1. I am such an asshole.
2. I am one dumb cookie.
3. I am worthless.
4. I look...igh.
5. I can write well.
6. I am interesting.
7. I am the most boring person you will ever meet.
8. I do think I know a lot.
9. I am nowhere near "Know-It-All" status.
10. I have a large vobabulary.
11. I am such a bitch.
12. I have schizoid personality disorder.
13. That or I suffer from a sever case of depression.
14. Nearly everything I say is bullshit.
15. I am weird.
16. I am everything.
17. I am nothing.
18. I am useless.
19. I have a vast potential.
20. I have no drive.
21. I never know what to say.
22. I hate talking about myself.
23. I love me.
24. I'm socially awkward.
25. I like nearly every guy I've ever met.
26. I usually don't like guys who openly like me.
27. I think it's because I prefer subtlety.
28. I'm a tease. Really.
29. I'll probably end up in abusive relationships.
30. I don't really want a boyfriend.
31. My body disagrees with me.
33. I wish I could be completely bisexual, or at least enough to get over the idea of engageing in a relationship with a girl.
34. I really like being hit on by girls.
35. I'm a pushover.
36. I will forgive you 99/100 times.
37. PDAs? Uh, no thanks.
38. I actually don't know if that's true.
39. I just hate how awkward situations get when I have PDAs.
40. It's because PDAs are out of character.
41. I'm a creep.
42. This is the longest list I've ever made.
43. I have no idea why I'm continuing this one.
44. I wish I could know everything.
45. I want for someone to tell me he/she likes me. Like, just walk up to me and say it.
46. I hate when people ask to do something to me, e.g. "Can I hug you?" Just freaking do it if you want it. I won't stop you.
47. Yeah, I realize that can be a bad thing in some situations.
48. I don't really care.
49. I love you. Frankly. I do. (This isn't directed at anyone in particular.)
50. Do you think I can make it to 100? I don't.
51. I wish I could be a pilot.
52. I wish I were taller.
53. I really am only attracted to white or light-skinned guys. :/
54. Yeah, that sounds racist. So what?
55. If you ask me a question, 7/10 chances I will answer honestly.
56. There will always be things I will keep to myself, but 7/10 is better than most people. I would hope anyway.
57. Yeah, I want you to like me.
58. If I like you, I will more than likely tell you.
59. Though whether I mean that in *that* way or not might not be so obvious.
60. I hate how lonely I feel when I'm in social situations.
61. I dislike not being normal most of the time.
62. I have problems. Real problems.
63. I don't think most things are trivial.
64. I just don't like talking about banal things.
65. I wonder when I'll stop.
66. I like when people read what I write.
67. It's the only way most people can get to know me.
68. I make sure it's that way for no real reason.
69. I am exactly shy, I just really don't ever know what to do.
70. I lack a strong sense of morality.
71. I'm horrible.
72. I really do just want to feel loved.
73. I really do just think that's impossible.
74. I really don't think people don't like me.
75. I just refuse to believe that they like me.
76. I fuck everything up, let's face it.
77. I wish people could be as forgiving as me.
78. I cry. A lot. At anything.
79. I can only cry for like a minute.
80. Beyond that it's practically physically impossible.
81. I have the line, "somethinnng, thingg, twisted transistor" stuck in my head.
82. I know it's from a song by Korn, but I've no idea what the name is.
83. I'm semi tired.
84. I feel guilty cos I told Chris I'd sleep early last night.
85. It's now 4:47 AM.
86. I'm done.
87. I feel awkward ending at this number.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Dash, dash, dash.
Hm. I dunno what to say. Should I say anything at all? Should I dare speak out? I dunno. I don't know anything, I suppose. I never have, and I never will for the simple reason that to know something is to recognize it as a static being. And we are not static beings.
We are ever changing.
Change is such a commonplace word, isn't it? It's all about change. Always. Oh, we want this to happen. Oh, let's change it. Let's stand up for ourselves. But is it really that we feel offended when someone opposes us, or do we really just want the credit? Nowadays, it seems particularly "cool" to speak your mind. It seems "cool" to be pro-gay, pro-choice, pro-human rights.
Not that I am against or promoting against these things. I am all of those things, I suppose. It just seems like EVERYONE is promoting those things just so they have something to say to other people when they meet over coffee.
Not that many people like coffee to begin with, but you get the idea. It's all about what you can say about yourself.
I hate talking about myself. I really do.
Oh, my favorite colors are black, gray and white, unless you don't consider those colors in which case it's green and you'd be wrong because those are colors.
Oh, I enjoy existentialism.
