MY SICK MIND

*07.23.07*

This sucks.  I'm getting very down again, and it's seemingly due to the usual suspects.  My job, our financial situation, our house and the fact that we're trapped in it, my general state of lethargy...on and on.  All weekend long I was just tired.  Tired enough that I wanted to sleep every moment that I could.  Why?  I go into every Monday, hating my life because I feel guilty for taking my boys to daycare; for feeling like I wasted my weekend, and my time with them; for not doing my homework for Tuesday night, so I have to stress about that.  I get a horrible, sinking feeling every Sunday night, knowing that I have to go back to work the next day - for another five days of assholes, socially inept coworkers, a dead-end job, boredom, a minimal salary, etc.  Pretty sad that I've not even been at my job for two whole months, and I already despise it.  Not just "oh, it's a job, I'll suck it up because it's not that bad," but more like "I fucking HATE wasting my life, facing the goddamned corner, acting like I'm working and busy even though I'm not (because I finish every project within two hours of beginning my week), talking to my coworkers who refuse to even respond to me."  I seriously would rather rake my balls over a cheese grater, than come into this mother fucking job anymore.  Then I begin to think: Is this what most people say, after years and years of being at the same job?  That they just sucked it up to make a paycheck?  That they wasted their entire fucking lives doing something they hated?  I don't want to end up like that!  I've started the new rx suggestions of my Dr.s - aren't they supposed to help this sinking feeling in my soul?  Why aren't they?  All I seem to ever want to do is cower in a corner w/ my knees to my chest, in a dark room...or sleep.  I can't live like this, dreading everyday, hating my life yet loving my family so much that I don't ever want them out of my site (if only I had a "mute" button sometimes), feeling guilty, destroying myself because I have no self-esteem, slowly dying everyday at a job (any job) that I hate.  Honestly, all this shit in my head makes me physically sick sometimes.  I feel like the only way to feel better, is to vomit.  Why can't I be like everyone else, and just push this shit down in order to do what is necessary to be "happy," or at the very least...numb enough to not care anymore?

*12.13.06*

Fuck!  It's been over a YEAR since I've been here.  Can you tell I've been busy as fuck?

Since the last "update," I've had probably my dream-job both come and go.  I was employed at a wonderful company, then everything went to shit.  I don't care to elaborate further - here anyway.  Suffice to say that I now have yet ANOTHER job (what, is this like four in four years?!).  I now work for a fairly decent company called Experian.  I started in October which means that this last "round" - I was only unemployed for around three months or so.  Nothing like the almost-12-months of last time.  That was horrible.  So anyway - I'm now in sales.  This role is still analytical, yet I'm also client-facing, and just a few days ago, acquired my new "book of business" (aka my accounts/clients).  So in about a month or so, I'll be traveling around 30% of my time - going to visit clients.  Not quite sure how that's all going to pan out, but I'm very excited to be doing it.

Let's see - what else has happened?  Everyone is growing up.  They are now 1 1/2, 5, and 15.  I'm definitely getting older.  Filth Industry is still going forward.  I don't say we're going strong because we're not.  We do, however have our 10-song cd finally finished.  Now we just have to get together the lyrics, artwork, get them pressed, etc. etc.  All in all I'm happy w/ the outcome of it.  I'm my own worst critic, so I'll leave it at that, lest I go on and on about things that I hear that I don't like...but no one else hears!  Whatever, I'm proud of the cd.  Here's a teaser of what the cd cover will look like:

Now for something COMPLETELY different and fucked-up!

I'm almost proud.  She's rich, famous, and a complete mess!  Now this truly proves the human-side of celebrities.  Turns out that Miss Lindsay Lohan has not only a problem w/ drugs, alcohol, and partying...but she's also (apparently) a cutter.  What is a "cutter" one might ask?  Here's MY definition: 

A cutter is one who, for their own reasons, decide to cut into their skin in unnatural fits of delusional-desire for pain.  Methods of doing such vary from regular knives, to razor blades, broken pieces of glass...pretty much anything that is sharp enough to pierce and slice the skin, and produce the warm, red blood that is lurking underneath.

Yes, it's strange - but whatever.  There are many more worrisome, pressing, important things afoot in the fucked-up world in which we live, than how someone attempts to handle their own version of mental/internal "pain."

I'm not sure...but those SURE look like self-inflicted wounds to me.  I have a new-found sense of curiosity about Miss Lohan now.

I know - I'm a disturbing individual.  I never claimed NOT to be.  With all the shit I'm dealing with in my own life, inside my OWN fucked-up head - I suppose I take solace knowing that fame and fortune (which most crave) cannot provide everyone with true happiness.  Granted, I'll never know for sure - as I'm not planning on becoming rich in my lifetime...nor famous for that matter...but it's still enough of a thought-provoking topic that I choose to write about it in my beloved - albeit lonly step-child of a blog.

...slice on my sick non-friends...slice on.

*3.16.05*

It's not as late as the last update...for-fucking-ever-ago.  So much, yet not much has happened since I last updated this fucker.  Short end of it is that Yahoo! fucked up for that past two months...so I couldn't log on to update my site, via FrontPage.

So, suffice to say the following, as a "short version" - to bring all of those who don't visit my site - up to date:

-Still jobless.  Still down.  Still an addict to whatever I can find.  Still singing w/ FI.  Still pissed at the world.  Still believing I'm the "victim."  Still  not happy with myself.  Still writing.  Still getting older.  Still afraid of the bad in me.  Still sad.  Still content.  Still unbelievably blessed...still not sure why.

Look hard enough and you'll find the blog that's been updated in lieu of this site.

*11.24.04*

It's 1:30am, Wednesday - and I'm awake. I just took a couple of pills, and chased them with two large gulps of vodka. I have been having insomnia more frequently as of late and I don't like it. I used to always be able to sleep. No matter what I was facing in my life, I was able to close my eyes and forget about it. Not so anymore, and I miss that. To top that off, my wysiwyg is fucked, and I can't update this site from where I want to. The white screen kills my eyes, and makes me very angry. Whatever, fuck it. I'm probably fucking this up as we speak, anyway. Ultimately, I'm still really down. My smile has gone missing. And, above all, I sound like a fucking bitch. Oh well. If this, and music are my only outlets, then so be it - and fuck you for not caring. I'm starting to feel very inadequate and helpless. I'm starting to want more cigarettes, pills, alcohol, drugs, and "alone" days. The latter are few and far between. Do I mind? No - I don't. I would kill for him. I just wish I had the time to have to myself, in utter silence. Kind of like I have right now. I should be happy. I should "count my blessings." But something inside of this fucked up head just won't allow it sometimes (ok most of the time), and that sucks. My head robs me of a normal life, mentally. Takes what should be processed as joy, and turns it into burden and stress. I weep for the easier days. Back when the world was peaceful, and I could just think in peace. I don't know if or when the band, and singing, will become the outlet I need for them to be. But I sure cannot imagine life w/o them. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so sad. I'm so lonely. I'm so tired. I'm such a failure. Everyday is another oscar performance. And every entry in this is another explanation. Because if this, tonight's entry might be erased forever...only to find it's way back another time, in another sleepless night.

*11.09.04*

Motherfucker.  I was laid off again, last Wednesday.  Came in for work and was told that my position had been eliminated.  I'm so fucking upset.  My hands are shaking as I write this.  My neck hurts.  I'm really really depressed.  Ironic, too, because the lovely Rx is supposed to combat that.  More and more poison gets put into my body.  Further and further I get from reality.  Writing still helps, but not enough.  Here I am, jobless once again.  Absolutely unbelievable.  This makes me feel so fucking worthless, it's ridiculous.

*10.19.04*

So fast, but not fast enough.  In the white room while the world zips by on the outside.  I feel the hunger but do nothing about it.  Tolerance can be a bitch, can't it?  My hands are cold and my mind is open.  What's fucked?...my priorities that's what.

