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come one come all, here's my rant
keats Posted: Tue Jul 27 20:19:48 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  Sometimes you just want to be assured that you are not alone.

Just finished devouring Bukowski and his goddamn post office. Everything reminds me of the gargage barge. Soul sucking job with a soul sucking boss. If i had to do it forvever i would go nuts. Plain and simple. I'd end up washed up like Charlie, always wondering why all these assholes were around me running things when i could do such a better job, but realizing only deep down in that place we don't tell anyone about that I fucked up my chance to run the place long ago.

Why can't anyone stand the silence? Why can't anyone be around someone else without saying a word, just letting the universe come to them instead of the stock questions: how's school, how's work, how's life, what's bothering you? everything ok? did you see this movie? you sure everything's ok? what are you thinking? do you wanna do something? did you hear about...? what are you thinking about now? how are you feeling? what are you thinking? how are you feeling? what are you thinking about now?

Little do they know that sometimes you are thinking about that one time the cop pulled you over for speeding and that there was a couple of ways yoiu could've gotten out of it, but you didn't, and now you havea stupid little $135... no wait... $145... stupid fucking clerk. fine and some points on a license that mean that you just have to wait a little longer to afford insurence, which is the biggest dick up the ass known to the average poor fucking college kid. But all you hear is what are you thinking? "Nothing..."

Fucking boss. Thinks i'm a strange kid. Thinks i can't drive a fucking scooter, which is the biggest joke there. Tells me i need anger management when he is most likely on ritalin, in between getting fucked by the boys on the island and getting his coke. Bet his wife knows about both. But no, i'm the fucking weird kid, trying to work hard, trying to do what i'm told, letting someone know if i don't understand something. I also let people know when they are being dumbasses. If i wanna make it anywhere in the garbage world i guess i'll just have to stop that, won't i? I know what it comes down to.. what it always comes down to... boss: what are you thinking.... "Nothing."

Now i got bukowski rattling around in my brain mixing up with all sorts of stephen king, brain teaser books and modern trumpet concertos as played by wynton marsalis, after listening to soem girl i know blow me off when she was the one telling me i was the most important person at her graduation, who just can't get it through her head that i don't even want to fuck her, let alone officially become fucking partners. now i got my other friend who probly won't call me back, and if she does son't understand that sometimes you just need silence with another person. i should make her read this.

I got a nice girl now, but i can feel it comin apart ever so slightly. She takes my silences to mean that i bore her. It all comes down to understanding. No one seems to really get it. No one gets the silence... "How are you feeling, Will?" "Nothing" "That's not an answer" "You sure about that?"

It depends on the question.

Can't stand the intellectual masturbastion anymore. People talking themselves up so far for knowing something so obscure that they went out of their way to memorize. Let it hit you, don't go out of your way to hit it. Same goes for girls, same goes for life. Who cares about modern twentieth centuary philosophy? Who cares about philosophy period? Does it grab you? or is it some form of jerking off woody allen intellectualism that someone needs cause they think that they got mothing else in the world. Big brains can be just as bad if not worse then big muscles, just with big brains you can't make as much money. But you certainly can lead a hollow life with either one without ever realizing it. Fuck it all and run with Occum's Razor down the fucking road... never across the street.

Girls... fuck.

"What are you thinking?" I wasn't. Can anyone understand that? that it is possible not to think all the fucking time, that you only need to think once in a blue moon. And people say Carpe Diem!!!! Fuck all that shit. 99.99% of it is all reaction anyway, so just let yourself react instead of thinking about replies, you can be more honest that way. And that way when something hits you that you have to think about it will hit you all the harder, like a punch inbetween the fucking eyes that you got when you were eight for some forgotten offense towards all decency. The punch that took away the last bit of innocence, then bit that you thought was already gone.

Five times a day: Are you taking garbage today.... "Why, yes ma'am, i'm the garbageman" Can you take these recyclebles? "No you fucking moron, recyclebles are on wednesday, today is monday. monday is for garbage. G-a-r-b-a-g-e." Oh... can you take my refrigerator...

Get back to the yard "Take the day off tomorrow, i'll see you wed. morning" How are you feeling? don't make me laugh anymore, just get ready for some sleep, get some sushi or something, live it up to the extreme. The only question worth asking "Are you hungry?"

