dec6

So the ominous clouds split for five minutes to allow a ray of sunlight to shine through; and this sunlight, well, it followed you.

fuck you

It had to be thrown away. And so it went, gone as quickly as it came. Nine floors of cinder-block walls and asbestos doesn't seem far enough to be honest. Sweep this plane from a carpeted floor over a balcony and send it soaring through the air; make sure uncharted territories are involved and new faces are all that will be seen. These familiar faces only provide confirmation that time is being wasted distastefully.

affe

Some thing turn my heart to stone, and so far I'm invisible. And when you turned your head, enough of my heart was left on that cold pavement that I didn't think I'd have enough left to carry on anymore.

porch

These wooden slates have seen better days. Crevices filled with wood rot and mold make it hard to believe that this was once apart of a great forest. A place filled with trees that towered like New York skyscrapers. And instead of vendors selling hot dogs, outlying bushes provide blackberries. So take a handful of natures fruit and enjoy a non-manufactured good. Seems like that's all that is present anymore; manufactured items, wether it be food or people.

eulogy

At my grandfathers funeral, I can remember my grandmother giving a particularly poignant eulogy about her lifelong partner. She spoke, through clenched teeth and teared eyes, about how her husband had remained a man of God throughout his days walking the earth. Struggling to produce the words which would convey the heaviest weight, she stressed how he had been a "shepherd for the sheep." The reference gave acknowledgement to the principle that my grandfather was able to steer those with less vision in a more godly direction. And while my grandmother continued to elaborate for another thirteen and a half minutes about her better half being gone, my mind remained occupied with the words she had given.
So in that moment, with a passing breeze sending the final leaf off a weathered oak tree, a thought resonated throughout my entire being. I understood that I was no shepherd like my grandfather had been. Noble traits which he possessed were those which I lacked. The knight in shining armor that he would be memorialized as would be forgotten entirely when I would find myself six feet under.
I also recognized that I was no sheep. Even when visibility was low, I had always been able to traverse a path that had served me well.
While standing next to my father, whose shoulders were heavy burdened with grief, I concluded that my nature was one of much greater darkness. Neither shepherd or sheep, I was wolf; Stalking my prey, waiting for a moment of weakness to arise so I can pounce on the weakest and painfully drag them off to a secluded area where they suffer their last moments before finding out that their religion was a scam the entire time.

So from that moment on, I looked at those around me differently.

MA109

So you sit there, unassuming. The pencil in your hand which is held so loosely wishes to escape. So in that aspect, you share a similarity. Disinterest is the general attitude that can be used as a descriptor. And in that one glorious moment when you reluctantly raised your hand, your dark blue short rose up and exposed your mid-section. I wished that I could be a fly on the wall watching without notice. But that behavior simply isn’t acceptable.

Maybe my current level of integration with math has waned because of occupying thoughts of licking a bead of sweat off her abs.

lighthouse

At the end of the brine filled air you stand; providing guidance for all of those searching. A beacon of some sort. The masonry that was used in your construction has provided permanency because of an established core. Twelve flights of stairs opens to a glass enclosure with a light that circles. And before the man jumps, he will look down and wonder.

saturn vue

It won't be noted for being a particularly attractive vehicle; nor will it ever be remembered for having superior performance. In fact the car has been as relatively unreliable as a cheaply made chinese hand toy. But it has sufficed in getting the driver from one point to the next. A rusted tailpipe shows that the mileage accumulated has taken its toll. Loosely held suspension with ineffective braking show how the teenage driver has hastily slammed the brakes in an effort to avoid collision. Poor gas mileage constantly reminds the driver of the burning hole that pierces his wallet. Minimum wage salary with luxury price gas consumption are contrasting variables in the drivers life. The navy green paint job, which others mock, is the nobility that the car clings to. Even though this vehicle is far too heavy for its four cylinder engine, it still serves a reminder of high school memories.
The stain on the middle seat of the back row emerged from stealing a traffic cone; but little did the participants know that this cone was caked with mud.
Dog hair clings to all the surfaces, even though the owner has tried to rid his car of such a nuisance. And for as much of a nuisance as these hairs are, they remind him that he has been a loyal master to the dog which he sees so much of himself in.

aqueous transmission

We need a hero. Someone who will do what others are afraid of.

why?

