Cemetary Gates

What is it that you have seen in the world that I haven't? Is it all the time in the world that I seem to have that is blinding me from my true potential? Am I too jaded by my (relative) free-will and liberty that I've deluded any true aspect of self-realization? I must be too enraptured with living in my material present.

Is it your imprisonment? The shackles by which you are chained to this suburban wasteland surely must be the causation of your, for the lack of a better term, ingenuity. You inadvertently evoke a plethora of emotions within people, the sheer amount of which you have no idea. Similarly, you fail to realize how high a pedestal we all place you upon. Sometimes it appears in conversation, but in purely referential form, as anything past an allusion to such is nonchalantly shrugged off and simultaneously smugly acknowledged. You are a god among men, and you don't even realize it—Enamored by many, but known on a personal level only to a select few. And yet, even to those few, you are still one enigmatic son of a bitch.

Share the wealth god dammit.

Higher Ground

Maybe I should stop being a self-important asshole. Perhaps I should stop trying to care so much, trying to insert myself into your well being. I don't know whats going on, and likely never will. To that end, I should stop trying to find out. I should back off. We're consistently on different terms, whether I think you perceive it or not. I'm pretty sure I do. You, as usual, are being elusive and practicing dogmatic exclusion, which of course you're completely entitled to. But please, I don't want to be lied to. I'm only trying to be friendly. I care about you, you know.

Or maybe, maybe I'm too analytical. As usual. Too meticulous in my thinking, not pragmatic enough to think clearly. Letting preconceived notions of "emotional attachment" cloud decision making. There's nothing wrong, the only wrong I perceive is exactly that: fabricated by an overactive, over-methodical approach to trying to befriend you. You said things wouldn't be any different, but I can't help but feel that everything is. The worst part is, I can't confront. I'm too afraid, I'm too big of a pussy to talk about it. Right off the bat, I interpreted that you wouldn't want to talk about it anymore, to simply sweep it under the doormat, and pretend as if this ugly little piece of shit never existed. And for awhile, I obliged. But that isn't flying anymore.

I'm much too anxious for that.

Pushin'

Please, allow me to try out one of these ultra-cryptic, Alex styled posts for a second here and allow me to ask the following:

Have you ever been so captivated? Have you ever been so...beguiled with some alien sensation, the intensity of which is so potent that you shiver—yes, SHIVER—with sheer bliss and euphoria at the mere thought of it? Indeed, a revelation I have uncovered encapsulates these very qualities, except at tenfold the magnitude of any example I've ever encountered before. The mental visualization of it brings me so much joy! Then I waltz on over to the object of my discourse, and there it is, right in front of my face, something which I never thought I'd ever see in my lifetime; I'm washed over with such elation and rapture that everything seems to disappear.

Alas, then I unzoom my telescopic mindset for a second, and proceed to take it all in. The sheer enormity of my actions is beyond my comprehension right now and I cannot foreshadow my future actions. But dammit, is this amazing.

And it ALL makes sense. ;]

Head Over Heels

That little bastard on the cup is actually a quite accurate illustration of my emotional constitution and psyche, if there ever was one. His blank, demented gaze, his crooked hesitant smile. It's seriously as if my life consists of the day to day scramble to set aside the blank and morose feelings and switch gears into the crude and oft-hilarious escapades of me and my friends. Eh, this, more or less, has been running on fumes in terms of effectiveness. Today was a pretty good example. I'd really love to divulge, but my time-tested philosophy (and unintended slogan) of "Loose lips sink ships" is holding me back. Honestly, I wonder if I'll ever man up and decide to talk about my thoughts freely. If you think this is me talking freely, you honestly have no idea...

I'll go into detail about one thing, however. I've been becoming so god-damn self-conscious and insecure lately. And yet, that is in no way disturbing to me, especially given the circumstances that fuel this perception.

I like to think of my self as physically inadequate. A qualitative step below of what is socially acceptable in all things superficial, to be more accurate. I'm so woefully out of shape, its driven my self-esteem rock bottom. I get really depressed and irritated whenever I look into the mirror, or so much as take off my shirt. Meals are becoming a battle of morality; Should I give in to my morbid appetite, or really consider what I'm eating and the effect that it'll have on my body in due time? Its quite the dilemma, really. More so than anyone's ever made it seem, as I never thought I'd experience it. But dammit, I am.

And you know, my inherent apathy and laziness doesn't help out either. I never get to go to the gym, I swear to god. I keep telling myself: "Exercise is vital to healthy and effective weight loss" but I can't seem to find the motivation to make time in my self-proclaimed "busy" schedule. I feel like shit, but at the same time I don't do anything about it. Its like a circle of self-destruction that is caused by my own insecurity and unwilling demeanor. I just want to be skinny. I want to be that guy with the nice body, whom everyone would compare themselves to. But dammit, I can't find the motivation to become that, and its killing me on the inside.

Enough of the self-piteous slop of incoherent writing, and time for the daily narrative!



After a slow start in the morning, things began to pick up after Mr. License decided to drop by the manor and pick me up. Of course, it wasn't his car, it was his moms. Thusly, it smelt like Vanilla. Insanely overbearing and nauseating vanilla at that. It would've smelt like 10 times better were it not for its potency! Moving on...

See Snoopy?!

This is what you're greeted by upon walking into Josh's room. Well, if you turn around immediately afterward, atleast.

Josh's room is a fucking disaster area.
A little while later: We're back at my house, sans Frank, but Daniel and Justin enter the fray. Dan's "stern" discussion face
My Xbox's coffin arrived on my doorstep today. I loaded 'er in and gave 'er her last rites. It'll be a long and lonely rest of break, but I've got my camera to keep me company.
After some light graffiti experimentation, we decided to walk to Paolo's house to catch a glimpse of Josh's haircut. Hoh man, you guys are in for it...
Josh's dumbass looking like a donkey...

But although he may be looking pretty whimsical in that photo, by the end of the ordeal, he wasn't. Long-story short: Josh was getting a design cut into his hair. And so, while Paolo wasn't paying attention while cutting it, Josh moved his head, fucking it up. I'd post the picture, but he'd get SUPER butthurt if I did. So there, Josh. It's not up!

Trying to get over his fuck up using Ice Cream cake...
Eating at Josh's...the hood was strategically placed
I don't know. I just happened to like this shot. O_O

I think with this post I'm finally able to embody my Blog name. Totally unintended, but I'll let you think about that for a second. And I'm off, to think of better days and contemplate my importance in this grand scheme of things, intelligently planned or otherwise...