I sat with my legs crossed.
Everyone gets their fair share of pain. At birth it’s disguised; will it be well distributed—throughout the months and years, little bits released like selective pollution to a cloudy, gray sky, or all at once like a stab wound upon flawless, young skin?
It is almost like waiting in a waiting room at a doctor’s office—Maybe you’ll be waiting 5 minutes, or 10… Maybe an hour, maybe more. Whatever the time spent waiting, what really counts is what the doctor has to say: the diagnosis is in no way affected by the time spent waiting in a poorly lit room with year old magazines in their magazine racks, growing dust like a tired gray mold.
Pain serves as the distraction. Pain is the ultimate test to see how well one can handle things. Am I incredibly weak, or incredibly unfortunate? Is my weakness brought on by misfortune? Or is it vice versa? Or maybe it isn’t either one. Maybe it just is.
Angry music. Angst. Yet another distraction. Sitting here, I unwrap the gift that is a box of wandering thoughts. Just for the sake of not dwelling on something, I bask… Next song. The content does not concern me. I enjoy the pure, driven anger and hatred, but why is it that I mock those who do the same? Hypocrisy, oh hypocrisy… It is those who can listen to happy music and remain enraged who are the truly angst ridden ones. No aid needed here, I still want to punch you in the face as hard as I can while listening to melodic pop-punk songs. I am so much better than you are, but I hate myself anyway. Never as much as you. Never… But who is it that I am talking to anyway? Everything I hate, I envision to be one person. Could that person be you? Let’s assume so… Superiority and elitism. More distractions.
Beautiful.
Observing anger is just as useful as a blind man sitting in a silent movie theater. If the blind man gets up for popcorn, he won’t really understand what it is that he is missing. Given he has a seeing-eye dog, or a cane, or some other means of locating a concession stand without falling or getting gum or solidified remnants of a spilled soft drink stuck to his shoes.
Anger is not a suitable way to summarize the emotional spectrum. Romantic comedies are better representatives, but anyone with a functioning brain resents romantic comedies. Well, not everyone, obviously. Just those I chose not to dislike. Watching the things I pretend I do not miss for ninety two minutes does not compel me; rather it leaves me feeling empty, bored, and possibly energized from the nap I decided to take after the second far-fetched situation that resulted in a romantic kiss, while corny easy-listening music played in the background. Maybe a film based on someone driven to insanity by the “romantic comedy” types would better suit me.
Maybe.
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This is no longer going to be locked. If anyone I dislike wants to read this enough, I suppose they can. It's actually a bit flattering... =) But if you're going to read this, leave me a fucking note, creep. I mean it. If I have not been informed that you are reading this, I will notice an unknown i.p. address viewing my site eventually, and you will be banned promptly.
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- - Sunday, Feb. 27, 2005
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- - Tuesday, Feb. 15, 2005
- - Thursday, Jan. 27, 2005
- - Sunday, Jan. 23, 2005
I feel...