WHO IS THIS MAN?
THE GOD OF WAR?

It is by will alone I set my mind in motion.
It is by the juice of Sapho that thoughts acquire speed, the lips acquire stains, the stains become a warning.
It is by will alone I set my mind in motion.

I'm moving so fast in everything. (Jesus, it's almost already spring break!). My job blows, I rarely have time to enjoy myself, I am constantly weighed down by school work, tests, and this research paper I am doing. I also currently am battling a terrible head cold. This morning I went into my kitchen and spit up phlegm into the sink. There was blood in it. A big chunk, at that. I played around with it with a dirty fork and I could only remark, "Wow, I can't believe that that's what was inside of me." So what else is really inside? I think some growth of mind and decision-making. I am no longer prone to fanciful whims or spontaneity. I really can't enjoy the breeziness anymore because the wind turns to ash in my mouth. I can't deal with my co-workers, but a few keep turning heads and making me laugh.

I think the only solace I really find is in this book. I put my head into it for an hour every night when I am in bed. That's the only time I have to myself--in my bed. My friendships are starting to dissipate and become insipid. I really want to reach out and touch them, but I'm losing ground as time goes by and my hands become preoccupied with the intense labors that I'm mandated to do. I get paid...One benefit. However I consider money to be a necessary evil, and I feel as though we, in our current age group, are a lost generation with no real purpose in life. We are bred cattle--We don't make our own food, we are fed by someone else. Cattle. I tried talking to Lawrence once about the plight of common man, but it seemed to become a really tenuous and oftentimes misconstrued conversation. I don't know what my destiny is.

I don't care what college I go to anymore. I don't know what I want to study, I don't see the point in standardized testing.

Blanks hovering in my head like a spinning football. Why can't I catch it? Any time I have to really think I am so bogged down with keeping track of my schedule--I want to burn my schoolbooks.

These drugs aren't working anymore, then again, they never have. I forget who said it, but "to be really cured of a disease, one must be cured from the disease itself and the medicine as well." I am not a puppet to my medicine. My only wires are my age and my credibility--lacking and little of. People oftentimes misunderstand what I say, due to my own error. I can't speak at times, and my language fails in volleying.

I have laid eyes upon the prettiest girl I have ever seen.. I've seen her only once--We may never again see each other. She's so beautiful, but she's also human. I know she's imperfect because she bites her nails--The painted pink ones. It's good to know that even things seemingly immaculate can also fail.

I feel like I fail sometimes. At what? Not failing enough. I don't learn my lessons as much as I probably should. Is it wrong for a criminal to enjoy his punishment? I almost sent the priest a letter of my gratitude for making me pick up trash. I would have done it again so I could actually speak to someone who can maintain a mature level of conversation about "touchy" subjects.

When I think on the troubles I have with women, I too oft let my mind wander off or gorge upon the evils. The confusing, fickle, rotten way they have. It must be a reflection in mine eyes. "Do not pick the splinter out of my eye before seeing the log in yours." I feel like I'm going to graduate single, not by choice, but by default. I can't read books or women very quickly, the latter if at all. Part of this is substantiated by my schedule. My capacity is not in the realm of caring--yet. Maybe when the settings are different I will become more magnetic towards people. Maybe I will develop enough charisma to attract someone I mutually think highly of.

I hardly feel lonely, just absorbed. Eaten, but so hungry. I never get the opportunity to eat at work. I spend sometimes entire days without eating, and the pain doesn't start to wrench my stomach until 10 o'clock. --I wonder sometimes how the ancient people used to love. How did the Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians feel? Did they even have a purpose?

Gorge on my sweet seed, my starved Persephone.

I just wasted more than 30 minutes writing this Xanga entry. I was putting off studying for my math test and doing my homework, yet I've cared less and less.

I keep telling my father great stories that I make up. I always start them by saying "When I have the spare time..." It's almost as if it never comes. "When I have the spare time I'm going to read all of these books." "When I have the spare time I'm going to start writing and recording my own music." "When I have the spare time I'm going to amend and absolve any nastiness in my friendships." "When I have the spare time I'm going to romance a girl and make her feel like she's the only person in the world." "When I have the spare time I'm going to sleep for more than five hours in one sitting." It never happens. It may never happen at all. I think great strides are started by good intentions, but they are not the driving force. My force is stampeding through my inability to fully understand my existence in the universe. My location, reason, purpose, motive, adoration. I'm afraid that in a matter of months a draft will be imposed, and that in a few years we will be warring with China and the dollar will fail.

I'll shoot every last one of them that chooses to enslave me to their bullshit war.

I've been listening to too much conspiracy theory; my skepticism is getting out of control. My thoughts are getting out of control, but who said that control was a good thing? Do you like being controlled? I wish I could take back things I've said in the past.

I'm starting to doubt my ability to doubt.

I look at pictures and I felt much healthier and more vibrant once. I once felt like I could not be stopped, neither by words or pistol. I think nature and its people have set my mind in motion and left my body where it once was. We're in two different realms. I am not me. I am me a decade older. I feel like I've been smoking for ten years.

I'm Mr. Epic. I'm Mrs. Paradox. I'm a happy couple.

Gorge upon my sweet seed, my starved Persephone.

It is by will alone I set my mind in motion.

I must not fear. Fear is the mindkiller.

What are we really trying to accomplish?

Have I proven anything to anyone? No. Will anyone read this post and look at me differently from now until forever? No. Will you stop to think about what I've said for a minute and put my words into my actions and account for the bullshit I've done?

And all the tangerines, they taste like jellybeans.
This must be boring by now...
Grab a scale and guess the weight of all the pain I've given with my name.
I'm a selfish piece of shit.