Like this is some homage to my inability to make good decisions.

I could get out and leave this whole fucking thing behind.

I don't know. I don't know.

I really gotta step it up though.

or step out. It's tiring to work for something that just...isn't really worth the effort.

or, you know, you could be upbeat and shove your self-indulgent bullshit down your throat.

in a year you'll be overseas and you wont have to worry about being taken for granted, because the only one you'll know is yourself.

Not that it isn't always that way, but at least then there will be no delusions.

I didn't go to class this morning, like a bad student.

I'm going to the next one though, today we're cutting off people's heads and scooping out their insides and throwing them in an oven.

I wish I could do that to real people sometimes.

Sometimes I feel like my quest for knowledge is hemorrhaging my brain. Like I'm looking for small sharp tools to dig into the grey pulp and stab at my emotions. Like I'm the one having my eyes scraped out with a D2.

I feel like you need passion and I lack it. Your little cat curls up with me and shows me pity lately, tells me things aren't so bad.

But she hasn't known you that long. I haven't known you that long. And you are so incapable of letting go of the past. It haunts your every thought like you wish that you could backtrack leaving me here thinking that I'm the best you could do under the circumstances.

and now I'm afraid I'm going to die and my body is going to be hollowed out and my life will drip from my nose and my mouth and my eyes and my head.

time to go.

maybe knowing no one reads this is why I even bother.

I don'tknow what I'm doing or why, nothing really seems to have a purpose. I could pinpoint the moments where everything could have gone off track (or maybe it did) but it wouldn't really help you know.

I feel like a face and a name and a current moment and little else. Like I am just my presence and even that isn't worth much in any irreplaceable ways. Like I'm just waiting to die so the next one can take my place.

I try to lead by example but fuck up when you're paying attention. I don't know what to strive for anymore. I don't know what you want. I don't know what makes you

...

even like me I guess.

I feel like dead weight with baggage. Like everything in my life has limbs wrapped in ropes and tiny tiny people are pulling all the parts of me down.

This always happens and I wish I knew why. I thought it would be different but its always always always

just exhausting. pulling my fucking throat out through my eyes and telling me that my effort is not really effort and my good thoughts aren't really good and my best isn't really even competitive like I'm some fucking

fucking thing you got stuck with.

that just trips you up

and your life was so much better

before

(indefinite)

and I wonder if I am really the shit that I feel like or if you just never even think about anything besides yourself, never think about how your actions affect the people you love know.

I need some fucking happiness but

where is it.

I'm looking in all the wrong

places

I'm getting the feeling that this is going to be one of those times in my life where I look back on things and wonder what the hell I thought I was doing.

I feel shitty most of the time now. 

LHG::GUWEI

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT

I'm so fucking angry and upset I can't even do anything. I can't even type. I just want to leave. or die.

I don't know,

but I don't need someone else around just to make me feel shitty and abandoned.

In my dreams last night you were sitting on the edge of a cliff as though you had pulled the small ledge out of the very face of rock.

you were staring over the sea like you were the lost one, hiding, and windswept, and angry.

and I was swimming- flying really- to find you.

but I could not take you with me

--

and then came the cat-powered time machine and the president's guards like Agents and then I was watching myself try to convince them that this was a harmless experiment and I wasn't going to tear apart the fabric of their universe.

Suckers.

so i thought my life was falling apart but then i cleaned my room and realized it was just my decor.

i'm inside of sorts. out of my head. inside out. you can't tell though because they are equally wounded.

not so bad really, just scratches, but i'm having trouble moving my thumb. that's where all the blood came from.

i've written another story in my head. i've played it to myself a few times already, let's see if we can coax it out:


( in a land far away )
people have this problem where they think the things i write are somehow parallels of my life.

silly people.

maybe this was all a bad idea, but I can't tell.

All I know is that I am better than this. I deserve better.

I just feel twisted now. Maybe I'm depending on someone else to make the decision that is best for me.

Maybe it's time to get to that myself.

I think I'm going to start.

The worm drives helically through the wood
And does not know the dust left in the bore
Once made the table integral and good;
And suddenly the crystal hits the floor.
Electrons find their paths in subtle ways,
A massless eddy in a trail of smoke;
The names of lovers, light of other days --
Perhaps you will not miss them. That's the joke.
The universe winds down. That's how it's made.
But memory is everything to lose;
Although some of the colors have to fade,
Do not believe you'll get the chance to choose.
Regret, by definition, comes too late;
Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate.

john m. ford