Up and down the streets, every ten feet a garbage can, every ten feet therefor means the stopping and starting again of the cart.They should be phoenix carts... No brakes, shitty clutch, no hydraulic fluid, broken windshields, leaking gas pans, leaking brake fluid, leaking garbage juice, leaking blood from the knees every time you hit the sharp metal edges of the door frame with no door. The carts keep coming back like the almighty fuckign phoenix bird that rises and rises and becomes ash again, thereby defeating the purpose of it all. The grand symbol of life and death and taxes. It's not real... "What are you thinking??" "I'm thinking that you aren't real. deal with that shit"

Garbage juice and maggots, the maggots are definately the worse of the two. They smell, and that feeling that you get when you lift a bag and see literally thousands of them all wiggling at you hits you in the stomach. but it goes away, the same as when you get some juice splattered in your mouth and you don't even bother to spit it out at the end of a ten hour workday in the sun with no shade. always in the sun. sunburns on top of sunburns on top of sunburns, skin cancer like my dad's waiting to happen. He's still got more scars. At least on the arms. Maybe i'll catch up one day.

Get off the job and i'm freaking people out. It's ninety five degrees ninety five percent humidity and here i am riding a bicycle through town cutting inbetween cars on the two lane main highway, daring people to swerve that six inches to there left and just cut me down. there i am in sweatpants and a t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt, pounding away on miniature hamster wheels trying to keep up with a two ton emissioning beast of metal while covered in garbage juice that might be dry by now and with hair sticking out at crazy angles over my Fly Emiratus hat that Cleo the mexican gave me. "what are you feeling?" "hot and sticky, like semen, only without the orgasm that's always too brief anyway"

kindred sould are few and far between. i'll let you know when i find more then one. That's being nice too. But everyone manages to feel a kindhip with me. They don't know that they can't have me. They think they can. Meanwhile i'll feel at home with the outcasts that dont' truly exist, and the funniest thing of all is that all the outcasts that need someone can't seem to stand eachother. it never fails to amaze me how people can get so wrapped up in thinking.

DH Lawerence said that a bird would fall off a tree dead off starvation before it felt sorry for itself... or something like that

Feeling sorry for yourself is the worst. always the worst. Fucking self pity. All it equales is the promise of hurting someone and feeling more alone then before, not only that but worse off then you started. But there i am with tears in my eyes cause my fucking boss yelled at me while being a dick and i just can't let it go. So meaningless, but it sticks, it makes me think, thinking makes me hurt most the time "What are you thinking about?" "Wondering if i could get away with murder, because you know that if someone falls inbetween a dock and a boat, it might happen fast enough, or if they get knocked in cuase a cart couldn't stop in time.".... but i really say... "nothing" and it's the truth

Just want to spend the silence with a person who can take it, a person not totally programed. and of course eighteen million peopel will jump up and go "Of course I'M not preprogrammed" Well, Occum tells me that you go down the street, not across the road, or the river, or the highway, or the lowway, and especially not sideways. There's something almost as sastisfying about playing a concerto as there is snapping a kinfe blade out over and over again, hearing the solid, onomanapeic "thu-chunk" sound. What are you feeling? Thu-chunk, thu-chunk, thu-chunk, did you say something? Instead wasps sting you. So you take some clorox bleach and wiat till night, till when they are all sleeping and destroy them.

I once had dreams of not being poor, of being the same as the other kids, and i loved it, and i wanted it more then anything, and i denied that i was poor, i would fight to prove i wasn't, which of course made me more so, and i would cover it up with anything i could by learning to do it all better then the other. Then i look back on that and laugh my ass off. Not really. that would be the nice way to end it. Truth be told it all comes back and it doesn't matter, like a trashcan phoenix cart.

My aunt like to mutter under her breath when the mood strikes her. she's always looking for her cat, which she wishes could be a doll, and the cat always hides around the same chair, it never fails... "Alley, where are you???" "Alley???" "Alley git over here!" and she mutters when the mood strikes her, hate filled mutterings that you would never believe until you heard.She doesn't leave the house and collects dolls. Maybe she's onto something there. Fuck her and her stupid rants and dolls and owls, live in the basement, it suits you to a T.

