12:26pm 21/02/2005
  Theres far to much in my head to comprehend. I cant conceptilize a feeling. It just tears at me. Rips at me. And that is not even enough to describe it, it goes beyond words, where words fail. They always fail me, these words. I just want to be made whole again, be what i was, recreated, refined, retuned. But all i do is rust and wither and break. No one understands, I am the ghost that haunts. Now, float away.  
winter clouds destoyed summer rays   
12:43pm 16/02/2005
  i forget what happiness felt like.  
Existenialism and hardcore, blended to provide a skin to the detached-not-so-human man   
11:08pm 15/02/2005
music: Northstar "Rigged and Ready"
There is an over whelming sortie of commericals and magizine ads to help cure depression and Hpyer active disorders. We live in a world where so many medicated to help them deal with their problems. Work can cause stress, school cause added pressure. Man has become that lifeless, formless picture that piacasso has painted so many times. We have become abstract in a world of concrete systems. We're running on empty with no relief in sight.

I prescribe a dose of existentialism flowed by a chaser of hardcore to wash it all down. We need to know that our emotions, our detachments and lonilness are just a product of the so called real world. A world that is so systematic that our lives can only fit into it if we deny ourselves the basic nessecities to continue feeling rational. We drop everything to follow a path that so many have tread upon. We are born, we play as kids do, feeling free in the afternoon sun of a saturday morning, suddenly we are pressured by the responisblites of the real world creeping in with school and then college with chosing a career path. Then its the cows led to the sluaghter in factories and coparations. Till then we die, having played the system right or wrong. To what ends does this led us to? These results are starting to manifest in the ads we see to control depression. We as a species are become more aware of our finitude. We seek becoming instead of just plain old being. But this system only desires us to be, if we can acheive becoming and rid oursleves of this cycle we become a more modern superman as Neitzshe first wrote. The system then loses us to a new more real world.

The world of hardcore, the whole scence is based upon being beating down, but rising above. Its a medicine in a world controlled by the systematic elite. The screams and growls imitate our interal desire to free ourselves and represent our interal conflict. The lines provide inspiration in a world of hate, voilence, alienation.Sure some of the lurics are voilent, but isnt that what you need to fight a violence to doesnt react to nonvoilence?

i dream of a day when i can be free of all constraints, embrace becoming, and let that enternal spirit inside me free to live and scream such primal scream of joys. I want to embrace life without having to push it aside to conform to a system. Sure, some people need this system, they need to to be controlled and told what to do, but tere is no second option in my opinon.. We are limited limitless humans and we are being to reap what we have sowed for many generations.
Fleeting, Floating, Forgotten Son of a Feeling That Was Defied by the Wolrd   
05:53pm 08/02/2005
  I can get rid of this ghost floating feeling. It resurfaces at some of the most dire moments. I walk through campus as a forgot ideal that there is so much more to life. I feel emotionless in their eyes, as if i spat in their face and was rejected an entry form into life. But its much better this way. A ghost amoung "the dead", "the stiff".  
09:15pm 15/12/2004
  i'm almost dead  
12:55pm 10/12/2004
mood: cynical
I just dont have passion for this world anymore. There isnt anythign here that gets me excited to be alive or cause me to swell with life. This word just doesnt make anymore sense. Maybe its because i am older and I've removed the cotton from my eyes. Everythign is just so depressing. I must force myself to learn at some insitution only so that i may become a sheep to the slaughter later in life....and know how to be slaughtered well (you dont want anyone screwing that up). 9-5, five times a week, deadlines, bosses, finances, debt, the public, stress, failures, job security, how can this be life? How can we consider the real world as life? The real world should be something more beuatiful and enjoyable, fuck, we only have one life to live and enjoy it. But no, we humans, bent of on progress and advancement have decieded to whore our lives. i cant stand thinking that in 2 years my life as i know it will be nothing i had intended or would ever want. This is all too depressing to think. Why do we stress so much on being a productive member of society by getting a job and working the system? I dont think we should value the life someone lead on productivity. "But what about the other people around yyou? dont you desevre to do something for them for all they have done for you?" Fuck them, i went that path, i became the nicest, gentlest, most charitable caring person to the most complete strangers i would meet in life. I tried to be happy around them, i tried to show kindness and not judge. I tried to believe that there is good in all man, somewhere, no matter how deeply buried it is. But fuck them. They whored my hearted for themselves and darkened the warmest heart the world would have ever know. Only those close to me deserve my best, for without them i would be a desert amoung man. O, how i have earned to leave this life and enter into something that i am ment form somethign where i know this life can be enjoyed and not wasted on a feebl soceity trying to suck me dry.
12:14am 09/12/2004
music: hopesfall, various songs
Reply to my own post after i reflected on something i said towards the end:

....We needed to be instilled with the desire to push past our walls as a group but not just as individual overmans. Nietzsche never pularizes this word, i have rarely come across it well reading him. As a group we will evolve just as we evolved past the limites of the apes.

