2002-11-19 - 1:51 a.m.
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Virgin Suicides hauts me
Didn�t do much today. Didn�t leave the house much today, not even for classes. There�s too much snow outside for me to want to do much, so I had myself an introspective day today. Looked deep inside and mulled around a little bit, dug through old treasure chests of fun inside.
I had a contest with Mehr today with photoshop, although I don�t think either one of us was going for the jugular. Just a matter of making a joke to make a joke.
I watched the Virgin Suicides today, with that one song creeping me out. It�s the same song as that one Levi�s commercial, where the guy and the girl dump the car in the ocean and the guy dives back in because he can�t speak French, so he gets his French dictionary from the car. The girl was French. I really explained that bad, but I�m sure people know what I�m talking about. Either way, whenever I hear that song, even on the commercial, it makes my whole body hurt. That whole movie did. I�ve been getting that too much lately. Things hurt me for no reason. I�ll watch some movie and all of a sudden something will afflict me so much that I can feel my whole chest clamping on itself, like there�s a fire in there that my ribs are trying to stomp out or something. I�m way too drastic, either for good or worse. Some days, I�ll be so happy I could be shot and still smile and other days I wish I didn�t have to wake up the next day. Literally. It�s so drastic sometimes that I wonder if maybe there�s some disorder waiting for me out there, ready to claim me as another number of people who suffer from depression or anxiety of some sorts. Just another person written off as a traumatic case of blank. Fill in the blank however fit. But then again, I don�t believe much in that mental horseshit. It might explain why I�m failing psychology.
In all actuality, I seriously think something is up with me, and I can�t really put a finger on it. I can watch a movie I downloaded off of the Something Awful forums of some kid in Japan breakdancing on a Dance dance revolution or whatever the fuck that crazy game is called and laugh because he�s wearing something like the Hardy Boys and because so many people are getting psyched watching some bloated idiot stomp on buttons to make some anime character dance behind him wildly. Then I go and hear a clip of some song I never knew who wrote or what it was called
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it�s called Playground Love by Air by the way, for all those people who have itchy downloading fingers. It�s creepy and sexy and alluring and it will make your hair stick up on edge if you have even a spoonful of emotion in you when you listen to it�.
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and all of a sudden, I�m thinking of what I said to one of my ex-girlfriends and how much I wish I didn�t want to say that to them when it bothered them. 6 years after the fact. I�m fucking insane, I can fucking guarantee that. I�ve been driven crazy by my overactive fucking mind, siphoning out every drop of existence it can grab and analyzing it till it all makes sense, all falls into place. I can�t even think that�s how much I think. My pen has dried up, I don�t write any poems anymore and I miss the days where I could simply sit and look at an ant and a few minutes later, there would be a poem I�d be at least proud of in front of me.
All my poems are being held hostage on my broken computer, which has been in the computer lab for almost a month, due to me not buying a CD-R, which costs 2 bucks, because I spend all my money on other things.
Tomorrow, I will buy a blank CD.
I can�t do this by myself anymore. This summer, I was so pig headed where I thought �Hey, let�s declare war on women. Pah, who needs them?� and meanwhile it was just in spite from being alone and insulted for being alone. Now the spite has worn off but the alone still lingers and I can�t feel like I�ve acted like a fool, pushing off from any person who would attempt to give me compassion. I�ve been starved for any heart felt emotion at all and then I go and piss on it, I go and hurt it, destroy it. I remember when I had a 4 year stretch in my life where I had someone I loved or at least cared for every single day that I was alive.
I haven�t loved in months. I�ve been interested but I haven�t truly been loved in months and I can feel my bones go hollow with the idea that these are only the first few months. My mother told me I was being picky, the woman who couldn�t speak to me for days after she found the e-mails from THAT ONE, explaining in detail just how well things went one weekend. She�s now telling me that I�m not getting out there enough. That�s some fucked up shit. I know she was probably kidding a little when she said it, but she meant enough of it where I heard it.
I�ve become the male version of high maintenance. I can�t go for a girl I�d only fool around with anymore.
