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LATEST BLOG ENTRY
WARNING: CONTAINS HARSH LANGUAGE
Saturday, February 26, 2005 4:10:07 PM
Have you ever seen something, or read something or heard something that made you think “WOW”? No other reaction, because one isn’t really necessary. The first thing you think to yourself is just a simple word. Later, reflecting on it you try to figure out what about it made you feel like Wow, and even as you rationalize it some little voice in the back of your head says “SHUT THE FUCK UP! You felt the ‘wow’. Isn’t that fucking enough?”
If you’ve ever felt that way, then you know how my life is, after you times it by infinite. Now, some idiot mathematician will say some stupid ass shit like, “It’s impossible to times anything by infinite.” Well, not for me, because it’s still fucking happening. I am lost in this world. My first hint of it came when I said “WOW” to a great movie called “Pump Up the Volume.” For those of you that haven’t seen it, I strongly suggesting going out and renting, or even illegally downloading, it.
In this movie, Christian Slater’s character makes a comment that there is nothing new. “All the really great themes have been used up and turned into theme parks.” Now, the key moment for me, was when, after watching the movie, I decided I’d go onto the internet and spread the same message as Happy Harry Hard-on via blogs. The only problem is that I realized that I’m fucking committing the same sin that he abhors so much. Using up the great themes. And I probably still am.
Then I saw another movie, heard a song, read a book, and each gave me the ‘wow’. The reason I kept getting the same feeling wasn’t that they were all that great. But by comparison to my life, they may as well been the Second Coming, which to me sounds like a contradiction, since Jesus was born without a first coming (I’ll give you a few minutes to think on that one).
What sucks so much about my life? Well, thanks for asking. Let’s see. My father died when I was in first grade. Boo-fucking-hoo. Of course, my father’s death came in between my grandfather’s death (Kindergarten) and my grandmother’s (First Grade). So I had a very death filled childhood, and the only memories I have of my father are ones that are best forgotten. For the 18 years of my existence, I haven’t kept a steady job for more than three months. Whenever I look at a girl and get a hard-on I over compensate and think it’s love. I find I don’t deal with anger; I just let it boil over till I want to kill something. But I think the main thing that’s wrong with my life, is me. Don’t blame my mother. Don’t blame TV. Don’t blame my poor dead father. Don’t blame my asshole of an ex-stepdad. Don’t blame the schools. The fault lies with me.
You see, like most people, I don’t have a perfect life. And it’s this imperfection that makes it absolutely, above the shadow of any jackass’s fucking doubt perfect. My mother loves me. My sisters, though they don’t always admit it. I have at least one or two friends in real life, and countless on the net. Yet, I can’t get my fucking act together.
I live in a fantasy world. When I was younger, it was actual fantasy. You know, movies, TV shows. I’d write myself in. A ‘Mary Sue’ I believe the RP term is, despite the fact that I’m a male. But now a-days, it’s more real. I imagine meeting actually people. Joss Whedon. Kevin Smith. The undeniably beautiful Keira Knigtley. And even myself on days I’m feeling ambitious.
I have a great life, and I’m creating a fantasy world. How fucked up is that? And I still hear and see things and think wow, and don’t know enough to realize maybe that’s all it is. Maybe it’s just wow. I don’t really know why we sometimes feel we need more.
Well, that’s my opening rant. Like I said before, the key moment was from watching “Pump Up the Volume” so if anyone wants to drop me a line, go right ahead.. As in the movie, reply is guaranteed. Also, if you leave your IM info, I’d be happy to have a conversation with you, on a one time basis, as long as you understand that it will be in the next entry.
Am I crazy to be doing this? Maybe. But what’s the point of life if you can’t go a bit crazy? Or a lot?
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