The heart becomes a killer
when it forgets to be
Well, I guess it doesn't matter
'cause my heart just don't belong to me

And I think I lost my mind
in the middle of the line
when you said I would be just fine
if there were no you.

Even silence doesn't sound the same
Seems like we're waiting on someone to say -
anything
Silence only brings the pain,
and what I wouldn't give for that to change...

I was searching through some boxes looking for something and I came across a ream of wide ruled notebook paper... and I thought to myself, "What the fuck am I doing with this?" Seriously, I haven't used wide rule paper since probably fifth grade... so why would I have it? And more importantly, maybe, why would I still have it? Where did it come from? How did it get into that box? Did someone break into my house (again) and, instead of taking valuable stuff, leave a ream of paper in a random box? Did I drive to a store in my sleep and buy a ream of wide ruled paper?

Things can confuse me, sometimes... but... that's just weird.

It's probably gonna bug me until I figure out where it came from.

I let you take from me enough to fill the hole that someone has left in you...

...sucker.

"I made the human choice. Funny when you think about it; me making a human choice..."

...in their last moments, people show you who they really are... would you like to know which of them are cowards?

"I'm coming off just like you..."

I'm sick of following my dreams. I'm just going to ask them where they're going and hook up with them, later.

My friend Smelly ("because she stinks") was telling me about how she finally confronted Douchey about the lies he's spreading about her (he has been telling everyone that she was "his girl")... he asked, "Is that so wrong?" to which she sat and laughed in his face (she told me later that she told him where to shove it, in no uncertain terms - she seemed almost excited about it, which I guess made it that much funnier)... I wondered why he was acting a little pissier than usual. I guess he didn't take it too well. Then later on, for whatever reason, he asked me if I was mad at him... and I said, "I don't know... am I?" (I mean, I had been doing nothing but generally ignoring him all night, per usual.) So he says, "Is it about bumming all those cigarettes?" to which I replied, "Trust me, I couldn't give two shits about cigarettes. (I'm actually in the process of quitting, finally.) It doesn't have anything to do with cigarettes." And he was just like, "Okay," and walked off, as if the words "it doesn't have anything to do with" didn't even take form in his mildly-retarded brain. It was almost classic. Later, he got all... I don't know... half-redneck about it (it must have sunk in a couple hours later)... and I flat out told him he was worthless and he really needs to check himself before he starts talking shit about people that aren't around to defend themselves to try to make himself look good because it makes him look pathetic, and he never knows who might step up and what will happen when they do... fair warning... fair enough, anyhow... he has no idea.

Then he goes and runs his mouth to his little junkie fiend kissass buddy who probably talks more shit about him than anyone (who isn't a whole lot better than him, honestly, but at least he can form complete sentences), who then finds me and tells me what he said (part of that whole "kissass" thing, I guess). See, Douchey's one of those... y'know... it's never "him" when a girl spurns his advances, it's always "them." They're the "cunts," or the "dirtybutts," or the "sluts," or whatever (if they're so trashy, then why aren't they sluttin' around with you, son?)... it couldn't ever be the fact that he's just a great big walking douche... but, y'know, according to him, she's the one that's been trying to get with him... and all the other girls at the store are trying to hook up with him... not the other way around... because he has a girlfriend - no wait, a fiance... that, incidentally, lives with her ex-husband, now, soooo... yeah... yet, everyone in the store can openly watch him endlessly hitting on all the girls... and customers... it's sad, but not so much. The best one, so far, is probably him hitting on the lesbian... granted, a very attractive lesbian, but nonetheless. Oh, but to hear him tell it... lol.

Next day, Smelly said that she was tired of him stalking her. Oh, yeah... did I leave that part out? Not only does he stalk his exes, but he stalks potential exes, too... knows where she lives, her number (she said she had some hangup calls the last few weeks, go figure), all that good stuff... a piece of work. But she's leaving the area, basically immediately, and taking her son, because she wants to feel safer. I think it's sad that people get so affected by things like that that they want to leave... but so be it.