But who wants to do anything as a group? Who wants to work at inspiring the unispirable or dragging along the weight of the lifeless? What happens when individuals emerge with their absolutism and attempt to be the hero to strive the group forward, exercising what they believe to be their divine right.

American ideals, best put by Kerouac as, american worse cool existenalism and of junkies man" Here Kerouac was trying to explain how during his time, and also ours, that people were concerned with looking out for theselves and themselves only. Whats happens to, what happens with, what reacts to, and re-reacts to me is all that matters. Humans are selfish. They are an evil being, a virus amoung the earth. Can men do any good? No, but man can.
Within ourself there is the ablity to break away, just as a leaf leaves( no pun intended of course) a tree. The leaf knows that the air is growing cold and the tree it once clung to so dearly and coexisted with will soon let it go, force it down to the ground to some other realm unknown by the leaf, but only to the tree. But what about those leaves that do not fall when they dying. The dying leaf explodes in color, craving attention, for someone or something to notice it. It knows finally that its existence is limited and tries to make up for a life spent so green and greedy, feeding off the sun. Its tries to do something meaningful with its finite existence. But we must be like the leaf that leaves the tree early. It recongizes the "plainness" of itself and does not desire to make some last ditch effort to bring meaning to its existence. It embraces the unknown beneath itself and surcombs the absurd. If we could only do that with life. O, how I have desired so hard to leave life. Resign from this finitude and embrace something that is unknown to all.

I do not speak of death or sucide either. I do not veiw life as void of meaning. I veiw life as plain. The leaf that falls first, before its prime is simply escaping conformity. It isnt a rebel, but merely living on its own accord. The falls to its unknown and in its death it is of course reborn a million times over. To steal some ideas from Emerson (my memory is poor and i think this idea is atributed to him, or maybe its Thoreau?), it decays from its previous existence and is feed on upon the soil. It becomes the grass, then eat by a cow, which is milk and feed to a new born. It Enters Into A New Meaning In Its Life. How abusd it is to resign from finitude to only find that you are reborn into a higher existence, a higher meaning. It fears not the end, for it finds completeness by being able to trandsend itself. I seek to fall from this life, enter a new meaning, find a higher existence and explore this abursd thing called life.
Thoughts on Nietzsche   
01:59pm 17/11/2004
mood: thirsty
music: Braid "New Nathan Detroits"
Have you ever stared into the face of this world and felt so limited? Every arm you had that could reach out and grasp ahold of that golden ring was tied behind you back? That theres something in you soul crying out for more and you know you will never be able to satisfy it? There is no possibility inside ourselves that we can acheive even half of the stuff that burns within our soul. I just want to reach out, dirft away, tear these shackles of humanity off me and fly ever so high so the world can forgot and i can live in a constant consummation with life.
I look at Nietzsche and his overman, his will to power, and his strong athesim as someone who sees the overbarrening finite in man. Here is a man who suffered the lost of his father, the lost of his vison, and suffered from a slowly receding mental state. If any man knew of his finitude it was Nietzsche and no matter how hard he toiled, no matter how many books he wrote or visions he manifested, his physical human self was limited. He tells us to living and suffering go hand in hand, i think he should have said our limits and suffering go hand in hand.
But Nietzsche had a solution. With our limits we could only aspire to be gods to be released from this horrible fate of humanity. Jealous, vision, insanity, whatever it was, it caused Nietzsche to tear god down from the heavens and leave him as a decomposing word writen on weak paper. With God dead, We ourselves could take his place, and hence the overman was born. Nietzsche wants us to think that because god could no longer service our spiritual side and we no longer needed spiritual help that he had become obsolute. Our human nature changed while god stayed the same. But i like to think otherwise. It is our human nature that needs to be changed. We needed to be instilled with the desire to push past our walls as a group but not just as individual overmans. Nietzsche never pularizes this word, i have rarely come across it well reading him. As a group we will evolve just as we evolved past the limites of the apes.
Poem on surfing, or is it a friend? whatever you'd like it to mean...   
09:18pm 14/11/2004
  "Dawn Patrol"
Shore Break Points
And shifting dunes
Stationary in my mind
Dawn patrol with the sunrise
over the ocean swells
share this water and waves
in time of my mind
my heart

