Long term plans: work on improving my health situation and work on poetry/songs/etc. also, start the screenplay I've been kicking around in my head. Title: An Abstract View Of Angels (same as my second book of poetry, the two will be related).
Short term plans: clean my fucking room, and sell all the crap i no longer want or need. ahem, need.... well, we'll see about that one.
08.11.02 my car was broken into early this morning. it's now 2:55 AM, so i think it was a little after 1 or so that i went out to get my CDs and found someone sitting in my car. at first, i thought i was seeing things or maybe it was a jacket my dad put in the car or something. or that even was my dad. when i saw it was an actual person and that it was actually my car this person was in, i ran back to my house, hoping it was my dad cleaning out the ashtray or taking the CD player out of the glove compartment. when i got inside and saw my dad on the couch, i ran for the phone. my idiot father got a pipe and went after him, so he ran off before the cops even got there. there's more to be commented on, but i'm too tired and out of it to attempt it. like how my father still manages to blame me for the whole thing, eventho it is in no way my fault. the CDs weren't even visible, and the detachable face wasn't in plain view. argh. i'll try and write more later. maybe later today. i wanted to write something nice and uplifting and optimistic here. well, looks like that's been shot to hell.
09.11.02 i should rephrase something. my car wasn't broken into. she was fucking raped. words can't begin to describe how it feels to see some unknown waste of life inside your car, your personal space and property. it's something that will last awhile and an image of total fright i won't be able to rid myself of for a long time. yes, it has rendered me paranoid. yes, it has made me lose so much more faith in our so-called species. but it hasn't made me give up completely. not yet. i'm still optimistic about my own life, my own existence. i still think i can do great things. if only i weren't so jaded. and lazy, i guess.
11.11.02 my life is a fucking mess. i am ridiculously in debt. i need money, which is why i've applied to CVS and ACME, and will continue to apply for jobs in the upcoming days/weeks. eventho i can't work, cuz i'm sick. i'm actually dealing with blood loss again. those who know me and my condition know what this means. i don't know what i can do anymore. it's just gotten so hard.
18.11.02 people don't understand me at all. i don't think they ever will. one thing that is definite myth and i will dispel right now: i do not want to be a rock star. i do not want to be a rock star. it's too fucking hard to explain in words...
From Fronting The Milk:
People are so quick to point out your flaws and even judge you on them, while avoiding their own. It seems like they do this on purpose. People are inclined to believe the rumors and the gossip, rather than even attempt to ask you themselves. People believe other people rather than trust you or begin to have some kind of faith in you. People talk behind your back, and smile like it's no big deal. People judge you based on one side of an arguement, just because you refuse to give your side, cuz you hold it to be personal, where as others tend to flaunt it or feel the need to let the whole world know, for whatever reasons. People are so often inconsiderate, unreliable, uncompromising fuckers, without a care in the world. People often wear apathetic masks to disguise any kind of emotion that might make them, God forbid, vulnerable. People care about themselves far too much, and they don't care who they hurt in an attempt to better their own lives. People step on the backs of their own friends, and drive the knife in deeper with their heels. People have become too lazy to say hello or even flush a goddamn toilet in a public restroom. (Which we've apparently compensated for by putting automatic flushes in place of manual ones - What's next? Cars that drive themselves?) People have become more interested in doing things solely for the pleasure of it, and have neglected to find any kind of real meaning in their actions. People are ungrateful bastards, always willing to pray to a god they neglected, when the time is right, and their lives are on the line. People have become far too sensitive about the unimportant things while becoming desensitized to the things that really matter. People are the biggest hypocrites, willing to put a man to death in order to punish him for something that they agree is wrong, yet they cannot stand the sight of blood at the same time. People hardly admit to being wrong, cuz pride is a double-edged sword. People are disgusting angels and beautiful monsters. People made this world but refuse to take responsibility for it. People always think they have you figured out, but the truth is nobody really knows anyone. People bitch about taxes being too high, then complain that the education system sucks. People come to you for help when they need it, but turn you away when it's your turn. People pull the carpet from under your feet and use a slingshot to shoot you off of your cloud, cuz there's no reaching for the stars or attempt at grabbing hold of your dreams in this world. People want to see you fail to make themselves feel better. People accuse you of being lazy when you're misguided, then kick you back down when you're searching for support. People are fucking ugly and I can't stand them. But I love them just the same.
