Some time has passed since I have last updated my journal. It feels weird reading all my old posts and comments from viewers. May one thing be known: I'll be back. . . Now off to join the fad of myspace users! Late.
Thu, Jun. 9th, 2005, 11:14 pm
Shoot To Kill.
I'm afraid that I've been wounded again.
Someone has made it very clear that they believe I am a piece of shit friend.
This was never my intention nor my goal.
My best friend had no remorse while I sat there crying in my car.
He drove away without saying a word of comfort.
He didn't look back.
I would never wish this feeling upon anyone, not even my worst enemy.
I have dealt with this kind of pain enough.
He doesn't care.
I am obsolete to him.
I'm finished caring more about others than they do about me.
I hope he's happy.
You've pushed me out of your life.
You got what you wanted.
Have a great time living in your new house by yourself.
. . . fun.
I'm as useless as the pocket change thrown at the begger.
That pity tossed is less tasteful to your mouth than his.
He grins with delight at the scent of copper.
We will never understand the treasures of our garbage.
[Food] I slave every morning cooking for Claim Jumper Inc.
[Clothes] I work to pay for school and buy fresh gear.
[Medicine] I am going to Shorline to be a Pharmacist.
Somewhere in there I find time for my girl and my close friends.
I apoligize for my busy schedule, I wish I could be there for you all the time.
But I can't.
I often get lonely thinking my life is routine, but it is.
I just have to bite my lip and live with it.
You won't be seeing me for awhile, and we won't be talking much either.
I deserve to feel this way.
You were right.
I have some recent news about The Fall Of Troy.
It is concerning the title of their new full length.
The story goes as told:
Upon recieving a distress signal, I made haste.
My musician cronies needed me.
I could hear their chatter as I arrived.
The night had fallen long ago.
I walked up the stairs and was soon greeted by familiar faces.
Reamer, Thomas, Andrew, Tim, and Kyle.
The band wanted me to sit down and listen to what they had finished so far.
And in doing so, I was very impressed.
We chewed the fat for awhile before we went outside to smoke a cigarette.
This is when they asked me the question.
Thomas: "What do you think we should name our record?"
Mason: "I don't know. You guys don't have a name yet?"
Thomas: "No, we haven't thought of a good one."
Andrew: "It's easier to come up with song titles than it is to come up with an album title."
We couldn't think of anything good so we left it alone.
We started talking about the actual sound of the record and that's when it came full circle.
Mason: "Dude, an album is sort of like a newborn. You can plant the seed and only hope for the best while it's growing in the womb. Because you can either give birth to a really ugly looking fetus or it can turn out to be the most beautiful baby you've ever seen. And this album is definitely beautiful."
Mason: ". . . that's what you should name the new album!"
Thomas: "What? Beautiful babies?"
Mason: "No. . . The Most Beautiful Baby You've Ever Seen."
Andrew: "Hey, that's not bad."
Thomas: "Hahaha. Yeah!"
And there you have it.
The new name of the record.
It is still being reconsidered, but most likely will remain unchanged.
Let's hope so.
I am a fucking genious!
Sometimes I feel like a fuck.
Sometimes I don't.
My journal isn't interesting enough to persuade you anymore.
I don't really think it ever has been.
But for the people that do read, thank you.
I flail my armless salute.
The search for self importance is a never ending journey
and I choose to walk the path less traveled.
Let's not forget the importance of this venture for we will come to understand.
It is a learning process of mistakes and regrets.
It is pain and sorrow.
It is enlightment.
We all want to feel important and it is something that we live for.
We want nice things and lots of money.
We want a great sex life.
Blah, blah, blah.
But we all can't have it.
If everyone had it, then we would not be content.
There needs to be poverty for there to be luxury.
The irony is. . .
I'm trying to make it to the top and so are you.
We both can't have it.
I know it's sad and I wouldn't wish anyone harm.
This idea is really starting to bug me.
Whatever happens, good luck and may the best of us win.
Hope to see you up there.
Fri, Mar. 18th, 2005, 11:53 am
Disregard your lunch meat propaganda;
and try to make those shoes fit your oversized feet.
You say I've never walked a mile in yours
but who needs to feel remorse on a speed walk?
Let me jog your memory:
Nothing tastes the same to anyone.
Everything appears to be slight.
So distant you have made us;
made us into stangers selling heartfelt candy.
100% profit never hurt anyone.
We want what's best for us
but we forget to better ourselves.
That is the irony.
"Boy meets Vermon, the widescreen version!"
5am-2pm/4pm opening days.
4pm-9pm shit shooting.
9pm/10pm-4:30am resting periods.
that's all I've got going on for the rest of the week.
it was nice having three days off.
if you're free, hit me up.
Tue, Mar. 8th, 2005, 09:56 am
Give yourself a standing ovation;
for you have made it this far without loosening your grasp.
The lacerations were minimal.
But stick your head out long enough and something's bound to cut the cord.
So keep the mouth wide open.
You never know what you might catch.
Eureka. . .
You swallowed an epiphany.
Hopefully you speak the truth before your real lies/realize/real eyes.
Desperation tastes great with a side of salty air.
Living the Mukilteo lonesome.
Peace to all the long forgotten ashes of the dead.
Tue, Mar. 8th, 2005, 09:28 am
I get giant lung sized bubbles inside my gut whenever my birthday comes around.
Yes, twas yesterday.
Doesn't really feel like there's much to celebrate anymore though.
It was easier to have fun on the day you were born when your parents planned it all for you.
Now a days it seems like if you want to have a great birthday party, it's all D.I.Y.
How how shitty would it feel if no one showed up?
Or even shittier, if people showed up for the party. . . not you.
So, I tend to leave my birthday alone now.
I don't receive any presents from the friends that I give presents to every year anyway.
They don't seem to remember. . .
And not that it bugs me not to get anything; it's just I miss my friends being in on it.
What, do you want me to write off everyone just because they forgot my birthday?
How selfish. . .
I'm more selfless than that.
I'm not a patron.
Even though I remember everyone else's and bring gifts for the holidays, it never seems to affect any of the people I care about.
They might say thanks and show me that they appreciate it; but when next year comes around. . . I'll be empty handed yet again.
So why try?
I seriously don't know.
Maybe I believe that if I keep giving forth like I am; I'll be granted with the same love someday.
Maybe I'm just too nice.
Maybe I'm a loner who ass-kisses too much.
Regardless, I'm content with what I got and what I did for my birthday.
It wasn't anything special, not like the old days.
But it was nice.
Hope everyone else has a wonderful birthday.
At least a bit better than mine was.