Vent. Scribble. Wonder. My mind in its random places.
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  1. I must admit; it's been a very strange year for me.

    August 1st was my last day at work (for rather stupid reasons, actually), and the last week or so I've been visiting job agencies, and colleges, just to see if I fit anywhere.

    Apparently, the man we spoke to at the College, thinks I should go to University instead. He seems to think I won't get enough "stimulation" if I take College courses. It's interesting, simply because I've never had the actual opportunity to attend college, let alone university, because I've never actually "graduated" through any public school systems (homeschooled for 12 years).

    I guess I liked knowing this man, this educated man, thought I had the potential to succeed intellectually.

    It was a really nice moment for me.

    Not to mention on the way to one of our local coffee shops I found a loonie (Canadian dollar for those not in the know : p) on the sidewalk. I called it my lucky dollar and I won't be spending it.

    That day was a very good day.

    The night on the other hand, held a lot of drama. A friendship nearly broken for stupid reasons, reasons I never even knew would be considered reasons. But, I have one more chance.. so he says. Lets hope to God I don't blow it. (A six year friendship down the drain isn't exactly fun, if you know what I mean).

    We went to a thrift store yesterday as well, and I bought a book of Doctor Zhivago poems. Apparently it has a defect (the cover is upside down compared to what's inside). But I think that gives it character.

    I'm in a state of hope right now. Hope that this time next year, before my 20th birthday, I'll be in school, my friend will still be here beside me, and my funds will not have completely diminished.

    I can dream, right?
  2. I work part time in an office, three days a week doing data entry for an Auto appraisal company. It's quite a boring job, but it pays over minimum wage, so I'm grateful for that. But my problem is I don't know what I want. I know what I don't want, what I despise, but knowing what I crave, what my passions are is something I can't seem to quite figure out. Can you really live off of passion?

    That's my life question. And I don't know. I suppose a few people have, and probably continue to, but can I? Can I live by writing and by music? By reading? By being?

    It's too hard to be. I wish it were easier. I wish we could live how we want to live, without these unnecessary tasks that must be done. But is it possible.

    What's possible to begin with though? Where do we draw the line from possible to impossible? From sane to madness?

    There's too many lines and not enough spaces in the sand.

    To live passionately and poorly or dryly and comfortably.

    Now that is the question.
  3. So I haven't been here in awhile, again. I'm not sure what's up with me lately, but I seem to keep hiding myself away under a rock in a distant land. Maybe because forum posting sometimes feels like work, so I'd rather just not start again.. but then I become bored and must, so it's this never ending circle of weirdness.

    But regardless of that, I've written a little bit of nonsense over my course of hiding away. Nothing too awesome, but I like it.

    As a side note - Happy 2008 everyone, as well as a belated Christmas. :)


    The society has reached its limits. If we are to live, nay, if we are to even breathe, we must acknowledge what is happening and hope to reach our maximum potential. In order to survive, in order to BE we must first accept the fates that may befall even the best of us.

    If we believe in our present, if we believe in our past, we must believe in the future. If we are to cope, and permit ourselves the luxury of peace, must we fight for it? Is it a paradox? To want and yearn for peace and to eventually, undoubtfully fight for it? Or shall peace come in the night when we are all but asleep; when our hopes have vanished, and our dreams become reality?
    When the sting of past love affairs have snuffed the fires of youth.

    The youth our souls pretended to have lived. Pretended to have enjoyed, welcomed. The youth of today are tomorrows soulless; the youth of yesterday are today’s hungry.

    Hungry for life and love - for the touch of a fellow human being; a touch alien to even the more social of us.

    Do they realize the past is just the future in a different context? We are the same and we repeat ourselves. Always and forever.

    Or is there hope after all? Are we doomed to fulfill the fate of past and future generations or can we escape them for good? Mistakes repeat themselves and we are too lazy and numb to do anything about them.

    When I am gone will you worry? Or will you care when it is far too late? When your fate is at hand and nothing will be done. Because the fate of you and I rests on our own bloody hands. The hands of our fathers and children.

    We rest on the ideals of our father’s, and we pray for the ideas of our children.

    Or do we pray? Rather, mere utterances disposed to the light of our words? Our words are insecure to the thoughts of them and the actions of ourselves. Unsure to all things minus the hopes of our futures.

    We are in a suicidal spin gripping at nothing and yet, at everything- at love, hope, and joy.

    The pain is over powering and grips my senses. My dreams posses nothing but useless glimpses into thoughts and pretend actions. Actions that mean nothing to me, as I am unable to come to terms with myself. There are no terms to be ashamed of, unless I create them myself, which is entirely possible though unlikely.

    My love has grown, and yet we have not met nor do I think we ever shall. She is lost in the spaces of time, and I am grounded with planted feet unwilling to lift even a single toe. She will not stay and I will never depart. Cursed alone in the shadows of acceptance.

