As of recent analyzations it’s become apparent to me that my only fountain of inspiration has been envy and jealousy. A need for recognition that I too can do ‘it’, that I am also capable of doing just ‘that’. 

But why? Why is it that I must observe you in a state of creation before I desire to do it?
What bothers me even further is the distance, or lack thereof, between inspiration & myself. Often times this stimulant is about an inch away from a friendly handshake and a week away from becoming my lover.

How horrible is it that my immediate surroundings, be it family, friends, lovers, enemies and their accomplishments, act as the catalyst in my endeavors? That this feeling is not nurtured by self, but as a byproduct of observing another?

I feel as though I am the shadow of my surroundings.
I am nothing created out of my own brain.
From a sea of nothing to a world of gas.

But don’t confuse this as a distaste for myself or the life I have lead for I have realized what I have been doing subconsciously. I no longer hate myself. I no longer feel eternally depressed. No, I feel disgusted that I need another to push myself in other ways. I feel as a normie. When I look out I can no longer distinguish myself from the grey. It is almost as though I just blend. Before this, when I entered nihilism, I felt as though I was headed to another world. And on my way there I must have taken a wrong turn because as time grew, I did not notice this, however, I noticed that I was blending. My arm began to smear into the sky. My face became the sun. My limbs became the trees. My feet grew roots and I became the sea. 

I began to bleed into the world. And it’s then that I noticed that I fell to the top.
Upon my arrival I started to put the world in a box. I needed to domesticate, but not by choice. It is because I was told this was knowledge.  And now I find myself no where. With nothing behind me, and no one beside me. I worry about this computer. I worry about my clothing. I worry about an image. I worry about worrying. I am becoming my khakis. I am listening to ads and billboards. I am listening to talking papers. I’m fucking repulsed.

I’m utterly repulsed. I’m sickened. My stomach turns thinking of the ideals I once held. Fuck me. Fuck the things you put in my head. Fuck this computer. Fuck the normals. Fuck the world. Fuck the image. Fuck blending. Fuck the top. Fuck the surface. To hell with social acceptance. Fuck your recognition and my need for it. Fuck this image you emulate. Fuck you. Fuck me for being so angry about it.  

If you have made it to the bottom of this entry I commemorate you. 
Simply because this was not for you, but for me.
To
V
E
N
T.
To release this pent up anger and frustration because it was beginning to leak into my family setting. It’s poison. I’m poisoned. I’m the remedy.

Adieux.  

Friday, September 30, 2012 
7:00 P.M. $3.00
16263 Doublegrove St.
La Puente, CA 

come close the casket.

Full-time student 2 days out of 7.
Part-time lead event specialist 4 days out of 7.
Workout 4 days out of 7.
Homework 4 days out of 7. 

I want music in my life. I want Badmouth back.

My mind is convinced that I can afford to procrastinate when I’ve got a 1,000 word paper on Meno’s Paradox & Plato’s Theory of Recollection (which I’ve adorned with my name as well as class info) as well as a report/presentation on Argentina’s cultural and business aspects in Spanish (yes, present & type in Spanish) all due tomorrow.

Not even trippin’ fool-got a rock star & a crack pot set to 6 cups. 
Sup world?