I make the demands in this world.

I am the high and mighty one - who is the only one aware of his weaknesses.  The bpm drives me insane, but I don't want to turn the music down.  It's the thing I like.  It's my guilty, horrible, terrible pleasure.  The sick urge comes up and give me the universal sign before I succumb to it again.  Fun?  Not sure if that's really the word for it.  It has to be done, though.  I am forever into this because of my chemical reactions.  The way my brain was formed in the womb has served to continue to fuck me through life - trading one self-destruction for another.  Doctor's manufactured chemicals have helped, but now I fear they are failing miserably.  I don't even care anymore.  My throat burns and I keep running.  My heart is tired and it keeps on beating.  Feet are blistered and keep on moving.  God knows this isn't the way, but the path seems to have an ending in sight, so I stay the course.  Foolish.  A mirage of safety.  I hear that life is more than just the horizontal line between birth and death dates on a headstone.  Wonder where I am on that line.

*10.11.04*

It's starting to slip away, now.  The only thing that sucks about it - truly. 

Today the world got news that Christopher Reeve passed away last night.  This hit me in a strange way.  Sure, I grew up watching him in the role of Superman, but it became different as I became an adult.  After Dad got his disease, and then passed away - I really linked the two together.  Both in wheelchairs, fighting for life.  Both were once larger than life, and had become immobile and shells of their former selves.  To be honest, hearing about his passing brought a tear to my eye.  Once again reminding me of Dad's death.  Not that it will help, or whatever, but my thoughts are definitely w/ his family today.  Hero's aren't supposed to die.  To become sick.  To become paralyzed.  But it does happen - and it will happen to me someday, too.  Today the world lost a hero.  April 2, 1998 - my brother and I lost a hero too.  Like I said, I didn't expect news of his death to hit me the way it did - but it really had an affect on me.

The annual arrival of my seasonal depression has come early this year.  In reality, I'm not sure that it ever really leaves.  In some ways I always welcome it, because I know that I'll be writing some of my best material.  But in most ways, I dread it.  Year after year I battle with this, thinking the worst about myself - battling inside my mind - and year after year it takes its toll.  Nothing like making someone feel victim, vulnerable, and stupid like this does.  I bury my mind into my work, my music, my writing.  Problem is none of them really work for the long run.  Therefore, I fall back into the old habits, the old destructive ways.  Two steps forward, one hundred steps back.

Used to be that I would find solace in sleep, peace in dreams.  This is no longer true.  I am subject to the pain whenever my brain decides to punish me again.  So long now, it's been this way.  Sleep should be an escape - not a place of anguish and fear.

*10.06.04*

I have been writing, a LOT lately.  Before anything else on this update, I'm going to post what I've written (incidentally, these are also posted on my "myspace" page - but I'm not sure for how long, as it's not the place I feel comfortable putting things like these).  These will probably be turned into FI songs soon:

*09.24.04*

There are so many things that I want to bitch about right now.  Let me start a pseudo-list:

• - I am sick and tired of women (and the sheer masses of them) who swear their love, etc. to Angelina Jolie.  Yes, she is beautiful.  Leave it alone.  All these chicks who drool and profess the "things" they would do to/with her...bullshit.  You're all just jealous that she's hot, and you wish you could be her.  Enough already!  Fuck!
   
• - I am sick and tired of little girls who are 14 , sitting at home, taking "sexy" pictures (riiiiight) of themselves, and posting them on the Internet.  First off, isn't it past your bedtimes?  Second, do you have any idea of the potentially dangerous situation you are putting yourselves into?  Third, where the fuck are your parents in all of this?  I'd love to email them and show them what you're doing.  Keep it up, and you'll be pregnant, before you finish your teen years...still living at home.  The only difference is that I'll be supporting your slut-asses via welfare.  Get a clue.  I could go on, ad nauseum about this topic - but I'll leave it where it stands for the time being.
   
• - I am sick and tired of people who identify w/ a sub-culture that makes "people stare at me" and then gripe about it.  If you want to wear black everyday, and be introverted, etc. - good!  Fuck everyone else, and what they think.  Embrace your decision to be who you are (or at least who you THINK you are), and quit bitching about the repercussions.  If a stranger's opinion (perceived or real) about you is that important to your life's validation...you obviously chose wrong in the first place.  Go to Abercrombie and What-the-fuck...you're sure to fit in w/ the rest of the sheep that way.  It's a win-win situation.  Either way, stop your fucking "bitching" about it.  If you're doing it for attention, I'd be happy to provide said attention w/ the front end of my boot, in your ass.
   
• - Women are NOT cats.  Women like cats, typically more than men do - this is true.  Unfortunately, until my plan to rid the world of felines is achieved, this shall be my cross to bear, that I have to listen to women talk about their cats.  First thing you must realize: No one else gives a fuck.  We really don't care to see pictures of your dear pet (although it's wonderful that you love and care for them so greatly).  Oh, and saying or typing "meow" and talking about yourself as if you ARE a cat...this is more idiocy that makes me want to claw the flesh off of my face.

Last rant for this post:

• - All of you poor, poor children who "hate" your parents - you make me laugh.  You are the laughing stock of the rest of the world.  Although your stupid-teen-goggles will not allow you to view further into your future than Saturday night...life is more than rebelling from your parents.  You might read this and become angry...but that's because you know I'm right and you are too proud to admit it.  If you truly hate them, emancipate yourself, move out, get a real job, get an apartment and see what the real world is like for a while.  I'd bet you'll be wishing for the simple life "problems" of hating your parents then.  You make me sick, and I want to slap the teeth out of each of you.

*09.22.04*

This is a special day - a meaningful day - a day that definitely changed my life forever.

On to the pressing issue of my mental liberation.  It's easier to do some days than others.  I know I'm locked within my mind, but I don't think I'd ever have it any other way.  I'll either end up frightening you or feeling incomplete within myself.  The middle ground is muddy.  Right now is the best.  The numbest.  The free time between reality and fantasy.  In my middle world nothing can hurt me.  I feel the pain, but it rolls off of me like a bead of sweat.  Such a sharp point this has.  Before I do this, I'd better take some precautions.  Tissues.  There, that's about all I need.  Now I need pressure, desire, and the tool - all of which I have in ridiculous abundance.  I have said it before, in this journal: What kind of sick urge is this?  Some yell, some punch, some act out, some internalize.  But not me.  Liar.  I do all of these, and more.  The chemicals in my head tell me to do things that I don't want to do.  My body reacts in ways that are stupid, selfish, dangerous.  The moment it hits the water, it's beautiful - like a watercolor.  Instantly diffuses into the surrounding, creating a light pink color at first - that eventually will become dark, dark red.

*09.09.04*

The more I get, the faster it goes.  I have officially recognized my weakness, my dependence, my failings, my fears.  They know no bounds, no end.  "This isn't me, I'm stronger than this" - is a verse from FI's song "Painkiller."  How true could my own words be?  How pathetically prophetic?  At a time in my life that should be happy, I feel empty.  The hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach physically hurts me sometimes.  I wish to be normal - but then I worry about being just another drone of life.  My burden is something that no one truly knows.  At least not to the extent that I do.  No one knows that on a daily basis, my internal fears, anger, anxiety, and depression (fuck I hate that word) are almost the only thing that I'm able to concentrate on.  So what do I do?  I talk myself down from the edge.  I talk to the side of myself that tells me all will be well, and that life really is beautiful, and with purpose.

