Change your heart
Look around you
Change your heart
It will astound you
I need your lovin’
Like the sunshine
Everybody’s gotta learn sometime
I have dreams. They started when I was in the hospital with my mother. I woke up out of line when the first one hit. The second one was a little more comforting. I’m not a good person, anyone who says so is either lying or mistaking me for someone else. I’m not going out to be a martyr. I don’t want people to tell me different. I’ve done some unforgivable things in my life that I never own up to. And sometimes, when I know I should, I don’t apology for my mistakes, my choices, decisions, and what not. Sometimes I act as if nothing happened and no one got hurt, betrayed, lied to.
I wish I could find comfort in the lie that people change, but I can’t do that to myself. I’m an unapologetic asshole. And the only way I’ll ever learn is if I one day I’ll wake up and find that everyone got tired of my shit.
All the centrefolds that you can’t afford
Have long since waved their last goodbyes
All the centrefolds that you can’t afford
You’ve long since faded from their eyes
I’m having nightmares again. I’m not sure if it’s the outcome of surgery, the meds I’m taking, the fear that clutches me heart that is imperishable, or something else entirely. At times I think I’m sleeping with ghosts. Their celestial bodies cloaking my mind, polluting my thoughts.
Last night, I attempted to go out with Jyg to Barnes – I was looking for the book The Children of Húrin, which I saw on sale before my hospital stay, but was gone by the time I attempted to buy it – but in the midst, my knees started to feel weak and I started to perspire so we left. I’m going to make another attempt in a while. Hopefully I’ll find it at the other Barnes.
I started NaNoWriMo yesterday. I think Sex, With Strangers will be my project considering that a lot of it has to be rewritten anyway, so I opted to change it up a bit. The only chapter that will probably suffer the least is, of course, chapter one. We’ll see.
My dreams are humble, lean as arrows
Streetwise, ready, and fair
As we bum rush the ages tied to the rails
On high seas not fit to be sailed
Whatever we’ve taken does feel like heaven
But baby, we just look like hell
I keep having the same dream where one of my two frontal teeth falls off. The dreams feels so real that I can feel the sting shooting through my gums and can feel the empty space where a tooth once clung to with my tongue. This is probably the dream I’ve been having for most of the month, off and on.
I woke up early today, not because of the dream, but because I fell asleep way earlier than I normally do. It felt nice to see the sunrise rather than feel the pangs of its rays as they intrude into my room. I got up and made sure both of my frontal teeth were there, sighed and went to brush them. Thankfully dreams are just that.
I need to clean my study. Books are piled everywhere. I also need to clean my room. Sometimes I wish I could just be organized, but that’s a dream in of itself. A cooler weather pushed in and it makes me want a cigarette. I never habitually smoked in my entire life. I’ve never done anything habitually. An occasional cigarette in high school, but the moment I turned 18, that pretty much died off. But now, all I’m thinking is I want a cigarette and a cup of coffee – two things I deeply hate the taste of, yet they go so well together. Once, a few years back, I was at the beach with my mother and my aunt and cousins from Midland, Texas. My aunt made coffee and I took a cup because I need a strong caffeine in take and coffee was already made available.
My mother saw me drown the cup in sugar and milk because I couldn’t stand the taste of black coffee. After a moment, I said, “This tastes of cigarettes.”
“How do you what cigarettes taste like?”
Mind you, my mother’s care had ceased to exist in the sense of I was now 19 or 20 by the time this incident happened. But nonetheless the crimes were committed before I turned 18. I felt a little busted but I told her that it was something I did back in high school. It didn’t matter much because I hated the taste of them and I probably wouldn’t pick it up again – my grandfather, her father, was a habitual smoker and wouldn’t ceased even has his life depended on it.
However, I never smoked at parties with my friends. I hated smoking for the sake of smoking more than the thought of smoking itself. What I mean is, sure I smoked with my friends once in a while (actually in a huge span between each cigarette), but I never did it because I thought it made me look cool. I did it because I thought normal kids had to rebel in some way against their parents and because my mother was so lax with rules, I didn’t have much to rebel against. So sex, cigarettes and drugs was pretty much what I can do. But neither of them seemed like much fun because there wasn’t any punishments awaiting for me other than a look of disappointment.
Perhaps I should add that I was the family’s last hope. My oldest brother graduated high school, but never went off to college. The middle brother, in true middle child stereotype, fell hard into drugs and dropped out of high school. And me, I was the last chance. I wasn’t about to fuck things up.