I paint this blue sky
pierced with red sun haze
shaded with sand tan
accented ocean green
for you who keeps this mind inshifted dunes
Heart warmer morning sun
and love hallow waves

Meet me by the sea
In and endless line
you're wave carved rails
undaunted by whitewater rush
reaching jetty to northend
in an endless line
the one I call
on hard sleepless nites
and light sleepful days
Nietzsche was an antheist...   
03:32pm 14/11/2004
  Yet it seems that Nietzsche is very impressed with the idea of Christ. His Zarathurtra is almost a Christ-like figure. The idea of someone as powerful as a God becoming human seems to ignite a spark in Nietzsche‚Äôs heart to be like this idea. He seeks the awesome power and ablities like creating new morals and ideas like Christ did when he taught forgiveness and absolute love. Possible, Nietzsche might view the story of Christ as a failure and thought that his Overman and the idea of power would be an improvement and a better path for human nature to follow. Or even, Nietzsche was jealous himself and wanted to aspire to rank of God, something that man is incompatible of doing.  
08:41pm 04/11/2004
mood: crazy
music: Caliban "The seventh Soul"
SOmething feels so out of place inside. I remember being happy, but what ever happened to it? I feel like someone has thrown a wrench in my gears and as i went to pull it out stabs me in the back and grabs a cockroach and shoves it in my ear cause theres a little land of fairies and gypies trapped in there by an evil overload, but he's really not the evil though, he's just lonely...see he goes to therapy twice a week but he still has a lot of social problems and the doctors really dont want to help him cause he doesnt behave well in the offices. Oo and those offices have the nicest paintings on the wall of ships and flowers and beaches. I like candy. Its sweet, but the flour can kill me. Anyways faries really arent real, but i like to think they are. Bumbutts are boobobbyafjfda. thats not realy words either. i miss my dog. He was my bestest friend as a kid, No played with me or had as much as he did. and we knew how to relax. we'd just lay there and pet him and he's lick me. Glass really are weird. Darkness is void. I hate cheese. Makes me poop. I think help has people swimming int poop in it. ARRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!! JJJJJJRRRRYYYYYHHHH, KKKKIIIIOOOOOPPPLLLLL!!!!
04:03pm 04/11/2004
  Quitting tabacco is hard...still fighting though.  
02:00pm 01/11/2004
Your Ultimate One Night Stand... by crispnite
LJ Username
Favorite animal
You invite over...
They bring...
You talk about...
You end up...with a hangover the next morning
Quiz created with MemeGen!
01:58pm 01/11/2004
Your love is... by ChibiMarronchan
Your name is...
Your kiss is...breath taking
Your hugs are...gentle
Your eyes...sparkle like the stars
Your touch is...irresistable
Your smell is...exotic
Your smile is...hypnotising
Your love is...one of a kind
Quiz created with MemeGen!
The prophet rambles and the grounds shakes, they stamped him out.   
05:37pm 28/10/2004
  To world he cried:

"And so all my happiest thoughts are your worst nightmares. The visons I hold for the future are simply deprogess when you translate them. Strike me down again. I will stand again. I can bleed the darkest black void, i can scream till it reaches a point of no sound. My demons will desotry me before they undo you. I scarfice myself unto you so that I may know what you never know. In my death I released my chaos. For chaos has created order for me in my mind. The systems that you create are simply chains to impede your progress. I am evolved, but this world fears what it doesn't know so you naish me, forget me, remember that one word i said, then kill me. Different.

"And so I curse you systems! I curse you stuctures! And your way of life is spit upon! Forget me name, forget my face. Forget that there is more out there to obtain! Society is dead and you have killed it with your whoring progress. You cannot move on from what you find so much comfort in because you are to afriad of change, of difference, of new. You are stagnate man and your values that you hold so dear can not change, so instead of guiding the hold you down. Tear down the stuctures. Your soceity is dead.

"And so I am not a catalyst, I am just a roach. Step on me. I impede your progress. Stagnate man will suffer one day when he loses all that he once hold dear. You must look towards chaos. You must look towards new values and morals. Create anew! Human nature must change and evolve. Nietzsche told you of the ubermench, but how you have forgotten all of Dioynious' ways. Then forget i said anything."
11:26pm 26/10/2004
mood: depressed
music: Bright Eyes "A line allows progress, a circle doesnt"
and out there amoung the waves, he was battered and thrown around the sea. His body would graze the weeds and bash against the sandbars. He has commited his soul to the strom. Now he just needs to make it out pass to breakers and to the open sea to finally find what next part of this adevnture will hold for him. He has decided to beginn exploring a world that no one will ever understand. No matter how much he can preach about what he will see, how could they ever understand him? All they see is the beuaty or the blackness. There is no bridge between the two. They see no either/or. They will ridicule him and he will nail himself upon the cross when they casted him down not as a marytr for what he believed in, but as bum, as an unproductive member of society. An outcasted, an outsider.

