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Ok so I am sort of back, but then again you care as much as the next guy…and since there is no next guy (or girl if you’re that picky), then I guess I can do anything I want and get away with it.
Luckily I am not an asshole, (as a certain few might think) and therefore I wont start doing something completely out of proportion and start linking every word to a porn site.
I will however drag out some points that are currently happening in my life (read: undead-infested shit hole) (Ok..so I'm a little ass.) and try to present them in the light of an ever dimming flashlight.
Speaking of shiny things, ill make a stealthy smooth transition to my first point. (oops)
I don't understand rubix cubes. Ok, sure - they’re fun, very colourful and pretty to look at and completely make me feel so happy inside when i develop a connection with them…..but seriously. You NEED to one time just stop, and walk back up the cliff you’ve been going down and look at the god-damn thing from a mile away to realize its been leading you into a pit of fucking magma. HOT BLAZING MAGMA. If by then you’re not scared to your pants, to run all the way down, kiss it in the cheek and continue walking then you, my dear friend, are a moron.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this analogy actually, But my point is that the rubix cube is like almost every woman you meet these days. Yes, their hair resembles a bloody furbie that you want to run your fingers through until they bleed (your fingers – not the hair), and sure you want to kiss her all day long and roll around in b- sorry. too far. But YOU CANT DO ANY OF IT. You need a freaking Webster's dictionary for the Blind Men to decipher whatever she’s throwing at you. Here is a couple of entries that I'd like a definition for:
When she looks you straight in the eye and stares at you with a slight smile on her face for a few uncomfortable minutes-
When she ends up beside you…and unreasonably close beside you every time you look around-
and there are of course millions of others that would make a nice change than from just updating the English language with words like “Muggle” and “screenager” that no being on earth will ever use other than in context. (…and in a very low context).
But while Oxford Dictionary tries to copy Webster; all I can do is wonder why someone does these things which to me seem to be great signs of “HAI LETS DATE!” but which turn out to be random mishaps….that happen every single fucking day.
All in all; I'm ok with this if you don't count the massive brain damage i might get after being hit by so many blunt rubix cubes. But maybe destiny has a huge rubix cube in store for me with lost of shiny surfaces and colourful squares…..maybe even gradients :D That’ll be fun.
I also get comfort from not being alone. I met someone else a week ago who is also looking for a rubix cube. Except he`s looking for one who wields a light-saber and understands every Star trek reference he throws at her. Im a little more….open, so to speak. I wont hold a grudge against the person I like if they are unsure of what “Nintendo” is, or if she has no idea how to shoot a shotgun.
No; Im worried more about other things…which leads me to my next subtle topic:
Drinking
Gawd I hate it. It’s not so much as the thought that drinking is “bad”or anything, its just that I hate the way people act when under the effect of alcohol in their veins. It takes over them. It makes them turn inside out and makes me want to slap them in their face and ask them why in the world they would do such a thing.
Hey - I've got nothing against a few drinks or two (other than the fact that any % makes me want to puke from just the smell) But I guess child-hood nightmares always somehow relate to adolescent life. In my case; I guess it’s been drinking. You see; I was born and raised in a family where every goddamn event is spent splattering your liver with vodka (like all good European cultures) – And I’m serious. Birth? – Drinking. School?-Drinking. University? – Drinking. Marriage? – Drinking. Death? – Drinking and more fucking drinking.
I’ve seen so many drunk faces in my life, and seeing someone who is usually such an elegant and beautiful woman with her pupils dilated at some party with her cell phone stuck in between her body and a bra-strap just completely breaks me down. That’s the fault I see in my school. Everyone drinks illegally here. Okay, Okay I know it’s not supposed to be a big deal – it should even be great since you can “score sum chicks at teh partay – bro!” But I don’t go like that.
I already said why.I hear people have so much “fun” while drinking.
If any of you have found out how waking up in an alley, head hurting, ears buzzing, not knowing where you are, hugging some girl, is supposed to be considered fun, then please inform me.
Same story with drugs as well. When my friends get together, we’re more than just high – we’re plain crazy, and not even a drop of alcohol has touched our tongues. Now looking back at this, I may have over reacted a tad bit, so I’ll just say this: Sure; I’ll drink with my friends when I need to, but I don’t think I want to get wasted.
Alice is long gone. I still have her in one of my classes, though. It is annoying! I was sitting behind her, and she switched seats! I swear I was not going to talk to her ever again long before i went into the room but she still saw it best to move away. Grrr. This wont be fun.
( Summer Entry has been combined with October entry.)
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They say that writing helps sleep.
But then again, they are usually wrong.
I am writing this because I think I can prove “them” wrong, elaborate on “their” faults, and maybe teach “them” a lesson.