Here's what i want. A person that wants to talk to me or be quiet and understand that they are the same thing. I think that we all want that, but no one can admit it to themselves till they are too old to make it matter.

Run quick, they're behind us.

The past is always whats behind us. I want to move to Arizona or New Mexico and just get out of here. Fuck getting arrested, screw tickets and debt amd no healh insurance and driver's insurance and grandparents that don't care and my life with three friends. Time to get out. I want someone to go with me though, but do'nt know if anone can handle it. Don't know if i can handle it. Time to pack up the trombone, the computer for my music, my clothes and just go. Find a nice place with easy access to a rock park or something un the edge of a desert and sing songs to it each night and have the coyotes howl back their own musings on the lack of water.

Why don't i feel that i fit in anywhere? Damn it. Why does it bother me so fucking much sometimes. I get polite responses from my grandma and some semblence of watching after me and making sure i don't die, because saying be careful will save me from fate itself, of course. But what else? Live with mom and mark? yeah, ok, a bulimic alcoholic and a paranoid schizophrenic who likes to raise rotweillers, sounds like my kinda place. Dad? i already left there to save myself. Fucking matt, what an idiot, just get away, i told you that already, but you just can't do it.

That's the Lang curse: It's never our fault. i don't feel like that i always have an excuse, i just always feel like someone should listen to my side. No one likes that though, they just want you to listen to them, it's not even communication, because that is a mutual exchange of ideas. Here, people just throw shit at you then get pissed off when it doesn't stick and you end up smelling.

Our glory is not in never falling, but rising every time we fall. Only a few more risings to go now. Only a few, then i can just relax and maybe.. just maybe enjoy a life without outside spectres hanging over me, just maybe i can have some time to work on inner demons and acheive a new spring. But for now i am stuck in the deepest winter of winters, i just need a little bit of help, a little bit of mercy. It disgusts me to ask, but i just might need it, and i only hope that it can help me now, for i will try to make it up any way possible.
I want to be a good, whole person again. It's time.
What are people thinking when they put out their garbage? Do they wonder what it's like to empty a 45 gallon container of lose garbage on top of an already full pickup truck? So they wonder if the garbage bag that they didnt' tie will dump all of it's contents onto whatever surface is around when it's put into a garbage can upside down in the first place? And most of all, do they wonder if little bags of dog shit are fun to play with, or if there bags of leaves (which are illegal to dump, so leave me the fuck alone) might just have a broken couple of sticks that like to poke and jab you unmerciafully? Do they ever stop to think that maybe, just fucking maybe people shouldn't put nails into garbage bags, that it just might hurt someone. I don't think that people think of these things. Just one more thing that they don't have to deal with. Fuck them and there easy lives. They'll never know what it's like, and i like it that way.
Found a pillow today, shared it and some drinks with the mexicans while sleeping on the workboat. Life wasn't too bad then. Too bad the boat was 80% filled with garbage and every wave threw a cold spray on everyone. Too bad that the maggots wouldn't stop trying to crawl on us.
Catch-22 is the saddest book ever. People who think it is funny and witty should be slapped, then forced to re-read the book again and again until they see that it is a horrible condemnation on human nature. Every single ironic statement in the book is true, it is not a laughing matter anymore. The people who try to act the best get the worst handed to them. The people who act the worst, out of stupidity or intent, end up in the highest positions, but one thing is certain. In such a mad fucking world no one can end up happy without rebelling, and even the rebellion is bound to fail, unless you pervert yourself in order to be rejected by the system, and therefor live without it's rules and means, and are able to find sweden after all. But that requires the sacrifice of never connecting with anyone, which doesn't happen anyway. The existentialist despair once again means the total freedom of action at the highest price that in theory should be everyone's life goal but in practice turns out like religion.



 
erikagm Posted: Tue Jul 27 21:08:37 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  dang... and i thought i was full of angst towards life...

good reading though.


 
mat_j Posted: Tue Jul 27 21:19:38 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  Holy shit that whole thing was on fire!


