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Another day, another dollar. Are those really words to live by? I think our time here is far too short to worry about collecting as much useless shit as we can, shit we don't need. I suppose it's all about how you choose your words; when I put it that way, it makes sense. And yet, many of the most expensive things in life truly are worth owning. The problem is that these things can seem so unattainable. Some say that the best things in life are free, but if that's true, then why don't I have a Les Paul?
I remember where I was on September 11th. I was in school. I first heard about what happened in biology; the principal confirmed that a plane had hit one of the towers. I was shocked. My classmates reacted similarly. I watched as many of them called home. Most of us stopped going to class, so that we might see everything unfold, as it happened; they were showing CNN updates in the library and in the AV room. Still, the faculty urged us to go about our regular schedule, and ignore the tragedy. I remember thinking how fucked up that was.
First day back. Didn't dread it's arrival, and it's passing is of even less importance. Things are looking up. Got some friends. Play it smooth. Pay attention. Raise your hand. No worries. Take it all in stride. Make no regard for regrets. It's all repetition from here on out. Repeat, repeat, repeat, 'til you're sick of it. And then repeat some more. Funny thing is that as much as I'd like to think I'm not, I'm accustomed to repetition. I can work towards changing that. But for now, this is divine. Divine. Divine, divine, divine, divine, divine, divine, divine, divine...
Defy the cold this world offers us. You can do more than be or hate what kills, more than aim to please. Realize that without cold, there cannot be warmth; you must be willing to see it both ways. If you are not, then you haven't learned anything.
I am disgusted by the hatred we feel, by the hatred that resides in my core. I've been told that we can change the world. We can; but the fool who leaves such a daunting task to us is no better than the man who puts us here in the first place.
Good times are always brief for him. He's painfully aware that nothing really lasts forever; and bitter for it. Few things make his days worthwhile, and those that do wear off before long. He could go through the most cathartic experience of his life one day and be the same pissed, irritable, hopeless person the next. But then again, he's not quite hopeless. He knows where he stands. And though he's always depressed, when he speaks optimistically, it's incredible. He twists and spills his guts out onto the table, and grins, telling us that they'll repair themselves if he can't.
I'm in love with the city. Everything about it.
I love the way it smells when you arrive at Grand Central.
I love the immediate reaction I get from stepping out onto the streets.
I love the fact that I can't predict what the next person that walks by will look like.
I love the frustration, and the urgency...
I love how the cabbie has no idea where we need to go. I love how they draw lines in the road that are there to make up lanes, and I love how our driver pays absolutely no attention to them.
Every word is ugly and every sound that penetrates moves us to sickness. Every breath I take is wasted on me.
I walk through life, crushing everything in my path and leaving the dying in my wake. And I don't even think to apologize to the wounded for not being among them. Why? Because I think I am so fucking set. What a sad myth that is. We lack kindness. And the fact that I'm not shaking with anger right now shows that we lack much more than that. We lack sincerity.
All we ever say are the ugliest words.
Too many people think that you can only love or hate whatever you come across in life. If not that, it's something between those two. As if you can't do both. Face it: being indifferent is being without an opinion, which is equivalent to being blank. You're not blank. Just behind schedule. Most people are. I've found a trick to it. All you need to do, all you'll ever need to do, is realize that there's a difference between two things canceling each other out, killing each other off, and co-existing.
I have transcended, for the cold keeps me warm.
I haven't felt this bad in a while.
So many things I shouldn't have said. If I ever had an ounce of pride, it was in the way I tried to be there for my friends - and how I never let them down. Tonight, I let them down. And now, I feel like the most important thing that I've got, the ability to be there for people, to be trusted, is lost, without a means or a method towards recovering it. There's nothing I can do or say to remedy this aching feeling.
I'd kill to bring back yesterday.
Making friendships work - and last - can be a struggle for everyone involved. This time, the conflict was created on my watch, resulting from my words. I fucked up. Sitting on the left side. Let you down. Sitting on the right side...
I'll never be convinced that there exists a problem that can't be solved. I wrote, and I'm hopeful. The irony is that if not for her and what I went through, I wouldn't be able to write like that. Speak like that.
