REPORT A PROBLEM
There is really nothing he can say that will make me trust him again. I’ve reached a level of apathy that can only come from being promised the world and given nothing but crumbs. He apologized, as any decent guy would, but the difference between a decent guy and him is that a decent guy apologized for hurting you, meanwhile he only apologizes for his own self-gratification.
It’s not possible to feel true remorse for hurting someone, after all, when your only true desire in life not to be alone. The number of lies you have to tell doesn’t matter.
They walk our halls and pretend to be one of us. That is, until a boy or a man comes along. Then you see who they really are and what they really want. They break my heart – the way they laugh with drunkenness and pull the guys on top of them as they spread their legs, and the way they walk around with plastered smiles on their faces and creatures forming in their bellies and still chug down that liquor and smoke the many packs of cigarettes.
This world isn’t where I belong. So, why do I feel at home?
She’s like a dictator. I imagine she has the same character and maybe even some of the same neurons as Hitler. I want to hit her. And not just a slap-in-the-face kind of hit, but a full, blow-out punch in the mouth. I want to see some blood. I’m not normally this violent, but she awakens such terrible feelings and desires inside of me!
How can I admire someone who so ardently believes that “safety” is more important than rights and freedom?
This is how all of the characters in 1984 must’ve felt at the start of their new government.
Yes, I can become severely attached to people really quickly.
Yes, I sometimes get jealous and hurt easy.
Yes, I hate hypocrisy and I get hurt by the things people say and do or don't say or do.
Yet, all I can say is: whatever, whatever.
The people I love do not belong to me. They can say, do, be, hang out with, trust, fuck, join, believe, fall in love with, whoever and whatever the fuck they want.
And such is life. The only person I am angry at is myself, for forgetting I cannot change people.
Always a fool.
There was arguing, then silence.
She talked about money problems.
She kept telling me she was worried about her retirement because she was only going to get very little from social security and on and on. I wish I could be there for her, but all of that talk stresses me out, makes me worry and makes me very depressed.
It makes me feel horribly bad about even thinking about leaving my mother and going to another city. I want to tell her, "don't worry, I'll send you some money, just stop worrying me with this NOW." But I can't.
It’s so easy for us to say, I don’t deserve this, and walk away from a relationship we don’t think is good enough.. And rarely do we ever stop to think that maybe we DO deserve it, and that we just simply refuse it, as we have every right to.
That’s how it felt at first with him. I was angry and would cry because life was “unfair” and “I deserved better.”
Yet, I failed to realize that it does not matter if I
it or now, what matters is whether I
it or not.
And I don’t
While there are many reasons for which I have set the particular goals I have, my motivation to achieve them comes entirely from myself. I believe this is the best kind of motivation anybody can ever have, because it is the kind of motivation nobody can take away.
I saw the kind of life so many people I love have settled on, and decided I wanted something better for myself.
Since I’ve always known that knowledge is a major key to a better life and to becoming a better person, I have always had a love and passion for it.
That’s what happens when your drunk, good-for-nothing veteran father moves you to the middle of nowhere: you forget things like the fact that you don’t have a room with a door, or that television even exists. Sometimes you even forget the sound of your own laugh.
I pressed the blade against my skin..
Sometimes, when you live in a world in which you are no longer aware of color, in which you can’t remember the address of the place you grew up and in which you can’t even remember your own laugh, you really are left with no other choice.
When McCarthy began accusing people of communist activities, Americans were too scared of communism to even question how the senator from Wisconsin could possibly know that or question what evidence he had.
Communism - government in which the state controls the economy and a single party holds power - was a major fear of Americans. As a result of this fear, many people were robbed of their careers and in some cases, their freedom.
We must avoid that same kind of fear from happening again. This preemptive war we launched against Iraq is a huge sign that we are afraid.
they say the tick-tock
of her wristwatch
died when she
[and now the whole
world lets out a
1:23 a.m. on the sixth
day of the sixth month
they say her child went on
to become something
but last I heard
he was drunken on a
with tears stream
ing down his cheeks
like the iced tea she’d
pour into those shiny glasses
but, they also said her name
would live forever in
and this new generation has
the nerve to turn to me
and say, “Who?”
You used to be something special, girl, so full of ideas, creativity and hope. You were a child prodigy and you somehow managed to do what must be the hardest thing for someone full of potential to do: amount to nothing.
By now, we’re both losing count of all the people you’ve failed. Your children, your brothers, your friends, yourself.
But never me, darling, no, never me.