I'm atheist.
I'm Mexican.
All...seemingly irrelevant to the situation. But they're not.
They're really not.
All the smallest things are important.
Your background, what you like. It's all important.
All of it and we don't realize it. And we just ignore those things. And we shouldn't.
But most of the things we should do, we don't. And that's just how it is.
...
We are ever changing.
Change is such a commonplace word, isn't it? It's all about change. Always. Oh, we want this to happen. Oh, let's change it. Let's stand up for ourselves. But is it really that we feel offended when someone opposes us, or do we really just want the credit? Nowadays, it seems particularly "cool" to speak your mind. It seems "cool" to be pro-gay, pro-choice, pro-human rights.
Not that I am against or promoting against these things. I am all of those things, I suppose. It just seems like EVERYONE is promoting those things just so they have something to say to other people when they meet over coffee.
Not that many people like coffee to begin with, but you get the idea. It's all about what you can say about yourself.
I hate talking about myself. I really do.
Oh, my favorite colors are black, gray and white, unless you don't consider those colors in which case it's green and you'd be wrong because those are colors.
Oh, I enjoy existentialism.
I'm atheist.
I'm Mexican.
All...seemingly irrelevant to the situation. But they're not.
They're really not.
All the smallest things are important.
Your background, what you like. It's all important.
All of it and we don't realize it. And we just ignore those things. And we shouldn't.
But most of the things we should do, we don't. And that's just how it is.
...
Friday, June 5, 2009
So...
So...perhaps not everything is as I make out to be. And they don't know that.
They don't know much about me. A stranger would know more about me than they would ever care to know.
They think I'm like them. They think they understand me.
But I've come to realize that no one knows what's best for me. No one can ever know what's best for anybody. Because if that were true, then all would be well with the world. No one would be a screw up, no one would make mistakes if everyone knew what was best for everyone. But people want to be seen as wise, people want others to need them, yes. People like to give advice, people like to pretend to know everything about others. Why, for the singler purpose of being needed, of other people believing they care.
I have a problem with memory. I can only remember the things I care about, and a lot of the things I learn I don't care about. I guess that explains why I can remember pretty much everything people tell me about them. Well, only certain people, of course. But such is the nature of things, and I, I can't delve deeper into this. I can't delve deeper into the nature of nature. I won't try to interfere with it, or change it. I can only deal with it.
I wish I lived in a dimension where I was the only person alive. The only. The. Only.
And then I'd leave of course, because solitude can only last so long. Solitude is only temporary.
They don't know much about me. A stranger would know more about me than they would ever care to know.
They think I'm like them. They think they understand me.
But I've come to realize that no one knows what's best for me. No one can ever know what's best for anybody. Because if that were true, then all would be well with the world. No one would be a screw up, no one would make mistakes if everyone knew what was best for everyone. But people want to be seen as wise, people want others to need them, yes. People like to give advice, people like to pretend to know everything about others. Why, for the singler purpose of being needed, of other people believing they care.
I have a problem with memory. I can only remember the things I care about, and a lot of the things I learn I don't care about. I guess that explains why I can remember pretty much everything people tell me about them. Well, only certain people, of course. But such is the nature of things, and I, I can't delve deeper into this. I can't delve deeper into the nature of nature. I won't try to interfere with it, or change it. I can only deal with it.
I wish I lived in a dimension where I was the only person alive. The only. The. Only.
And then I'd leave of course, because solitude can only last so long. Solitude is only temporary.
Friday, April 17, 2009
C is for Caring.
Why do I do this?
What makes living worth its suffering?
What do I have to live for, what have I?
I have nothing. I haven't even the decency to assume that there is someone out there who cares for me. Because no one cares. No one can care. It's impossible to care just to care.
And it's such a bother and a pain, of guilt, to deny that people care about me.
To care you must have some reason why. Maybe it's because you like the person about whom you care, maybe it's because you're compensating for something, maybe it's because it would kill you with guilt if you cared about no one. I know it does me.
It's odd that I have a conscience, but hardly any real morals.
But there is always some reason for caring associated with the self. There's always the Self. You cannot be Selfless. You wouldn't be human.
Maybe you care about a person because they're your child, or your lover, or your misstress or your co-worker, or your friend. But there's always some variation of the first or second person singular pronouns. There's always a variation of "you" or "I" or both.
I care about you.
But I don't care about You. I don't care about You at all. And it drives me up the fucking wall, drives me insane how much I don't care, but how much fucking guilt I feel.
I don't care, but I'm guilty. I'm guilty of not caring. I'm guilty because I'm supposed to care.