He will try to sing away his demented demons of all he has learned, but words will no longer be form transitional wisdom. They will fail him. There is no language he can use to conceptilze his feelings. All that they can see is him lifting his eyes to the sky and watch the skys bleed into black as he commands the sun down. They will only smell the roitting stench of his dreams, trapped safe inside his head, dying as they hit the air, trying to manifest into something real. They can only hear him, sobbing in the back alley as his stratches his skin with some tool to punish himself for ever dreaming. His scars are his regrets turned into physical.

He'll regret that day he ever stood on the shore, paraylzed with awe at the scene that was created before him. He cruse his curisoty to find a different, a better world. He'll realize that it does not exist and he does not have the ablity to change the things handed to him. When he shoved the hand away, he was casted out into a world to be the forgotten son of the a wealthy business man. He is the bum that gave away everything that the family could offer him for a future. He stood alone against the rising tide. Wondering what was out there. He allowed it shallow him, to take him away. His knowledge is posion and life's finitude is burned into his head.

He has past the breakers and drifted farther out to sea where the swell rolls him up and down. He is ignorant of what awaits him when finishes this knowledgable journey. He can not grasp what fate he has handed himself. No matter how positive he is that the knowledge he learns here will server him well later, it will destroy him. He shall not be the gadfly to agittate the masses to think and question, but more of a cockroach. The lowest form. He will only scare and and be smashed.

The strom's currents pull through the sea to a destination unknown. The currents, once strong, now are subdued. Our strangers lungs for the first time can grab a breathe of air and the salt in the sea burns his lungs and throat. He glances up towars to sky. THe clouds are blacker than any void. They still stand tall above him, ready to unleash another volley whenever they feel fit. Yet in breaks of the clouds he can see the bright sun pierce down to earth with its cecsital blades. There is a peace and power in this scene. A saddness and joy. To war with the earth and breathe life into its beings, there is a balance with everything.

It has been days now that he has drift amoung the seas. He body has grown weak and every focus is on staying afloat. He cannot grasp the will at times to stay the course. He is ready to give himself to death and forget this world. To sleep forever amoung the immortals. For in death there is no worry, no struggle, no failings, no needs. He is dead and his body will serve as a outpost to others to forget the world tht believe is different. Yet, he has come to far to give up hope now. No matter how afraid of failure he is, he cannot give up, he cannot will to another failure. Something must be different and must change. Upon the horizon, after several hours of fitting his desire to die an island splashes into the curve. With all his will and energy he must will himself here. He must desire the life that this solace of rock can replenish. The current shifts, it pulls against him. Is this a test? Is this what the joureny truely desires for me to reach or is trying to pull me else where, to where i truely belong? What the answer is to any question, he cannot go on any floating. For the sea, if not his fear, will surely be his grave. With every ounce of desire he swims feverantly for the shore, fighting th current. He arms become weak and he is swallowed into the sea.

Awakes, upon the island, how? he does not understand, Why? He will find out. The air is cool with the trade wind breeze. It burns inside the furance of the soul. Get up, go out, and explore some more.
Summer Death and Winter Violence   
08:19pm 21/10/2004
mood: Waiting for the Weekend
music: Remembering Never "Plotting a Revolution in A Minor"
It was a shattered sea shore scene. The winds were whipping the dune grass around and these shifting dunes could not find concrete holdings. The sky was blackened and smoke screen of fog hung from the evils that floated in the finite sky. It was as if the it would crack the sky under its pressure, pulling and pulling down, condesing near his feet. His feet were lodged in sand. THe wind had piled the grains above his shoes. In this disaster he found solace. It was the contrast of the world he knew. Chaos was showing him that there is beauty with every opposite.

It was the anarchy of the beach, the scene where many days were spent surfing under the bright summer sky with hundreds of others worshipping the Ra. Here, here in the fridge power of December the sky was unleashing itself against everything it had once stood for, it was searching for the beuaty that violence could create. It was refusing the standards that had once governed its moment in time. Could this sky, this imperfect creation of God truely be beautiful? It fough every sterotype that man could create to make it more pleasurable, but to what end? To its total desruction?