The rain falls heaviest when you're around.

And sometimes you might look up and wonder why you're here, only to look around and see that you've always had an audience cheering for you.

2:09

somewhere along the lines of shooting for the moon I forgot who I was and what I stood for.
ambitions of false glory and worth really amount to little in the grand scheme of things;
for these things only retain the value that we as society place upon them.
So maybe I'm not the man I can claim I once was; maybe that person I currently am is a mere shadow compared to the former.
The White Horse I once claimed to be was actually the opposite.
Nothing but an old taurus car with a beat in hood.
WE all are in need in of repair, but at what time do you drop the car off at the lot and give it the final goodbye.
Cinderblock walls with trace evidence of home display that, like hands going down a chalkboard, the waters will soon settle after the storm has passed.

.

there are no more white horses or pretty ladies at my door, and so far my ambition has far exceeded my talent.

the garden

Realize that the only allusions which can trick you are the ones that are perceived to be true. 

Lies which are a facade; showing one thing while being the opposite.

Like the low lying branch in The Garden of Eve which tempted Adam with its fruit.

So maybe the truths that were once held so adamantly were actually the lies which constricted what was truly happening.

Understand that George's Resting Bed is one of the few places which still holds truth.

sycamore

and I've sat underneath the shade of a sycamore tree,

looked upon the blue skies of a cloudless day when the sun is shining

so understand that the majority of days are truly like this;

we just choose to believe otherwise.

So this is a declaration that our time is short;

live the life you wish to pursue.

People are often limited by the restrictions they place upon themselves, and I,

I've decided to break these shackles, toss them to the side,

and walk down the road that many wish they had journeyed, but didn't.

Kristie Ann Kovarovic

Her laugh and smile just makes me happy. She's the only one who can brighten my day. SHE IS AWESOME. EVERYONE SHOULD LOVE HER. THANK YOU. BYE.

dark night quotes

"You see, it's the slow knife, the knife that takes its time, the knife that waits years without forgetting, then slips quietly between bones. That's the knife that cuts deepest."

" Oh, you think darkness is your ally. You merely adopted the dark. I was born in it, molded by it. I didn’t see the light until I was already a man. By then, it was nothing to me but blinding! The shadows betray you because they belong to me."

[edit]

new laces

Walk in the shoes of another man and you'll find that the soles are well worn.
It's time to buy new laces.

dig.

and the man experienced a digression on character.
He was once sociable, but now his only comfort comes from solitude.
social situations cripple him because he is unable to feel like he belongs.
But that's how he has felt his entire life; as an outsider.
Like living in the skin of a different person, only to question who he is while staring into a blank reflection that the mirror casts.
Or moving from one state to the next and being shuffled from one group of people to the next.
All of them disappearing, much like ocean waves reclaiming imprinted footsteps.

she.

words fall short of doing her justice;
and these midnight drives with Blink182 are indicative that this is now home.

past memories which caused for restless nights disappear when she is around
so come around more often, and you'll find that concrete steps lead to an unlocked door
and next to me, on top of George's Resting Bed, will be a spot waiting for you.

disc

So it looks like you've learned something that you wouldn't have thought.
Maybe these skeletons need to be aired out; or maybe they should remain dormant.
This thorn in my side is a constant reminder that I am only but mortal.
If I twist to much in either direction I am bound to suffocate with pain, but sometimes this pain is the only source of solace that remains in what I once thought had meaning.
I am like hermit, moving from one shell to the next; in constant search of that which I can not obtain.
So let me travel along this sandy waterway waiting to be washed out by the incoming waves.
Let these waves take me to where all the others in similar positions have been taken;
nowhere.
And I wish for these things, but I know that true meaning still exists.
Who knows, maybe it's close.
And I'll continue on.
Much like I have, and much like I will.

fortune

It's safe to say the fortune-teller couldn't predict this outcome.
Even with much experience gazing into a crystal ball, only speculation can be drawn.
On top of plush red sheets this woman will sit, waiting to lure the next victim in;
giving false promises of what the future has to offer.
A light haze of incense will incapsulate the room, providing the true affirmative of Gypsy dwelling.
And her legs will be spread.
The whispering eye serving as an intermediate for male cooperation.

