Whenever I look around here, I see my previous journal entry from when I was happy about almost being with Jessi and I just need to replace it with something newer. I haven't really thought this through to be honest, but I'll just wing it, as seems to be the way I do everything anyway.

It's March ninth, two-thousand and nine at almost four in the morning as I type this, yet my watch is still an hour behind because I don't remember how to set it, even though I do it twice a year. I'm sure I could figure it out, but messing with it too much makes my fingertips hurt because the buttons are unforgiving. I'm listening to the Mario Rock Opera by GameJew ( [link] ) and talking to Mark on MSN (God knows why) about life and living it with different philosophies. I guess this is sort of time capsuley. I never did the Cult's time capsule for myself, so eh.

We're on the third month of the year 2009, and already it's been a pretty shitty year. I can't even list the women I've gone through, and I'm not trying to brag by saying that. If anything, I'm pitying myself because I can't seem to hook one and keep her. The line seems to keep breaking, like I was given some line for catching guppies or something (although you catch them with a net, shut up) when the fish are all sharks. I won't even list their names here, because I know a few of them will see this at some point. Since they're "artists." I guess I'll just rant like an asshole.

I hate it when people self-proclaim. When someone says that they're an artist, it just pisses me off. They think it makes them seem statuesque and better than other people because they "get" art. I hate phony people, and I know that sounds like something a 14-year-old (where do you put the hyphen there? I forget) that's full of middle/high school drama would say, but whatever. Maybe I just mature extremely slowly. When someone says that they're "weird" or "crazy" or "random" or an artist or anything, I just flip my shit. I did that kind of stuff when I was in grade school, and looking back, I wish I could have kicked myself in the nuts to stop myself from doing it. Although as a child, that doesn't hurt, they just act like it does for comedic effect. I was the only one that said it didn't hurt, but no one else would admit it. I thought something was wrong with my balls.

Anyway, I should just make this have some kind of meaning. No one's gonna read this and have anything decent to say. "Oh haha the balls thing fish, you're so crazy." No I'm not. Shut up.

I also try to determine how people will react and alter what I say to get better reactions. I don't want you to say that so I'm saying this. This probably doesn't make any sense. I'll get back on track.

"They look to me like I'm some kind of hero. I'm not, I'm only a man."

I'm only a man. Am I even a man at this point? I've never had a job, I can't do anything, I'm not strong. What defines a man? I can go fight in the army and kill people. Does that make me a man? Maybe that's what I should do? I could get my life in order, and see if I could actually handle murder. It would be kind of interesting to be an assassin. I'd like to write a story about one.

I have no drive in my life; no ambition. There's nothing I've ever wanted to be. Adults always ask kids what it is that they want to be when they grow up. What a stressing question. Adults don't even know. I look at people when I'm out and about and think to myself how they got to that position. Did the FedEx guy want to be a FedEx guy? I doubt it. Something happened and he settled.

"I was wrong to think I was more than somehow more than just your plumber... Somehow more than just your summary of molecules...

I'll break the rules and fly away... Statuesque and I'll save the day..."

I want to save the day. Between video games, media and stuff like Hope Rides Alone, I want to feel that kind of torn feeling wanting to have to choose between two huge things, feel grief from it, to save people or something else. Give up myself for the greater good. I want to be remembered fondly. How amazing would it be to be studied? Kids would hate you, and draw dicks on your face in their history books, and I laugh at that thought because it would be me that did that.

I want to have something to live for. I want to FEEL something, people. I wake up and I don't feel anything. I look in the mirror and see the skin under my eyes is more wrinkled and ugly than it was last year. My eyes are sometimes bloodshot for no reason, and I sit here with the worst posture possible. I'm going off topic.

I want to have a dream. You know? Lucas went to Florida to have more chance with music. Tom wants to do something in business. Some people know what they want to do, or at least have a goal for now. I have nothing. I don't want to be an "artist" I don't want to make video games, I don't want to write books, I don't want to be a teacher, to be a racecar driver, to do anything. I want to have some goal. It would make me feel alive. I want to feel alive, to feel my heart race for some reason.

But nothing. Power, money, love... I don't care. I just don't care anymore. What's the point of power? To control others. To be respected. What is respect? Something we invented to feel like we were superior to the other animals on this planet. Look how smart we are. Money... You can buy things. You can have material possessions which will distract you from thinking about life in terms such as this. Video games, movies, cars, houses, food, and other useless crap that we don't need, or need to that level. Everything's so God damn pointless anymore, who the fuck even cares. Love...

Love. Hah. What a bunch of shit that is.

I saw a picture that read something along the lines of "Many people would not have felt love if they were not informed of what it is." That's half right, I think. Just another human invention to keep people in line. We think it's so magical, so other-worldly. It's other-worldly alright, a world that doesn't fucking exist. President Keane said it best before he shot himself. I won't repeat the words; I wouldn't want to offend anyone.

Then again, who gives a damn. Life's just a bunch of kicks in the mouth. Eventually you run out of teeth, and you're trying to eat shitty food like applesauce, and eventually you just fucking die and who fucking gives a shit because you're dead and the world could really care less.

"It feels so good to finally know who I am, and what I'm meant to do!"

I envy you, fictional Opera-Mario. How I envy knowing a "purpose" in life for myself. I wish I could just believe I had some meaning so I could go for it. I wish I wasn't so cynical, and didn't see the world in such a bleak perspective. I wish my life had been different so I would have been shaped differently, and maybe not so fucking shittily. I don't care about working, about money, about doing art, about trying to get any of you back... You hear me? I don't care. You had your chance, and I tried. There's not a damn person that can say I didn't truthfully try and try with any of you.

So what matters to me? Nothing. Why am I even still around? I don't know. I've almost walked out the door so many times, and everyone had their backs turned every time. I coulda made an escape so silent you'd turn around and almost feel my breath on your neck as the door slammed.

I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore! I'll be fine, folks. It's late at night, and I'm alone. I get like this.

And it's the worst way to get, believe me. It manifests over the years; over a decade. Things get so obscure I don't even know if I've just pushed a button that I hit not once second ago. I don't know anything, my brain is going to fucking mush and leaking out my ears and my socks are getting wet as it seems through my shoes, and I soak my brain up through the other end of my body, and walk on my thoughts, and it doesn't change a damn thing because nothing matters.

I was wrong to think I was more than somehow just your...
Your...
I was wrong.