Friday, March 31, 2006

The Piece Of Matter Is Kicking The Pill

Ten years from now I will be ten years older than I am now. This is a disheartening thought, as even a week from now I will be a week older than I am now. What is this about? Aging? All I really do is waste my time, but I don't know how to do anything else. I have often thought to myself that what I am currently doing is a waste of time, but cannot think of anything that would be not a waste of time. How exactly does one use their time appropiately? Is there a point at which I'll have to live, you know, like actual life? I kinda just wanna coast forever. I wanna build a raft out of what is left of my dreams and sail to an island of coconuts. The coconuts will represent something, metaphorically and such, but I haven't decided what yet. I think someone once said "Twenty is the age in which you don't what the hell you're talking about and don't know what the fuck you're doing." Maybe that man was Mark Twain. Maybe I just made it up and applied it to someone who will get more respectability than I. What was I talking about again? I think I might be hungry. I ought to be, but I don't know that I am.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

My Walls Look Like Cake

I can no longer sit idly by and watch as some dickholes type blog while pretending they are pets or babies. If you are typing, you are not a pet or a baby. Putting a picture of a pet or a baby in your profile does not make you said pet or baby. I know full well that I am not Bob, and I am comfortable with this. Be comfortable with you are. If you want to let little Junior who is six seconds old type a blog, have him do it. Let him flail lifelessly on the fucking keyboard until he squeals in agony and see if that agony translates well into the "NDAIJBNDOI0GWEAJKSNJSJNHDUHR3R7Ihui&uzhHIASKKAKABS DIASHDCIASSJAN8a*nubnIUBibvuyagvuyedb" he'd be typing up, rather than this "I am but a child of three, I mean free, cuz that is how little kids talk and also type I guess! Mommy fed me today, and has no issues with my behavior! Also, I am intelligent enough to type coherently and in logical English, but not enough to dress myself or prevent feces from dropping out of me at inopportune times! Oh, and ga ga and also goo goo for good measure and a reminder that I am a baby" bullshit you sicko parents letch out. Typing "I chase mice and cough up hairballs" does not make you a cat, your cat hates you for the misrepresentation and would claw your eyes out if you didn't need them to feed it. "My owner says..." You are the owner, dipple-shit. Get over yourself. This whole "I'm typing as a cat" business is just so you have an excuse to write in the third person, isn't it? Fuck you. Your sweet home-town values needn't be projected through LIES AND MANIPULATION. Keep babies and pets off the internet, dammit. Their input is not needed on news items or as a voice of what quaint things are happening around your house. You want to talk about your pets or babies, be my guest. It's the lying that gets to me. Are these values you want to teach your children/dogs? That forgery and false identification are not only okay, but encouraged? Go away.

"junior took a dookie in the fishbowl and i have to clean it up"

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Don't Step To Me With Silliness Cuz I'm Bound To Rant Ridiculous

Oh glorious nothing. Spring. Music, music. Eating too much. Dirty socks, belittle me not lest thy self undermined. Why is it that decimals are not counted among Sesame Street patrons? Discrimination. Poison, poison. Gremlin in my fireplace. Gremlin in my fireplace. Porridge in my mind, orange in my stride. I am about to walk around the city with too little warmth and you will look at me but I will look at you different.

Judgement, judgement.

How could they take the flag away from me. I never used it but I didn't make sausages either. Membrane, membrane. Potbellied pigs; faster than a speeding bullock and for that I am unallowed, Rembrandt, Rembrandt. These questions will never be answered because they will never be asked. My finger is my brain; children, children. Protude and poke with the mighty swagger of a thousand dead armies. You are their death. You are their pancake breakfast, singed with the skies of altruism. Frequency.

Take what you will. I am here to pillage the rest.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

This Title Is An Inside Joke That Only I And Maybe One Other Person Will Get, To The Rest It Will Seem Random And Confusing

I haven't written in a while, have I. And the last ones I did write were silly and made no damn sense. What does this say to you? Analyze my situation, type up a 1200 word essay, send it to me and I will take note.

To me, it says I'm bored. At first I use the boredom to come up with silliness that is likely amusing only to myself. Then the boredom prevents me from having anything to write at all. There's no way I would burden you people with the potential crappy entries I could've spewed out. No. So instead I say nothing.