The waves were now increasing in size, and the tide was washing against our individuals feet, pulling the sand that had once cemented him into the scene and kept him safe. His foot was being lost. Soon he would go out with the tide. He had no fear. He Had embraced the scene, tried to understand that with this complete and total desruction, without the beauty that havoc created, there would be no pleasure to enjoy, there would be no love in the old world that he knew. This negative was as much a positive as the positive is the negative. WIthout one, the other doesnt exist. They were brothers in combat, constant rivary but defining each other. The tide was now grasp around his shins and the waves where pushing him to fall back. With one last breath he breathed in, gave in to chaos, freeing his soul from everything pleasurable, ethical, and true, and giving himself to the other side. What would he learn? What would he understnad? What new things will he now be able to create? But for now its just a journey out to sea and under the waves. Where he comes out on the other side, if he comes up from under the water at all, is amystery to all but him.
Confusions a bitch   
09:38pm 20/10/2004
mood: confused
music: Converge "Last light"
If life is finite, does that cause all our thoughts to be finite? Thought i can dream of anything in my mind to almost infinite possiblities and study mathamatics which are inifinite since not ever solution can be tested and there are innumerable numbers, am i still limited? Are my thoughts finite simply becuase there is only so much that i make physical with things i write, create, and manifest? ANd there is the bitch reason and logic, they can disprove the most creative idea in my head. But what about my creator? Though it is hard to prove the existence of God, my faith tells me that I am created in his image, so can i say that I am bestowed with some type of infinite? I'm so confused about this. I need to read more.
11:31am 19/10/2004
  Its fear of failure, fear of messing something up and never getting back up to continue the path. This canlead you towards a slumber sleep where nothing starts and nothing stops, where nothing exists but the dreams we create and any nightmare can be woken up from.  
Have you questioned your questions of questioning? (please excuse the kierkegaard stlye qoute)   
11:21pm 14/10/2004
mood: quixotic
music: Mineral "Slower"
There are questions that build up the fondation of our own personal thinking. THey shape a type of philosophical personality for us. Those who refuse to think and take what the masse hands them can be look at as tendy Sophists ( thought sometimes I might become very Narcissistic and think of my quirky writings as the greatest thing ever, I can not but help think I am simply the above. Call it a balance, I may just be trying to humble myself at times after such claims.). Without questions to ask, how can we base our thoughts on anything at all? If there isnt some type of critiea to establish a footstep on a path, how can we proceed on the journey? Knowledge is curcial, it has been the building block of human exitence since the first caveman questioned, "how can I teach the little ones to hunt gazelles?" From he's intense thought, or whatever his prehistorical brain was able to handle, he created an endearing tool: ART. If he never questioned himself, never had the knowledge of hunting passed onto him, he would never have reached such a conclusion. This is a conclusion that has beneifted man to the present day. WIth art, we have a physical expression of the abstract objects inside our soul and our mind.

Man was not destined to stand idea in the face of the void. We were endowed with a fantastic gift to be socratic. WIthout questioning we are slude. Simply. We become devoid of passion and lose all that our fleeting existence weilds for us. Too many times have I noticed the content and simple waste away their days believing in false ideals of fashion, pop, and the masse aesthics (though we can see pop as being a mass aesthic, i have singled it out purely for emphasis. It is an area that I have learned to loath. Music is a a grand art of the soul and heart. It is composed by the mind through logical and in some cases illogical. Cookcuter music has degraded the art of music. Any film about Mozart can show you the pain and suffering he went through to simply compose a piece orginality and thought. To have the music play through his mind and written down. To use such complex theories of compostion. The mass aesthic is just the rest, commercialized art in the for mof advertisements, mass produced love novels that provide no thought or insight, just momentary satisfaction, tv drama that allows conflict to be resolved in a simple half an hour with quirky lines. Gone are the days of shows like North Exposure that used their allotted time to drill into the human being and express complex emotions and problems. Relating great works of authors and philosophers and using their ideas to draw sometype of conclusion. now that i have lost the previous train of thought let me try to figure myslef back there). Man needs to learn. Man needs to question his thoughts. Man needs to question what he doesnt know. Man needs to create or recreate. Man needs to exist. Without his mind he does not exist. He simply dwindles around attracting vulutres.

This is not simply a critic on individualism veruses trendiness. It is not a blantant attack on what can be called "popularity" in its negative context. No, its more than that. This is simply just a footnote onto a larger path in my mind. It is an anwser to question I ask myself. What is questioning? What does all this "non"understanding bring me? What does it bring human existence? There is so much that i believe in that needs to be questioned, I am humble about this. I know that most my ideas are incohernt ramblings with no reason or logic. I know that do not posses a great enough knowledge to form ideas, but I know from quetioning that these are simply babysteps to a greater wisdom of things around me and thoughts of purer thruth.