it occurs to me that i'm not really very good at anything.

i was going to write something here, but it would only the whiny bullshit i hate to read.

I can't believe I just bought a $25 leather bound journal and all I do is type on this internet thingy.

It's another one of those days. No motivation, all the things i would like to do race through my head on a constant loop; a guilt trip merry-go-round of sorts. I can't convince myself to muster the mental strength to do pretty much anything above zoning out in front of the tv. Uninspired would be the correct classification, i believe.
I'm about two-thirds through a really good book, but even reading feels like a chore right now.
I need a new muse, something to be passionate about. I don't feel like I have that, but it seems everyone else I know does. Does everyone feel like this though? I suppose it would be pretentious to believe I'm the only one.
This mood always makes me feel the need to purge my life of distractions and focus on a certain unspecified . . .I don't know, "thing". Which would inevitably be a futile endeavor. Per usual, I would just find a new distraction, and the vicious cycle would continue. "All of this happened before. All of this will happen again." So say we all.
Does this all stem from a fear of failure? Do I purposely make excuses to avoid the things that I desire to excel at? Is the challenge too great? So if I never try, I'll never fail? Or is it the work? Is it too hard? Maybe I just don't feel like it.
I hate when all this stuff runs through my head right before bed.

For Carl

Run quickly now, the darkness is catching you up.
The wolf is at the door.
No pretense in the form of sheeps clothing.
We won't live this night out.
The enemy's inside the walls.
The enemy's inside the walls.
The gates have been breached, the city is in flames.
We won't live this night out.

Action stations! Action stations!
Stand firm your ground.
Raise the banner, and with it the alarm.
Cowards may yet flee.
But brave men able bear arms.
To the last. To the last.
While we breath , we FIGHT!
To the last, strong hearts will last.

My pipe dreams have breakable bricks filled with coins at the other end of them

I saw "juno" at the movie theatre tonight. I really enjoyed the film, something Amanda categorized as "surprising", which I find, well, offensive would be strong, but I would say I didn't take kindly to that remark. It's not like I strictly limit myself to high body counts, extensive explosions and exhilarating car chases in my cinematic choices. After all, is it not said that variety is the spice of life? I should certainly think so. (though "the notebook" shall remain black listed)
Another recent addition to my entertainment diet is book one of the engineer trilogy, "Devices and Desires", so far an excellent fantasy novel. Both interesting and complex, but light on the fantasy cheese factor.

A friend of mine that shares a common interest of writing fiction with me, recently asked me to read and review a short story he wrote. Now don't be misled, i hold not any sort of certificate of writing, reading, or reviewing, nor am I known for deep insight, I think only our shared interest lands me this honor of participation, which I gladly carry out. Only it's hard for me to execute due to the slight twinge of guilt I feel every time I read the aforementioned story, because I don't focus as much on my writing as I would like.

Until next time, keep the engine running.


obligatory quote in italics at the bottom of the post

excuse me. is that a punctured vein, or just your heart on your sleeve?

Does anyone you know have a blog? Do you read it? Do you ever immediately regret it?
Given our day and age, these are probably stupid questions. I can answer yes to all three.
I get so tired of the whiny, pseudo-suicidal, i can't trust anyone because I've been betrayed so many times, blah, blah, blah...vomit. that's what i want to do right now. I'm so furious i just want to vomit it out on to my computer screen and some how magically it will transmit across the web to everyone, to sit there just fermenting until they log on to write their next cry session on their blog they devote more time to than actual relationships with real actual people, you know, the people the claim are only there to hurt and betray them, suddenly they're hit with the most rancid stench of vomit, so penetrating they can actually taste it in their mouths.
For example, the one i read tonight my friend was once again, i don't know, parading his suicidal tendencies for all to see. Which i can't help but to feel are fabrications, because, well, let's just be honest here, you are either suicidal(read here: DEAD) or else you are a whiny little bitch seeking attention you think you lack. seriously. Not trying to be hurtful, but if you want to die, you will find a away to be dead. you don't blog about it.
I'm so frustrated and angry, I'm having trouble forming thoughts(a difficult enough process for me as is).
we all feel loneliness. we all get depressed. just try to be a man about it.

there is so much more. i could go on for a while, i just want to punch someone in the mouth.

the first, the last?

I haven't "blogged" in a while. I think I can still do it. How often? One can never say, can they?
What will I say? What will my mind, splintered and gutter weathered as it is, vomit out onto these deserted shores of cyberspace?
Will knowledge and wisdom rain from here in droplets to saturate those poor souls, who in their innocent, timid wanderings across electronic strands of web, so happened upon such a savage landscape? Or, will empty rants of storied cruelty, injustice and repression ring out from this glorified diary, this electronic equivalent of a modern day soapbox, slightly more convenient, just as utterly ineffectual.
I don't know. Maybe a little of both or nothing at all. I guess you'll just have to tune in and see. Of course, you don't really "tune in" a website, do you. Imagine monkeying around with some foreign apparatus named for it's resemblance to a rodent, sitting loftily atop your computer monitor, promising nothing but frustration and hours wasted for merely a sliver of hope for better reception. Mocking you at every twist and turn, daring you to drape it in tin foil, flat out refusing to carry out it's small life's singular purpose, cursed little demon spawn of an ancient ritual to the bygone gods of entertainment.
Anyway, whenever you get frustrated with connection speeds, just remember it could be worse.