The incident I was coming to before that break was one that happened at a high school party. I didn’t have much of a social life in high school because I kept it that way. I loved my friends, but I didn’t want to deal with them after school. I never went out except for a few times where I usually called mother to pick me up because I was so pissed off at my friends for their drug ridden ways. But my first party was a Halloween party and I felt that I should appear for two reasons. 1.) I love Halloween and 2.) because I didn’t want my mother to think I was a strange kid for not doing anything with my friends, and the same goes for my friends. I suppose, I wanted to be a normal kid who did what other normal kids did.
The party was at a friend’s apartment that smelt like cat shit which was explained the moment I saw the shit mountain in a much neglected litter box. The party was mediocre at best when it started until the plague got there. The plague was a group of four people, three of which were sleeping with each other. And because I have to assume that they don’t read my blogs or even remotely remember me, I’ll name them. The plague was comprised of Danny, Lucky, Ruben (the threesome) and Denis.
I was in my friend’s bedroom with Josh and Jorell talking things over when the threesome part of the plague entered the room and started talking. They had brought the booze and drugs to the party which was the beginning of the end for me. Because no matter what I thought I could put into my body, there wasn’t a chance in hell that alcohol was going to be one of them.
Upset by the turn out, I decided it was time I called my mother to pick me up because I didn’t want to be there anymore. After calling her, I sat back on the bed beside Josh, who was doing his best to avoid Danny’s homosexuality. My mistake was that I sat too close to Ruben, who was now in front of me. And in true plague fashion, he unzipped his pants and told me to suck it.
I had met Ruben before he was infected by Danny. I had met Lucky and Denis as well. I even met Danny before all this business. They were all great people (well, not the best people, but also not the sort of people who ask you to give them a blow job for no apparent reason, either). But Danny was the first to fuck it up and in true asshole fashion, he opted to take everyone down with him. But Ruben wasn’t that great of a person either, to begin with. He was awkward at best and him asking me to suck his cock wouldn’t be the first time he’d pissed me off.
I got up and left the room.
As I was pushing through the hall, Denis came inside from smoking. He grabbed and said, “Willie, I’m sorry.”
Bewildered, I looked at Denis. I have never heard him utter an apology in the time I’d known him, which stretched back to elementary CCD courses.
“About?”
“Your mom’s outside. She saw us smoking. I’m sorry if we got you in trouble.”
I smirked, “Was I out there with you?”
His face grew confused, “No.”
“Then don’t worry about it.”
I don’t remember where the hostess’s mother was at during this party, but it did make me appreciate my mother a little more. While my mother unknowingly took me to a drug and booze party, her mother was perfectly aware of what she was doing. And while it’s seen as uncool to have a good relationship with your parents like I did with my mother – I could go to her for anything, I could joke with her, I could cuss around her, so basically she was a friend than just a parent. She knew when to punish me if I didn’t go great in school because she knew my potential, but also knew I was lazy.
There was this one other incident, and I’ll end it with this, where my mother was asked why she bought me such “awful” music (I was into Marilyn Manson, Korn, and Nine Inch Nails) and she simply said, “Because if I don’t, he’ll just get it somewhere else.” This will lead to my next post, which I’ll write later.
It can come from out of nowhere
Hit you when you’re safe and warm
Take it easy my star
Your time is gonna come
I couldn’t sleep last night. Between the fear that my front teeth falling off and my inevitible choking death, I kept waking up last night. I attempted sleep, succeeded, but was awakened. Now I’m just not tired anymore. Oh well. Nothing new. I’ll get some more reading down as I finished the novella, Innocent World. It’s written by Ami Sakurai and translated by Steven Clark. I’m not sure who I should blame for the book’s shittiness, but one of them has to pay. There’s more on the side column about the book, so I won’t get into much here.
In a little while
I’ll be gone
The moment’s already passed
Yeah it’s gone
And I’m not here
This isn’t happening
I’m not here
I’m not here
I suddenly have a strange feeling and I’m not feeling well and I’m not thinking straight and I have no one to call because it’s late at night and I’m to only suffer alone. Something bad just happened. I don’t know what, and I probably won’t know what any time soon. I contemplate a shower and perhaps I could get through it without bursting at the seams. I feel hollow. I feel stranger. I feel like a person I used to be long ago. But I got help. I got help, didn’t I? My dreams aren’t making any sense. I dream of Jyg. I dream of old flings. I dream of girls I was once consider a part of. I dream of all my fuck ups. I dream of all my let downs. But the history is all wrong. I’m so torn in between and I’m thinking that an unspoken pact has now been destroyed. I don’t trust anyone the way I could. I don’t even think I trust myself in sticking out during the rough time.
