Dear Diary

Today I went to Athens to visit an old friend of mine. We go back by several years, to my first Thespian conference. I'd call her an old flame, really; we wanted to date each other, but the stars never aligned.

The drive was boring, but nothing compared to the ordeal of going to Statesboro; there were occasional torrential rains, but nothing too unbearable.

She'd changed a good bit from the last time I saw her; short hair now, and died a certain shade of red; a few of her piercings were gone; her garments and accesories reflected that she had turned to more of an 'Indie' type of style.

Of course, she was more beautiful than I remembered, as well.

We talked for a while, and I met her roomates. We went out for pizza at one of Athens famous eatreries, and it was pretty good. Watched 'Run Fat Boy Run', went for a walk, and generally just spent time with each other.

I am not very good at broaching the subject of intimacy; I am exactly shy so much as... reserved. I didn't quite expect any affection from her (I've changed as well over the years, and I am sure it was not for the better), but she favoured me with a parting kiss.

And so a good time was had by all =D

Monday

Songs stuck in my head in the last three days: Who can it be now? By Men at work, I want you to want me by cheap trick, death to the martyrs by The ark.

Girls currently miffed at me: judy, Makeda, most of my ex's (so add another 18 or thereabouts)

I've enjoyed The Boomtown Rats lately, which is odd; the style of music tends to be... old. Reminds of twenties music.

That's it. Just don't want this blog to die altogether, ne?

The King in Yellow

I suppose a bit of honesty is in order, and, as this is such a rarity from me, I decided to place in in a place very few people see.

Many, many people know I do not like myself. Not eeven a wee bit. Occasionally I'll feign arrogance or self-confidence, but these are little guises to ease the passing of conversation.

To me, in my mind, I am the worst creature ever created on this earth. There are no good things about me, no positive aspects.

I can acknowledge this is foolish and nonsensical. Logically I am not worse than everyone; take Hitler, for example; Osama Bin Laden, Killer Khan, Caligula... but logic isn't part of this.

There is no reason for me despising myself to such an extent; it started back in middle school, which is even more ridiculous than you might believe. I was raised in an average, middle-class white family. Lived in the suburbs, even. My sister was a little strange (growing ever stranger through the years),and I suppose I received the same genes that foment rebellion in the mind.

I've learned to live with this 'disparity', this fraction of the self against the self... and it's not so bad, really. Insults seem to bounce off me, as they are just reaffirming what I already know. Praise never goes to my head, as the greater part of me always puts it down as false.

More on the self-depreciation: Everything that goes wrong in a relationship is my fault. I let a good thing go to waste. There is always more I could have done to keep it going. If the girl cheated on me, it was because I did not do enough to keep her true. If the girl left me for another, I was not a great enough person to keep her around.

The only real sin I can put to my name is the time I cheated on my then girlfriend; I'll never forget it. She forgave me, as did her friends, and most everyone hurt or involved in the incident... except for me.

I grow weary of this; perhaps I'll renumerate my faults another time.

Aman, Vera, Sea

It appears I may be joining the millitary... ah well. The only thing I'll miss about civilian life is my long hair, and I can always grow that out once I'm out.

The Peace Corps and Americorps have not accepted me, and I really would rather not work fast food. Publishing always seems like a good idea, but... who would publish a book of mediocre poetry?

So, for now I work out and try to get my body shapely enough too tempt the recruiters. Farewell.

Blarg

I find myself yearning for the comforts I once knew so well; a tender touch, a gentle kiss, warm arms to be held in, and a soft body to hold.

It is coming up on six months since I have embraced a woman, and I find myself growing sentimental again. Valentine's Day certainly did not help this at all; an ex more or less taunting me for the evening while I sat alone in the dark, ruminating. I am not nearly a dark enough person these days to be doing this.

Finding women is harder than I remember. I suppose in High school there was a large pool to draw from at any time; I was surrounded by women, in a literal sense, and was around there for some eight hours at a time.

Now I have little interaction with new people; no parties, no clubs, no bars. Just old friends with whom I've already had romance, or with whom romance has never been an option.

I am growing stagnant, I suppose. And if I am to join the millitary, it is probably for the best that I do not draw at a woman's heart before being sent off to a foreign land.



An that's enough self pity for now. =D

Babbling

Little

Of elegy and infamy,
And faith in fire forged;
Of tireless night, endless day,
And twilight reaching towards the gods.

These words are my call and creed,
My soul and message, my love and
Shackles.

This song is my spirit, torn from flesh,
The ink of distilled life and essence.

These words are meaningless.

As so many things of me and in me,
As so many things I've become.

This song is silence given breath,
Madness trimmed and oft redacted,
Chaos stripped of elegance.

Of dull discourse and fading life,
Of entire eons lost, and precious moments gained;
Of fire's darkest passion, and light's cruelest mask...
Of time, and its loving presence.



A Rose Which Never Blooms

In the reason of time I wandered, once,
Caught in the beauty of all creatures,
Their birth and death, their passage
Through existance

Yet, as all things age, my form grew still;
I found myself lingering in moments,
And it became difficult to advance...
A second to an hour, a day, a week.

And now I find myself otherwise;
A servant in a kingdom so far removed...
A space between time, trapped in a world
That refuses to change

The beauty of a day that never ends,
Each creature caught in their own life
Statues of flesh, never to age...
Oaken pillars to never fade

I admire these things, their nature,
Outside of the reason of time
Seeing a rose that never blooms,
As eternity fades again...

Sunder

I have a bad habit of Mystique, of Vagueness, of Huimility, of Archaic Expressions.

I cannot express myself clearly; too long have I spent inside my own head, explain things to myself with ever increasing madness colouring my words. Flowery language blooms in my muddled thoughts, 'high language' replacing the common tongue... and the common tongue is common for a reason; people understand it, it's clear, it's base and widely spread.

Poetic language and form inundate my thoughts; it is why my writings twist so, and why I cannot speak clearly; my thoughts do not translate to spoken language, my madness bars my tongue from wagging with silver syllables...

So I mumble, and stumble, and hesitate to speak; so I am brash among friends, and silent among strangers, letting my deep bass rumble forth on rare occasions, holding my tongue for fear of shame and the rapid, rapid speech my tripping syllables take.

And that is that, I suppose. Now you know more about me =)