The sad part is – this is all being written by hand, since I am in bed with no internet connection in about a 2 meter radius around me. There isn’t a living thing in about 3, and frankly, even if we increase the radius to about 20 km around me, there wouldn’t be a single thought being carried out that could link back to me. It doesn’t bother me as a whole – no. You may think that at least my parents would be thinking about the events of today, but they aren’t – mother is talking quietly on the phone and father is busily typing on the keyboard down the hall – and me? I’m just sitting here. Wondering what exactly is bothering me, what exactly is carefully peeling away the flesh at the top of my head and gnawing through my bones, ripping through my insides – tugging – pulling, trying to cut me in half – all the while my heart pounds in exhaustion – both trying to fuel my need for oxygen, but careful to not overfill itself, burst the arteries, and my brain swims from images flying through my eyes – diluting my pupils – freezing my body – trying to stop the flood with a piece of see-through paper – and all – every last one of me scream in unison with hoarse voices – STOP! STOP! STOP!
But it’s too late for that. I'm already analyzing. I'm already trying to comprehend. I'm already trying to put the puzzle pieces together.
It’s ironic how good I am with physical puzzles but when its the puzzle of something else – like a feeling – I am completely lost. It’s just too late for anything now. Truth is…I don't know what I’m feeling.
Jealousy. Yes, I guess it is safe to call it that. It’s not perfect though. It’s the fish in the fish stew, but that doesn't mean it isn't stew without the fish. Anyway; I guess i have to feed some story before the events.
You may have guessed it, but this is about a rubix cube.
(How dare you roll your eyes at me!)
Anyway. She’s special. I have NO idea why she’d be. But I don't think she’s a cube. A hexagonal prism maybe? At any rate… I guess I see something in her.
She knows now. I preferred she didn't, but that doesn't matter. Nothing’ll change.
I realised a few days ago that in my mind there isn't a difference between “like” and “love”. To me, they are synonyms. I believe that’s “their” fault. My life has become what I see on screen. I am a copycat by nature – I copy qualities I see – well, my sub-self does it by its lonesome, but that's hardly the point. I don't know what I feel. I love (loved now) the hexagonal prism, but maybe its a less-love. “They” portray love too quickly – too suddenly, since the most they have is two hours to show their most recent work of “art”.
The 31st was Halloween (ironically the anniversary of this journal of hell :) wooo! ) and I had to sit 2 hours watching “Rocky Horror Picture Show”. Even after 2 bloody hours I remained indifferent to the film, all the while everyone else once again sang the songs, repeated cheesy character dialog, and danced the dances. I pretended to enjoy myself for the benefit of them all, but I didn't really understand anything. Hopefully, I will never watch it again.
If I do, the feelings I felt a couple days ago will flood back again.
I guess you can take what I'm saying with a great deal of scepticism, since I am very likely over-reacting and completely killing my nervous system for nothing. But I am, all in all, jealous.
I'm a very soft, needy person. I cant stand being ignored, and in this case, I couldn’t stand being there without attention. The prism was leaning on Pages. (There’s the eye rolling again.) Yes, I know she’s a flirty prism, and sometimes just does what makes her feel comfortable, but gosh, it still killed me. Okay, so she put her legs on me, (we were sitting on a long couch) but that didn't make me feel any better. I knew she was not interested in him, but that didn't change the fact that it looked like she did.
Jeez. I hate how I’m moping and whining about this. I’m supposed to be all tough and uncaring for women. I'm supposed to move on and not remember the girl I kissed last week (or something along those lines). But that' doesn't seem to be me.
My guess is that’s what “they” want me to be. I don't like that. Not one bit. So I sat there, images of her resting on him shot me arrow by arrow, until I was completely dead inside. Completely lifeless.
I think she doesn't know what she wants. There have been moments, where there were situations where I felt her hand feel me. My stomach when I lay down. My shoulder muscles when we are sitting. Nothing to feel, sadly. So those were failures.
I want to fit a little into the mould. You prisms say you don't care how we look, I say B.S. Because that's what “they” have told you through countless of soap operas and books about knights and sparkling vampires, and on and on and on – but your consciousness still wants to behave on its own. They made a study, conclusion said that prisms liked nerds better than jocks in the long run. But it also said that there’s no reason a few muscles here and there could do any harm. So I’m lost. I feel like I’m drifting away from it all. I don't care anymore about what happens with this whole romance novel that never gets to a goddamn end. I have watched it for too long – seen it be pushed back to later and later times on Tuesday night, and now the plot is so twisted and full of so many holes that I could care less. And now I’m going to change the channel.
Yeah, sure – now I want to end this with something “sweet” like “If only you were mine…” or “I know you don't care, but please find someplace in your heart…” or end off with a modified quote as “Curiosity killed the cat, love killed me” or “Sticks and stones may stick to my soles, but you have no idea how much you hurt me”
…But that’s just “them” talking. I already said what the problem is “They” don't usually get things right.
But the truth is “They” don't know anything… and besides…
It’s all about me from now on.
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What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness.
