complete the rest of that tangent another day, in its entirety. This was the light-hearted introduction to the message, whereas the remainder is me drawing out issues and points in a less happy manner. Well, this installment has already been stretched out to a duration too long, so I'll stop while I'm ahead.

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: Soundgarden - Let Me Drown
Quote of the Moment: "Urge to kill... Rising." - Black Mage, "8-Bit Theatre."

Okay, yeah, I just wrote a fairly lengthy entry, and when I went to post it, I got a VB runtime error, so... I just spouted out a pretty decent string of profanity and am too pissed to even consider re-typing all of it, right now. I'm now going to paste all posts to Notepad before submission, just in case, and will, probably, redo that lost post tommorow or the next time I am in the mood, because, I'm sure, the issues discussed won't pass anytime soon.

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: The Dismemberment Plan - The Love War
Quote of the Moment: "First we feel, then we fall." - Nomeansno, "The Fall."

Bienvenidos, you have entered this faintly touched mind of mine. I, in a nutshell, created this for the purpose of venting and ranting about any subjects at hand; anything qualifies, from the events in my life, to current events, to the price of a baker's dozen of eggs at Food Lion in Monrovia. If you're even reading this, that means you either stumbled upon this place entirely at random, or are acquainted with me in some form or fashion, so I won't go any deeper into an introduction than I am a young man of age nineteen, enrolled in college, and an artist in multiple senses of the word, in my own mind, at least. This, in fact, is simply another facet of my exploration of the literary venue of art. I'm not particularly in the mood to go into anything detailed or elaborate right now, let alone anything much at all outside of this surface-level preliminary entry, therefore I believe I shall end this righ--

Adios.

Currently Playing Song: Gang of Four - Anthrax
Quote of the Moment: "If every fourth animal in the world is a beetle, maybe every fourth person is a DUMB FUCK!" - Nomeansno, "Everyday I Start To Ooze."