I realized this at about roughly 3:00 this morning.

In light of recent events, I have been very introspective, and doing a bit of soul searching, but instead of a soul I've been looking for a purpose.

I realized that I am, inescapably, defined by my actions.

I feel like I've read this as a quote somewhere, maybe that's why it popped into my head so quickly as I was walking around. It may not apply to everyone, but I feel for me, it very much does.

6 months ago my life consisted of...
I read books and played games, just for the experience
doing drugs, and I wanted to do more, for the experiences
having sex, and I wanted to have more, just to experience it

I was living a life where my experience counted for nothing, if it could even be counted as experience at all.

I don't want to have done more to have experience anymore.
I want to have experiences so that I can have done more.

6 months ago I didn't know what i wanted to do. I didn't know what I could do. And I couldn't get anything done when I tried. I was getting nowhere, but I was staying there.

I am defined by my actions.
Then I was foolish, taking the wrong advice, and living other people's lives. The person that I created was not the person that I wanted to be, and it hurts when you tell someone who you are, and there's nothing there to be respected.
My actions defined me in ways that I no longer want attached to me. I don't want to be the person I used to be.

So I did something. I changed my actions. I want to be proud of myself. So that maybe one day I can make someone else proud. I want my actions to define me, and noone else. I am working towards this future, and though my morale is low at times, nothing makes me happier than this thought.
I finally feel like I am someone.

901 287 9611
No service until tomorrow.
Have minutes, but unlimited text.

I just want each day to end so that I don't have to go through it.
Another day over, is another day put behind me, and another day closer to closure.

Just like the record slows down with the smallest touch,
life changes with the least influence.

Nothing to do but all the things I have to do.
Nothing to say but all the things I have to say.

Noone to do them but me, noone to say them either.
Noone to hear them either. Noone I want to tell.

I push so hard to get the most out of everyday now, but part of me just wants to lie down and sleep, because I've never felt so tired.
But I push myself more and more, I dont know what I'm trying to prove, or who I'm trying to prove it to.

Definitly not anyone else, because it's not about anyone else anymore.
I don't know what I'm trying to prove to myself.

Maybe one day, I'll wake up, turn over in bed and feel like I've made a change.
I don't feel any change right now.

So I'll keep pushing.

Details are sort've fuzzy because I kept falling in and out of sleep at the time.

I don't remember who the guy sitting beside me was or who the girl sitting across the table was either. It was my house I knew that, the table was in the living room for some reason, and it was incredibly dark, dark enough to need a flashlight to navigate. I assume everyone in the house was asleep.

He sat beside me, with a menacing demeanor, threatening everything I did, and telling me not to leave the table. The girl across from me was his and either drunk or drugged. He reminded me of my cousin, bipolar schizophrenic and in a dominant mood. He was my cousin at times, and at other times he was a greazy haired jackass of a guy who gripped my wrist and told me what to do.
He pulls a syringe from the table and tells me either inject her or inject myself, maybe both, I dont remember. The substance contained within will turn me into a disassociative numb shell of a person like the girl who sits in front of me. Fake, gaudy make-up, a toy for the guy beside me. The use of it on me would be to eliminate my interference with whatever he had planned in my house. I said no.
Thats when the knife came out. He didn't toy with it, flip it or brandish, just pushed it into my skin and reiterated.
I said no, thats when he reiterated more strongly.
Being that the guy was at times my cousin and at times a stranger my reaction wasn't as serious as it should have been. I told him no, and laughing, told him to put the knife away, I didn't feel like it.
When he became more and more aggressive I became more serious, I told him to put it away or I would do something about it. I began to see that this was what would have to happen, my heart was racing, I was unsure of what action to take.
He told me again and I told him enough, threw back my chair and pushed his over with him in it. I ran to the kitchen to find a knife of my own as the girl starts to chase me. I search the sink for a knife that I believed was in the bottom when I realize that the knife is in Mahal's sink, not mine. So I throw open the drawer and grab two smaller ones. Later I realize bigger knives lay on the counter behind me.
Its had to find the knives in the dark without the lights on, harder even to see the girl coming after me. I knock her down because she isnt the real threat. I circle around the bottom story of my house and yell for my brother to wake up and grab a bat, for someone whose asleep his reaction time was fast, he asks why and I yell to just do it. I finish searching the bottom of the house and realize the man is no longer downstairs, hes gone upstairs, to my brother.
My heart is racing so fast that as I run up the stairs I wake up by lifting my body off the bed then fall back asleep when I land. The door is adjar, and the light is on, I call my brother's name and get no answer. I push the door and it is slightly resistant. I realize the man is behind the door, and my brother must be too. I know I have seconds, I dont know how I kno this. I kick or shoulder the door, and shove a knife through the crack between the jamb and the door, then I jump through and pull the door closed.
The man has my brother in his arm, choking him so hard that his face is a pale blue, he holds a knife to his face and starts to speak but I dont wait.
I jump at him, holding the knife in my left hand up and the one in my right down, I slash his bicep open and when he drops Chase I slit his throat, then I cut it again, and again.
He still stands up, his head partially attached, then I wake up.