I'm in the room again.  The cold, rough walls are all I can see.  My ears hear only cries of pain, mixed with the cruel laughter.  I can't get out.  On every wall, I see the face that haunts me.  How is this possible?  I begin to float upwards - maybe now I can escape.  The cruel irony is that I am forever shackled to the bottom of this pit of despair - and will never truly make it out.  Up.  Up.  Until I can see the purity of the light above.  The  promise of release.  And just as I reach out to grasp the top of this pit, the chains pull tight - reminding me that there is no hope.  There is no where to go.  There is no way out.  The recoil sends me down, back down to the dark depths that I so long to escape.  It seems that every time I do this - I forget about the pain, about the painful impact.  Before this thought completes it's cycle in my mind, I feel it.  It's cold again, on the side of my face.  The chains clatter with such a resonance that you'd think they were being used as whips.  Reaching out an arm, though the tears, I can feel the familiar stones that have help my head for many nights.  I hate these stones.  They are covered in dried blood, from both past falls, and sheer frustration.  It smells like desolation here.  Smells alone.  I intend to warm myself at any cost.  The crimson flow from the wound to my head is only the beginning, because by the time it falls to my feet it, too, is cold.  Knowing where the sharp edge of this pit is - I approach it with a sense of perverted anticipation.  I don't need this to feel the warmth from inside.  I need to do this to know that I'm still alive.  Bleeding is the only true proof of live.  If I can prove that I am alive, I can try to escape my mental hell, once again.  Dragging my cold skin over it is not the feeling I expected.  It's not as sharp as I had hoped - so it is more of a tear, and a cut.  Nevertheless, I continue pushing, and pulling it forward.  Downward pressure compromises layer after layer until the red oozes up slowly around it, before following the path that gravity predetermined.  Nothing I say can explain this - therefore I offer no explanations, ever.  Once the proper amount has been forcefully liberated, the delirium sets in.  It's difficult to differentiate between this, and the ingestion of too many drugs, or too many drinks.  Euphoria, drowsiness, sensuality, peace.  I am the only one here.  The moment before darkness is accompanied by the fleeting feeling of well being, I float downwards.  Cold stone is now painted red.  The skin on my face is now painted red.  Conscience fades as the flow continues.  Who will help me now?  So this is true bliss.

*08.24.04*

I want to cry, but I can't.  I don't feel anything that I'm supposed to anymore.  I'm a wreck - all the time now.  I can't deal with myself being like this.  Don't remember what day this is because they all seem to blend together.  To create I have to be miserable - so why can't I create on a daily basis?  Inside I'm so twisted and fucked up right now that I just have no answers.  Home is good - so why can't that be a positive in my outlook?  Maybe I was born w/ the predisposition of negativity.  Sure put on a good show, though.  For the first time, I don't think the mirror shows the truth - it couldn't possibly.

*08.19.04*

Wow...now this is the feeling I've been trying to achieve!  The type of reality that swims to your head loudly, before stopping at nothing.

*08.17.04*

Today is the reckoning.  My heart raced, my pulse is irregular.  Wonder if my eyes are dilated?  Had so much it feels normal - haven't had enough to feel different.  Self destruction is a lengthy process.

*07.22.04*

No.  You're wrong.  I express the need to save myself from myself.  The thing that I need is not flesh and blood, but rather within my head.  100% within my head.

I want purity.  I want peace.  I want silence inside.  I hate drama.  I resign myself to my lot.  It's all me.

*07.20.04*

Anyone else sick and fucking tired of the *advisory* above?!  I sure am.

Tonight I express what I dare not express.  Tonight I wish for that which I cannot have - inner peace.  Or do I?  I have said it before, and I'll say it again: my life can probably be described by the NIN song "Something I Can Never Have."

This is not a normal feeling.  This is foreign to me, to my way of thinking.  Makes me feel stupid.  If there was ever something that was experienced at the depth of my being - this is it.  The familiarity is frightening.  The mystery is encompassing.  The desire is overwhelming.  This is my drug.  This is my pain.  This is the reason I cannot move further into my life than I already am. 

It's been two months since my last entry.  Two months filled with fun, birthdays, work, family, music, my band, drugs, and alcohol.  So how different do I feel since my last entry?  My first thought is still, "save us."  Sad.  One of the songs that I wrote, goes something like:  "This isn't me, I'm stronger than this.  There was a time of control."  I now believe that to be the quintessential phrase.  Thing spiral out of my hands, out of my control.  And yet, I continue to perpetuate problems.

Nothing can save this thought pattern.  I am lost within this.  My wishes are now my fears.  Just another coward.

*05.12.04*

My heart is heavy today.  Watching the news of the world is torturous as of late.  In Iraq, there was a beheading of an innocent American that was videotaped and aired all across the globe.  Now, I usually attempt to stay out of politics on my web site, as it's just not what my intent for this site is; however, after seeing this atrocity and hearing, reading, and learning more about it - I'm just sick.  That's the best way I can state it.  I'm sick over the state of the world today.  My mind hurts, trying to comprehend just how much evil is present today.  The sheer evil displayed by those responsible for Mr. Berg's murder is immeasurable.  Also, the fact that the media hasn't explained to the ignorant masses, that Mr. Berg was a Jew is horrible.  This was no coincidence.  This, coupled w/ the fact that he was an American citizen are two of the biggest reasons that these Islamic murdering terrorists took his life.  The lie that Islam is a peaceful religion is utterly disgusting.  If it's so peaceful, where are those that are Islamic, and wish for peace?  Why don't they stand up and revolt?  After all, their religion and beliefs are being bastardized on a daily basis by those whom we categorize as a "radical fringe" of Islam.  The truth is that there is no radical fringe.  I have updated The Soapbox, and included a new link to a site called Prophet of Doom.  I was listening to the radio this morning, on my way to work, and learned of this site and it's author.  It's a rude awakening/lesson about the religion of Islam.  There has always been the part of my mind that honestly thinks that the world is a good place - and that people are, indeed, good very deep down.  Every Christmas I get the feeling that all is well w/ the world and I take a deep breath, become energized, and think to myself, "Everything's going to be okay.  There is good in the world."  Today I don't believe that.  Yesterday I didn't believe that.  I'll say it again, my heart is heavy today.  Those who want to kill us in the name of allah (not capitalized for a reason) are incomprehensible to me.  Throughout history, all of the world's great battles have one thing in common: religion.  Why is this?  Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting that Islam is the only religion that is violent.  Christianity has arguably one of the bloodiest and most violent history's of any religion to date.  From the crusades to the crucifixion, Christians have shed blood as well.  I don't claim to be a theologist or a historian - but what I do know about both is enough to get me started.  The lovely ignorant American redneck side of me has a quick, stupid answer: "Nuke 'em."  The wise side of me knows that this is not the answer, and would ultimately lead to only more trouble.  More bloodshed.  More pain.  Then I sit and think about what the alternatives are.  This is the point where things seem grim.  As the world's most powerful nation, we are driven by the knowledge that all people are free.  Freedom is the answer.  The Christian side of me says that Christianity is the answer - but I think that is almost too narrow of a response these days.  There are so many that find Christianity to be false, violent, and hypocritical that to even mention the word in the same sentence as anything relating to politics and the state of affairs in the world, is to turn off the listener/reader immediately.  I know this.  To some degree I believe this.  I'm either too passive, or too "on the fence" to make a stand and have Christianity as it's base.  I'm afraid it's hypocritical, because the base for the Islamic argument, the base for the Islamic violence I see everyday, the base for the pain in the world today is based on Islam.  Based on religion.  So we come full-circle yet again. 

It's not often that I weep for the world.  But today I do.  It's not often that I'm quite this pessimistic about humankind's future.  But today I am.

I don't have all the answers.  Hell, I'm not sure I have ANY of the answers - but I do know that this evil has to be stopped.  This killing has to end.  This festering wound that is running rampant and destroying my world has got to be healed.  After studying history, I'm convinced that Islam and the Middle East are the Germany, are the Hitler, are the Nazi's of my generation.  World War III will begin, and probably end, in the Middle East.  I predict I will see it in my life time.  I am frightened.  I am upset.  I am beyond reproach when it comes to being hopeful as to the plight of the children of the world today.  They are seeing evil firsthand.  They will take up the hatred they are being shown and taught today...and with it, will destroy my world tomorrow.