I have a BA in English. Doll reminded me that today. Yet, I don’t want to use it. I don’t want to use it because I don’t want to wake up ten years from now and realize I’m stuck. I don’t want to be stuck. I want to do the beat up jobs. I want to get dirty. I want to get frustrated. But I don’t want to do it with my BA. My BA’s just paper. It’s worthless and worth some thing all at the same time. I don’t know what is gripping my throat right now. I’m finding it harder and harder to breathe. A word. Love. Hate. Pleasure. Pain. Distress. Worried. Hands shake. I am beginning to think that if I’m ever going to be normal, I need to start at the bottom and weed out all this shit before I completely lose myself in these words.
Disclaimer: This blog isn’t meant to offend you. Actually, if you’re offended, then bitch about it on your own blog, not mine. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure some of you might be offended by this blog. If you’re offended, that only means you have no sense of humor whatsoever and should get off your high horse and get high for a change. Also I would like to know that I’m not attacking Feminists in this blog, even though it might seem like I am at times. I apologize offhand if any feminists are offended by this blog, unless you equate Feminism with PUMA power which doesn’t make a you a feminist, but a raving idiot and you should politely excuse yourself and have a political time out. Further more, I’d like to state if you’re blog got linked here it’s either because I liked a lot, or hated it just as equally. The choice is yours to decide which one I feel about you. And while I’m on the subject of disclaimers, I often wonder why people would even fathom a disclaimer anymore. The world of political correctness should have died in the 90s because it was just a waste of time. I’m not saying go out and become racists, sexist and bigots (though, a lot of you already are, but just like to use other terms for it like Evangelical, Republican and Conservative). I’d also like to note that while I call PUMAs pussies, they are anything but pussies. It takes a certain amount of balls to actually get up in the morning, watch TV, look at Mrs. Clinton for some sort of secret code in her body language or words, get on their blogs and write about how she still supports them and is anti-Obama – didn’t a woman get arrested for this because David Letterman was giving her secret messages on TV? – and actually believe the horseshit that they write about one candidate while ignoring the flaws of the other candidate, all the while denying that they themselves are conservative or Republican. This is just a summary of my dream that I had last night and shouldn’t to be explained as much as I already have, but it’s in my nature. Again: I DO NOT mean to offend anyone who is a Feminist (who is my friend), Christian (whois my friend), Republican (who is my friend) or any blogger (who is friend, or I’m the fan of his/her blog). Thank you and enjoy the post.
P.S. I’d also like to state that this post is meant to offend you. Yeah. If it doesn’t, then I didn’t do my job.
Here’s to the Montagues, John Wayne, and Bette Davis
And Romeo, gave it for a chorus girl in Vegas, yeah
Juliet is up in heaven, a pocket full of pills
And Jesus flies to Mexico, to get a prescription filled
I had a dream last night that the country was at a lost. A lot of political mutants from the Republican party (not to mention the Hilary pussies meowing at their doors) went in and voted for McCain/$2 Whore…err Palin. Sorry, feminists, that was a crude joke, I know. But can we agree that Palin is only the token woman and has not political experience – isn’t that what everyone is saying about Obama, by the way? – even is Alaska is next to Russia – what the fuck does that mean anyway? Palin stands for everything most feminist should stand against, yet a lot of the PUMA freaks are considering themselves feminists. I’m sorry, but Feminism DOES NOT equal pouting in the corner, arms crossed, faces scrunched up and whining that their person lost the election and vowing revenge on a person who is completely oblivious of them.
But Palin also stands for everything I’m against as well. Blogger Ingrid Schlueter over at The Hope Blog writes:
I like Sarah Palin. We have much in common in our beliefs on the sanctity of human life, the right to bear arms, the importance of the Constitution and the need to protect God’s definition of family. I further admire her spunk, intelligence and leadership gifts. They are obviously considerable. At a time of weak male leadership, a clear voice of any kind that represents common sense and decency is a breath of fresh air. I have absolutely nothing against Governor Palin.