 
Nikki Posted: Tue Jul 27 23:27:12 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  even though some would think that I don't have a clue...I could feel the "emotion" in your writing...a "soul-connectedness" (i.e., you with your own soul,...) You sound really "in touch" with yourself... :-)
Thanks for sharing and WELCOME BACK!!! It's been a long time and I LOVE you're posts!!!


 
ifihadahif Posted: Wed Jul 28 16:52:33 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  Looks like someone is channeling Dennis Leary . . .


 
ashleycrow Posted: Thu Jul 29 11:18:56 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  I think Catch-22 is a really sad book, too.


 
kurohyou Posted: Thu Jul 29 17:36:53 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  I had someone I had considered a good friend tell me that I think to much about two months ago. She told me that the things I think about would exhaust her. Esoteric things to which there are no real answers, just ideas, theories and random thoughts.

I guess what sucked about it was that I had been sharing a lot of my thoughts with her because I thought she was similar. I thought that she liked sharing my thoughts, we had a couple really good talks, about this or that. I felt a connection, I thought it was genuine.

But then she dropped the thinking too much bomb, and followed it up by saying that I was draining to be around. I haven't talked to her much since. I don't want to be a drain. I don't want to annoy. But I want someone who understands me too.

My wife used to, I don't think we understand each other anymore, the world and life has gotten in the way.

I'm upset about this other person not because of what she said, but because I shared so much with her, and it ended up being for not. That I expended a lot of energy on someone who was not worth it. That is my fault, I know that. And its upsetting that there's no one else to blame.

I understand your comments about silence all too well. My wife thinks that my silence means there is something wrong, or that I'm thinking about another woman whom she alleges I had an affair with. She can't understand that sometimes its nothing, and she can't just sit and be.

I like silence, but I've only found silence in solitude. This I've come to terms with. Finding a soul who understands me, I think I'll have to be come schitzophrenic to find that.

Good read, thanks for sharing.


 
keats Posted: Thu Jul 29 22:54:52 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  Nikki: sorry, but this was my first post on this site, you must be thinking of someone else, thanks for the comments though.

ashleycrow: do you ever notice how annoying it is when everyone calls the book witty or funny?? it's so serious that it is all i can not to cry when i pick it up to re-read it for the 12th or so time...

kurohyou: i've dropped many a woman over the lack of understanding, and been hurt many a time. i still believe or hope that whatever happens that there is a person out there who i can share myself with. i wish you luch finding one such person for yourself.


coming soon: part 2


 
ashleycrow Posted: Fri Jul 30 11:45:38 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  Here's a poem for you, Keats (by Keats):

WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit,
When no fair dreams before my - mind’s eye - flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.

Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

Should e’er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country’s honour fade:
O let me see our land retain her soul,
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom’s shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed -
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot’s high bequest,
Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
With the base purple of a court oppress’d,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil’d face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o’er my head.



 
Nikki Posted: Fri Jul 30 12:51:19 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  keats said:
>Nikki: sorry, but this was my first post on this site, you must be thinking of someone else, thanks for the comments though.
>
>oh...sorry I thought for sure you posted last February...anyway i LOVE the writing :-)


 
keats Posted: Fri Jul 30 15:22:13 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  ashleycrow: lol thanks a bunch. of course i should of looked towards my alias' namesake this whole time around to find that something that would lift me for a brief spell. that def. brought a smile to my face :)

i still gotta post the other half of the work in progress though


 
keats Posted: Fri Jul 30 15:23:14 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  A little group of kids watched me today, as i struggles with a large air conditioner. It was an old old air conditioner, the kind that was apparently made before they invented plastic. It weighed about 300 lbs or so. Heavy as a bitch. Well, i'm struggling with it, trying to get it up to the five foot minimum required height as to push it into my cart and drive it back to the boat. Well, these kids and this woman who belonged to the house that i was taking said appliance from all watched me. As i struggled i managed to get it onto my knees. Then, after three tries i got enraged and threw the whole fuckin' thing into the cart in one smooth motion. Hell yeah. The kids looked at each other and said :"That's amazing... Did you see that???" All of a sudden i felt like the world's biggest fool, and i was filled with shame. "How are you feeling?" "Get back to me on that one, will ya?"

Later that day i cut my finger real deep with glass. Didn't stop the garbage juice running into it. Now, after many washings it is still throbbing as i type this. In five hours i'll be working again now.