And I don't like relationships because I can't care. I can't care. And You will undoubtedly tell me that You care about me, and I--I will never believe it because I don't know what it means to care. I don't know what it's like to care about something enough to fight for it. I don't know. I only know what it's like when I can't say something and be honest about how I feel. I only know the guilt associated with this lack of knowledge. Because my lack of knowledge makes it doubly unfair. Wholly unfair. Because I don't care about You, but You care about me.
And I cannot do that to myself.
I will not do that to myself.
I will not engage in a non-mutual relationship.
I will not laden my Self with guilt.
I don't want to feel guilty.
I don't want to not care about You.
I just don't.
And I can't help it.
And I wish I did care, but that has never helped me.
What makes living worth its suffering?
What do I have to live for, what have I?
I have nothing. I haven't even the decency to assume that there is someone out there who cares for me. Because no one cares. No one can care. It's impossible to care just to care.
And it's such a bother and a pain, of guilt, to deny that people care about me.
To care you must have some reason why. Maybe it's because you like the person about whom you care, maybe it's because you're compensating for something, maybe it's because it would kill you with guilt if you cared about no one. I know it does me.
It's odd that I have a conscience, but hardly any real morals.
But there is always some reason for caring associated with the self. There's always the Self. You cannot be Selfless. You wouldn't be human.
Maybe you care about a person because they're your child, or your lover, or your misstress or your co-worker, or your friend. But there's always some variation of the first or second person singular pronouns. There's always a variation of "you" or "I" or both.
I care about you.
But I don't care about You. I don't care about You at all. And it drives me up the fucking wall, drives me insane how much I don't care, but how much fucking guilt I feel.
I don't care, but I'm guilty. I'm guilty of not caring. I'm guilty because I'm supposed to care.
And I don't like relationships because I can't care. I can't care. And You will undoubtedly tell me that You care about me, and I--I will never believe it because I don't know what it means to care. I don't know what it's like to care about something enough to fight for it. I don't know. I only know what it's like when I can't say something and be honest about how I feel. I only know the guilt associated with this lack of knowledge. Because my lack of knowledge makes it doubly unfair. Wholly unfair. Because I don't care about You, but You care about me.
And I cannot do that to myself.
I will not do that to myself.
I will not engage in a non-mutual relationship.
I will not laden my Self with guilt.
I don't want to feel guilty.
I don't want to not care about You.
I just don't.
And I can't help it.
And I wish I did care, but that has never helped me.
No sounds, just black coffee.
There are so many things I do not understand. So many things I do not wish to tell you. That's not what I meant. I meant there are so...many things I cannot say I believe in.
Love, that's the main thing. I don't believe in love. I don't know what the difference between Love and Like is; how am I to believe one is stronger than the other if I don't know where to draw the line? It's just strange fanaticism. I'm a fanatic.
And I need someone. I need someone to like. I need someone to like me back. I need physical comforts. I need it. I need physical contact with someone of the opposite sex. I don't need sex. I just need to touch, need to feel. Need to feel loved? Perhaps I do need to feel loved. Perhaps I do need to relate to someone. I just need that, I need someone, I need you near me.
Coincidence and Fate. I don't believe in either of those things, but I am not a miscreant. I do not know that either of those things exist. I do not pretend to assume that things happen for a reason. I do not pretend to assume that things happen for no predetermined reason. I do not wish to take a side in the matter. I simply don't. And yet society will force me to, by asking but a simple question. And shall I give this answer? Most certainly not, I feel. I shall be stupefied that someone would think--be so careless to affront me so. It is an offense to assume that I have an opinion. It is also normal.
Good and Evil. There are so many shades of gray that all you need is something to search for. Whatever catches your eye, whatever does that, well, I can't say it says anything about you at all. But you either look for the lightest or the darkest tints or the lightest and the darkest shades. You look for the best and the good Good or the lesser and the greater Evil. Odd that sentence should be worded so, it seems to me now, but how else could I have said that? The good and the best Evil? That would assume something that might not be true, that you are evil. Or that you are looking for the lightest shades of black. The grays verging on that solitary white, that impure purity.
Purity, Innocence, etc. Such a drawback, but I understand their purposes. No one, not even children, can this be true of. Knowing about Evil does not make it Evil. It is the fact that it goes against set standards that makes it Evil, not it's precocious knowledge. You can do Evil without knowing you are doing Evil, but you are still doing Evil. A child does know what is wrong, but that doesn't make it right. That is no justification. Not in this world, I find. Society will always punish wrongdoers, no matter their negligence or the severity of their crime. There's always someone to give you that pestering smack on the hand.
