I write...

I write and I write and I wrong what I write because the right writing causes the wrong thoughts to betray my hands of fate. I exhaust my synapses and fuse out the shock treatment in order to continue with the thought process that had prolonged my end in the beginning? You follow? Cause I'm not leading. No more leading in the footsteps that I had created because my balance is off and I'll falter on the lava (which is actually the carpet, but don't tell mom). I'm figuratively possessed by the alterior exterior of my alternate demeanor which only created itself from the fabulous anterior of my posterior complex. I'm trying to forget the thoughts that can't be forgot and remembering the memories that had once staked claim in a small chamber. To dominate the place where existence is bleak isn't an accomplishment, but a curse. To see the end before the beginning starts, it's a worse fate than living the lie. To lie down in a lie only equates to the subatomic mass that once created life, but now lays dormant for all eternity. I dream of a dream that exists in a world created from hope. I hope for a solution to the problem that has caused the breathing to be unbalanced and the walking to be erratic. The game of silly walks causes my heart to break side ways and skip off a cliff. I missed the bullseye and it misses me. I dream of a hope that can once again blossoms into a rainbow of awesome, that won't wash away from fading. I exist only to be non-existent.

The retardation of a sober thought process.

WARNING: The following is, once again, something that my brain does from a scattered artistic perspective. Please allow me to brain vomit some random words in a completely random sequential order in hopes that you might follow. No, I'm not drunk nor do I do any brain altering "vitamins".

Where can I start when "Why I'm at the finish line?" is almost a ridiculous question. I never got to finish something that was partially started. Running a walking marathon on a unicycle at half speed would only make me lose to a one-legged snail race. Wait wait, allow me the opportunity to properly express the true sentimental nonsensical ravings of a completely ridiculous thought process that could possibly end up causing a run away sentence from actually ever getting to the sharpened point that it was attempting to establish in the beginning before the end happened. Too late. These rantings require the finesse of an angry gorilla with roid rage. Ah, the words of a poet that never existed is only compared to that of an artist with no hands to paint with, spitting curse words at a blank canvas in hopes that his spit will spray color for a blind man to see. It's most unfortunate to have to deal with the retardation of a broken heart valve, when the solution could cause extreme paralysis. The sweet sound of a trumpet blazes across the landscape with the hopes of someday becoming the buzz kill at a peace treaty conference. The ideas and theories that were previously expressed have hence been forgotten and are gradually making their way back to the forefront. Back stepping over the gravel with quick witted broken feet will only cause the other shoe to fall and make the fine pin point accuracy of the dagger dig in at a speed in which is unmeasurable. Quite understandable you see, because from this vantage point one could hypothesize that outcome from a very astute angle, or obtuse angle, no matter how acute she may seem. Ah the addition of a math equation in the depths of hell can only unite the confused confusion of faces that once donned the peaceful eyes of an irreplaceable artifact from a past that refuses to be forgotten. Only now will you see the growing strength of a tree that had never been cut down, but only prevented from sprouting leaves. The hour glass is a time bomb that broke going backwards. Rewinding the tape is not friendly, I prefer to fast forward to the end where the Cinderella story line takes a turn for the likable. I refuse to believe that the choices made in the galaxy of sadness can be mistaken as a tomb for the guilt that once lived. Ah, the thoughts and questions have arisen and the time has come for all dumb children to stop behaving like morons and grow up. A swift punch to the back of the head always straightened the Common Sense Coach. I write, once again, to propose a toast to the moments that were forgotten, the times that haven't been seen, and the gift that has yet to be opened. I toast to the thoughts that have been remembered and hated, the discombobulated thought patterns that have justified such randomness, and the fantastical notoriety that the magician has gained from screwing the surgery up. Will someone please clean up the peanut butter that seems to be stuck inside my chest? Why was someone eating a sandwich during the open chest transplant? Once again, I sit and pretend to write something that makes complete nonsense, only to be witnessed to the ongoings of a brain that doesn't stop. I'll high five that fingerless gloves so that they don't feel lonely later.