God - my God, my Lord, my Jesus Christ.  Save these children.  Save this world.

Now, I sit and cry - for my heart is heavy today.

"Red Tears"

*05.9.04*

Two entries in two days?  Say it isn't so.  One day I'm up, one I'm down.  Today I'm down for whatever reason.  I think I might know, but I choose to not dwell on that which is out of my control.  I had very strange dreams last night.  Probably due to the nighttime cold medicine I took.  I dreamt that Stefan and I were at an airport, trying to get through security.  I was pretty much stripped down to my skiv's, and still set off the alarm.  They sent me back through, and I had to empty my pockets.  Into the little tray I placed a load of coins and some pills.  These pills were Rx, but for some reason I had decided to just empty them into my pocket.  A security agent looked at them, two were yellow, two were white - and he "confiscated" them.  I remember standing there, attempting to explain to him that they were legit, etc.  Rather than arrest me, he told me that I was not allowed on the plane w/ this "contraband."  He then took the four pills and placed them under the counter, in plain view.  A distraction came about behind him, and he went running off.  Stefan looked at me, looked at the pills, then grabbed all four of them and pushed them into his pocket.  We were halfway to the plane when we heard yelling behind us and knew that we had been caught.  He took the blame for grabbing them, then during his "arrest" he was able to sneak them into my hand.  I again placed them in my pocket, and took off.

Strange.  I think this dream (in addition to being because of the cold medicine) may have to do something w/ the constant pain that I'm in w/ my back, and now w/ my knees.  Sometimes, all I can think about is the pain that I'm in.

Fucking pussy.

*05.8.04*

Fighting a cold the past couple of days.  Sucks.  My brain seems to have opened up a bit, as far as writing lyrics are concerned, though.  Over the last week or so, I've written three new songs.  They are different than before and it's hard to put my finger on why.  Some are more violent, and some are much more mellow/appreciative of life.  Strange, because in the past I used to only write about loss and pain.  That's definitely what I feel a kinship with, when writing, still.  I've been told that my writing, both in this journal, and in my lyrics are frightening.  I don't necessarily think of them as that - rather, I think of them as very descriptive.

I'm currently in the middle of three (maybe four) books.  I pick up one, see another one, pick it up...on and on.  Oh well, as long as I'm not confusing the story lines, I suppose that's okay.

Was training for the Bolder Boulder 10K that is an annual event on Memorial Day.  I say "was" because I'm not any longer.  My knees are fucking shot.  Got to the point on the treadmill, where I was able to run three miles, non-stop.  I wasn't sucking wind, and my time was actually good!  The only problem is that for the first 1/2 mile, I was in sheer agony.  I ran on Monday - it's now Saturday, and I'm still limping around like an old man with arthritis.  Some at my work are suggesting that my shoes are to blame, but I just can't bring myself to believe that that is the only problem, and the only solution.  Anyway - it's miserable, trying to come up and down the stairs at home is brutal.  I'm surprised I haven't actually fallen yet.  Blah, blah...I sound like a bitch.  Whatever.  I'm bummed that I can't do the 10K - because I really think I could've done it well.  But on the positive side, I've been getting my cardio in gear, and I'm really strong on the bike now, as a result.  Fuck - what has working in Boulder done to me?!  Haha.

*04.27.04*

You and your misplaced "angst" and "depression" make me sick.  To all the young kids out there, living with their parents, who feel so abused, slighted, depressed, and angry: YOU ARE A JOKE TO THE REST OF THE WORLD!  Every time you go into your room and slam the door, I'm laughing at you.  It's not possible for your young brains to comprehend yet, but there is SO much more to life than hating your parents and "rebelling."  Your little poems of angst and pain are laughable.  I'll say it again - you all make me sick.

*04.21.04*

I am such a fucking asshole.  I want to fall to my knees and scream out "Please forgive me!  I didn't mean to be such a fucking asshole - it just kind of happened."  Ugh, I never cease to amaze myself.

Sitting in this corner, I feel safe.  With my back against the wall I can finally begin.  I start by counting them.  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...all the way to twelve.  Fuck.  What happened to the rest?  It's just not possible that I've gone through that many, is it?  Whatever, I don't care.  I see my fingers wrap themselves around two of them and throw them into my mouth.  Maybe it's not worth it.  Next to the scattered mess is a bottle of clear liquor, a pencil, a small black leather journal, and a razor blade.  What now?  As I gulp the contents of my mouth I feel bad for a brief moment.  It shouldn't be like this, I think.  And with that, the other hand grips the bottle and takes a quick swig.  Bitter mixing with bitter - yum.  My finger runs over the blade's width, and I know that if I were doing the same thing to the end of it that the cut would be immediate and deep.  No, this isn't a cry for help.  No, this isn't so I can be "dark."  No, this isn't to fit in.  This is to feel.  This is to awake myself from where I've been.  My back hurts because of the hard wall that seems to press against it.  You fucking hypocrites.  Do as I say, not as I write.  Don't allow yourself the pain and hardship that I have - because I've only allowed it by my weakness.  The pencil floats across the page, attempting to take the inside and place it outside.  It never works.  Sometimes it will come close, but never exact.  The frustration of that fact is what keeps me going, I suppose.  My thoughts, like the lead on the page, smudge easily.  If I don't like them I can simply smooth over them - like the words.  I think it's been sterilized long enough.  It does hurt.  One layer, two, three, blood.  Now the confession can begin, though no one will ever hear it.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I need this to make sense of everything around me.  The blood smudges easily too.

*04.08.04*

I've been thinking about life a lot more lately.  Not really sure why.  I have just felt this urge to put pen to paper and let my brain flow.  Part of me is getting down about the state of the world.  The other part is just fed up.  I wrote a new song the other day.  Here it is:

All a cliché anymore
Nothing is unique in this place
Take a look around at all the fighting
We’re going down down – slowly killing ourselves
My god, your god, their god’s dead
No time to think, rather be a martyr instead

The letter of the world these days
Reads kill you, kill me – it makes no sense
Nothing can be done to make them go away
These differences that kill our innocence

There’s so much blood on the ground
I don’t remember seeing any other
Tears flow into the red as their fists pound
This is pain and ignorance shown in a color

Shattered people shatter peoples shattered lives
Differences become the reason for the lies
If nothing happens then no one will ever change
And the only entry in the book of life will be rage

I haven't yet named this.  I guess this could be defined as my first politically motivated song that I've ever written.  I am so tired of watching, reading, listening to the problems of the world.  Specifically the middle east.  How hopeless can one situation be?

Been listening to a lot of VNV and Funker Vogt lately, too.  Not sure that helps me, mentally - but I sure to feel a connection to the music.

My weakness is just a horribly pathetic excuse.  I'm hooked.  I can't stop thinking about this.  I need relief, rest, dead sleep.  And as usual, I need to turn off my brain.  I can be a better person than I am now.  Of course I can.

The yoga that I've started has really changed my mind on a lot of things.  Not religiously, per se - but more personally.  It's interesting to be in the situation where I'm feeling stretching/physical pain, and yet I'm completely calm, breathing deeply, and able to focus my energy in a positive manner.  Before, the only way I've been able to do that was to snap or scream on a stage.  Don't get me wrong, the stage is still where my spirit is free - it's just interesting to find another "outlet."  As an adult, you would've figured that I could place my priorities more in line with reality...but it feels as though I'm still a little boy inside my head.  I still fear things that cannot hurt me and have no respect for that which can.  Days melt into days, and I feel as if I've done nothing to move forward as a person.  I wake up, drink my coffee, get in my car and come to work.  At work, I bust ass  - then I go home.  Then I repeat the process.  I have no time to sit, reflect, write, or do nothing.  Or do I?  The excuses I make are just fucking unbelievable - I know this.  This is probably the side effect of what I ingest.  I want it, but I don't.  But I give in.

