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.  

In elementary
middle&
high school;

I was subject to the pranks&verbal abuse of cruel, tasteless, ignorant bullies.

Several years later, although much more at peace & confident with whom I’ve become, I cannot deny the fact that there still lies an undying desire to return the favor on a bed of beautiful red roses. 

As much as I allow the idea of ‘peace’ to prance around in my head in a rainbow tutu, I know while people still choose to forgo a higher education or limit their chances of mind expansion any sense of ‘peace’ will continue to be unattainable.

I never understood why weight was such an issue nor did I know the effect it would have over a person’s confidence and their self-image. I knew very little about sexual orientation or why that even mattered to everyone…& above that why a person who is lesbian, gay or bi-sexual would be condemned or belittled if they didn’t fit into the same boots as all their hetero counterparts. I couldn’t understand why a certain race was viewed as superior, while the minorities, who actually happened to be in majorities, were viewed as inferior. I often found myself wearing shame as if it were a uniform, although I had very little choice over what my racial make-up was. & Why I allowed myself to wear that as opposed to pride is also unknown. 

As each day grows and the sun lays it’s head on it’s pillow I grow more and more familiar to myself taking note of all things which nurture and foster personal and spiritual growth so that I may perpetuate the existence of these stimuli. 


My only true foe is ignorance. My only true motivator is personal growth.  

I am.
I like her.

& I love October very, very much.

Also, my birthday is right around the corner.
I don’t know how to celebrate, but I’ll be in class til about 6:45 p.m.
Maybe I’ll go trick or treat. 

It never fails 

When I depart from school & arrive at my parent’s house on Monday they’re either:

a) already in bed asleep
b) or already in bed watching t.v. waiting to fall asleep. 

When I divorce myself from work @ quitting time and arrive at my parent’s house they’re either:

a) headed to bed after cleaning up their dinner plates
b) or finishing the last crumbs on their dinner plates before headed to bed.

Sometimes my mother will make something both appealing & healthy, in which case she’d make an extra serving so that I can eat when either my last lecture comes to an end or when sun of my shift has finally settled. As of late this has become a very rare occurrence as my mom has been afforded a new found freedom in no longer babysitting her grandchildren. She now spends her time adorning her living room & kitchen with the appropriate season’s decorations or other arts & crafts. I don’t know what to make of it. My father on the other hand has allowed himself to grow much more calm. He’d rather avoid an argument with my mother then engage in some insignificant dispute over something along the lines of who works harder the man in his workplace or the stay at home mom as she manages the household. Instead he choose to maintain his yard, feed his pets, puff his cigarettes & drink his lite-beer. 

On Monday & Wednesday, after hours of exercise, principles and theories of international finance, diving head first into ‘la literatura, cultura y historia de hispanoamerica’ and finally swimming in the vast ocean of global marketing I reach a lonely house. One whose only method of communication manifests in the sounds the floorboards make every step I take. I open the refrigerator and find anything worthy of being deemed a vegetable. I make sure it isn’t rotten and attempt to make something to consume. I sit and talk to my four walls about everything and nothing at all. I stare at a screen. I day dream. I night dream. Yet, I’m rarely ever afforded the suggested hours of sleep. When my attention span is finally exhausted my body shuts down-similar to the way induced amnesia works-without any recollection of it happening. 

On Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday & Sunday after hours of standing on my feet creating a need for humans, who for the most part have no interest in any product I ever demonstrate due to their sedentary, lethargic lifestyle, I am lucky to begin ‘closing up shop’. If my manager can’t handle the stress my peers create she employs me to help her deal. I’m standing for a longer period of time making sure all paper work has been filled out and submitted properly, all appliances have been cleaned and sanitized properly, and finally that everything is in compliance with safety health codes. I’m finally free. I sit and start my mobile coffin and begin my journey back to my lonely home. Tuesdays & Thursdays call for a release of tension and stress via a nice, sweaty jog through a trail just 5 minutes south east from my home. Friday, Saturday and Sunday are Monday and Wednesday on repeat. I sit in my white room. I say everything to nothing and nothing to everything. I think. I feel….alone. I hear Janedog-sometimes I have no responsibilities to tend to and can take her for a nice brisk walk other times I’m saddened by her whimpers and yearning for my attention. 


I live alone. I don’t want.