After many many washings my hands are still black around the fingertips, and on the calluses where i ride my bike for miles at a time trying to get away from my thoughts. My hands are all callused now, i don't know whether to take pride in them or sorrow. Every day i get a new blister or callus. It gets interesting when they happen to overlap eachother. I cannot help but to be reminded of pyschic scars i recieved growing up. I don't know how long it will take for these hands of mine to heal. "What are you thinking?" "I'm thinking that i'm a sell out."

It's too damn east to rip on MTV and consumerism society. And it's all been done better before.

I almost decided to forgive my dad the other day, then the images came flashing back. I look at the scar on my arm from the cigarette, which is sich a feminine name, how did it ever get attached to cowboys in the first place? I feel the bump on the back of my head that has been there ever since i was throw throught the kitchen wall and into the bathroom, whereupon i hit my head on the toilet and fell unconcious, only to be woken up the next morning by a cold bucket of water, during the winter no less, in an illegal apartment that had no heating, with snow resting comfortably outside, so as i can go to school, because it was real important that i didnt' ever miss a day, which i kept up until my last day of senior year, where i got suspended for climbing on the roof.

And it didn't stop there... The thoughts didn't go away for quite a long time. Did i forgive my dad though? Fuck no. Forgiveness is just another way that people try to convince themselves that they are virtuos and nice people who belong in the world and won't go to the bad place when they day, forgiveness is just another way for people to try to live with themselves in a fucked up world, so that they feel that they have the moral high ground and have someone to look down on so as they don't feel bitter and regretful about their own life, which of course happens anyway. My dad forgave me after everything i did wrong, after every beating that i recieved.

I always find myself agreeing with the dark sides of characters, but never the sunny hopeful outcomes that follow. The Good WIll Hunting, Donnie Darko, Steppenwolfe, Catcher in the Rye, type of course, because i'm a fuckign romantic adolescent poet, right? Aren't we all romantic adolescent poets at some point or another? But these features are fundamentally supposed to stop, which is why i add the word adolescent. Because you become an adolescent before you mature, and when you mature all of this stuff becomes fond memories. Question: To one who was forced to see things differently, who was forced to live throught the worst first, who doesn't remember having fun as a kid, or friends, or birthday parties, or presents, or heat and air conditioning, or health insurence, or countless other things, what the hell is the maturity supposed to be like anyway? It's all a fucking joke made be laughing clowns who cry themselves to sleep everynight, who are weak and pink and pale and remind me of the four horsemen who will take us away from pain and loss through cauterization.

I have always believe that people who go through shit can handle it three ways. And by shit i don't mean a bad day or a hang nail, i'm talking about full out abuse heaped upon an unwilling and unknowing soul. the first option invovles withdrawal, from the world, from the fucking tormentors of your psyche and sometimes body, and from the pressures and responsibilities of life itself, ever-crushing life and it's ever-crushing modern expectations. not saying that the past is better, but the world still sucks. the second way to deal with shit is to turn brando: "What are you rebelling against????" "Whaddya got?" everyone goes through this. everyone. i do'nt care what happens but even if it is just in a fucking lame ass high fidelity fantasy of dealing with a mythical ian, or whoever... everyone has this response to something, sometime. now they show studies that say that revenge actually quells the brain into pleasure, much life sex or fucking chocolate. so some people go get stoned on their own fucking anti-hero rebellion, and their conscious embrace of it, like embracing a vampire in a desperate bid to make on self a succubus of human nature. but i digress. The third option is to pull a glass half full version of pandora's box (which leaves the glass half empty option to all who decide to drink the kool-aid.) This option invovles keeping hope for the future no matter what shit goes down. No matter who tried to hold you back or put you down or kill you, in a case like mine, or confuse you, or arrest you, or contain you, or fucking obfusciate you, or whatever you have in mind, there is always the fucking thin ray of hope that will hold on to those in this third group of souls. This ray gets stretched atom thin more often then not, but by sheer perseverence it is possible to keep it steady.