    What is sanity? What rule does such a word follow, if any? Perspective glares and even surrenders.

    Beneath these eyes lies a mistaken hope, a dread and a painless self-existence; an existence that mustn’t show its evil self-loathing head.

    The times continue their downfall into oblivion. Into nothingness, and we are stuck here, between two worlds, maybe even three – but we are stuck - glued to the past and to the future. Glued to what is, and what once was.

    And because we cannot forget, we will not forgive. To forget would be our last hope entirely, our last gasp, unwillingly sentenced to suffer alone.

    To live beyond this – beyond all of this – is something I either continually crave, or regret entirely. The double edge is far too lethal.

    You must be wondering, why regret? What could you possibly regret by surviving, by being? By breathing, experiencing, loving? I regret because I cannot see the faces of the ones we have lost.

    Who am I to be any different? To expect any different?

    Either we all depart, or every single one of us survives. Either you and I believe, or we all cry in the night along the corners of our frozen rooms. Alone together.

    The words required to explain my deepest thoughts regarding our current situations are meshed between the blinds of reality and personal perception. Objectivity is nonexistent. Although, I must wonder – did it ever really exist?

    Did we ever grasp the materialization of differences? Did we feel the broken promises between our cold calloused fingertips?

    The cattle continue their trot whilst the storms build and when they finally explode, which they most certainly will; we will be resting under the tress of freedom. And when the lightening flashes, we will remain, as we were – lifeless.
  4. My thoughts feel so distant from my actions. There's a quote by Kafka that I feel explains this exactly:

    "I write differently from what I speak, I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness."

    Although, I'm not sure if that actually does explain anything in the end.

    I type, I write, and I ponder, and in the end I delete every single thing. My words don't stick like they used to. They don't care or feel. Anything. Everything. It's all mixed together to create a mesh of madness I'm forced to believe is actually worth people's time to read.

    But you know, it really isn't.

    Or maybe it's all perspective again. What's wonderful and exhilarating to me, is pointless and foolish to you.

    Perspective is a wonderful yet deadly adventure.

    I feel very indifferent to a lot of things, and whether it's because of empathy or a complete lack of caring, is completely over my head.

    They've thrown me into a river and I can't get out.

    Christmas is three weeks away, and I've been thinking the same thoughts as last year. They always come, and I always think them.

    I don't like Christmas, and I don't think I ever will. There's too many strings and crutches attached.

    Although it would be nice to let go once in awhile and truly and completely breathe.

    The snow is blistering and the wind is blowing. Slipping on ice isn't something I'd call exactly fun.
  5. Oh life, why must you be so odd?

    The last few weeks have been quite interesting. Although I'm not sure if it's a "good" interesting.

    My parents are contemplating moving cities. They want to go to the countryside, about an hour away. Let me put this in perspective; my city currently holds around 400,000 people, this town holds 35,000. They're trying to bribe me by buying a grand piano. As much as I would LOVE that, I wouldn't be able to take piano lessons anymore with my current teacher. After years of having horrible teachers, I finally have one that is good, and she understands. And now? Well, they want to get up and move. It depends on if my mom gets this certain job she applied for. But still; it's frustrating and it feels slightly unfair. If that's the one thing I've always hated them for, it's the fact that they uproot everything, and they move when things get too tough for them. Especially when it comes to "religion." Which is why I haven't been to a church in ten years, and I won't be going to one any time soon (not that I want to.) I used to know people, it didn't matter if they were 20 years older than I was. I KNEW them, and that's what mattered most.

    In other news- my writing seems to be going rather miserably. This rut will not... move away from me... Augh. Not to mention everyone around me wants me to finally go to College, and yet I refuse to, for two reasons: 1) I have NO idea what to go for, and it's too expensive to go on a whim, and 2) because I don't feel the need to go right now. Money doesn't grow on trees, and the fact that I honestly don't even know if I could get in for obvious reasons. I think I'm just tired of the social rules we're all forced to follow.

    Really though, I've been thinking about this a lot lately. We go through life having all of these rules placed in front of us; don't say this, don't write that, don't even think about this possibility! Everything is so planned and brought about to be how they want it to be. We're expected to grow up, attend school for years and years (probably 17 if my calculations are correct) and for what? So we can get a job and make lots of money? So we can spend countless hours sitting in an office creating the dough we can use to buy bigger and better houses? But for what?! So we can have the privilege of knowing we're worth something because of what we own? I don't want that. I despise that.

    I despise knowing people WILL look down on me for not going to College, that will happen, but it's something I've accepted. I despise the social mind because of their insistent need for new things, instead of creating relationships and thoughts with other people. We're a society forced into seclusion and I'm tired of it.

    Money doesn't buy happiness, and it never ever will. I'm tired of changing just so I can "get by" and have "friends."