Yesterday was my birthday. Everyone forgot, even me. Birthdays never really meant a whole lot to me, plus the 19th and 20th birthdays are just lumps of shit to jump on on the way to the other side of the toilet of manhood. I didn't do anything special for my birthday. I didn't even eat cake. (I had a Zebra Cake, I don't know if that counts. There were no candles on it.) You know what I did? Same thing I do every day. Watch television and play Earthworm Jim. I am a waste of life.

All my friends are busy with finals. I am not. Maybe I should be. I really don't have much to do. Studying has never really been a terribly amount of trouble for me, at least not to the extent that others have. I have no qualms staying up all night the night before a test, neither do I have qualms not reading the material. I do well. I am awesome.

Even if my friends were not busy with finals I would not see myself doing anything. It is a handy excuse that they are all busy because I can tell myself it is their fault I am alone and not mine. I have trouble calling other people to do things because I never have anything to do. None of my relationships with anyone here is particularly strong; there is no implied hanging out and I rarely receive a call from anyone.

I am leaving here soon. This summer I am going home to Minnesota, and I am staying there. I love Chicago, but I never felt right here. This is not where I belong. My friend last year had a moment similar to this where she realized she could no longer go to this school and had to return home. I didn't understand it at the time. I had no particular issue with the school or the city or anyone I spent time with. I did not get why she felt like she felt. Now I feel the same. She was my best friend here. She left. Our group lost a staple. I didn't feel the same connection to any of my friends from last year. I can't assign blame to any particular thing to how I feel now, but this year has been quite different from last year. I hardly go out. I go to concerts alone. My assumed weekend activites are no longer getting drunk and acting a fool but rather sleeping in a little later and maybe getting a sandwich at a local eatery alone. This is not the friend who left's fault, it is mine. Upon her absence I was suddenly faced with the challenge of making social connections with people without any sort of buffer or fall-back, and I didn't put forth the effort. I didn't care. I hated people. I wanted to sit alone, ignore my roommates and clack on the computer. Past tense is unneccesary here as I am still feeling this.

I have friends back home. Back home I will hang out with my buddies from high school. Back home I will feel more comfortable in my social situation, I will be more productive, creative and stable. Back home I will see all the same things I've been seeing my whole life. Friends will call me and I will call them. I will feel better about myself and will feel better about life. Back home I will still be depressed. Back home I will hide it better. The people around me will like me rather than tolerate me. I will watch less TV. I will read more books. I will do better in school. I will have a job and pay less money. Back home I will be back home.

I love Chicago. I love it like a woman I've been married to for 20 years. It has a lot to offer me and we've had a lot of fun early on, but now I don't see the same things in her. I come home from work and watch television while Chicago cooks in the kitchen, unappreciated. I love Minnesota. Minnesota is the high school flame, full of highs, lows, fond memories and broken hearts. Chicago has shown me many good times, but the passion is gone. I would prefer to be depressed in Minnesota than blase in Chicago.

I didn't make an effort. Would things have different if I had? Would I like this city better? What if my friend didn't leave last year? Would I instead have better social situations here and want to stay? Would my options for things to do be wider? Does this situation happen on its own, did I bring it on myself or is it someone elses fault? Does is even matter? I'm skipping out. I'm ditching all these people I sort of know and going back to someplace comfortable. Back home.

My roommates are getting a different place. I never felt I really connected with them, even though one of them was my friend from, you guessed it, back home. He was in my band. I've known him longer than I've known some of my other friends. What the hell happened? We chat, we hang out, we shoot the shit and get drunk. But things are different now. We sort of avoid each other, subconsciously, and don't do anything together. My roommates and I hardly go out to eat as a group. We hardly do anything together. Hell, we hardly do anything, period. Did they bring me into this? Did I bring them into this? Did we bring each other? Are we friends, or do we just live together? What if I move in with another of my friends and the same thing happens? What if it's all in my head? If I'm inventing this distance between us in my mind, I am likely also feeding it by acting on this perceived notion that may not have existed.

So I am 20. As a friend pointed out, in many countries I would be considered a full-grown man. I am not a man. I might as well still be 17 years old. All that's changed in the last 3 years is I've gotten more depressed. I've also gotten more happy. Certain points of my life have been the happiest I've ever experienced, others have been the lowest. This year has been neither. This is quite possibly the most bored I've ever been. I feel nothing. Is it the age? The school? The city? The people around me? What the fuck, mang?

Who cares. I'm going back home. I turn my back on this place. Things will be better. Things will be the same. Things will be worse. But things will be, dammit, and that's all that I'm looking for.
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