*04.05.04*

The band's going well.  We finally hired a new drummer, and things are progressing.  Slowly, but still progressing.  I'm glad that George stays on my ass about things w/ the band are concerned.  I need to be pushed and motivated.  I've hit some stupid, lazy point in my life where I'm very busy at work, very busy at home, and seemingly don't have time for anything else.  That, however, is bullshit.  Can't wait until the first show back.  We're hoping to have a demo recorded, and have merchandise waiting as well.  If things go the way we want - the return show could be large.  Time will tell.

There are entries between this and the next that, for numerous reasons, had to be moved elsewhere and deleted from this site.  I'm not happy about it, but since when has my happiness mattered as it pertains to my writing?

*07.11.03*

Quit trying - because in the end it doesn't matter anyway. The world has no justice.  The world is a fraud.  The justice system, as we know it, is not just.  Innocent pay the ultimate price and I'm tired of seeing it.

This is the worst news I've ever heard.  It hits me like a brick to the face.  Over and over and over.

I have no problems.  I am the most selfish person I know.  I would give the world to take his pain away and return the world the the way it should be.  There aren't enough tears to cry to express how I feel right now.

All is lost.  All is lost.  All is lost.  I miss my friend.  I miss the truth.

...it's over.

*07.03.03*

"Stop being an asshole." That's what I've been saying to myself as of late.  I have been in this wonderful mood, causing me to be an asshole to pretty much everyone.

Ohio and Florida job prospects are officially both dead and gone.  Back to the drawing board here in Denver. 

...same shit, different day.  I'm fucking pissed today.

*06.26.03*

It's time to fade into nothingness.  Time to leave.  Something needs to change - fast.  I'm scared - I'm unsure - I'm wallowing.  What happens if I pass on the offer?  Will anything else ever show up?  Bills don't care about some asshole being laid off - but I sure do.  My medication is dulling my edge, not helping me with my anxiety.  Everyday holds the same concerns - the same attempts.  The offer came to me on Monday, and I'm trying to stall them until next Monday.  What if nothing else comes through?  Do we really want to pick up our lives, pay four thousand dollars, and move to Orlando?  Away from family, friends, the band, the state?  This has to be the biggest decision I've ever been faced with, and I am terrified.  What if the house doesn't sell?  What if I get to the new company and it's not satisfying to me?  I would feel like such a personal failure if I went from one job that I hated...to another.

Just ate another one - let's see if it makes me sick.  Right now, I don't care.  I might in an hour or so.  So scared of the unknown right now.  I want to sleep, so I won't have to really think about anything - or the cost/affect my decision will have on others.  What the fuck am I supposed to do?  Come on, kick in - make me blurry.  Make me not care again - if only for a little while.  Fly away into your cave of uncaring.  It's safe there.  The world can't harm you there.  No one can touch you.  Got to be strong - show my leadership - take life by the reigns - move forward.  All at the cost of leaving behind my life as it is here.  My singing.  My mountains.  My weather.  My snow.  My state.  My water.  My crisp, cold air.  NO!  I don't want to!  I haven't been able to cry for months, until now.  Until this time.  The offer is there, that's making things somewhat harder.  Do I sit back and wait for something to come about here, at the risk of that being a very, very long time? 

Come to me.  Hear me.  Help me!  I am ripped in half right now.

How far are you willing to go to do what's right?  Can you even hear the still, small voice anymore?  Do you even care, or are you so self-centered that you truly believe you can make all the right choices?  I used to wish for death as a younger man.  What was I truly wishing for?  The end of it all, or just the end of painful decision making?  You know damn well that you've always been a pussy when it came to actual big life changes.  you fear change, if you fear anything at all.  Stagnation = comfort.  But what does comfort really do to you?  It makes you take less chances.  It makes you lazy.  It makes you feel invincible.  But why is it that, in order to not feel invincible, I have to feel fear?  THERE IT IS...THE ANSWER.  No, never mind, that's just me trying to control that which is out of my control.  Swim away.  Let go.  leaverunjumpswallowpullfallsliceturnpushtils: make a fucking stand, either way and be happy with it!  I want more security than that.  I need to know more than what I "feel" is what should happen, or what I "think" is right.  I refuse to do this on a fucking whim.  There's just too much at stake for that...this time at least.

*06.24.03*

Hold me under until I'm blue
Show no mercy
Tighten the rope until it burns
Anger speaks through your fingers
Squeeze my throat until I don't respond
I cannot accept anything less
I deserve nothing more
Pull the plastic so tight your muscles hurt
If I can't beat myself into submission - you will
I've tried everything to fix my nothing
No more talk of doom
This time will only be surrounded with success
To fail is to live
I'm so tired of this - you have no idea

Locked. Trapped. Gagged. Surrounded. Hurting. Crying. Needing. Remembering the colors.

I'm blue now - let go and watch me sink
 

*06.17.03*

The 12th came and went - and I went from 29 to 30 years old.  A thirty year old loser with no job.  Nice.  What did I do wrong?  More important - WHERE did I go wrong?  Fuck.  I work hard.  I have "business ethics."  Why has this happened?  I keep coming back to  that one question, over and over again.

Flew to Columbus, OH on Sunday night (hung the FUCK over from my party Saturday night at my brother's house) for an interview w/ Highlights for Children magazine.  These people really have their act together - that's for sure.  Seems like a great organization where I could put down some professional roots and really do some good.  The problem?...It's not in Colorado!

Orlando, too, is a possibility.  I think I'll be flying out there in two days for an overnight stay and interview on Friday.  Either way, both places are HOT as fuck, HUMID as fuck...etc.

I don't know.  I feel so stressed and worried about this whole thing.

What am I going to to...?

*06.05.03*

Now seems like the right time for violence.  I was laid off from Primedia on June 3.  After over two years of taking it up the ASS for the company - Rod, Tara, and I were all let go.  This new bitch, Bobbi, from California came out w/ my boss, and some bitch from HR.  They sat us down, told us "this will be your last day here" and that was that.  The words seem to be stuck within me right now.  I'm so upset, I'm so fucking angry - I want to smash things.  I want to lash out at the world right now.  I've been staying inside for the last two days.  I think I need this time to digest all of this, and attempt to get my head in a better place.  In the past, I would have turned off my phone, and holed up for a week or more.  I'm not able to do that now.  I have to be the strong one, still.  I have to continue to be the rock that everyone leans on.  The only problem with that is that I'm not strong right now.  I'm nothing right now.  Feel like a little bitch that was used for two years, then thrown away.  I want to hurt the bitch who's decision this was.  I want her to feel the pain and fear that I'm embroiled in right now.  She deserves pain.  She deserves regret.  If she were on the verge of death, and I was the only person who could save her life - I would let her die.  If she were hanging onto the side of a cliff, begging for her life - I would step on her fucking fingers and push.

*06.02.03*

...blah, blah, blah...

This is where I go off on people that think they are different because of the way that they dress, look, eat, what they listen to, drive, etc., etc. You are assholes. Nobody fucking cares!

People look at me because I'm 6'3" bald guy w/ piercings. God forbid what people say or think about me when I'm on the way to one of my band's concerts - wearing eyeliner, strange contacts, bondage gear, whatever. Who fucking CARES!?!

High school ended after we finished the 12th grade. Apparently some of us need to be reminded of that.

No one is "different." No one is "better." No one is "unique." No one is "indy" (whatever the fuck THAT means). In society, there will always be a "us vs. them" mentality. The reality is that this is NOT NEW! Nor is it important, nor is it an identifying factor in anyone's pathetic existence. We wear black, they wear church clothes. We listen to LOA, they listen to whatever the fuck they listen to.

Divisions kill. If you want to hate someone, be creative, look in the mirror and find what it truly is that you hate before you spew your trash on others. Life is too short to surround yourselves with the notion that we have to pretend to "stand out" and be noticed. If you really want to get noticed that badly - kill yourself.

As for me, I say fuck this bullshit. Fuck the cowards. Fuck those who have to project hate in order to feel acceptance.