Southern Ohio... Yeeha! Everyday I'm back here, I keep remembering more and more why I left... but this kind of shit is everywhere, in all places... it's just the lack of anything else going on around here that maybe makes it a little more dominant.

I grow weary of the petty bullshit... from every direction, everywhere I turn... especially from people that try to act like they're a "man." I'm sure when he started working there and tried to start his thing, she handled him like the wonderfully super-witty, sarcastic person she is and made him look like a fool (but I'm sure that he isn't remotely smart enough to have perceived it)... which isn't that hard, really... and it's not like I could blame him or the other guys that started working there for hitting on her (and there were many) - I mean, she's beautiful... granted, most will never see "depth" like I do, and will merely have to see her as nothing but a physical form. But, I mean... she worked there for quite a while before we ever spoke... sure, I saw her, all the time, but I wasn't some little uncontrollable puppy that just had to pee on the rug, right then - she never even remotely acknowledged my existence (hmm... kinda like now, go figure - a vicious little circle) - and I had no reason to ever think that she ever would (or should, even) - she was way beyond me, from the beginning... I do not know why she ever bothered to speak in the first place... and I guess I never will; I never got the chance to ask. I know how guys work, though, and I know why they were attracted to her - and it's not like I didn't hear about it all the time from the horde of cavedwellers... which is somewhat pathetic but understandable, I suppose... but I mean, the last thing I ever saw when I saw her, the last thing I thought about or considered was boobs (well, okay the last thing I ever thought about probably was her feet... because feet are gross... yet somehow, hers were even pretty nice... for feet) - truth be told, not a big fan, in general, and certainly not important when considering the whole (and especially her). I mean yeah, her body's really nice, but it was this whole... "thing..." I dunno... her shoulders (I always thought she had amazing shoulders... and I could never explain why it if I tried, just the shape of them and how they framed everything else)... and how they formed her neck... and how her hips gave way to her legs and the shape of her calves and... and, well, all kinds of stuff that people just don't care about, I guess... a wonderfully put-together package... and once we got to know each other, her intellect and her humor and everything else only made the physical that much more gorgeous... ... but... I genuinely dislike him so much, now... he had to go and push the wrong buttons... and in all his lack of faculties (and trust me, boy lacks some serious faculties), it kinda feels like he's been spreading shit about her to make sure I'll find out about it.

It's really kind of... weird. I keep telling myself it's no big deal... and it isn't. It's not. Yet, it hurts to see people act like that towards her... I care... things like that matter to me... maybe more than the people who care matter to her, in the end... but still, I can't fight the will to defend her. She doesn't deserve that kind of shit... especially when she's not even around to set it straight, herself.

Fuck... WHY am I rambling on about it, all? I spent half a page talking about things that don't matter... I don't matter... it does not matter, anymore... she saw to that. Yet, no matter how much it shouldn't matter...

I'm going to end that mess... I'm tired of having to even bother with feeling anything about it... any of it... anything, at all... one way or the other. I'll just go back to pretending. It's much easier.

"Perhaps because I'll never be one, humans are interesting to me."
Morgan... here I come.

Aaaaaugh!

I'm irate...

Two reasons...

First, I missed getting a huge promotion at work by a gnat's testicle... to, as I was told, "a complete buffoon." It would have meant a new city. It would have been great... but it's not happening. At least, not quite yet.