But man is only man, and urges must be satisfied.

shade

In this moment, life seems to be clear.
But just as the sun fades to red, climates are ever changing.

Red Balloon

And the balloon left the hand of a teary eyed child;

Clenching his fist and cursing a God who would allow such a thing.

Hands held high reaching for something that has long since disappeared.

Memories, gone.

This balloon simply being one of the many that will dissipate shortly.

promise

Be wary of words which carry promise.
Heed the advertisement of something that is easily achieved.
For behind every other blade of grass hides a snake.
Waiting to strike at the most unexpected moment,
providing the final audience as your life puts on a climactic acclamation of solitude.
and then it's over.

Just like how it began.
With a soft whimper.

Christine

So here it goes again,
everything I'm not made me everything I am
pitfalls and failures
knowing that it was my fault that it didn't work out
Staying awake at night
reminiscing on a memory made an Autumn ago
maybe these fleeting memories are those which carry steely knives
or maybe they are just fleeting
long forgotten by one significant other
but being a branding scar on the others entire being
Lost thoughts are found in the mind of a man who is searching
A man who stands in a forest that has long been logged
Dying stumps a reminder of something great that once was

this season change seems to be a precursor
hopefully one day you will remember
Remember swimming to that sun-stained deck
on stomachs filled with Grape Soda and Peanut-Butter sandwiches
Struggling to stay afloat as waves thrown up by passing boats tried to bring us to a resting place
but we made it, and took it as a sign of what the future held in store
believing that our daily lives could be as picturesque as our surroundings in that moment
But sunshine only means a day of storms is soon to come

...
your body on mine
...
mine on yours
....

So know that you gave me the strength to move a mountain
but I was swallowed by the ground that once held firm instead
and that seems fitting to be honest
being Eight feet under to serve as a stepping stone
for those who will shortly become company

You want to know what death actually feels like?
It's living with no purpose.

292

eyes lay heavy as the opium haze settles.

board game

My head is comforted solely by the incoming autumn breeze.
Staring above into the infinite serves as a reminder that life is a temporary game.
A game where the pieces are pushed around the board to little affect.
We are all pawns.
Perception of an elevated position is false.
But do not despair, for embracing this position is truly empowering.
For knowing what you are, compared to thinking you know what you are, are two critically different things.

going away

And it seems that an entire childhood of transition from constant moving would have prepared me for this.
But this is much different; the tides are as unpredictable as hindsight is clear.
The past is placid lake which serves as a backdrop for family pictures.
A carp rolling on shallow river beds throwing up clouds of mud is indicative of the future.
No longer am I the one struggling to fit in.
Every incoming student will be going through a similar process.
And for once, I will be on top.

Regalia of childhood memories keep me awake on nights like this. I should be excited for this experience, but I seem to focus more on the death of child-like dreams and aspirations.

I'm cynical at best, even on the days where the sun breaches dense foliage.

oink

time

And the crickets still sing the song of their ancestors, much like us humans do the march of our forefathers.
People seem to stay the same as time passes, it's simply the circumstances that change.

discovery

Heat lightning left its trace across the summer time sky.
Looking to check how late I've missed curfew your lips remind me why we are here.
So like the heat lighting leaving its trace amongst the night time clouds, I plan on tracing your outline with my fingertips.
Quick illumination subsides into stillness.
(And goddamn, her body is a spectacle when the night turns on its momentary lamp)

I plan on unleashing all of my primal being on you tonight.
All four and half inches of it.

b

and today, a mentor walked out of my life. Maybe I shouldn't be so disappointed knowing that my stint in Louisville has its final grain of sand falling soon, but to see someone leave so abruptly who was instrumental in your person growth is a disheartening thing.
But it's understandable, this world doesn't revolve around my whims, and The Boss Man has to be able to provide for his kids.

So to Brian, I appreciate the guidance. The talks about which female we would fuck if we had the chance. Your service to this country as a Navy Seal. And mostly, the motivation needed to be successful in the weight room.

c

the words that carry the most meaning are often those which we are at a loss of

and it seems that saying something, and saying what you meant to construe are two different things

waiting

Waiting.
and at 4:21AM I feel asleep.

at 4:35AM she finally got back to me.