Grow the fuck up. And if not, I again stress this point: KILL YOURSELF!

...fucking idiots.

*05.31.03*

Flood me with your intoxication.  I can't face reality anymore.  I need you.  I hate you.  I'm confused by you because I thought I was strong - at one point in my life.  Now, all I see is a weak person.  Fall to this, hooked to that...I'm no longer what I was.  I don't care.  Like I said...I'm waiting for it to kick in, and flood my brain. 

My creativity hasn't been what I want it to be, lately.  I feel strangled by life.  Wake up, go through the motions, attempt to sleep...repeat.  Days become weeks, weeks become months, months become years.  Where did it all go?  How did I get here?

Sharpen the razor.  Sink it past the red.  Plunge it in until you think you're dead.  Now pull it out and watch the flow - where will all of this blood go?  Face the mirror and scrape at your eyes.  You know you hate them, because they show all of the lies.  Pull back!  Pull back!  I didn't mean it!  Come here so I can scare you away!  Go away, so I can weep in loneliness.  What do you want?  I can't read your mind.  Step closer, I still have this fucking razor.  I'll kill you - I swear I will.  But first let me cry on your shoulder and bury my head in your chest.  No...fuck that...I don't need comfort.  I don't need anything - except for everything.  I close my eyes and see the rusty walls.  Stained and brown from all the years - from all the tears.  That's what salt does to metal.  My fingers catch on the rust, and the skin is torn back.  Now the wall has some color to it. 

My life.  My prison.  These unseen, yet very real, yet unreal walls that hold me in my head and hold me in my skin. 

Everyone has these thoughts.  It's those of us who don't act on them that make the difference.  That's WHY we're different.  Or are we?  Maybe we just say that to make ourselves feel better, superior, more self-righteous.  I am the beautiful, the terrible, the criminal, and the spiritual.  Therefore I am equipped to deal with this life, to take on that which I fear and that which is unknown.  That is, if two of them are suppressed.  The fine lines between sanity and insanity; truth and fiction; moral and immoral are all blurred.  The terrible dance between them is my curse.

*05.24.03*

It's going to be a long weekend.  Throe Vein has two back-to-back shows.  One in Colorado Springs, and one here in Denver.  I'm excited for Springs show tonight.  The venue is the very first place I ever sang w/ a band, back in my Filth Industry days.  There's definitely a place reserved in my heart for this place.  Supposedly it's going be be pretty packed w/ former FI groupies - which would really be cool, as I haven't seen them in forever.  I've been fighting a cold for over a week now, so hopefully my voice will remain strong, too.

Went to the Dr. again yesterday.  My Rx has been increased - again.  I'm not encouraged by this, one bit.  Actually it makes me stress more, but I'm trying to keep that in check.  I don't want this to progress any further, if I can stop it myself.  I'm considering stopping the meds myself.  I really don't know what to do about it.  Maybe I need to throw myself back into my writing, more so than I have been.  That is usually the therapy that I need and enjoy.  All I know right now is that I don't feel happy.  I don't feel much of anything, actually.  That is a problem.  But then again - when I can "feel" emotions with their full strength, I can't handle those either.  How am I to get over this depression if I keep feeling depressed about being depressed?  What the fuck?

...whatever.  This weekend, my Rx will be singing, stage release, breaking things, yelling into the microphone, alcohol, and mini-thins.  Monday, I'll sort out whatever needs attention, then Tuesday I'll be back to the same fucking shit that I'm always dealing with.  No more of that now, though...for now it is time to harness this rage, and begin to focus it.  I'm usually a major asshole the entire day before a show.  I think it's my way of mental preparation or something.  My point in saying that is this:  There's enough pent-up rage and confusion right now, that I will be blowing everyone else off the stage.  And if I don't...no, fuck that...I will. 

Later, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you...this is your moment. 

Fuck you.

*05.12.03*

I'll lead you on just to hurt you.
I'll pull back just to watch you let go.
I'll walk away to make you cry.
I'll smash your heart just because I can.
Nothing can hurt me.
Nothing can hurt me.
Nothing can hurt me.
Nothing can hurt me this time - but me

*05.08.03*

Today is the ideal day for me. It's dark, dreary, cold, overcast, and raining like a motherfucker. Perfect to reflect my mood - as usual.

I wish it could always be like this.
I wish the world would go away.
I wish I could silence the voices.
I wish I could be strong.
I wish I had the inner strength to cure myself.

I wish...
I wish...
I wish...

I thought last night.  I thought I was living.  I thought people were truthful.  I thought I was a good person.  I thought liars were few and far between.  I thought, "once this is over - what will I have to show for it?  Who will remember me?  What things will they remember, the big things or the little things?"  I thought about depth.  I thought about blood.  I thought about scraping off the outer layer and exposing the filth beneath.  I thought about stimulants.  I thought about traffic.  I thought about temporal reasoning.  I thought about sex.  I thought about my mortality.  I thought about those I love.  I thought about those I hate.  I thought about water, and it's power.  I thought about music.  I thought about what I long for.  I thought about what I miss.  I thought about Dad.  I thought about the meaning of a legacy.  I thought about anxiety.  I thought about  pain.  I thought about weakness.  I thought about truth.  I thought about lies.  I thought about tomorrow.  I thought about my journal.  I thought about hurting myself.  I thought about writing a song.  I thought about running away from everything.  I thought about philosophy.  I thought about God.  I thought about flying.

I thought about everything, and nothing - all at once - then opened my eyes from the blink and thought again.

*05.06.03*

Numb.  That's the best way to describe all of this.  I can't feel anymore.  I can't cry.  I laugh, but don't truly feel joy.  I don't know the last time I cried.  I get to the verge sometimes, w/ all of this stress, but then nothing.  I think the Rx is causing this.  I think it's finally "kicked in" (whatever the fuck that means) and the result is a shell.  I'm still angry.  I'm still anxious about everything.  Nothing seems to have changed except for external pressure getting greater and now I simply roll with the punches - unable to express emotion - other than anger, that is.  I had to float today because I was very close to a panic attack, I think.  My breathing seemed to get faster, irregular.  My eyes began darting back and forth.  I didn't know if I needed to let it go and scream my head off, hurt myself, break something, hold my head in my hands, sleep, close my eyes and count to ten (like that ever fucking worked), or just what.  What's for sure is that I was feeling the fight or flight fucking w/ me.  Beginning to feel reckless about all of this.  If things can dictate my emotions and my level of anxiety to this extent...that the FUCK am I still here for?  It's a job - that's all.  Just a job.  Then again, it's the reason I eat, have a roof, a car, you name it.

I've been dreaming of water, falling, and sex a lot lately.  I've never been one to interpret dreams, but I think the water dreams might stem from the fact that I feel - truly feel - that I'm sinking further and further into this shit.  Either that, or it's the physical feeling that I wish for: floating, moving effortlessly in complete silence.  I don't know.  The falling portions of my dreams: self explanatory to me.  The sex part of my dreams: I have no idea.  I'm satisfied in that department, so why the dreams?  Do I explore this?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  I'm so goddamned indecisive that I just want to lose it.  Hell, maybe that's just what I need to do.  Lose it.  Freak out.  Let the panic attacks finally come, flood over me, take me into their darkness.  Maybe that would help me to see what I'm dealing with - and after I emerge on the other side of it, I'll have a greater understanding of why I'm constantly haunted by all of this.

One of my new songs that I've written has tentatively been titled "Worthless."  The more I think about it, it's not the way I envisioned singing it - but I really think that I like it anyway.  It's, of course, a dark, self-introspective/loathing/destructive/negative song.  Seems that's all I can continually write about.  Anything else seems fake to compose.  As a matter of fact, every time I write that's all that comes from the pen.  I think that if someone were to put a gun to my head and order me to write a positively slanted song, that I'd end up w/ a bullet in my skull.