Secondly... well, speaking of buffoons... I have posted on here before about hearing (and overhearing) coworkers speaking... "poorly..." about someone I care about... I was talking to one of my friends at work the other night and we were discussing something about makeup on girls and why girls seem to think that wearing tons of makeup makes them look better, or something, but it just tends to make them look more like... I dunno... trashy. In walks, let's just call him "Douchey..." and we do what we always do, and ignore his presence and keep talking about what we're talking about. My friend is a real good friend, and was already well aware of the situation between me and this certain someone I care about, so I feel able to talk to him about certain things (in fact, I can pretty much credit him and his family with "talking me off the edge" this Spring, when I was at my lowest - he was the only person who knew what was really going on from day one, because I don't trust anyone, but I trust him). So I'm talking about how the best makeup looks like no makeup... commenting that I had sat and watched her one day, taking, like almost an hour "getting ready," and y'know doing her eyebrows, and putting on makeup and all that, and besides her painting her fingernails with a color I had picked out, "she looked just as stunning as she did before she did all that stuff, but the only difference was her hair was dry, now." Douchey was walking out of the room as I was saying something like, "[her name], I could roll you around in a mud puddle and you would be just as beautiful and kissable as you do spending all that time doing that stuff..." It was a mistake to say her name, I know, but I thought he was out of the room... he turns out to have been "lingering" behind an obstruction, listening. He kind of pops out behind said obstruction and flashes this look that he likes to give to try to act all "intimidating," or something, to some of the people (which, he doesn't like most anybody at work, myself included - because I call him out on the bullshit he tries to pull with people, there to try to make himself look impressive, especially to the ladies - but I could hardly give a shit), and turns and walks out of the room all macho chest-puffy and that kind of ridiculousness... I pointed out to my buddy that Douchey had been listening to us... which we just thought was weird... but we blew it off. So, tonight I was working with another one of my friends who knew what was going on, but not quite to the degree... but I was telling him about Douchey snooping and he proceeded to tell me about how, when I was on days doing my rehab stuff getting my back into any kind of shape, Douchey would incessantly hit on this girl (and then turn around and hit on one of the so-called "hotties" on the front end, seconds later) and tell everyone about how they were gonna hook up and how she wanted to come out and see his house (um, his dad's house - did I mention that his dad pays for his child support, food, car, gas, methadone (which he can blow a week's worth in two days... of course) - that's a hell of a "man" for ya, right there) and all this stuff... to which everyone apparently laughed in his face... literally. But to know this guy, he basically stops working anytime any girl of various degrees of attractiveness comes into his work space and starts schmoozing them, sometimes even following them around the store... and they could be fourteen year-olds... and that's not an exaggeration. He will basically chase any girl around with a pulse that looks him in the eye and says hello ("hello" is apparently "Doucheyspeak interpretives" for "Hey, wanna impregnate me and skip out on your responsibilities as a man?")... and again, that is not exaggerating - we've all had a chance to see it happening, and I, in my position at work, have witnessed many times. He talks about how all these girls at work "want him" and how he's been hooking up with them... when in fact, all these girls talk about how creepy and stupid he is and they can see through him like a sheet of saran wrap and he's been involved with none of them... and apparently he can't give the same age (or story) to the same girl... to the 18 year-olds, he's 23... to the 22 year-olds, he's 27, blah blah blah... and he loves to brag on his illegitimate baby boy... and never seems to mention his other two illegitimate children he has to them, as if they don't exist (which is just all kinds of low)... and, well, there's all kinds of outrageous lies he tells them about himself... it's an endless ball of pathetic hilarity, in all truth. Anyhow, so my buddy tells me about how when they were on break, Douchey out of the blue starts talking about how the aforementioned girl had just called him the other day and wanted to come into town and hook up (which, when I heard the little group of people talking before, he was the one that was talking a pretty big majority of trash about her - more apparently to me now because she found him completely annoying and not what he was trying to purport... and he's one of those guys that, when faced with rejection, just turns around and talks shit about them)... talking about how he was just going to "get her fucked up, tap it, and forget her" (I honestly expected nothing better from him)... which, the girl he's "engaged to" (yeah, right) might probably take exception to, I'm sure, especially since they both purportedly live together (the last I had heard was that the girl had actually excluded his name off the birth certificate and had moved back in with her ex husband and wanted Douchey to have no contact with the child, whatsoever). What someone closer to the situation told me is that he will leave work, some times on break, sometimes just all together ("not feeling well") and will go stalk his ex, parking in front of her house and just sitting there... which is just freakishly twisted.