Looking back I realize there was no blood throughout the entire dream. And that he actually cut me a few times when I pushed his chair over, but nothing happened besides my skin splitting. I had no time to worry about it once i realize my brother was in danger.
I realized I have a huge fear of being stabbed, because this is only one of a recurring string of dreams I've been having that involve me either fighting someone with knives, or being stabbed myself.
I remember growing up and my sister would chase me with forks or screwdrivers and pretend to stab me, sometimes poking me pretty hard. I think that may have played a part, but lets not point sharp objects.

This is also part of a string of strange dreams I've been having lately. I've had 2 zombie dreams, one in which everytime I died I started over, able to make different choices (like a game) my father was in that one. And a dream in which people kept feeding squirells these pills that made them swell up to a size where the literally inverted certain parts of their body before exploding. One was beside my bed, and the smell of 'sploded squirell was so bad that as I got up to clean it up I woke up because it was a dream.

I dont know what my psyche is trying to tell me. Maybe sleep less.

Star light, star bright
Wish I may, wish I might
Lay in bed and sleep all day
Imagining things people say
Friends come, friends go
Hither there, hither fro
Reluctant to leave, people habituating
In there comfortable corners, memory masturbating
Wish I can, wish I could
Wish I will, wish I would
I've gotten off my ass and tried
To force the fog of laziness to subside