i haven't enough blood to outlive you all. i envy you your health. i just want to make it through a thousand more nights and see the moments crystalized in vivid memories. i want to start living from this moment on.
24.11.02 well, i was supposed to go to a Vines' show tonight, but i overslept and my friend Justin never called. he'll probably end up blaming me for not calling him, but he knows i don't have long distance and he would have come up with another excuse why he couldn't go anyway. i'm having serious issues with him right now, although i haven't the stomach to tell him. since i'm sure he never reads this journal stuff, or even comes to this site, i can talk about it without worrying of consequences.
27.11.02 my life has become a series of pretending to be something i'm not. namely, healthy. and happy. i'm so sick of making up excuses why i can't hang out with my friends for too long. i know that they probably think i'm just being an asshole or something. especially Justin. but the truth is, things have gotten incredibly worse. i can't explain it. 75% of it is due to my increasingly poor health. the rest is just social issues, i suppose. i'm an anti-social rat, and i often just can't deal with being around people. for whatever reason. sometimes it's that i feel like something has robbed me of the chance to make something of my life the way my friends and loved ones seem to be doing. sometimes it's that i don't like to feel judged, eventho they really don't understand at all what it's like. i wish i could just pretend that it's all me, that i'm doing this, that i'm making things seem worse than they are. but i'm not. i can't count how many times, while i'm driving, i just want to veer the car into oncoming traffic or a brick wall or something. my interest isn't death, per se. but it just always feels like something, anything, would be better than this. i've said it a million times and i mean it. i'd rather be dead than live like this. i secretly wish for an accident beyond my control or a botched mugging where i am shot dead quick and however painlessly as possible. or anything to take me out of this world, and make me happy and free of pain, depression and discomfort in all forms in the next. i don't know. i just want things to get better, but i've been doing this for so long, i don't even remember what it's like to be healthy. let alone happy. the only things that really bring me happiness often seem rather fucking trivial (i.e. music, movies) or stressfull (writing songs and poetry - or my inability to do so at the moment). but i have love and that means all the world to me. i'm sorry that she doesn't realize this. i'm sorry that she thinks it is possible for her to be enough to make me get out of this hole. this hole i've only half-dug for myself. sometimes i'm not entirely sure what is wrong. i just know that something is. i'm more unhappy than i am happy, and that's not right. but i've accepted the fact that i'll never be completely happy, nor do i think i'd want to be. unfortunate as it may be, i get my inspiration from extreme depression and discomfort and unhappiness. writing is my fucking therapy. my escape. my emotions laid bare for all the world to see, and judge, and ponder, and analyze. i think that anyone that reads my work, no matter how far detached it might appear to be on the page, can have a better understanding of who i am, as a person, of how i think, and the things that bother me. but no one will ever understand me completely through poetry, lyrics, music, stories, lists, even journals alone. there's so much more to me, and even i don't fully grasp it. but i hate anyone who thinks they fucking know me so well, cuz 9 times out of 10, they are wrong on every single fucking count. i am moody, yes. i am anti-social, yes. i am often ridiculously shy, and touchy/sensitve. i'm damn near impossible sometimes. but there are so many things i'm really not. and if i come off that way, or if i actually have become that way, it's not always my fault. i try so fucking hard not to let my "illness" dictate my life, but it has and it always will until i'm better or until it's somewhat bearable. more and more though, it seems like that will never happen. and it's thoughts like those that make me want to veer the car into certain relief.