Wish I wasn't leaving in three hours.


but not that she'd care anyway.

used to be

so here I lay

as a remnant of something that used to be

void of emotion

a blank slate refusing to be filled

the air can stir, but I shall not move

for one with the ground I have become

I pray for the roots to retrieve me

to take me home

for the grass to spring between my finger tips

only to slowly wither away

Much like the time which has slipped my grasp

fading memories are all that remain

and even they,

are a remnant of something that used to be

just a thought

and I've thought of getting in a car crash.
Purposefully.

violence

If these walls could tell a tale; it would be that of a tragedy.
And if his parents had something to say, nothing would be said.

hierarchy

look into the eyes of those less fortunate and they will reveal that they struggle for what you have;
while you struggle to have what those above you maintain.
Life is, and has always been, a history of class struggle.

d

and you're missed.
like looking out the back windshield of your mother's Mercedes as you watch your previous life fade.

and you're missed.

Louisana

A sweeping breeze peruses the bedroom of the summertime house.
Maybe this year the air conditioning will get fixed.
But more than likely, it'll be another humid summer living on the bayou.

A thank you

An orange hue permeates the bedroom wall as the restless man tries to find an escape in his sleep.
Sleep is the only place in which he is truly free.

The radiating lantern outside which emits the light bravely faces the approaching thunderstorm.
The man begins to lose a grip on reality, and drifts into a zone where his shackles have been removed.
All the while, the lantern remains unmoving;
Taking the brute force of nature while receiving no accolade for its service.

So this one goes out to all the lanterns and lamps which have stood so proudly to provide light in times of dark. Illuminating pathways so that those who cannot see are able to do such.

Vision is everything to a man who can't see.

Is anyone there?

I've been staring off into the abyss for so long only to realize that I have become that which I have looked into.

The black-hole which I have tried to find meaning has become all encompassing.

To stare into nothing is to become nothing.

Identification

We are all victims to being a composition of traits which people have assigned us.

its over

this time I'm going to do things my way.
I'll walk out of those doors knowing the worst three years of my life are behind me.

demons

We are more afraid of what's hiding in the dark then the dark itself.

amy

Inspiration comes and goes.
For the moment, it has left.
What went wrong?

I feel like I've been beating my head on a wall over nothing.
But that nothing seems to occupy such a large part of me.
When I let go of the past I think I'll be able to stop doing what I do so often.
Which is beating my head on a wall over nothing.

Letting go of the past is almost as hard as embracing the future.
Change is such an inevitable, yet painful part of moving on in this life.

Life is just too damn short.

e

So I'll make that fucking wish at 11:11, knowing that it is but only a wish.

Deflated

Deflated.
Like realizing that all the work that went into something really amounted to nothing in the end.
It comes and it goes.
Just like a breeze.
On a spring day, nothing is more pleasant than a nice floating breeze.
But on a cold winter night, it is only the contrary.
Nothing seems to be more piercing than the cold.
Today seems to be one of the 'winter nights'
Just the feeling of knowing that you're not adequate enough in some form is a deflating notion.
So squeeze the air from me once more, I'm sure you'd never notice that I'm a shell of what I once was.
I remain a lifeless basketball , being retrieved by nature as I slowly rot by a hoop that has long since been abandoned.

violence 101

Maybe I'll just lay on the stained garage floor while both cars are running.
It'd be easier that way.

f

All the times I ventured on that scenic route, I never once appreciated what nature provided until after I had left.
Maybe that's why it gets to me the more I brew on it.
That road reminds me so strongly of you.

Reaching into your pocket to find a twenty-dollar bill is similar to how I'm feeling right now.

but I know that this might pass as soon as it comes.

Don't leave me.

31D

The blue reflection radiating from the refrigerator casts its solemnity that an illuminated computer screen serves to be my only solace in times of self-loathing.

Safety Walls

the one's closest to you are also the ones capable of doing you the most harm.
it seems that if you open yourself to people, it leads primarily to pain because they have a better understanding of how to extort your feelings.
They understand your weaknesses and pinpoint certain things that will break you. That will take down the walls of safety which you have strived so strongly to maintain.
Safety walls don't really provide what the name implies; safety walls are more of a deceptive trick.
They deceive someone into thinking they are less human than they actually are.
Never buy into the notion that you are less human then you actually are.

demons

the ghosts of my past seem to visit most frequently in the late hours of the night

stirring

The ocean comes with its gentle greeting.