I never expected anything from you except love, and you’ve shown me that in countless, unimaginable ways.
I hope that now you feel free in a world you never thought would be yours.
They say that any wise person learns from their mistakes, so then, with that said, I can once and for all say that I am stupid as shit.
As much as I hate to admit it, I have been here before: counting the minutes until I next get to talk to him, pouring my letters on to letters that I will end up just throwing away. I'm infatuated with him again, but I guess the one thing I did learn from before was how not to let that infatuation control my life and actions.
This is good, I suppose. Progress.
I took one of the most memorable naps yesterday in M---‘s arms. He wrapped me up in his covers and held me close to him. I slept so soundly and I remember thinking, “this is love” when I awoke to him blowing lightly on my hot, sweaty neck
We watched Suicide Club together after I awoke. It was something else. We discussed it afterwards. I told him that what I got from the Japanese film is that you have to be connected to yourself – mostly – and not only connected to society or to your loved ones.
It was enlightening.
I suppose I could have it worse. He could be into professional sports and never shut up about that. It's just tiring, the way so many of our conversations consist of him telling me about one of his games and me pretending to be interested and pretending to understand.
We were only there from 10 a.m-3 pm today, thank God, but it seemed like an eternity. How horrible that I, a human being capable of feeling and doing, would have to compete with a game!
I thought about that so much I ended up [mindlessly] smoking my whole new pack.
I live my life day by day.
I am not the kind of girl who makes plans for a tomorrow that she isn’t sure exists.
On the contrary, I spend more time thinking about, misfortunes that could happen to prevent my tomorrow from coming: getting hit by a train, being at the wrong place at the wrong time and getting shot, crashing into a semi-truck.
We’re not guaranteed a tomorrow, so why revolve our lives around it?
Today I awoke quite early next to a beautiful girl. Though she was half asleep, I promised I would call her.
That whole "time heals all wounds" is a bunch of lies fed to us by people desperately clinging to any last bit of hope and by people who've never been wounded this deeply to begin with.
Time doesn't heal shit; it only numbs us into believing it does. So what does heal wounds, then? I don't know.
But what I do know is my mind jumps deeper into thoughts and life seems more beautiful when I'm wounded and sad.
It’s in my pain that I feel most inspired and most in touch with the world and myself.
Terrible, but true.
I know many people who would fight you to the death to defend their honor. That sad thing is, most of those people are not honorable but only want the world to think they are. I guess such is life, right?
No typical day is like this. The clouds are hiding the sky in their unforgiving anger. They’re dark grey and are boldly hovering over me. With each movement of the wind, the clouds move a little closer to me, and I can hear them from miles away screaming, “We’re coming! We’re coming for you…!”
I am alive and afraid.
I was always obsessed about washing my hands. I always had to wash or dust off my toys after they touched the ground. And I never felt like a fool for being such a germaphobe, especially when he was by my side.
But, people leave. And just because they leave it doesn’t mean they have failed you. It has taken me long to realize this, but finally, I have!
And though his courage affected me negatively, it was courage nonetheless and he has earned my complete and utmost respect.
I look at myself, at her, and I wonder: who’s next?
Because you do not have your own identity, you try to absorb mine. I must tell you, miss -------, it’s getting old.
You’re presumptuous and unyielding to the point that one has got to wonder: how could anyone be so self-absorbed and get away with it?
And he has given it all to you – solely, and completely: the authority to make decisions for the group and have the final word on what is to be done and what’s not.
The worst thing of all is you’re unaware of your shortcomings and never accept blame when you’ve made a mistake.
It’s been a well-known fact since adolescence that birds aren’t my friends. However, I am very much indebted to them. I did, after all, viciously – though accidentally – murder one of their own.
Really, though, I should not be held accountable.
Around these parts, our birds are kamikaze. They literally fly into the path of an oncoming vehicle.
Who can blame them? We only need to look around at their habitat in our city to see the reasoning for such peculiar behavior.
So, nonetheless, I am indebted.
I just hope they don’t get the idea of killing one of my own.
she jumps out of her chair
& goes & twirls
— spinning as if she’s on top of the world
her body moving in ways
no body’s every moved before
and I can see you there
staring at her
like no boy’s ever stared at her before
and she turns your way to flash that smile
worth more to you than solid gold
she spins into your arms and
like a fool, you’re determined never to let go.
[they will fill each other’s emptiness and love the way no two humans have ever loved before, and their devotion will soar ]
School is really beginning to feel like a prison. Wade has resorted to colored passes. If you're in the yellow hallway with a blue pass, you’re in trouble.
