Having people incessantly attempting to pry into my skull is bothersome. In today's society, there's this mentality that everything should be out in the open, that we all have this obligation to lay our cards on the table for the world to see. Communicate our feelings, our emotions, every, single fleeting glance of anger, hate, frustration, stress, negativity, and aggravation. For the sake of irony, let me outright state my disgust and annoyance with this human policy of exploitation. Yes, I consider it exploitation.
Therapy, counseling, guidance, psychology, psychiatrics... You can hardly set foot out the front door of your house without someone bombarding you with questions about how you feel about this, that, and everything under the sun. Nobody seems to be asking what you think or what you believe, it's consistently "How do you feel . . . " or "What are your feelings on . . . " There almost seems to be more value placed on our emotion than our judgement, intellect, wit, and sense. Politicians are elected based on them, murders occur over them, and, everyday, somebody cries because of them. How did it come to be this great emphasis on something so fueled by, in many cases, ignorance, paranoia, and schizophrenia? I'm not trying to say that all emotions are irrational and baseless, but the ones that people ask about are.
I am not a subscriber of the philosophy that the ultimate state of being is some universal and all-enveloping "oneness." I enjoy the fact that a barrier exists between me and everyone else, it gives me the chance to forge my own personality, concepts, ideas, and life. When I imagine a world where we're all melded together in some unison of flesh and grey matter, I can only think how boring and monotonous life would become. No need to argue, no need to explore our souls for answers, no need to speculate, not to mention the total lack of secrecy and mystery. People deserve some things to stay hidden, if you ask me.
I'm not an open person at all. When I stop and think about it, there may be two people who know me in my entirety, and that would be my parents; not surprising–they gave me life. I don't share what goes on in my head to very many people. Sure, my friends are probably familiar with some of my ideologies, philosophies, political standpoints, personal preferences, taste and whatnot, but as for how I feel and operate, that's something I leave unsaid. There are those who put everything out on their sleeve to view, are verging to break down and confess the happenings of the darkest portions of their mind with virtual strangers. I'm not one of those people. Outside of my nuclear family, there's possibly a maximum total of five people who have, on one single occasion, known exactly what was coursing through my brain. It can be problematic, especially when around people, but I've eliminated every friend I ever made who didn't accept me for who I am. "Stay out of my fucking head," is my outlook on life.
It could be interpreted that this makes me some grunting, machismo brute who never says anything beyond what needs to be, and won't let people know what they think. The truth is rather far-flung from that image. I may let slip some things in my head, but, in the end, never everything, never the whole picture. I'm not emotionally dead, either, I just don't narrate the reasons behind all of the ones I experience. You can find me furious, stressed-out, content, or mellow and may very well not be exactly sure of why. If you can't get over that and move on, or, worse yet, not make assumptions based on the little you do know, then I'm not your type of person. Fuck if I care. I also never refrain from letting it known how I feel, if not through words than action. Getting up and walking away without a word is nothing I'm afraid to do, without concern over how bewildering it may come across. I oscillate between talkative and quiet, often, and without rhyme or reason ever mentioned, so be it.
I don't care about offending people. I'm never directly condescending or mean, I don't purposefully say things that are cruel and malicious. Therefore, anytime someone takes offense to what I may say or do, it means they're breathing in their own feelings and definitions. If I refer to an Asian as Oriental, I'm simply thinking in terms of the fact that they are from the Orient, which is true because it's far east from where I am; moreover, in no way am I even considering that the term harkens back to older times and standards, when white people used the term condescendingly. Yet, the term Oriental can be used for the food from there. So, Asian people eat Oriental food and design Oriental furniture and rugs. . . Right, whatever.
Coincidently, halfway through writing this entry, I left and watched Comedy Central Presents: Carlos Mencia, and he mostly focused on people being overly sensitive and politically correct about stupid things. I'm not alone on this, apparently.

Adios

Currently Playing Song: The Pillows - Blues Drive Monster
Quote of the Moment: "Oh, fuck it, I'm going to just start calling everybody Frank, Jesus, and Tyr: Norse God of War." - Me (When I quote myself, that means I can't think of anything decent to put here.)