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By golly but that's an exciting extension of your manhood, officer

2001-07-17 - 11:50 a.m.

I've been here too long. Not this particular day, but just here at this place, doing this job and all the intricacies of life entwined about it. The routine is starting to bog me down. I go to my first floor apartment every day and find it hollow, empty. There are some amusements, but they aren't amusing. They're just there, just like I am nowadays.

I think it's the utter lack of any social contact that has made me this depressed. I normally don't have a total lack of emotion or suicidal ideations, but in the past week I've felt more and more tired. I literally have to force myself out of bed every morning; I just don't give a fuck anymore, about this job, about almost anyone, really. Sure, in the back of my mind I know the latter isn't true, and something clambers to the surface, past all this dirt laid down, to remind me it's a lie...but they're there and I'm here. All I have are words...and even so, never the time to exchange them, much less frequently. And who would ever contact me first? Absolutely noone. I think I might very well wet myself should anyone ever take initiative where I or my work is concerned. "Oh he's the smart one, let him do it," or "yeah, he does a really good lab write-up, dude...let's sit here while he gnashes his teeth and does the work for us."

I have exceedingly little faith in anyone, really. Any of my friends reading this will surely be offended by my blunt candor. This doesn't necessarily mean I don't love them dearly or trust them to be who they are...and I don't think think any one of them will ever understand the way I feel about things or them...but I just find it next to impossible to believe that anyone would ever do anything for me of their own initiative without me either begging or asking them to do so. Perhaps that's years of having to wipe everyone else's ass and crying about their own problems, then promptly shitting themselves again over the same issue that drives me to have so little faith. Perhaps self-esteem problems in the social realm of things...either way, I very well know that I could not write to or see most people (the exceptions know who they are) for years and they would hardly notice and, in my frank opinion, much less care. To be truthful, I can't see why anyone would care for me if I didn't have something to offer them, be it company to scratch some Darwinistic itch or my opinion or action in regards to something.

Love for love's sake is a foreign matter. I don't think it exists for the most part, personally. I could sever almost any friendship I have with the words at my disposal, incense anyone to utterly hate and despise me. Sometimes it happens even without my noticing, slipping in like some jack-knife between pieces of advice (sometimes the advice itself). It isn't my fault I can get into people's heads so easily: they want me to on some level, then find that I am a parasite that needs to be cleansed.

Anyway, I can name two instances of it that come to mind: friends that would die for you and obsessional love. I have heard the most pathetic, hollowed human echoes along the breezes of romantic love, and I was no exception.

No thorny rose, it is a theme park, disneyland, perhaps. Perhaps you enjoy many of the attractions at first...but day after day, incessantly paying far more than you had originally expected for things, like souvenirs, you quickly lose interest in what you carry and you want out, back to your car so you can travel somewhere else. Oh but with obsessional love, the turnstiles won't work, the staff become perverted in their cavortings with you, and there are foot soldiers with combat shotguns perched along the perimeter; your name emblazoned like stripes on their sleeves. You want to leave, oh but you can't: the pain would be too great. All those holes inside you from previous attempts, gnawing at you like maggots on a freshly festering wound. You go back to all the attractions, trying to find what worked, what made you happy...heh, but those cute little guys just don't know when to quit. Some people die in that theme park, victims of their own brute squad.

As the dog kicked in the head by its master whimpers for it to stop and yet still comes back, so are those damned and pitiful souls that constantly throw themselves against an iron wall. Cold to the touch, even they convince themselves there is some warmth left in it. If they can just scratch a bit harder, or in this other place over here, maybe something will happen. You have probably fallen for it, as have I several times. May those insufferable walls crumble in on themselves and be as disgusted and horrified as any one of these, we mutts were. Love for love's sake; quite charming, actually (I feel quite tempted to dedicate this to the last person who cheated on me and left my emotions for dead. The whore knows who she is and what she has done. Fear is the most pitiful emotion combined with love in others).

For those who will die for you, I commend them. I know of several and I treasure them more dearly than my life. Appreciate and respect those few: none too many are willing to make sacrifices that are not convenient for them.

These gems of crystalized bitterness do not compare to the spelunking I have done. There are quarries here that I could describe in far more succulent detail the mere garnet that I have placed between your legs. Caves of nothing but this, and you would feel it. With my skills, oh you would feel it most succinctly and to the point of that gemstone.

Now you see some of the demons that I deal with daily, the power of words to express my confusion at how fear could be a stronger emotion than love. Now you may have some idea of why there is so much difference and conflict in my writing and in me. Now you know...and I wouldn't be in the least bit surprised if you were spiteful, fearful, hateful, or just plain speechless. I've seen it before, I will see it again. I am never surprised by the reactions I receive from others unless they are positive. So go ahead, feel negativity. This is part of who I am. Go ahead, judge me; judge me. Look at part of yourself in these words and reject the rancor inside that you damn well know is in there. Hate yourself through me if you'd like. I've felt it before, seen it before, all of those emotions struggling within one another and the anguish in me for having caused pain when I just wanted to heal. So go right ahead; you know you want to. Go on, have some fun and move through that turnstile. You wanted your amusements...so go, enjoy, just pay no attention to those men in black; security never goes in.

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