So many people invest so much time, especially now, at this age, into just fucking everything in the world. I know a few friends who have just been fucking their brains out, and it�s comforting in a way I guess, but it�s always left me empty. I imagine it as assisted masturbation. I could have taken care of it by myself, but hey, you can help if you want. That�s really all you can do for me or even want to do for me right now, so why not? Well, I�m tired of getting jerked around, so to speak. I don�t mean I want a wife or something like that, I just don�t want to play games.
Which, in all honesty, is impossible to find someone who doesn�t do it. Everyone plays games; shit sometimes even I do. I�m just tired of them though. This isn�t love. Whoever tried to dupe me into thinking love was this wonderful thing that nothing can touch never had someone tell you
�Fine, go out, I don�t care�
and have them mean the exact opposite.
Here�s a hint for women, at least when it involves me. There�s no second chance, no chance to say you were kidding, before I�d walk out the door and shove your foot in your mouth. If you say something, motherfucking mean it because if you meant the opposite of what you said and what you didn�t mean happens, it�s your goddamn fault for playing games. If you had only said what you felt, you would be surprised as to how very little you�d end up feeling insulted. Trust me. For once.
This is nowhere close to what I was told love was. Love isn�t bleeding someone dry slowly, hopping on top of them every once in a while, getting a few gifts here and there and eventually leaving to redo it all over again. It�s not all happy either, not some frilly and flowery magic trick, where all problems go away. It�s not some hokey I�d die without you speech, or I�d die for you speech or I hope we never leave each other tirade. It�s not some ridiculous scrawl or carving on some wall somewhere, 4 eva. There are no plus signs in love and hearts don�t look like that in real life. There�s just the knowledge that somewhere, someone is worried about you, unless you�re there, then they�re happy they�re with you. That�s all it is. Break it down to the barest form. It�s a matter of finding the one person who you would want absolutely no bad things happening to, and would make sure by all means that they never happened. That�s the best I�ve seen love, the only way I�ve ever known it personally and even then, I could have never been truly in love in my life and have been pining for nothing, for some farce of emotional substance that I�ve overemphasized in my own personal priorities. For all I know, there is no love and we all just imagine it up, as something to look forward to when we want it and something we over look until its gone again. I just don�t know anymore. I haven�t tasted it in ages.
I�ve noticed love is one of my hugest themes of anything, whether it be song, diary entry, poem, short or long story, conversation, everyday thought, constant reminder, constant fear. The list goes on. I don�t know why that is, I don�t know why I desire tasting desire so much. I don�t know why my whole body clenches up into my chest when I see something that makes me want to crawl under a rock and die because I envy a couple together or some beautiful woman I�ll never meet or think of some chance I ruined or think of some chance I ended up ruining in the end. It�s all unfair, it�s all irrational. There have been so many things, volumes of things, worlds of things I have held back from some people, people who I adored from far away, crushed on, or even just outright wanted to do. I�ve even had chances to tell them, distinct and perfect opportunities squandered because I bit my tongue due to my heart, unable to silence it�s objections to me speaking. I held a 12 year long crush for someone and I never once told them, hardly spoke to them, never let them know I thought the world of them and didn�t even know jack crap about a single thing about them. I�m sure some people know who I�m talking about. But that one example shows me at my best: my worst. I�m a terrible romantic, not even hopeless. More like fucking retarded or something. I can�t overturn my own fears of love, because I have such high expectations of it. I can�t shut down the security system built up to hold back anything that I can say to make me look like a fool.
I wonder if she ever found out I had a crush on her. She probably did, maybe got disgusted, maybe got interested, maybe didn�t even care and got on with her life. Fuck if I�ll ever know. For all I know, she�s reading this now and wondering who the fuck it was. But not likely. Very not likely. Ok, infinitely small chance, bordering on none.
Besides, if she ever did find out, what the fuck good will it do me here, in Plattsburgh, years after I could do a thing about anything? Or even further down the line, anywhere down the line.
I�ve built myself high on the stilts of love, looking over vast distances with telescopic vision, not realizing I was looking so far ahead that I couldn�t see right in front of me, like living life with binoculars for glasses. I wonder if I ever truly fell in love, would I even notice it or would I remember it afterwards�
Here.
In Plattsburgh.
Or even further down the line.
Anytime down the line.
BMC
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