I'm tired of doing the same things over and over again and getting nowhere. I want to do something productive. With myself, with my lives, and if not, then with other people and theirs. I want to make an impact, do something meaningful, if not for me than for someone else.
I got tired of going out and seeing that people I love are satisfied with progessing in a circle. Repeating the same mistakes, or just content with doing nothing.
And it upsets me. Not that any of you are doing this, but rather that I can't get you to do anything else. I mean no offense by any of this, I dont know all of my friends plans, and I try not to be quick to judge.
I'm tired of doing drugs. I don't see the point. I especially don't see the point in marijuana. A drug that brings people together, and then for period of time afterward causes them to be lazy, awkward, paranoid, and think everyone else is looking at them funny. It is a drug that can compared to seeing who has the biggest cock. Look at the mannerisms. People go out of their way to build connections and get the best weed or the best deal around, so they can in turn show it to their friends and brag about the hook-up they've gotten. I enjoy sitting and watching people at parties listen to others talk about the weed they've just gotten from someone, and then I watch all the other people around them analyze, and judge them, you can see in their eyes they dont believe a word. This guy is a tard, theres no way he could know these kinds of people, and theres no way hes cool enough with them to get the quality or quantity of weed that he says he does. All it is, is who has the biggest dick of them all. Can you take the biggest rip? Can you smoke the most? Can you hold it in the longest without choking?
Congratulations. You've gotten yourself nowhere.
Hallucinogens I have more respect for, but that says little. Granted your mind holds numerous secrets, and they are in turn a way to look outside the box to see inside your head, but I am firm in my belief that you will not find answers to questions through the use of psychedelics. Questions lie within the minds, answers lie outside it. You use the mind to understand what is outside to come to conclusions, you dont use a drug to decode it for you. Granted they are fun, they are an experience in and of themselves, but life holds so many more. The things you see and do during a trip, it isn't real. You havent actually done anything. It's in theory the same as a dream. But I dont see anyone getting excited about going to sleep. I have a hard time believing that untold mysteries can be unlocked through repeated use of psychedelic drugs. Therefore I don't believe anyone is making process through its use. You are doing nothing substantial but avoiding the amazing things reality can provide. And if you continue along this path, you will all but forget or choose not to think abou what things life can have in store for you.
And so, you will get nowhere.
Beer I dont care about at all. I have no problems with it unless you have a problem with it. Although I have never tasted a good beer, I think its more like you taste a less awful beer. I think its an alright way to bring people together or force them apart. You can either hold your friend up while hes throwing up, or you could get in a fight with that same friend for some reason or another. Its up to the beer really. Vodka blows, its vile and awful, and the most disgusting of all liquors, people who pride themsselves on the amount of vodka they can drink are equivalent to people who pride themselves on the amount of licorice they can eat. Who cares? I dont know why I mention vodka specifically. I think everyone should stop drinking it. Drink something else. If alcohol is not drank in a celebratory manner, at a party, a social gathering in which people are happy about having obtained or achieved something, then all that is being done is a waste of time. You are sitting and drinking at a time in which you could be furthering yourself. But you would rather sit, drink, and avoid thinking about things too sharply.
Still nowhere.
I absolutely hate, with a passion, going to a party, or hanging out with my friends, and all I ever hear, is your plans to do drugs. Your biggest apsirations in life, are procuring, creating, selling, or simply doing some drug. What. The. Hell. I never hear about anyone wanting to go to the beach, go hiking, climb a tree, or do a treasure hunt. Noone ever wants to make some music, write a story, find a long-lost friend, or ride rollercoasters. All of my friends are excited about setting some equipment up, cooking up some drug or another, and sitting back and repeating the same useless process. The reasons you will all get nowhere, is because you dont want to go anywhere. You are content, with staying right where you are, doing absolutely nothing productive, just making drugs and doing them. I want to hear my friends talk about something that means something, I want them to plan a trip to some obscure destination, I want them to go on a vision quest to find themselves, I want to hear about them talking amongst themselves about the car they want to buy. But no, their upcoming plans are on googling the way to make some drug.
YOU WILL GET NOWHERE UNLESS YOU TRY.

TRY.

This is not meant to sound insulting or offensive in any way. I am indeed upset. I am upset with myself. Because don't know how to show this to my friends. They will see this, or if I told it to them, hear it, and shrug it off. I am depressed because I want friends, but all my friends want are drugs. I am angry, becuase I am inadequate, I cannot relate anymore, and I cannot ask them to do these things, because I would not understand what they do.
Why? Becuase I dont do as much drugs.
I'm lonely. But right now Im trying to do something productive. So I'm going to get off livejournal and go to a job interview.

Good luck, love and peace to my friends.
Death to the infidels.

Edit: I just feel dumb. Im not avoiding any of my friends, dont think I am. I've called, or texted, called or replied. Im not feeling mopey because Im not seeing anyone. This isn't a cry for help. I just love my friends. Even if Im frustrated, I love you all. I want to have this same group of friends as I age and progress through life, but if any of my friends arent trying to progess, then they wont make the journey with me.
So don't dismiss this as some pessemistic depressed rant. It is anything but that. I am in a great mood. I'm about to start a job I know I wont like, I'll have money but nothing to do but spend it on gas. I'm happy walking around outside with my dogs and reading my books.
I'm just not content with being unable to reach my friends.
Actually, this goes out to everyone, I may be trying to reach those I love, but the things I've said about substances, I believe completly. And hold in my heart as truth. I dont look down on someone who does drugs, I dont look down on people who drink. I drink, I've smoked, I've done my share of drugs. Granted I didn't do alot of drugs, I just did enough to know that its not that big a deal. Its really not that exciting to me, and I dont see the allure.
This is a statement of my belief. Not an arguement to be debated either. Keep your opinion to yourself, as I'm sure everyone has mixed emotions about drugs. I dont wish for someone to challenge who I feel about something, as my own opinion or mind is something that other people cannot make up. If this is the case with anyone, then you have failed to see the bigger picture. And in that case, you should call me, or text me, or email me, and I'd love to talk to you. In person. IRL. Otherwise, let me know what you think, that is not to say agree with what I believe, just dont challenge what I believe, the only purpose behind that is to cause me harm. I intend none, nor do I wish to recieve any.
I'm done now. Or so I think.