I didn't like the guy when I first met him, because he had this whole "full of shit beyond comprehension" written all over his face. I really didn't like him when he said the totally rude stuff he said about someone I care a lot about (well, there was more than just him, but he was just egging it on and on)... and I really dislike him, now... Everyone's kind of wanted him gone for a while, now, because he's a waste of the store's time and money and a completely worthless, mildly-retarded (no joke) numbnut... and I'm not going to stand for a piece of shit on my shoe like that pulling this shit, trying to get some kind of "one up" on someone and continue to lie about her... I want him gone... just... away... and I will go out on a limb and predict he will be... very soon... maybe even sooner. Douchey's days at work are numbered... take it to the bank.

Ugh... I don't want to talk about this stuff... I don't want to think about this stuff... but I can't stand to see a complete piece of shit spread lies about someone I care about and treat her, in absentia, like dirt - when she can't be there to defend her dignity... I'd love to watch her spit in his face. I'd love to hold him down and let her do it, just to see the look on his pathetic face... and probably better yet, on hers.

More good music...

soon.

This week coming up would have marked seven months since I last picked up a guitar... The afternoon of April 18th, I had just finished recording some acoustic songs - likely the best music I've ever written in almost thirty years of playing guitar - and the recorded results were really, really good... because I just let it happen, I didn't pressure myself, I didn't sit and nitpick myself to death until I was so frustrated I just chucked it... but as good as it was, it took every ounce of passion I've ever had inside me to do it... and I felt that was it, it was all over. I let my guitars sit and gather dust (one is still sitting in virtually the same place I left it out at the riverhouse by the "shabby chic" china cabinet, waiting to have the strings changed and be played like it was intended to be one late night, seven months ago - I was five minutes late that night, and my world somehow went to Hell). I still heard music, dreamed music, felt music all around me, but I had no desire to explore it. After agreeing to work on a project for a student film that involves my "other side" of music (the experimental, non-rock, sometimes just plain goofy side), I actually had the chance to stand and look at myself in the mirror, something I do not do... ever... and a couple weeks ago, a choice was made (thanks Bret/Will/Brian/Corey (for helping relight a fire) and especially "the invisible one" for really helping me realize (by... "not helping"(?) ...leaving me to figure it out on my own) what was wrong with me).








(the songs seem a bit conflicting... but that's life)

Sometimes, I have the funniest dreams... sometimes, not.

care

I've always felt that hating someone is one thing, but just not caring about them anymore is far worse... I mean, to me. To hate something... or someone... implies caring enough to have a hatred for it, or them, or whatever. And it's usually not a case for me to hate first, then not care; they stand as two separate kinds of things. Like, I "hate" the way a lot of guys treat the women in their lives... but I generally "don't care" about the guys... generally. They could get run over by a milk truck and I wouldn't feel anything for them (I guess in some cases, I would feel some satisfaction for them getting something that they deserve for being the douchebags that they are). I have a rather small circle of "friends" that I really care about, and a huge circle of "acquaintances" that... well... I dunno.

I'm close to adding people to the "don't care at all" list... it kind of surprises me a little bit... but then again, it doesn't... at all. I thought maybe I would just "hate" them, but the more I realize about me, the more I realize that I won't hate them... I'll just stop caring in any fashion or form. They don't care about me, at all, so why should I care enough to hate them for who they really are? Oh, that's right... I don't.

This week marks nine months since I've drank (well, save one Sierra Nevada Pale Ale at a party in New York in August, but damnit, I was just thirsty). It's not like I really drank a whole lot in recent years, but it feels good to eliminate it from "things that could potentially be really bad." My dad was just a few years older than me when he had his first stroke. It ruined his life - both the stroke and drinking, in general... and drinking definitely brought it to a very premature conclusion. I still have a lot of life in me and a lot to do with it... and I'd like to be this person as long as I can so that I can do it all to the best of my ability. The biggest thing I have going for me in life is just "me..." and I hope that I can put it all to good use for the present and the future... of "me." lol