Never forget that walking on a prayer's like walking on a thin line.
I could sit and lie about how I feel. How I feel about the events that unfolded a year ago today. I'm sure it would make everyone feel much better.
I'm willing to be selfless. If only that was enough.
If only this was the last, last time. If only prosperity relied on our protection. If only something counted on our actions. If only it made a goddamn difference. Not in the lives of those we live with, but in the lives of those we will never meet, those who suffer like we do and harbor pain just the same.
I've got nothing to say. I shouldn't even be writing. I have work to do. I may hold stronger than everything they taught me to fear, but I still have little to no say in what I do and what I turn out. And it's reached the point where I'm only writing to fill up the page. I've stopped caring about the words I've written down. And that's a scary thought. Believe it or don't. Just one more thing for me to not give a shit about.
I guess that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
I can't describe this feeling in a coherent and comprehensible way. But I'll give it a shot, regardless. Here I go.
Its bliss being stricken with malice, like a brick to an open window, a hopeful wish that won't come true in the story's end. And you wish that it had turned out differently, until you come to know that if wishing has failed you before, there's little reason to have faith in it now. That's my fine example of something we don't want to believe.
We all come to terms with it eventually.
It's just a matter of when.
Waiting outside. Heard my neighbors swimming and shouting, through a fence we use to distance ourselves from each other.
Twice today, friends made comments that made all the shit easier to bear. First, I was told, while eating and talking casually, that I felt like a good friend. As if we had hung out much more often than we actually do. The second time, I was saying that I felt like I was being brought down by negativity. I was told that I'm too strong for that; that it couldn't bring me down even if I tried to let it...
It'll be my birthday in 7 days. I'll be 16. I don't feel 16. I feel fucking 30. If only I didn't feel so old, I'd get out more. I'd let loose and act carelessly. There's the dark side to having something – responsibility – ride on your actions. But you can always toss it off. I just hope the fall doesn't kill it, cripple it, render it useless. Lunch is here. Time to eat. At least I can recognize one sign of being young – being able to eat whatever I want. That's always comforting, whenever you can do whatever of anything.
I need a free-form thought. And I need encouragement like I need a fucking bullet in the back of my skull. It's not to say that I don't appreciate the kind words.
But I could certainly do without them.
I'm on the brink of disaster every moment; I'm not going to snap, because my cord is already hanging loose, as if I were falling. Maybe I am. Maybe it's a fall, inescapable, and the landing is approaching as rapidly as it is diminishing.
If you can't figure this one out, I can't help you. Despite all the things I've said.
"If you have any questions, any concerns, please - feel free to ask."
I've got one for you. Why is it that I can only get a semi-coherent thought across on paper? Or am I just too hard on myself? Here's another one: Why do I feel so stupid when others tell me I'm intelligent?
This next thing I'm about to say concerns me more than you'll ever know.
Why is it that I can't bring myself to believe a friend, any friend, when they say that they love me?
But you can't answer those questions for me, can you.
Lately, everything sounds the same to me. But I am still listening. I think it's because I am the kind of person that needs constant reminders about things, or else I'll inevitably forget. Fortunately, I also seem to be the kind of person who has an open mind and will take notice of the things that serve as my reminders. They're always around, and it's my job to observe them whenever I need to. So far, I'm doing my job just fine. It might all sound the same. But I need to hear it nonetheless, maybe now more than ever.
I must have had a dream about you, cause I woke up in the worst of moods. And it only got worse from there. You ruined my day.
You know it's because of you that I'm doing this. And I don't think I'll ever know why. There really is no explanation, is there? And we're only 8 hours in. Even if there were a reason for you to fuck me over like that, why'd it have to be so early? I've got a bleak outlook on the rest of today. Thanks.
I don't want to be at home at all.
I am too fucking tired for this. Honestly, this is only keeping me from getting to sleep, so I'm going to get over with as quickly as possible. I will still attempt to write something decent, but it'll probably come out like shit.
There's a kid I know who could be the smartest kid I'll ever know. That, or he's the biggest fool I'll ever know. I can't figure him out. Especially not right now. Like I said, I am too fucking tired for this. I can't even think straight.