(source)
I’m all for those who have faith even though I think it’s a waste of time. Some people need faith like I need…well, I can’t think of anything. Now, before I continue, I want to say that I don’t know who Ingrid is, or read any of her blogs minus this one (but I’m only focusing on her opening paragraph rather than the blog post as a whole) and I don’t dare assume she’s being a bigot, or an idiot, anti feminist, etc. I want to make this clear because I don’t want angry Ingrid fans cursing me to the pits of hell, because I live about 20 minutes away from Hell and it’s not as bad as people say it is.
Now Ingrid likes Palin for all the reasons I dislike Palin – except, nowhere in this opening paragraph does she say that Palin is appropriate for the job because of her knowledge of foreign affairs, running the show (because you, me and your grandmother knows that McCain’s going to last as long as Garfield did in office – oh yeah, I went there), and so on. Here’s a list on why Ingrid, and a lot of other Republicans, like Palin:
The Sanctity of human life, meaning pro-life.
The right to bear arms
anti gay marriage
she’s a woman. Yeah, I said it.
Okay, let me be the first to say that I will never get an abortion, solely because I can’t get one. One must have a vagina to get one and I’m all penis on this side of the screen. I also feel – as a liberal, OMG! – that abortions are a vile procedure that we abuse a lot of the times. However, with that being said, again, I don’t have a vagina so I dont’ know nothing about nothing when it comes to abortions. What I do know is that some regret it and some don’t. I also know that “Brass Furnace Going Out: Song, after an Abortion” by Diane DiPrima, which is read at a lot of Pro-life rallies, isn’t an antiabortion poem, but an poem about an abortion. Unlike most men in this country (the south), I don’t think it’s right for me to say no to a woman who wants to get an abortion. Just like I don’t go up to the drunk and say, “No, don’t drink. You’ll kill your liver, kidneys and your life.” We allow people to get a tattoo, get drunk, join the army (more on this part in a bit), and so on that affects one’s body and possibly the lives around them (really stressing on just the army and the drinking, drug addiction, cigarettes, and the like with this one), so why do we focus so much on abortion? Because children are miracles from Heaven? I’m sorry, I may not be a father, but I do have a large family and I beg to differ. Kids are so far from little miracles that they can’t even see Heaven from where they’re standing. Kids do stuff to annoy us, aggravate us and they even get pregnant at 17 and out of wedlock while you stand at the abstinence only stance.
With Palin, however, you’re getting another Pro-life nut who will only resort to giving women who are victims of incest or rape two choices:
Live with the memory of the nightmare each and every day (even though adoption is an option, popular culture leads me to believe that adopted children always seek out their birth parents); and
Old fashion choice
However, the sanctity of life shouldn’t only mean those who can’t speak from within the womb who just happen to be in a womb in the USA, but of all life in the world. That’s just this man’s point of view. Dropping bombs on a foreign country causes what El Senor and his fellow marine buddies in the first Gulf War called, “late abortions” (I will correct this later, when I figure out the correct term), meaning killing children and men already ready born into this world. Don’t get me wrong, war is necessary sometimes. Iraq wasn’t one of those sometimes and to this day still isn’t.
As for the right to bear arms, sure that’s a good idea until someone punk kid goes off and shoots up your kid’s school, possibly injuring or killing your offspring in the process. Then gun control is all the riot. Or, as some Republicans seem to see it, only in the hands of sensible White Anglo Saxton Protestants rather than their darker skin counterparts, should be able to carry a weapon. Gun control is a stupid and sensible law. I don’t like the idea of not being able to obtain a gun to protect myself from, oh let’s say, zombies. However, I also don’t like the idea of Jerry Michael’s across the street to break in my house and steal my stuff, because I happen to like my stuff. My stuff keeps me connected to you.
So how do we keep guns out of the hands of the “wrong” people and give them to the “right” people because a bout of anger, rage or insanity is all that it takes for a “right” person to become a “wrong” person. No, what most conservatives want is to keep them out of the hands of those who might wind up using it on them rather than others, meaning a black or Hispanic person, e.g. me.
Thirdly, the whole God wrote a dictionary, because I know people aren’t stupid and actually think that God wrote the Bible himself. The first Webster Dictionary was actually written by God way before we actually had a Webster on our shelf. I attempted to confirm this information with God, but I could not find an e-mail address, home address or a phone number. I also attempted praying, but as always, all my words went unanswered. I called a local priest and asked him about it, but he hung up on me with recognition of my voice.