I've been hurting people that I love, lately.  It's fucked up to do - I realize this.  I'm so tired of hurting those that I love.  My head, my brain, my psychosis...enter the cliché "it's not you, it's me."  My job makes me insane and I have no outlet.  So when I'm around those I most care about...I have nothing but shit to say. 

Inside the depths of my mind, evil lurks.  During my day-to-day life, my real battle is to keep it at bay.  The struggle is for me to maintain any sense of composure.  Otherwise I would lose everything that I have and the voices would tell me that it doesn't matter because they never understood you anyway - has anyone ever understood me?  Do I even understand myself?

*04.25.03*

This feels like dying.  Thoughts simply float around here.  I was alive, I was flying - then I was falling.  Faster and faster.  The world zipping by me like a dream.  Was this a dream?  I can't tell anymore, the difference between dreams and reality - between nightmares and truth.  I am used to waking up in a panic.  Sweaty.  Trembling.  Everything seems to make me numb, even pain and panic.  Close my eyes again to re-enter the world of the unreal, or did I ever truly leave?  Flying again, finally have a grasp on this preternatural power of mine.  Until she shows her face and I begin to fall again, this time much faster.  If I finally hit the ground, if this is a dream, will I die?  The pavement seems a strange place to sleep, and even still I make it the place where I lay my head.  I can now see the blood stain from the earlier fall.  Looks like that one hurt pretty badly, the way it spread. 

Control is lost now.  The fallen can only look up, from where they came, and desperately wish that they had never made the mistake in the first place.  Too late.  Decisions are final and this is your lot whether you now want it or despise it.  You can't fly - you never could.  You can't float on the wind - you never could.  You can only fall - you always have.

*04.18.03*

I'm scared.  The CEO-motherfucker of my company resigned yesterday, and today there was a big article about my company in the New York Times.  Not good.  It was not a nice article.  The sum of it said that my company was to be sold, and that basically means that I'll be out of a job soon.  I don't need this added stress to my life.  I can't handle this type of mind-fuck right now.  In the past week, all I've done is kiss corporate ass, and work until my eyes are blurry.  Not knowing my financial future is horrible.  I know that a lot of people have lost their jobs since Sept. 11 - but I've been spared so far and the thought of what life would be like otherwise scares the fucking shit out of me.

On a lighter note:  I started working out again.  My gym offered me a very good deal to re-join, so I did.  The past week I've been sore as a motherfucker, but not in a bad way.  I'm a little sick when it comes to working out.  I like the pain (sort of).  It's as if I feel that I deserve it for letting it slip, or some shit.  As of this entry, I'm much less sore, and actually starting to enjoy lifting again.  This is good, as I was literally losing all of my muscle and definition that I worked so hard to achieve before.

Now on a non-frat boy-weightlifting-fucking-loser-note:  Throe Vein, my band, has another show tomorrow night.  I'm actually very pumped for this gig even though I've heard nothing but shit about the venue.  I don't care.  I'm ready to get out on a stage and let the bad take over for a while.  We're almost done w/ our cd now, which is also nice.  It has yet to be named, but that will soon change.  I don't think we've played a show since January, so it's been a LONG time coming.  I'm ready to get out on the stage - sing, scream, cry, yell, and let everyone in the audience into my head...if only for a little while.  I've said it before, but I'll say it again:  I get a disturbing sense of satisfaction being on stage and having the undivided attention of the crowd, if but for a short while.  There's something about letting people into the dark parts of me that I get off on.  And yet, at the same time, I'm pushing the whole world away...quite the paradox.

I'm good and drunk now, so I'm going to take my sorry ass to bed.  Perhaps enlightenment will come tomorrow.  One more day before The Resurrection...and I do NOT mean that in a blasphemous way.  Easter will always  have a place with me and my soul.  God knows this...I don't care if anyone else does.

*04.10.03*

Take more of this.  Supplement with that.  While you're at it, go ahead an take one of these too. 

My life has become a blur of pill-popping fiction.  That, coupled with the fact that I'm falling into the trap of hating most people I meet are proving to be a difficult set of circumstances to overcome. 

One part of me wants to reach out and solve everyone's problems.  Take the troubled, and fix them.  But, the other part of me wants to take those who think they are angry, repressed, depressed, socially unaccepted, or whatever else seems "in" at the time - and really show them the fruits of what they think they want.  I wish I could put people into my mind for a few days.  Those who think these wasteful thoughts, so that they can see what true desperation and dissatisfaction really feel like.  Are you sure you want to feel this way every fucking day?  I don't think so.  Are you sure you want to convince yourself to leave your bed and face the real world everyday, with a fucked up mind?  I don't think so. 

I need to play another live show.  I can't believe I survived so long, in between Filth Industry and Throe Vein.  After joining TV, I realized how much I missed and needed to be on a stage.  I guess the reason is that, when on stage, I can be the person I hate.  I know I've said that before, but I really believe it.  To have the crowd watching me...listening to me...listening to the songs that have come from the desolate depths of my soul, is just cathartic.

And then, the songs end, and the alternate reality disappears.  The crowd goes home.  I go back to my everyday life.  And the demons start scratching at me to get out again and again and again and again and again.  What is life without self-satisfaction?  Prison?  Hell?  Reality?...or is it simply the only thing I have ever known?

*04.08.03*

Time slows as I stumble through this place.  The warmth on the side of my head begins to cool slightly as it drips from my chin.  What was this?  Too intoxicated to realize the truth of the moment - this was my blood.  I had smashed my head against something hard, but what?  There was a sticky, slurping sound as I moved my foot from the puddle at my feet.  This was me.  This was what I had done.  Bend down to touch it - cold now.  So strange to think that just a moment before, this rich fluid was inside of me.  And now, with seemingly no effort at all, it had been forever extracted.  Somewhere off in the depths of my thoughts, the pain was real - but there was no time for that now.  What's done is done and I would deal with the pain later.  Now, there was nothing.  Now there was realization.  Now there was clarity.  Darkness slowly creeps around me, from the edge of my eyes, to the middle, until all is unseen.  Falling.  Warm blood mixes with the cold, as I make the floor my refuge...at least until consciousness returns.

*04.07.03*

Sweet silence.  That's what keeps my sanity - sweet silence.  Although it's never quite that way in my head, it's wonderful to have it that way in the world that surrounds me. 

Part of me is afraid to write down on this web site, what really flows through my head.  I don't think I'm ready to share everything with the world, just yet.

*04.02.03*

Five years ago, today.  Dad died.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  I held his hand, and watched as he took his very last breath.  It didn't seem real at all.  Like a sick dream, someone else's life.  He had a peaceful expression on his face that made me think that perhaps he was already gone before the breathing stopped.  His jaw moved slightly, but other than that - not a movement whatsoever.  Hands still, straight, chilled.  Eyes glazed, sunken, and open a small amount.

I went back into my mind for a long time.  Sounds echoed within me.  Mom crying.  My brother crying.  Me crying.  Everyone was crying.  I tried to imagine Dad with a smile, laughing - but I just couldn't.  It hurt too badly.  Just the sheer knowledge that he was really dead, it was just too surreal.  I remember walking over to his right side, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his right hand, and putting my head on his chest - crying like I have never cried in my life.  I must have stayed in there, head on his chest, weeping, for a long time.  I don't remember how long.  I remember being the last one out of the room. 

I said goodbye forever to my Daddy, April 2, 1998.  Today is the anniversary of his death.  I miss him.  I miss my Dad.  I wish he were here to see what I've accomplished.  Today, I remember my Father, and grieve once more.

*03.22.03*

I really am a negative person.  A negative, anti-social, angry, prick.  Why?  Just like my father.  Everyday I look in the mirror, I see more of him in me.  When all I want to do is hear nothing, and be alone in the quiet, I think to myself "this is exactly how I remember Dad being."  Is this the legacy I'm destined to leave?  Fuck it - I'm tired of bitching about the same shit.