You know what? I shouldn't have even brought it up.
I wish that my friends didn't hate each other. The feeling you get when it hits you that you can't be around them because they've got this shit between them that makes no sense; something I've never enjoyed.
I'm used to it at this point, but I still despise it.
When they try to articulate their manufactured ideas, with reasons that have no basis and attributes noticed only at first glance...
When you take a cold, hard look at someone, you are given a moment, a chance, to see the good in her. These kids just don't know how to look.
I was born 16 years ago today. I feel younger than I have in a while. I think the week that built up my anticipation for it fucked with my head. It made me feel really old, up until I realized that I was a year older. And for some reason that had the opposite effect. It makes no sense. Still, I'm grateful for it, and for being young.
16 is a pretty good number. Doesn't feel as good as 15, though – I've got this thing about even numbers. I hope when I die, my age is an odd number...
Baby, I can't keep my eyes open. I wish you were here with me tonight. I don't want to wake up alone again. I want the sun to shine through my eyes, your body next to mine, and I want to get out of bed without disturbing your sleep. And I want to kiss you on the forehead, without even thinking about it. I can imagine you smiling. You might not be the most affectionate but people change every day. You could change for me. Because of you, I am forever changed. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Let's forget about the bullshit, the problems we bring upon ourselves, the tears in our flesh that we still widen. I want to lie out in the sun and talk to you about the things I love about living. That's what always made me feel best when I was around you.
You say the most beautiful things sometimes. And it escapes you. It's as though there was a feeling that you lost. Don't say you lost the feeling, cause I'll bring it. I know you've got it, too.
Let's share it some time, on a porch, on a sunny day.
Initiated. I've got this funny feeling right now, and it's resonating more than the usual, the normal ones; I say that I'm used to it, but I'm not. Part of it is feeling lower than shit, and part of it is feeling like I could die now, with my head lying on the table and a smile on my face, eyes opened or closed, it doesn't matter much. If I could explain this, I would, but instead, I just try to.
I'm so fucking terrible at explaining these things. Sometimes I wonder if I even understand what I'm talking about...
...everyone has fears. My worst is that I will end up waking up alone every day, for the rest of my life. I’m afraid of that even as a possibility. I don’t want to wake up alone today, but I know that I will. If I could just wake up once with someone by my side, even if it was only once, I’d never think about it again. But for now, it scares me.
I just faced one of my fears by saying that – having something about me become known, without knowing for myself what people might make of it.
I don't feel like I've got anything to say. I've felt like I'm wasting my time, like nothing I can say is going to make sense. Until I found that some words I had written had made sense to a friend, enough for him to quote me. I thought about that today.
I also thought about how it is that whenever we seem to be making the most sense, speaking the most truth, we tend to feel stupid. Maybe because we're so used to being lied to that we can't even believe what's true in ourselves when we find it.
And the month is almost over. I can't really look back on it, thanks to my bad memory, which forgets all the good parts and leaves me with bitter self-loathing and loneliness, as if there were a force greater than myself that is choosing what cards to play, controlling the deck.
One of the smartest men I'll ever know once said that time watches over all of us, like a teacher over test-taking students, and that it makes sure we follow the rules – or at least that those who cheat get caught.
You can watch me as I'm walking away...
...from my next unfinished story, left to write itself, gauging away at the years. We wonder how it'll come out until forget about it, or stop caring, whichever comes first. We might lose interest for different reasons, but there will always be one thing that binds it all together - that someone had to come to realize that waiting around for something to come out of nothing, rather than do it on your own, and make it your own, is a waste of everyone's fucking time.
I won't waste your time with enlightenment from a street corner. Go there yourself...
...maybe we can meet there, choke down a smoke and wait for the night together.
I should hope that it's clear to my friends that I am a happy person, an optimist, despite how I can act some times. What I've written this month are documents of how I feel at any given moment; they do not represent who I am. They are everyday, normal feelings, told as I experience them, hopefully with a unique perspective. I still feel the need to clarify that because people ask me all the time if I'm all right.
I wonder why that is.
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