uh-oh, you have drawn the apathy card.

of no surprise, it looks like a tree that grows in the shape of an upside down heart.

why are these people smiling?

http://www.wyomingoutdoorsradio.com/2004_hunt_gallery.htm


i like the one with the kid squating in a puddle of blood, holding the animal's head up, grinning.

that felt like a dream / smart bomb

you're pretending to be a boy or a girl talking to other boys or girls about the origins of privates, mostly giggling, and everyone is paying attention to you like you're clever or insightful or funny. and that is my life going rotten.

i've miraculously given up writing as means of therapy, that is - freewriting. i'm going to exist and simply exist, tired of escape and its many lesser forms.

if i see poetry, i see poetry.

i am incapable of making something truly great and unique without self destructing.

i am guilty. you are guilty. this world is a terrible place. it could be better. so far, it's not getting any better with you in it.

slip

yay, you love someone. that's hope. and if it goes unrequited, that is fate, let you return to stone. hope is love, no less. lost is petrified desire, set in the stone, you turn to posession. often do we consume our love, often will our consumption come back to haunt us.

we dream perfect dreams and talk to people older than us that at one time had perfect dreams too, only now lost. i've never read a poem that made me cry, yet i've cried for poetry. duality,

surround yourself with beautiful people and you too will be beautiful !!

someday.

let's round up all the beautiful people and make them take surveys: 50 questions and two essays, why you think you're beautiful and why you think others think you are beautfiul.

i'm recruiting people to help conduct this survey. clipboards will be needed, as well as a grass-roots sensibility. we're not asking people to vote, we're asking beautiful people to talk about themselves. let our jaws drop at their magnificence.

failure. placement. failure.

i spent a couple hours cleaning out my desk and rearranging everything into its right place. each drawer was the same: littered with scraps of paper, bank notes, ideas, and office supplies. every piece of paper was sorted. some were discarded. i'm really impressed with my work: i can look in every drawer, see exactly what the contents are, and grab what i want without disturbing anything else. some arrangements were obvious: a pad of paper next to a tape measure, extra thumbtacks and staples toward the back, as they wouldn't be needed as frequently as pens or pencils.

i should say i emptied all the drawers first and arranged every item in terms of its use-value, further categorized by which drawer i thought it belonged in best. if i had accumulated less things, i wouldn't need so many compartments: i realized why some people buy filing cabinets and endless folders to organize all their important things they work on and invest in. the broader your interests, the more folders you will need, etc.

so a few of the drawers look so beautiful that i want to take a picture and laugh about how perfect they are. cleaning and rearranging seems oddly fulfilling. . .

tomorrow i'm going to shower and shave my face consistently for the rest of my life and everyday after that will be essentially the same.

motivation.

i'm too exhausted to do anything at all. i equate this with boredom, and no hope.

the quickest ticket out of depression is hope.

hope is silly. hunger and satiation: silly.

making babies is tremendously selfish.

perpetuation of life is what our bodies hope for.
meeting the stomach's needs for the next four hour increment of digestion,
new problems will arise: low blood-sugar;
more food will need to be consumed.

making babies, having sex, potentially firing off seed in moments of passion will cloud judgement. mistakes will be made. many life mistakes will be made. presumably, with conciousness, a species suddenly has the power to deny procreation and simply exist on the outskirts of nature. this lifestyle will last. . . .

populations decline if babies aren't made. industrialized societies are dying: less baby making, more hunting for gainful (spiritual, financial)_opportunities become the drive. hooray.


starting and stopping.
1 intelligence.
2 reduced birth rate.
3 the old, smart people die.
4 increased birth rate.
5 intelligence.
6 2 onward.

what i mean is:

we are all scared animals running around on different scales of time, controlled by fears and desires.

what i means is:
a newborn will reach out with one hand and stick with it their whole life.

paper noose

making a resume is really depressing. i'm looking at sample resumes and wondering what mine should say.

OBJECTIVE: Reserve the right to never choose a career, leading a life of indifference that require extensive substance abuse and minimal effort.

EDUCATION: Little, if at all....uw-milwaukee...suppoesd to grad. may 200x

WORK EXPERIENCE:

+mundane tasks that depress (1982-present) job duties: establish a level of monotony and maintain it, falling in-line and becoming an ineffective decision maker outside the confines of my job.

+shoveling manure.

+building a sustainable ego. (1982-present).

REFERENCES available upon request.

you could call it a concussion.

her sleep be not his sleep nor solace. levels of comfort, circles of comfort, warmness of bodies on bodies.

"i love the way you make me feel." utterly selfish. we hope for love as we hope for security and comfort. most thoughts of hope point toward an eventual stagnance - perfection in ecstasy or paradise would eventually grow tiresome, so why aim so high? or for anything at all?

the apathy and indifference will choke hopeful notions. this much is fact.

more facts: after reasoning comes apathy and indifference. after reasoning: no hope. stagnant life. "if you think like that, you are already dead" might be a response. and where are you going exactly that you should hope so? after reasoning, hopelessness and depletion. blessed be the sentience. "a nation of lemmings" (Gammon, Chris, 1).

...

so i'm feeling the crunch all of a sudden. a few months of school left, then i'm suddenly supposed to carve out some magical existence and not look back. i'm too much of a pussy to choose one over the other. i mean, i've got some ideas, but they are doomed for failure / too dependent on other people / too dependent on myself to be some glorious ring leader dragging everyone along/down with me.

if all these fucking 20-somethings (whelps) would wake up and say 'i don't want to support a war machine with these hopeless ambitions i've adopted from other people' then i wouldn't need to make a choice or be stressing about post-collegiate career moves. i loathe careers, partially do i loathe myself for not wanting to subscribe to the dead-end method of american dream realization (SEE ALSO: hopelessness).

fuck my angst. and fuck me for being such a failure child. i wonder why i have guilt? (EXPECTATIONS)

Ideals and moral absolutes are representative of one sentient being only. were i half as educated, i'd be starving and scheming for pussy. instead i'm fat and scheming for pussy.

and i've known love and i've known myself better and now i don't love, just scheme delirium and be awful and introverted.

two types of people: success and depressed.

whee.


Cited sources.
gammon, chris. misogany, ego, and self. an answer. 200x, destructocrats. milwaukee. (not msl, fuck format)

nothing. hello

lately i've been coming to terms with any and all apocalyptic dreams i've had and decided maybe they're just dreams and maybe the whole world does need to stop for a second so we can look at what we're holding in our hands and think of where we're going for just a second. perfect dreams are good ideas as are delusions and deviance, though i no longer find much comfort in thinking i may someday walk among the ruins of a dead civilization with my overcoat and gasmask. like i'd be able to last long: i've seen myself freezing to death in the woods. not especially pretty. i should probably become more macho. Macho overcoat and Macho gasmask and Macho apocalypse boy with Macho hopelessness.

rabid

the west believes death. angst filled teenage boys reading apocalypse comics, being abducted from your home and dragged through puddles by death.

hope for an end; an obsession with death. fingers crossed for resolution, considering whether to chew off the limb to escape metal teeth or die starving. choosing a prolonged death or fooling yourself into preferring non-voluntary, slow death. a love affair with death as the end. hope

of 500,000 people surveyed, 99% believed they will die.
but we will all die. i'm drooling

a slack-jawed deaf man forgets the sound of his own voice after many years, communicating instead with hand gestures and complex shriek patterns. he finds a place in society cleaning toilets and emptying trash cans at the library. the sound of his voice trying to say something makes people look up from their books and think. they might feel glad for a moment and continue about their own mundane tasks.