The Assassination Of Privacy and Being Social

I've done some thinking lately, which isn't too much of a surprise given my current life situations. I realized through my own actions and the action of others, that the idea of privacy has become quite, retro. With the introduction of Myspace, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Online Chat services, and whatever else there is out there for social media, the current state of mind revolving around privacy is close to extinct. Remember when you would go somewhere with some friends have a good time, and then go home? How is that different from now? Well, you have iPhones, and smartphones, and media at your finger tip. You "check in" to places and announce your existence at a bar like you are some sort of King or God. For some reason there is an urge to share your life experiences and locations with people that you might have had ONE class with in High School 10 years ago. Why is there that compulsion? Maybe the hopes of feeling popular once again because 11 people commented on your status, and 8 people liked it? I'm just as bad as everyone else, posting random information that, honestly, I wouldn't really care too much about if I had seen it. "That's nice, you went for a long bike ride. You want a cookie?" I'm not expecting any trophy or congratulatory statement, or even a pat on the back for my incredibly mundane status reports, but yet I still post crap. Lots of people post crap. Why? Someone asks you out on a date Hopefully you have their name, hopefully a last name, or know a mutual friend. Why? Because now you can do your research on who they are on facebook. Sad. Very very sad. Don't tell me you haven't done that. EVERYONE does that. Anyone who knows what the internet is and has a facebook. Let's say you date that person, it ends... it ends badly. One of two will be facebook stalker, while the other one mindlessly goes about their business. No privacy anymore. Remember when you could just delete their number off of speed dial and that was that? Or how about no speed dial, you just... stopped calling them. I find that as technology and information becomes faster and quicker, life gets more complicated. It was supposed to make things simpler, but I think otherwise. Being signed up to so many different sites, so many emails, spam, statuses, pictures, online information about yourself, privacy settings for all of them. I have an alter-ego existing in the matrix that apparently likes and does everything I do. But that's not me. The real me, is sitting behind his computer, remembering when he had a type writer and no spell check. When he didn't care about spell check and the gross amount of the population who are spelling and grammar nazis. One thing is still for certain, I still write for me. Most of the time it helps, sometimes it doesn't. I just wish I could figure out why I have the urge to tell everyone that I'm gonna take poop and then go to bed. Seriously, why? Should I attach a picture with it? gross..

Hypocritical Contradiction

Isn't that rhetorical? So I've done some thinking, mainly just today, because most of my activities require little to no mental abilities, allowing my brain to wander freely in a most disturbing manner. So. I find it very odd that we, as a human race, were given a brain to think and heart to feel with. One has reasoning and logic behind it and makes complete sense (most of the time). Then there is the "feelings" part that just gums up the works. The brain says "This is the most logical plan to go with, and this is how it should be done, and this is how it should be." Then the heart responds with "Eh, I don't feeeeeeel like that's a good idea." What the hell? Seriously?

Everything is so logical and makes sense, then you add in the whole love,hate,sadness blah blah blah crap, and it just screws it all up. Inner arguments abound. I typically don't do much thinking. I try really hard to NOT think about anything. Just do, not think. But there are those moments that thinking is required, and when I do, I try and make a valid reason as to the nature of why, how, what, ect. But in some cases, after a plan of action has been launched and completed, the concepts and ideas become jeopardized. No longer is it a great idea, maybe a good idea at best. Or better still doubts and questions and other stupid crap pop into the brain. Sure it still sounds like a good idea, and I'm sure it was. I mean logically speaking of course, it was sound proof. And the outcome would be no different any other way. So, now it's like a dual personality, arguing with itself inside my cramped compartmentalized brain. It's annoying as hell cause the mixture of emotions are retarded.

If I was to become purely logical, with reason and such, and just shrug off and turn off those mixtures of feelings. Then I would appear distant, non-social, and as an individual containing emotional walls. But, reversing that effect, having no logic, or reason, and just feeling all the time... well... isn't that exhausting? There doesn't seem to be much benefit to that. Not to mention the idiocy in the actions caused by such nonsensical behavior. I can't abide by that at all. Wouldn't it just be safer to NOT have emotions? To just have a switch allowing the easy, comings and goings of people around? I think I'd rather be able to have that. The it would cluster f the gears in my head and prevent me from acting the way I WANT to act, instead of the way I feel. I find it completely idiotic and retarded.

I don't know HOW women live like that.

From a cell phone in somewhere far

So I'm sitting in the backseat of my parents car on the way to my sister's house. Which, for the record, is a beautiful house in the middle of absolutely no where. Shacks, huts, broken big rigs and trucks, and tumble weeds grow there. Do a search on google maps and it just laughs at me. So ya, anyways, I've been meaning to write lately, just a random thought. I've found myself typing a status message on facebook a lot lately. Just random things like, a bike ride i went on, where i went today, what i'm doing now. Stuff like that. Why do i do that? Why does anyone do it? Its as if i need some confirmation to my daily activities. Is it a pride thing? Do i want people to acknowledge my existence through my trivial daily happenings? What is the point? And why, for god's sake, why on earth am i soooooo compelled to share this worthless information. I suppose i could say the same thing about my blog. But at least my blog is a more articulated story rather than a simple "i went to the beach. It was fun." Watch out social media, i'm gonna get all 2nd grade story style with you.