You're a smart kid, stay the hell away from love....

Drifting further and further away from everything I used to know.
Finding myself gasping for fresh air, and then giving up. I'll breathe what's in front of me.
I'll breathe this in and let it sink into my pores, poison my veins, rot my bones.
I'll let your hand drift over my neck and squeeze.
I'll let them hold me under water and cut the smile from my eyes.
All I want is nothing at all.
Too many faces in front of me, too much to look at.
I wish you would just make me blind. Make me ignore. Make me forget. Make me disappear. Make me nothing.
His voice means so much right now. The raw anger. Succumbing in violence. "I don't waste my time on no-one." I don't blame you.
When can I come back? When can I get out?
Where the fuck was the bus out of here when I needed it?
Where was that extra dollar, that cheap fix, that willing friend, the friendly ear, the outstretched hand?
I embody everything you feel.
I wish I was just like you.
I wish I was.
I wish?




They're always 'just looking for attention'.
It's a teenage disease. Not to be confused with true feeling. No, we are incapable of that. We are walking out of place. We inject it into our veins and hope it replaces the blood.

"Are you on drugs!?"






I wrote that in a fit of.... I guess what you could call, 'frustrated anger'. It was a combination of what I was feeling, Silverchair in the background, and things my parents have said to me. Part of it was an interpretation of what my sister had told me the other night. It was just anger, I guess, in its purest form. Sometimes that happens.

I went to the beach and, with a mandolin soundtrack, lost myself in my own thoughts. Why is it that we're the only species to question our own existence? What am I doing here? I contemplated the life of a rock. It never questions or thinks or becomes confused. It's just there. I wish I could be just like that, instead of running around in circles of fuzzy logic. It's all such a game. Such a joke. I remembered an art project in elementary school. The teacher gave us supplies and told us to create something that represented ourselves. I forget what I made back then, but I decided to apply the concept to present day, and tried to think of what I would construct. Appropriately, I gathered a few small pebbles and made a question mark on a piece of driftwood.

"I feel like, with the way I think and feel and act and live, that the world is not ready for me. Like I'm not meant to be here....yet. Like I don't belong."
I spoke, basically, to myself, then got up and sat with my back to the sun until kids invaded the sand and we had to leave.

Ghostbusters 2 offered a way of escaping whatever I had felt on the beach. I laughed again and felt slightly peaceful. Still, I was unable to shake the feeling that no one really understands me. I find it hard to explain myself in words. Sometimes I just wish someone could look at me, not say anything, and just give off the air that they knew exactly what I meant. That's too much to ask, though. Too much to expect.

My sister's year-end camping trip ended in hangovers and smashed windshields. I lost another fraction of faith in my generation.












"What's to stop us pretty baby, but what is and what should never be?"
-Led Zeppelin