Different thoughts come to mind as one views the setting horizon.

The ocean waves, once again, come with their gentle greeting.

Never lying.

Not capable of doing such.

The viewer comes to grips with the propensity of time.

Much like the ocean openly embraced the space it occupies.

A space which it consumes.

Things only change as much as time allows.

but in that regard, time is always passing. Dribbling on.

Each moment escaping like a breathe from a dying soldier.

"Give this note to my son," is his final will.

And his comrade, unaware of his impending fate, promises to do so.

No quicker does he stand to reassume his position does he catch lead.

Grasping onto a note which would never find its owner.

Misplaced words that never found their home have a way of being more painful than words that were never spoken.

seething

A seething anger. Growing increasingly large as each tick of the larger hand makes its round.
Each thought reflected over the past mistake amplifies the pain that you deal with.
Maybe if one thing had changed differently an alternative outcome could have arisen.
An alternative outcome; isn't that what we all dream of?
The thought that some chance incident would lead you to living a more satisfying life.
A life which holds content.
Something which few people possess.

And the seething anger grows.
Multiplies.
Becomes a disease.
and ultimately cripples.

What I See

Unexplainable beauty. Encapsulated in such a figure. A figure that cries
"Fuck Me; but do it softly."

It's something that can't be explained unless it is witnessed first hand.

Maybe it's the blonde hair, or the way you know me. Understand me. Read me. Breathe through my entire essence.

Every line on my face reveals some detail to our relationship.

Calling, God?

sometimes I like to try to convince myself that something greater is looking out for me.
Then I realize that I'm alone; and I've come to the conclusion that I'm okay with that.
An authoritative dictator in the sky doesn't really have my best interest in mind.

The concept of God is people's own perceptions of their selves.
Ever notice how every Christian has a different take on God?
It's because they all modify him into being what they want him to be.
It's because they don't have the ability to draw strength from their inner self. They are dependent.
Dependent on something which doesn't exist.
Sometimes I like to try to convince myself that something greater is looking out for me.
And then I realize; I don't need a God. I need something tangible.
Something which I can grasp; something which I can treasure.
It's called family.
Family really is all someone has.

pretty terrible writing

The rustic door is opened. The protective glass screen to keep bugs out can now be used as a viewing to spot the insects on the nearby light.

I've never understood why insects are attracted to lights; the light always lead to their ultimate demise. But they don't care, they die doing something which encapsulates their whole being. In that aspect, insects can be respected.

But for all other reasons, fuck insects.

Opening the screen door properly is key to the entire operation. If bugs are let inside, you have to deal with the constant fear of awakening to one next to your head. Or even worse, crawling out of the toilet seat while you are using it. Nothing worse than feeling arachnid legs delicately traversing the outer skin of a bare ass.

So the door is opened cautiously, so as not to let the insects in. A quick escape from house wall is necessary in order to avoid the large mesquitos and other air-borne creatures of Satans creation. 

Walking bare foot from the smooth concrete patio to the heavily eroded rock walkway is comparable to drinking cyanide while realizing that the plane you are riding is going down. All the while, you have the looming fear of catching West Nile from the blood-sucking vampires. An equally unpleasant experience is what comes next.

Do you either walk painfully along the eroded walkway, or chance walking in the dew-soaked grass which is littered with dog feces. Walking on tacks is painful, but the thought of having warm shit leak between the crevices in your feet is an almost unamiganble alarming situation. So much so that taking tacks through the feet seems to be a comforting comprise.

But you've made it successfully. Made it from the front door to the car door.

Now you are surrounded by the darkness of night and the yells that are emitted from the forest which lies at the base of the driveway. The little light provided by the lights on the top of a vehicle only serve to increase your paronia. They seem to alert the animals of the forest; Here I am, Come Get Me. 

Come get me.

US-42 North of Cullman

And it was a warm day. The air gave its embrace like an old friend.