I’m glad I’m almost gone. I don't think I could handle another year of words of wisdom, bells that scare the shit out of me, colored hall passes, etc.
I'm beginning to feel my life thus far has been in vain. I've accomplished nothing and touched no one. It is disheartening.
D----- asked, "how do you feel about graduating?"
I told him, "I don't."
It’s true. I don't feel scared, excited, nothing.
While in the past children would raise their gaze towards their parents for an idea of what’s wrong and right or what values to uphold, they now look to people in Hollywood or others with fame/power.
But, unlike the people who often bring this up, I am glad. Because, while Hollywood is partly responsible for poor values and morals, or lack thereof, in today’s generation, it has helped open society’s minds. Hollywood goes hand in hand with a society that prides itself on embracing tolerance.
Hollywood has encouraged people to be original and choose their own ideals and values.
Who ever said a successful person is a happy person, or that someone who is bad with grammar or spelling cannot be a genius writer?
Most importantly, who ever said a high-quality poem had to rhyme?
Was it my third or fourth grade teacher? Hm.
Charles Bukowski would scoff at you, and Sylvia Plath would too. I like to picture them in heaven together, sitting at a table sipping their caffeinated drinks and discussing poetry. I like to picture them running naked in a field of grass with their children, speaking in meter and moving in rhythm to each syllable.
They say this century belongs to Asia – particularly to China. The world is undergoing an era of knowledge and advancement like it never has before. China supposedly has more honor kids than America has kids.
To me, that sounds reasonable. I’ve met Chinese exchange students and they’ve all been ridiculously brighter than most of our honor kids. I think it has something to do with China putting a greater emphasis on education, and with pushing its students more.
We baby our children too much.
As a teenager about to enter adulthood, I wish my teachers had been harder on me.
It is funny how quickly dust collects. Actually, no, it’s disgusting. Especially when living in the West Texas desert. She was here last night, and we were on the floor putting together that puzzle. And the puzzle pieces within the puzzle pieces. I thought of our friendship, of our loves and of our lives.
I don’t know when we stopped trying to put together the puzzle pieces of our own lives, but after much thought, I’ve come to see just how much dust those pieces are collecting.
When did we stop trying?
And, most importantly, when did we stop caring?
I came laid on the cold floor and thought about it. I closed my eyes and imagined that happening to me and my loved ones, being put in a ghetto, being shoved in a train packed with people and very little light and then living (or dying) in those conditions.
I kept thinking WHAT WOULD I DO? Would I give up my portion of bread to give it to my weak, sick mother or cousin or brother?
I’d like to think, yes, yes I would.
But I don't know for sure, and it made me so sick I threw up.
June 21st is not that far away, and I may have to face that day alone. I may have to drive up there myself, to his grave. I have never been to it alone, and I am absolutely terrified of being unaccompanied in a cemetery. Besides, every time I go I feel so guilty for not visiting more often, for not taking flowers weekly and for being afraid of a place he’s at.
Although, I know he is not really there.
What’s there was once his, though: His bones – decayed or decaying under six feet of worms and dirt.
How difficult it is to have to address a 15-year-old-boy whose life has been torn to absolute pieces, who has witnessed the death of hundreds of people and who has nothing to hope for, and try to tell him where God is throughout all of his troubles.
It would be the correct, Christian thing to tell him that it was all Satan’s fault all of those people were murdered, the consequence of original sin.
But the more I think about it, the more I want to tell him that I just don’t know. I don’t know where your God was.
A typical sign that you’re falling in love is that pathetic sadness you feel in your gut when you know you’re not going to be seeing someone for a while. When you part from them, something in you hurts a little.
I’m tired of loving. Really, I'm tired of caring. It’s now that I realize how so many people could choose apathy over passion. Letting go of someone is only possible sometimes If you distant yourself. Take a step back and ask yourself, for whom are you living your life? For whom are you breathing?
The answer should be: you.
I gave blood yesterday, and i didn't accept any free movie tickets or girl scouts cookies for it, either. I wanted to punch both of them, in the mouth, because they walked out of there with their boxes of cookies in one hand and movie tickets in the other and kept talking about how they felt good for donating blood.
They deserved it, too – a full-blown punch to the jaw or gut.
Because You have no right, you have absolutely no fucking right to feel good and "charitable" for giving blood or doing ANYTHING, if you're compensated for it.
The Tip Jar