I do not ever pretend to know any of these things; I do not pretend to believe that these are true. These are just...thoughts to reflect upon, as is everything else I do.
But I always lose the interest of looking back, no matter how strong the urge is at first.
Love, that's the main thing. I don't believe in love. I don't know what the difference between Love and Like is; how am I to believe one is stronger than the other if I don't know where to draw the line? It's just strange fanaticism. I'm a fanatic.
And I need someone. I need someone to like. I need someone to like me back. I need physical comforts. I need it. I need physical contact with someone of the opposite sex. I don't need sex. I just need to touch, need to feel. Need to feel loved? Perhaps I do need to feel loved. Perhaps I do need to relate to someone. I just need that, I need someone, I need you near me.
Coincidence and Fate. I don't believe in either of those things, but I am not a miscreant. I do not know that either of those things exist. I do not pretend to assume that things happen for a reason. I do not pretend to assume that things happen for no predetermined reason. I do not wish to take a side in the matter. I simply don't. And yet society will force me to, by asking but a simple question. And shall I give this answer? Most certainly not, I feel. I shall be stupefied that someone would think--be so careless to affront me so. It is an offense to assume that I have an opinion. It is also normal.
Good and Evil. There are so many shades of gray that all you need is something to search for. Whatever catches your eye, whatever does that, well, I can't say it says anything about you at all. But you either look for the lightest or the darkest tints or the lightest and the darkest shades. You look for the best and the good Good or the lesser and the greater Evil. Odd that sentence should be worded so, it seems to me now, but how else could I have said that? The good and the best Evil? That would assume something that might not be true, that you are evil. Or that you are looking for the lightest shades of black. The grays verging on that solitary white, that impure purity.
Purity, Innocence, etc. Such a drawback, but I understand their purposes. No one, not even children, can this be true of. Knowing about Evil does not make it Evil. It is the fact that it goes against set standards that makes it Evil, not it's precocious knowledge. You can do Evil without knowing you are doing Evil, but you are still doing Evil. A child does know what is wrong, but that doesn't make it right. That is no justification. Not in this world, I find. Society will always punish wrongdoers, no matter their negligence or the severity of their crime. There's always someone to give you that pestering smack on the hand.
I do not ever pretend to know any of these things; I do not pretend to believe that these are true. These are just...thoughts to reflect upon, as is everything else I do.
But I always lose the interest of looking back, no matter how strong the urge is at first.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
"Daft Punk is Playing at My House" LCD Soundsystem
Why do I do this?
I often wonder about that. But it seems nonsensical. It makes sense. It doesn't make sense. Nothing does, everything does.
I think no one is better at pushing my buttons than myself.
I do hate myself.
I love myself.
I don't understand why people like me so much.
I don't see it.
I'm stupid.
I'm foolish, childish, naive, silly.
I lack self-esteem and self-confidence.
I'm a stupid little shit who thinks she's got it all. This little shit thinks she's got it made, that she does.
This little fucker thinks pretty, long words will get her out of anything. This little fucker thinks she's all that and a bag of chips.
And then there's this...this being. I won't call her a girl.
And she's...sometimes she's pretty amazing. And sometimes I love her briefly. Just a glimpse, a mud-covered stone that's been wiped at a certain spot by circumstance. That is how she thrives.
Otherwise, she's just a stupid little piece of shit just taking up room.
And even this description of that little fucker is a little fucking biased.
But the song is over and it's 11:03 at night and I am tired and hungry and hurt all over.
I need to cry sometime soon.
Goddamn that sounds so emo.
But I need it.
I'd love to love you, you know.
I'd love to know you. I'd love for you to love me back.
But the chances of that...are slim to none.
And if I continue this, you shall only hate me as much as me hates me.
I often wonder about that. But it seems nonsensical. It makes sense. It doesn't make sense. Nothing does, everything does.
I think no one is better at pushing my buttons than myself.
I do hate myself.
I love myself.
I don't understand why people like me so much.
I don't see it.
I'm stupid.
I'm foolish, childish, naive, silly.
I lack self-esteem and self-confidence.
I'm a stupid little shit who thinks she's got it all. This little shit thinks she's got it made, that she does.
This little fucker thinks pretty, long words will get her out of anything. This little fucker thinks she's all that and a bag of chips.
And then there's this...this being. I won't call her a girl.
And she's...sometimes she's pretty amazing. And sometimes I love her briefly. Just a glimpse, a mud-covered stone that's been wiped at a certain spot by circumstance. That is how she thrives.