Because I haven’t received word from God, or any spokesperson representing him, I have to assume that the Dictionary is out of print. So I turn to the Bible, but that says a lot of things that make no sense to me. Because we are on the subject of doing what the Bible says, I think it’s high time to sell your children off to marriage, don’t think? Back in my old blog, I reported this website. Nothing is as depraved as Christians who live by the Bible word per word. Not even gay sex is that depraved, not that I would know or anything.
But if two men, or two women, want to be as miserable as the rest of the you Lord-fearing people, I ask why not? Not to long ago, it was frowned upon if a white girl married a black man, or anyone who wasn’t a WASP for that matter. Now we’re eliminating race lines through interracial marriages and one night stands (not to mention porn, always have to mention the porn when it comes to Palin because of all those supposedly real photos of her flying around the internet).
I don’t see the problem of gay marriage and how it endangers the American family. Two men getting married doesn’t endanger my chances of getting married because I do that on my own. Besides, we’re living in a new age now, it’s time to shrug the fabrics of religion and drop them on the ground. I mean, one can believe in whatever one wants and still be able to love his/her neighbor (in any matter of they deem fit). I swear, the last reason I think we should put an damper on homosexuals getting married is religious reasons.
But my horrible dream happened last night and McCain/Palin won. The country began to crumble. The PUMA pussies were in glee that Obama lost, but were quickly put to death by Palin. Liberals had a choice, fall into place, or die. Some tried to flee to Canada but were shot on arrival as Palin used her govenor authority to line up the National Guard along the Canadian border (she did this before she was VP, by the way). After the first month, a bitter cold month that made USA look a lot like the USSR in all those propaganda films I watched in my film class, McCain was subdued by his feeble age and began to believe he was imprisoned again. Because of this, McCain was found unfit to be president and Palin took control. Iraq was quickly forgotten, along with the troops there. Palin decided to make an attack on Russian for the sole reason that she feared they would invade Alaska – because, you know, they’re so darn close. Religion was banned from the church and moved into the school yards across the United States. Her pro-life agenda did not erase abortion, but rather supplied abortionists with rusty wire hangers to do the trick. Republicans who knew Palin would screw up, ran to Mexico only to encounter the very wall they wanted built in their way. Trapped, they went into every house of every minority to steal their weapons to suicide themselves away. However, they had forgotten that the right to bear arms meant the right to bear arms if you’re a white collared American. The world became a wasteland and only a band of talented heroes stood against the Palin administration. And they were the X-Men. Oh wait. No. That was a comic book I was reading last night. Must’ve gotten mixed into my thoughts. And to think I was just about to say that her being president after McCain’s removeal caused the M’Kraan Crystal to hurl towards earth.
[Edit:] I’m sure that her deleting the blog has nothing to do with my post, but Ingrid Schlueter’s blog (the one I quoted from) has been removed for some unknown reason. I know I have no power whatsoever because I’m not a powerful person. However, again, I would like to note that my using her blog entry was in no way an attack. It’s just that she had the right words in such a way that I couldn’t pass it up. I’m not sure why Mrs. Schlueter deleted the post, but from what I read, it wasn’t a horrible post – nor was it one I can call excellent, but that’s just my bais speaking, which you shouldn’t pay no attention to. Again, this post was just some pathetic attempt for shits and giggles. I hope no one was offended by it, but if you were, then thank you. You just gave me that much more power in your world.
[Edit:] It would seem that Mrs. Schlueter’s post is back up with a disclaimer of her own. I’m unsure what the ordeal was that had remove her link from Slice, but reading the explanation, it would seem it was an ugly one with vile people – more twisted than me, I’m assuming – laid her to waste.
I attempted sleep earlier and I was slightly successful. But then I kept hearing this voice in my head. It was a woman speaking, talking about something that I couldn’t make out at the time, but when I woke up, I staggered over to my computer. I’ve since typed two pages of words from this woman. I’m tired now; I will go to bed. But I wanted to share this paragraph with you. Enjoy.
The actions to hold off the oncoming onslaught were brutal. Anyone – man, woman or child – who was infected, bitten, so much as sneezed, got a bullet in the head. That was the only way to make sure that they wouldn’t reanimate and make lunch of us all. Scientists and doctors went mad trying to explain the phenomenon they found in their laps. Professors of philosophy creamed their pants with living – shall I say, unliving? – proof of the zombie . So many people were beginning to profit off of the living dead. But what use was money in a world where the dead only came back to life?