Lsd vs Alchohol vs Tree. Thought this was interesting.

Shit. Just hit. The Fan.

An explosion of indecisive, confused, angry, emotional, overprotective, intrusive, distrusting, overinflated, blood red shit.
Just threw itself, face first, through a pane of glass, down a flight of stairs, across a pile of bricks, and into the curb.
Then sprayed itself across the neighborhood, the world, our minds, in a mad lash of painful, bitter, disappointment.

Shit. Is so. Fucked.

I'm so confused.

Everything around here makes me sad. Being home, bored, it gets depressing. I have to leave to break the mood.
I cant stop thinking. Trying to figure this all out.
I dont know if leaving will solve anything. In fact, I think it'll make things worse now.
Moving so far away for one person is so much to place a wager on.
I cant find enough reasons to make it seem plausible.
And now Im rethinking everything. What now?

I'm afraid to move, afraid to wait.

Distance and darkness
Absent comforts appealed for
Left naked without even a false sense of accomplishment
Huddling in a subconscious corner
Fight or flight against choices
A voice returning, my own
Reiterating questions which do not envoke any answers
"What do I do?"
Only a reminder, that something must be done
Also a reminder, that nothing has been done
"What can I do?"
The only person I can ask, myself
The only person without answers, me

I havent seen anyone in a couple of days.
And its not the weather's fault.
Its mine.

I'm digging some kind've mental hole.

It's just not deep enough yet.

I'll get back to you.

This place is a prison
These people aren't your friends
Inhaling thrills through 20 dollar bills
and the tumblers are drained and flooded again and again

There's guards at the on ramps
Armed to the teeth
And you may case the grounds from the cascades to the puget sounds
But you are not permitted to leave

I know theres a big worlds out there
Like the one I saw on the screen
In my living room late last night
It was almost too bright to see
I know that its not a party
If it happens every night
Pretending theres glamour and candlelabra
While you drink by candlelight

What does it take to get a drink in this place
What does it take
How long must i wait?

What does it take to get a drink in this place
What does it take
How long must i wait?

How long must i wait?

--

Augh. I need a job.
I won 42 buck playing poker.
And I'll be spending mornings painting a bar for money.

Can someone give me a job?

For real.

I just couldn't stop throwing up.
Like it was a fad.

I dunno if it was something I ate.
(9-10 krystals, half an old sub, fourth of a quart of ice cream)
or if I smoked myself sick.
(entirely too much)

Meats been making me sick anyways, but hitting that bong was like a punch in the face.
I spent the rest of the night throwing up, the next day throwing up, and then the rest of the next day lying in bed wishing I was dead.

I havent eaten or smoked since.

Tripping thoughts:

Life is dangerous.

Miss the girl.

Am I crying?

The cat is god.

The room is breathing.

My teeth are broken.

Am I still crying?

--

Ugh. Life makes my stomach turn.

People in photos, appear like gentle giants.
In actuality they are ravenous ogres.
Its not my pain, its the audacity. It makes me sick.

(I feel trapped)

Am I really trying?
Why dont I feel like Im trying?

Am I really trying to get out, or have I become accustomed.
Are people obsessed with pain?
They love to hurt. To hurt others. To prolong their own pain.
They wallow in guilt, in suffering.
Everything in life is temporary.

Thats why I'm sad.

What's left for me?
I can't have anything forever.
I can't have anyone forever.

Your'e all going to leave me, I'm going to leave you all.
One way or another.

How do people accept this? How do I ignore it?

I want to leave, maybe then, with her, I can forget that the horizon is an imaginary line.

Can a person really live life, when they keep thinking about how short it is?
How much time have I wasted?

Because...I need to start trying. Now.
For me.

Everybody unhappy...