We are currently bombing the bejeezus out of iraq.  Good.  I'm glad for that. 

Other than that, I was snowed in all fucking week.  Got about 3 or 4 feet of snow on Monday and Tuesday, and couldn't leave until yesterday.  Major cabin fever began to creep in.  I have no place to hole-up.  I have no place to run.  I have no place to block out the sun, the sounds, the everything.  I need that.  I need it badly.  The lack of that is causing me to split.  Content, then pissed.  Content, then sorry.  Content, then sad.  Content, then mad.  These are the mood swings I perceive in my life.  I must be HORRIBLE to live with, that's for sure.  I wouldn't want to live with me.  Then again, a lot of times, I don't even want to be me.

*03.13.03*

My head hurts.  My hands hurt.  Feels as though I've been punching, fighting.  Is is possible to have such physical effects from mental anguish?  I'm on something new, now.  Stronger.  Not sure whether I'm ok with that or not.  I feel weak.  Vulnerable.  Stupid.  Stressed about everything.  Can't calm myself down.  What drives my inner demons to torture me, when I have everything that "normal" people would consider a blessing?  Maybe I'm paying for what I've done in my past - or what I will do in my future?  Either way, it's a cruel joke.  Same shit, more shit, different day, same day...it all blurs together now.  My memory seems to be fading.  Waking unable to remember the previous day well.  Meds?  Or am I merely blocking things out of my mind?  My dreams are much more vivid as of late, too.  They are usually strange, a bit scary, and seem to deal w/ loss a lot of the time.  I dream about Dad more now than ever before, too.  Maybe it's just the time of year - close to the anniversary of his death.  ...almost five years ago...unbelievable.  Maybe it's my subconscious, telling me that I'm turning into my father.  So what if I am?  I don't care.  I do care.  My mind...I liken it to the movie, 'The Cell.'  I imagine that if one were able to enter my mind, as I lay in a state of sleep, coma, whatever - it would resemble the imagery of that movie.  I dream of vampires.  I dream of Dad.  I dream of loss.  I dream of evil.  Why?  Meds?  Alcohol?  Mental instability?  My hands seem to shake more, these days.  I'm not claustrophobic but I sure did feel that way.  I had to get out.  To run.  To breathe non-recycled-poison-filled air.  I was hot - uncomfortable.  A sort of tunnel vision seemed to envelop me.  Took a pill - not much help.  Maybe if I followed it up w/ another and another and another and some alcohol, then smashed something, that would've helped.  You selfish fuck.

Tangent 2)  I hate the following:  People who use lol, lil, lmao, lmfao, ralmao, brb, btw, luv, and so on in emails or IM's.  I also hate people who portray themselves online as someone they're not.  Remember, you will always be the ugliest motherfucker to someone - and the sexiest to someone else...so who gives a shit?  Cyber-sex is a joke.  If you engage in it, you are merely masturbating in front of a computer.  Nice image, huh?  I also hate arrogance, bliss, and any music that I haven't purchased (i.e. country and rap).  To quote Marilyn Manson, "If you are smiling while playing your instrument - it should be taken from you, and smashed."  When I think of other things I hate, I'll be sure to freely post them for your reading pleasure. 

*03.05.03*

The state of the world worries me.  These anti-war motherfuckers need to go away.  Then again, war is horrible, and that is a fact too.  Whatever.  My generation, and the one after me are just parasites - looking to have their own love-anti-war-woodstock-fuck-fest.  These kids have no idea what the fuck they're protesting against...or for.  Me...I say let's kill our enemies.  Let their blood flow freely.  You try to fuck w/ me or my family, you bomb my cities with airplanes full of innocent victims, you will die.  To those who foolishly say that the mustached one has no affiliation w/ the towel-headed ones...I say: If ignorance is hereditary, I weep for your children.  Enough politics.

My head is too loud on its own, to allow the outside world too much of a strangle hold on it.  When the thing that you perhaps fear the most is your own mind - where do you run?  Who do you smash, to make yourself feel better, when you are angry with yourself?  Self-medication.  Prescribed medication.  Is there a preference?  Sometimes I'm not sure that there is.  Both have the delirious ability to remove the now to the later, and the fucked up to the expected.

*03.04.03*

No artist is pleased.  There is no satisfaction whatsoever, at any time.  There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others. 

I'd love to be in a room full of glass with a bat.  I'd love to smash everything I see.  I want to destroy every little thing to prove that nothing can break me.  I want to show the world my cock, just before I fuck the system.  I want to smother someone with love before I get smothered.  I want to scare someone off, before they scare me.  I need to hurry the search to find the real, frightened me.

Where did our perfect world go?  Back when it was possible to laugh, smile, and still feel secure with the road to which you had dedicated your life.  What ultimate shame will be endured by those who have, in their lifetime, rejected pure, innocent love.  May their next search prove to be in vain...for the next wilderness of regret will be theirs.

I feel like writing until my mind is purged.  Until the flow dries, until the rhythm drowns in its repetition.  Fly away - a new thing.  A new side.  An unrehearsed play - yet very familiar and not a shock.  Just a matter of when?  Yeah - most likely.  What an acceleration in thought and waking dream.  Can't put the ends of one together before grasping another.

Bad breeds bad, and I am in love with fucking myself.  It's almost as if one says, "Okay, I've tried life, loss, and emotions in the perceived 'real world,' - now let me alter the jury and the base method of judgment and see if I'm able to cope any differently."  Do tears mean the same in this world?  What might the new threshold for pain, physical or otherwise, be here?  Wish I could close the door here, all of the visuals are flying away quickly.  Or until I open the glass door again.

*02.27.03*

What happens when the world loses it's mystery?
You begin to understand that rain eventually stops, that wounds heal with time.
When the world loses it's mystery, you recognize differences, not because they're second nature, but because they're expected.
Hot burns - cold freezes, but for their own reasons.
People, no matter how sure of themselves, are still afraid.
Life is complicated, trials suck, people leave, and love hurts.
Things are taken for granted. A glance can mean so much more than the brief moment before a blink.
And yet it is never recognized for it's true, pure beauty.

Too much good can only mean that the bad is just around the corner.

*02.26.03*

maybe i need some real drugs
maybe i need to go off the fucking deep end
maybe i need to blow my head off
maybe i need to drink
maybe i need to eat
maybe i need to sleep

maybe i need coke, xanex, percocet, vicodin, morphine, thc, alcohol, sleeping pills, & green fairy

maybe i need them all at the same time

<><><><><><>
~Second Me~

When I see you, I don't know you
Used to be so familiar to me

If I could reach out to touch you
Still wouldn't be able to feel
Why do you stare at me like that?
What do you see?

A gaze so full - so completely empty
Who I used to be
I want to cut it out, to make it stop
Screaming inside
Need to feel something before I drop

Only to hide
Break the second me - and let the shattered lye.
<><><><><><>

*02.25.03*
You thought you were thrown aside. You thought you were neglected. You thought you were no longer subject to the pain. You thought you were able to move on past the sorrow. You thought wrong.

*02.24.03*
In losing something, how are you to determine it's inherent worth? Because if it means so much right before you lose it, and for so long after...do you ever really feel differently about it?

*02.21.03*
I think I've hit bottom. So far down, I can't see up. Medication isn't working. Feel like slicing through my skin. Unnatural. The sting. The deep red. The stinging. Takes this to feel? Tear into it. Open it once again and taste it's copper warmth. What kind of sick urge is this? One that I'd try to keep others from. I'm hiding this. Don't dare show it - talk about it. Keep it empty so they can be the most effective. Take more. Drink more. Why is it increasingly hard to numb myself?

Feel it in my toes as it works it's way to my inner ear. Sinking. Sliding. Knowing. Mind awash with bliss, nothingness, dizziness, numb. I don't want it to leave. Be with me all day - flow through my pen - make me write, create, investigate, levitate.

Fuck it. It doesn't matter anyway. Never did. Never will.

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