Time to assume the old-life style and make my way down that winding road. A country road isn't a country road unless no speed limit is enforced.

Maybe I'll drive like I did that one night. Remember? 

Forgotten

the hardest part of moving isn't the move in and of itself. it's being forgotten by the people who said they never would.

sometimes I feel stuck in the past. At least, that's where I wish I could be.

they

they look at you like an outcast.
somebody that doesn't belong.
a discarded piece of trash that somehow didn't make its way into the trash can.
an unwanted remnant.
their eyes reveal that your presence is unwelcome.
things used to be different. much different.
going from being the center of the universe to being a distant floating star is a hard transition to make.
a star would be an overstatement.
a statement that implies that you are enough to be considered as something.
sometimes it's hard to understand.
other times you are able to come to grips with it. but at the same time.
you don't want to accept the truth of the situation.
hopefully the future has more to offer.

Full cup of juice.
Open the book.
Find what's inside.
Spill the juice.
It was never really important anyway.

waking

Waking up from a dream I've had several times about a familiar place with this girl.
Haven't talked to this girl in about a year.
I wake up to a missed call from her.

I don't care if she answers my call back, which she didn't,  it still made my day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtB-YN03XDg

Feels like a while.
A while since I've woken up and actually felt inspired to go through the progressions of daily life. Lately it just seems like I'm churning out the same monotonous excersices day in and out. Like a man working in a field, confined to a back-breaking labor while being burnt by the suns rays. No Escape. Stuck.
Every now and then life seems to get stuck.
Stuck in a way that hinders forward progress because obsession of the shitty predicament I'm inhabiting is holding me back. I guess it's a mental thing. I should be stronger than it, and sometimes I succeed in doing so, but other times it dominates me.
And it feels like a while.
A while since I can say I've had a real friend. Or maybe I've never had one. Just the allusion of one. Someone who will put their mask on and pretend to be someone specifically, and then later remove that mask and sell you out for the 'next best.'
The 'next best'
Have you ever considered that you are never the next best. You are the fallback that is keeping somebody from truly achieving their aspirations. You are the chain and ball that has tethered them to the ocean floor.
It's a similar feeling to being dirt. If I knew how dirt, an inanimate object felt, it would probably feel discouraged. Dirt is never appreciated; much like many of the friendships that bond people together are.
And the thought that scares me more than anything is thinking that I'm the only person who feels this way. That I'm the only person that feels isolated enough to say that I feel like I have no one to depend on. Maybe it's just the age.
Or maybe I have some critical flaw as a human being that prevents people from liking me. All people feel that to some extent I would believe. Now that I think about it more; I don't have some critical flaw as a human. People are just self-centered, including myself, and their nature is to get the best for themselves.
Life.
Just trying to trade up. Go up the hierarchial pyramid that is established.
Well, the way I feel about it; fuck it.