Otherwise, she's just a stupid little piece of shit just taking up room.
And even this description of that little fucker is a little fucking biased.
But the song is over and it's 11:03 at night and I am tired and hungry and hurt all over.
I need to cry sometime soon.
Goddamn that sounds so emo.
But I need it.
I'd love to love you, you know.
I'd love to know you. I'd love for you to love me back.
But the chances of that...are slim to none.
And if I continue this, you shall only hate me as much as me hates me.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
"If You Want" Tom Vek
The titles for all my blogs will just end up being songs. I don't know why, I just can't think of titles.
It has become very difficult for me to not hate the world. It's not that the world has taken from me more than I was willing to give. I am accommodating in that sense. It's just that the world has not given me what it once promised, and I've learned that no one makes promises they can keep. Everyone goes out of their way to keep promises; it's not one of those things that just comes to you. At least, it doesn't appear that way to me.
I dislike it when people have opinions, but instead of voicing them in a non-assertive manner, they treat them as facts. "That band sucks!" Well, I'm glad you think so, but really? Because I listen to Tom Vek and I don't think he sucks. That must not be true, then.
"Well it is! He does suck!"
How could you possibly know he sucks? Do you even listen to him?
"Yeah, I've heard one of his songs and it SUCKED ass!"
Oh really? Just one song? Because he's made an album, and he has at least five songs. I still don't think any of his songs "suck ass" so it's still not true.
"Yes it is."
No it's not. For him to suck, it would have to be a fact. It's not a fact, it's an opinion.
It's not, "Tom Vek sucks!" it's, "I don't like Tom Vek."
People should learn the difference. Especially when it comes to political issues like abortion and gay marriage. They're not facts, they're beliefs and opinions. Treat them as such.
If you don't, it's like treating a car like a pair of roller blades.
It's stupid, to me.
I wish I had someone my age to talk to who would actually provide decent conversation other than Monica.
I'm taking drum lessons from Evan, definitely. I want to learn, and I want to be good at it, at playing drums.
And I suppose I have Near to talk to, but he often takes a while to respond (conflicting/different schedules and whatnot) and he's one of those superficial people. Not superficial as in can't-have-decent-conversation-with superficial, but in the don't-go-too-deeply-into-the-details kind of superficial. It's because we're strangers to each other. I want to ask him for his name, but I feel it would affront him. It might not do that, but he might choose to not give it. I'm not sure why I don't ask him.
I almost have asked him, too. I almost asked him, but then I erased the question. If he will give me his name, he will give it to me. That or I will tire of not knowing his name and ask him.
It has become very difficult for me to not hate the world. It's not that the world has taken from me more than I was willing to give. I am accommodating in that sense. It's just that the world has not given me what it once promised, and I've learned that no one makes promises they can keep. Everyone goes out of their way to keep promises; it's not one of those things that just comes to you. At least, it doesn't appear that way to me.
I dislike it when people have opinions, but instead of voicing them in a non-assertive manner, they treat them as facts. "That band sucks!" Well, I'm glad you think so, but really? Because I listen to Tom Vek and I don't think he sucks. That must not be true, then.
"Well it is! He does suck!"
How could you possibly know he sucks? Do you even listen to him?
"Yeah, I've heard one of his songs and it SUCKED ass!"
Oh really? Just one song? Because he's made an album, and he has at least five songs. I still don't think any of his songs "suck ass" so it's still not true.
"Yes it is."
No it's not. For him to suck, it would have to be a fact. It's not a fact, it's an opinion.
It's not, "Tom Vek sucks!" it's, "I don't like Tom Vek."
People should learn the difference. Especially when it comes to political issues like abortion and gay marriage. They're not facts, they're beliefs and opinions. Treat them as such.
If you don't, it's like treating a car like a pair of roller blades.
It's stupid, to me.
I wish I had someone my age to talk to who would actually provide decent conversation other than Monica.
I'm taking drum lessons from Evan, definitely. I want to learn, and I want to be good at it, at playing drums.
And I suppose I have Near to talk to, but he often takes a while to respond (conflicting/different schedules and whatnot) and he's one of those superficial people. Not superficial as in can't-have-decent-conversation-with superficial, but in the don't-go-too-deeply-into-the-details kind of superficial. It's because we're strangers to each other. I want to ask him for his name, but I feel it would affront him. It might not do that, but he might choose to not give it. I'm not sure why I don't ask him.
I almost have asked him, too. I almost asked him, but then I erased the question. If he will give me his name, he will give it to me. That or I will tire of not knowing his name and ask him.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)