I woke up from the strangest dream. I won’t get into it because I’d rather not share a large amount of the information and detail that might scar you for life. But a series of people were there or embodied in there. My uncle, my cousins and aunt, my mother, my nephew, Alice, Philosopher, Jyg, an ex’s father and a few others who I know were people I once knew.
Horses were involved. I knew how to ride one and we were left somewhere rural, my cousins and I. After getting off mine, the horse tried to attack me. I could see the anger in her eyes.
You know, cornishevangelist, some people – namely me – don’t seek answers in anything higher then themselves. Talking to me about god and Jesus as if I can take something from it, is like me trying to explain rationality to you.
When I jerk away from holding hands with you,
I know these habits hurt important parts of you.
Remember when I was sweet and unexplainable?
Nothing like this person, un-loveable.
I just want back in your head.
I just want back in your head.
I’m not unfaithful, but I’ll stray.
When I get a little scared…
Sad, are we? The world is shattered. I haven’t slept much. It’s okay. I’m never healthy. I watched The Dark Knight again, this time with the Kid and Mother. I told them I’d take them last week, but a certain force of mother nature disrupted that plan. I’m writing in my journal. Words that I cannot pummel you with. Little secrets meant for me. Maybe someday, when I’m old and gray, I will pour out my sentiments to each of you. Maybe one day, I’ll turn around and see the sun rising and watching the world illuminated in beauty.
Maybe someday, I will have the ability to smile and actually me.
I feel alone, even when I’m with my friends. I feel alone period. My mind hasn’t yet adjusted. My heart is not whole. My soul, if I believed in a soul, is missing. I’m alone. I’m not alone. I’m happy. I am sad. I am angry. I am not.
Dreams. Alice, a ghost of a girl that I could’ve been with had things been different, once told me that when you dream of those passed, it is a way for them to communicate with us so they are not forgotten. If that is true, why is it that I can’t make others dream of me? I never felt alive.
Alice once told me that it is human nature to believe in god. A god. Any god. Pick a god, any god. Put it back into the deck. Let me shuffle. I’m sorry, you picked the joker. The trick’s on you. What’s your Ace?
Take a walk. A bat almost flew down at me. I hate bats. Their teeth are tiny. One can bite you and it goes unnoticed. Two cats fuck. One cat is forced. Two dogs. Another dog. Dogs run freely in the streets. Sometimes I wish I could take a pellet gun and shoot my neighbor’s dog. Who am I to pass judgment over these creatures?
Can’t feel my arm sometimes. It goes numb. Where do we go after we die? Is death just a numb feeling that lasts and lasts? Our minds, do they exist outside of our body? Are they on going?
Hair’s getting too long. Too long. I sound old. I feel old. I feel stupid. I feel like I’m wasting my life on frivolous habits and dreams. Life isn’t about achieving your dreams. American dream. Fucking, eating, sleeping, making money. Fucking eating sleeping making money. Picket fence. White house. Good neighborhood. No drugs. No adultery. No misery. No school shootings. No me.
I need to get my head checked. I need to feel something again. I need to feel something. I need to feel. I need to. I need.
Scatter this thoughts, like my ashes, and watch the wind take them away. Maybe someday I’ll find it. Goddamn rainbow connections.
Yes, that was a joke.
Nobody likes to,
But I really like to cry.
Nobody likes me,
Maybe if I cry.
Delivered from the blast
The last of a line of lasts
The pale princess of a palace cracked
And now the kingdom comes
Crashing down undone
And I am a master of a nothing place
Of recoil and grace
The sound is so familiar, this voice beneath the pain and the sadness. Like sleep, this voice rejects me. Last night I fell asleep at a more decent hour, but I find it hard to even close my eyes tonight. What depression have I found? How deep does this void go?
The world depresses me. The people who inhabit it depresses me. The people who I hold close to my heart have been hurt by my words or my lack of them.
I want to let people in, but I fear that things aren’t going to be the way they were before. I don’t like change. I don’t like things to fall apart in my hands. I like the bitter songs. The melancholy. I like the abandoned sense I feel. I must like it, otherwise I’d find my way out of this hole.
When I was a kid I thought I was Jesus Christ. When I was a kid, I was still foolish enough to hold false notions of life. When I was a kid, I had an imaginary friend I looked forward to meeting. When I was a kid, I had a dream with praying mantises crawling all over the floor, all over my body. I’m deathly afraid of them to this day. The praying mantis is my symbol of fear.
And in the mess of the green bugs, there stood a girl whose face was shrouded by her own red hair.
The Life of Ennui Prayer 