Work

Not to long ago, I had a conversation with my current English Teacher about people working jobs that they hate. He told me a story about workers at a Ford Plant in Detroit drinking alcohol between shifts just to pass the day. A combination of the menial labor required and the time consuming restraints the job placed on them caused them to booze away what little money they made. This was a repetitive cycle that almost every factory worker engaged in.
Go To Work. Leave Work with a staggeringly small paycheck. Booze what little money was made away.
What a painful cycle to endure. And this isn't a cycle that any of these men could break at any time based on the fact that they had an oppurtunity for upward mobility. No. These were men who were helplessly confined to the realms of the Ford Factory.
The booze, as well as drugs, were the only things that helped these men get from one day to the next. With each day becoming increasingly painful to bear through. It made me sad to realize that men worked their lives away to satisfy no greater purpose in living other than to attach one bolt to one screw head. And this person is surrounded by other people who hate their lives just as much as he does.
         Two weeks ago I was bussing tables at my place of work. For the previous four months I had spent every Friday and Saturday night in the confines of the workplace. Either bussing tables, but more likely, cleaning dishes. Dish Duty is one of the worst things imagineable. Being relegated to an endless stack of trays, cups, cooking utensils. All usually coated with a thick cheesy layer, some form of ketchup, or littered with some other nasty shit you don't want to touch. This is the type of work which will make a man question his sanity.
But the realization I came to three weeks ago was that I was just as unhappy as those men who worked the factories in Detroit. Although their work was much more strenuous, I still experienced the dulling lifelessness that the restaruant business exudes upon its employees. I felt trapped; confined to a never ending cycle of cleaning up after other people and struggling to see the good in each day. Waking up each morning became increasingly painful because I knew I would spent the majority of the night doing some menial task that would suck the life out of me.
My English teacher said "Working can suck the life out of you if you let it."
Well, it did. And I tried to resist it, and although it was a gradual process, I left that place feeling a bit more and more robotic with each passing night. Emotions began to fade as connections with previous friends wanned because of a loss of contact based. That's what the resteraunt business wants their employees to be; Robots. Droids which fulfill one mission. The more robotic an employee is, the better.
 Two nights ago, I came home feeling particularly robotic after a ten long hour shift of non-stop dishwashing. During the last hour of the dishwasing, I began to cry hystrically from laughing. The laughing probably spawned from my realization that I had become the droid that I had promised myself I wouldn't become. But the crying came for a different reason. It was the fact that I had sacrificed a creed that I had so strongly based my life off of. Never Compromise Character. My character had been compromised that night, as well as for the previous four months. And I'm not against working, but having my soul devoured to the lifeless demon that the Restaraunt Business is is not how I imagine myself living.
During this scene of hysterics, I exclaimed ''There is No God."
One of the cooks, after overhearing me replied with "Not back here there isn't"
And at that point, I realized that he was a man who was not living a life of proportions he had imagined at one point living. He was a man much like those that worked at the Ford Factory in Detroit. Living a life of meaningless proportions.
Maybe that's why I was crying. I experienced the 'Real World' for what it really was and realized that at that point I had lost all contact with my childhood innocence. Going to college doesn't equal success. Not everyone is successful. In fact, a large majority of people would trade their current lives just to experience something else. Something that might hold the false promise of fullfillment.
After coming home from that shift, I felt desecrated. I'm not exactly sure what that word even means, but it describes perfectly how I felt in that moment. I felt confined to working a job that had fulfilled nothing. A job that described what I would be for the rest of my life. A job that limited me to being nothing more than a table cleaner and a dish washer. This realization led me into a great depressive slump.
A show I watched when I was young (say fourth and fifth grade) was 'Boy Meets World.' The particular episode I decided to watch after I got off of work dealt with the father feeling as if his life in the Grocery Store never meant anything. He felt as if he had never accomplished anything he set out to do because he had been limited by the confines of the store he began working at twenty-year previously. After crying on his wifes shoulder and admitting that he felt "the job described who he was as a person" his wife responded with;
"A job doesn't describe who you are. It only makes up a very small part of what you are as a person. It doesn't limit you to being something, you only limit yourself by believing that you are nothing more than your job."
This struck me so powerfully after hearing it.
Tonight, I walked out of work a free man. An unemployed man, but a free man.

11

a semi-aware state of mind. not really knowing what is true and what is false. wondering if what you are doing is actually happening or if it just a thought., sometimes you hope it is just a thought, but sometimes you really hope it is reality. This reality, is a reality you wish to encompass your life. the meaningless existence you live in. A life that serves no greater purposes, but has a false promise of actual fulfillment. The fulfilment doesn't exist. It's a depressing thought to know it doesn't exist. I wish it did. But really, I'm glad it doesn't. Fulfillment and hope are false promises. Promises used to satisfy people who aren't able to accept the truth which they are fighting so hard to disprove. I wish sometimes it was different. Actually, I wish all the time. I wish I didn't have to wake up everymorning and realize that this day was going to be shittier than the previous one. Our society has only destroyed the world we inhibit. I fear for the children that will be raised in this society. Maybe they will be forced to eat out of test-tubes for the entiriety of their lives because the chicken population expired because of the high level of pollution in the air. We are so fucked. So literally beyond fucked that the damage we have done is irreversible. Irreversible to the point that God's Intervention wouldn't be able to change what has happened. Maybe this reality I;m living is all a perception i've established that doesn't really exist. I wish it was, that way I know I wouldn't have to deal with getting from one day to another

Will I ever really be able to overcome the bleak white walls which contain my life and reduce it to a shear nothingness?