Post some fucking cats.

Munchin on a pomegranate, these things are fuggin delicious
POM juice is a facade, the fruit is better.

Got my scrawny dog in my lap, shivering tho its not cold. Kupcake, if your familiar.

The guy who runs blacklodge smoked out with Bruce Campbell. He's my hero.
Also he say's Bruce isnt doing the Bubba Nosferatu, disappointing.

I had something running through me head earlier, something I felt I should write down or type out, and the only thing that I've got left now is just the urge to write. I have no idea what I was thinking about previously.

I've pretty much missed the early deadlines for applying at any other schools. I've still got the regular deadline, and then the final deadline, but now Im just thinking if I should apply for spring, instead of rushing the process. Getting all my stuff together and doing it then.
But damn...a whole semester, so long, so short, Im sure if Im waiting to leave it'll take forever.

Kupcake wants my pomegranate.

If anyones ever heard stories of me when I drive high, they know I imagine some pretty crazy things. Black holes, rifts in time.
Last time I was driving above the influence, I looked in my rear view mirror to see a car's headlights split from 2 to 4 to 6, then they turned into the 6 yellow eyes of a giant black bee, that soared right up behind my car and almost ran me off the road.
Scariest shit I ever saw.

Kupcake is an attention whore, cries if I dont put her in my lap, but keeps jumping down.
Goddammit Kupcake.

Ever have so much to do, but theres always something holding you up. I cant even begin to rush to put all my shit together, because things beyond my control decide to intervene. I can't even procastinate. I have to be able to do it to slack off.

Deus Ex Machina. Alot of things in life are like that. Life doin its own thing.

I'm hoping school will help kick shit into gear, otherwise it'll just be another thing in the way.

Everyone keeps telling me to let you tell the story.
Long story they say.
Best if you let him tell you.

Where the fuck are you?

Brother breaks his collar bone and I quit my job in the same day.
Making me official caretaker of my brother.
Which means as soon as I got the chance to do whatever the fuck I wanted
I got everything I wanted fucked up

Goddammit.

I smell.
Like butter.

Like I've been wading through scampi.


I freak out over insignificant shit. Im compltely unaware of someones reaction to my own action, but I'll fear the worst while I wait. Why did I ever say anything to begin with?
Could I have been satisfied with what I possessed?
Eventually now, but have I fucked up the time being?


This smell is overwhelming, I hate working in a resturant.


I don't really know what to do in my situation. I have to sit and wait, to find out the what I already know pretty much, what I dont want to hear, then I have to spiral downward into depression over something I cannot change until I get over it and begin the cycle again, because...truly...I will never be over it.


And you think you know people.


I dont know about things anymore. One step at a time no?

I feel like everything is a waste of time.
So what's left thats worthwhile?



Life is too long or too short. To spend angry at myself, to spend angry at you.
I wish I could talk, and you would listen. I wish you would talk, and I would hear.
And that it could all be taken in stride.
Because life's really too long, or really too short, to waste being angry.


Im ready to put everything behind me. Far behind me. As in miles.

Ugh.
The world opens up, in brief glimpses.
Possibilities abound.
The fun I have. Could have.
But I just feel kindve shitty.
Worried about things I dont want to worry about.
Wanting to know things I dont want to know.

So shit.
Its to be or not to be.
I can ask a simple question, and change everything.

Life's funny like that.

Incidentally, I can leave it be. Do whatever I please.
But Ill still wonder.

Life is too fucking funny.

I feel like I've already made the choice.
I don't know enough right now.
But isn't that the problem. A simple question would tell me all I need to know.
But what answer do I want to hear?



On another note.
Next semester is looming above my head.
Life is so goddamn funny sometimes.

I feel change.
Broke as shit.
Lost my keys.
Cars in the Redlobster parking lot.
Paper to write.
So much to do.
Need to go back a week or two.
Do it all then.

Need to go back a year or two.
Change it all then.

Theres nothing like being so sick at heart and so angry inside.
So sick at heart.

Angry at myself.



I cant believe you.
Had I made my move would things be different?
or would I just be angrier?
I cant believe this.
Lifes full of suprises.
You were the first of many.