The next time i see crippled puppies singing obnoxious disney show tunes, i will be thinking of you. The next time i see blind midgets played beethovan in the subway on their cracked recorders i will think of you. The next time i see a parapalegic triathalete in a fender bender, i will once again think of you. The next time i see ray charles in concert, i will think of you. The next time Princess Di's skeleton gets up and does a tango with JFK, i will think of you. The next time i masturbate though, i will be thinking of someone else.

Good old garbage barge. I can always come back to that, right? well captain john takes it to his fancy to lay out a crab trap in the morning and pick it up in the afternoon, as we are all riding the slow ass decaying barge of doom across the great south bay and he gets the crabs, and he looks so happy like a kid for all of three seconds, then he gets mad because he only got three crabs and goes back to complaining about everything he can and trying to get out as much work as possible, while trying to get me fired, which only happened once though, because i told him that i would kick his ass if he did it again. i think that i will break the trap the next time he isn't looking, then slash his tires, anything to get him to leave. because a person with so much gone as to only show non-bad emotion once a day needs to leave this place, this place that is a perfect fit for him. this place makes losers out of the losers that are already there, and it all i can do to realize that this is a summer gig, good for keeping the money flowing and nothing else. indeed this whole thing here is a release that keeps me sane from the stupidity of the world surronding me at times.

The last time i had an honest conversation with him, he was choking me at the top of the staircase telling me to shut up or he would kill me. but the words barely mattered, because his eyes said it all, and they said that he would do it ,so i shut up, and i walked away, no more no more no more. Everything since, and nearly everything before was a lie, but what else is to be suspected?

I took a knife once and used it to cut a small hole in my wrist. This was in the seventh grade, and i was twelve, and i decided to end it there. I stuck the tip of the knife in the left side of my upturned wrist and saw a small rose speckle of blood begin to blossom like the newest spring flower on a nice day when the warm wind blows and all seems right, and you feel the day cannot turn better for lack of returns that worsen it. Then i started to laugh my head off. For a good five minutes alone i stood there, considering that i was always alone those days, especially when other people were around but often quite literally alone as in no one else in the apartment except for a cat that could care less like all cats seem to do, like ancient egyptian guards of confusion and red tape concering feelings and emotions behind a cool eyed exterior of cool. Then i took the knife and flung it still laughingly into a wall across all 4 feet of the widest part of the kitchen room, with it's pitifully small stove and never stocked pantry that mocked my hungry nearly everyday after school was over. No one ever ventured a guess as to the hole in the wall where the kinfe stuck and stood there vibrating for what seemed like a black hole of an eternity slower and slower and slower till it appeared still, even if the atoms in the handle were still restless and felt denied.



 
mat_j Posted: Fri Jul 30 21:46:46 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  You've got a touch of DBC Pierce about you


 
ashleycrow Posted: Mon Aug 2 10:04:51 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  Like islands are alone in the water, people are alone in their heads/hearts. But like islands are grouped together in the vast ocean, I believe that people are connected by their souls, and by their common circumstance (sometimes just by their being human). To see the glass half full can be a simple choice that a person simply cannot make because too much has been wrong for too long. This may not be helpful, but the thing that got me out of that was religion, or more specifically, a community of faith. Not Christianity, but Unitarian Universalism...I'd been an atheist all my life (many Unitarians are), and becoming engaged with a group of people who saw the world the way I did refilled those reservoirs of hope, which had been depleted for such a long time. I was given the opportunity to believe--to have faith--that I could feel better again. Religious orgs don't have a monopoly on it, though; there are other communities and channels to optimism; do you have prospects in that regard?


 
FN Posted: Mon Aug 2 10:14:15 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  I'm an atheïst.

I don't believe in communities/channels/whatever of optimism.

I'm a realist, not an optimist, and it isn't the same as a pessimist either.


 
keats Posted: Mon Aug 2 15:31:29 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  ashleycrow: Hey, this is just a rant, i really don't feel this down and hopeless 99% of the time. All this stuff that has happened to me, i have pretty much dealt with over the years, and i have and will continue to look towards the future with hope. Thanks for the concern though, i do appreciate it, but i just wanted to try my hand at writing my history to date.


 
ashleycrow Posted: Mon Aug 2 16:57:31 2004 Post | Quote in Reply  
  Keats--Sorry, got all "concerned mom" on you. I like your narrative voice; keep it up.


 



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