Sunday, August 26, 2001

My tendency to go off track with my previous words is now made evident as it has been nearly a month since I've written herein. However, in usage of today's terminology, "it all good". *ahem* Now, to bring you up to date on my life, school has finally started and I reluctantly attend thereof. My classes are not overly turmulous; however, if I had the ability to, I might tweak the schedule (as well as a few of the teachers' brain cells) just a bit. As in, have me be an aide blocks one through four....etc., etc., etc.

It's not so much the monotany that I experience in school as opposed to the fact that it's a worthless institution. Considering I remember, out of the entire course, relatively few names, dates, people, and facts, 'tis not a difficult task to realize exactly why I find it so worthless, especially since the government decides whether you go to college or not based solely upon the facts of little bubbled-in charts and tests.

People, pardon the small-minded word for a second, but I do tend to believe that all of this is a perfect example of fecal matter of steers, or, in plainer English, bullshit.

Moving on with my yet boring life, I've lately been exploring the religious side of life, well, as I always have, but moreso lately. It seems that even though there was a time that I rejected belief in anything slightly religious, I am growing more and more fond of it. That's especially odd, considering that people tend to grow more interested in spirituality near the end of their life, not at the beginning. But hey, I'm not complaining (too much), I'm just trying to unearth whatever mysterious desire I have in me that doesn't seem to want to leave my soul-core as I go to sleep at night. I just feel as though I search for something, something so wonderful, something to make my life worth living. Hmm, I tend to believe I've "discovered" such a something every now and again, but that doesn't really verfiy the hollow in me, and it tends to be something that seems like a goal but is short-lived.

My friend Dustin taught me exactly what needed to be done, but then again, I had taken a glance at the subject in studying Buddhism beforehand. Struggling against life, wanting, craving, doing this, that, and the other, is what causes suffering. Pure and simple. The only way to really enjoy life, and make life over all joyful (hack hack, aside from taking your daily dose of prozac) is to merely exist, and not to stress out about all things that seem to tackle us along the garden path. Except make sure you dodge the venomous snakes, I wouldn't want to end my life THAT quickly, would you?

So everyone, the moral of the story is, whenever things get tough, take a deep breath, make a batch of pancakes, stick a geranium in your hat and be happy. ^___^ Yeah, yeah, you can order out for Chinese if you want, but I'd rather have pancakes at the moment considering that it is still the morning time.

Alrighty, friends, family, others, it's time to enter into the bout with that which made me deeply depressed a week ago today. My friend Ben, who I had cherished and loved to death for over a year, left for basic training in the Marine Corps. This set off a load of mental depression and low emotion, and for four days straight, four days straight, I tell you, I felt akin to a zombie of sorts. I didn't care to live, to speak, to breathe, to do anything, and I actually missed a couple of days from school, leaving me with a tremendous amount of make-up work, but not to fret, I can cope with the school work, if you consider that it honestly doesn't matter in the slightest to me.

Back to the ulterior point, I behaved as a complete ass to Ben the few days before he departed; this was a psychological effort to not let the true feelings I experienced at the time arise, for I wasn't positive as to how Ben would react in knowledge of them.
So, in response to 99% of the things we conversed about, I made smart-ass comments to him incessantly. Now I would hate myself for that, but I've gone through my transition phase to where I've decided that I'm going to be happy with my life regardless of the things that may come during that time. Anyway, the last day I spoke with him online, we had the oddest conversation/debate as to whether or not Britney Spears's breasts were fake or real. That sort of debate is 100% Ben and me, how we act to each other, our friendship, etc. Moving right along with this little story of heartache and depression, Ben made the comment one day about how he would never see me again. I remained silent and replied soon that I had given much thought to such an idea, and he made agreement that he, also, had given much thought to the fact that we would probably never see each other face to face again.

At the time, I couldn't clearly understand if Ben was saying such in an a manner of being rid of me at last, or if, in actuality, he was going to miss seeing me.

The answer to that soon came, a week ago, to me. He wrote a long-winded letter to me online about how he was really going to miss seeing me and that he was hoping that he would get to talk to me when he got out of basic. At the time I could have seriously poured out Niagra Falls from my eyes; however, it stayed within me, and the release I needed was never found. The crying, the mourning, came out in the form of depression, and suicidal thoughts amuk. To be quite blunt with you, I felt as though the sun, the moon, and all the stars had been stolen from the sky, that I would never see any sort of light again.

After a few days of making deals with the Devil (metaphorically, that is; this is what was said: "I need my soul mate to appear by the end of the week or I'll kill myself" ), drowning my sorrows (or at least attempting to) in alcohol, and feeling ultimately like my life had no purpose, as well has having my little counseling sessions with one of my old pals, I found something very interesting. On the last day possible, a new guy showed up to my school. Upon seeing him, my body grew incredibly warm, and I felt like I hadn't felt in so long- happy!

There is no verification thus far as to whether he's actually my soul mate. No hard-core evidence, such as his saying "I'm your soul mate". However, it's the whole situation that occurred....just how everything set itself up, that's the proof for me. Besides, the way I feel now, it most certainly has no matter if he is or isn't, I'm still a whole person with a small hole in me that will go on being a whole person with a small whole in me until the one who is right for me comes right along. But why not now, why not tomorrow? I'm sure everything is going to work out perfectly, otherwise it wouldn't be this perfect so far...

I'm signing off now. Have a wonderful life, I know I shall!!!!


Saturday, July 28, 2001

Well, well, well, fellow Earthlings, it seems that now the one who thinks he is completely insane has returned in order not only to make others think he has lost his marbles, but moreso to prove to them that he has. Regardless, we have a bit of catching up to do on my weird, weird web-log/blog whatever the hell one wants to refer to it as, seeing as how my friends somehow detest one usage or the other, as I do sometimes, depending upon my mood.

Let's see, what happened this week, ah, yes, last Saturday I escaped the family reunion due the illiteracy/horrible memory of my father. However, all in the same instance, I also found that my great-aunt Juanita had passed away that morning. Now, this bothered me, and it, too, bothered me that I would have to go to the funeral, for I felt that it would be a horrible experience. That is not exactly the case, however, for the night before the funeral I did a Tarot spell in order to try to give me some form of courage in order to face what I inevitably knew would end up disturbing my spirit. The disturbance I sensed at this time, however, was not at all what it turned out to be in the end, as life usually has those little surprises, if you're understanding me.

You see, upon reaching the funeral, I found that there was hardly anyone present; beyond so much, most of those that were present were but elderly; it shocked me also that no tears were shed. The preacher seemed to be somewhat...not enthuisiastic, I'm not sure what the word I'm looking for is; regardless, he was not a fire-and-brimstone sort of chap, and no one seemed to give the slightest thought that the woman FUCKING DIED. The entire farewell ceremony, including the typical procession normally held at the graveside, was held inside and in thirty minutes. Reality hit me square in the face once again as I realized that funerals and death were nothing more than a huge business in which one person benefits off of the loss of another. I watch "Six Feet Under" devoutly, and the reality therein should have been enough to prove to me that's how life is, but sadly enough, I'm too naive to know these things.

Oh, did I forget to mention that "Aunt Nita" was a multi-millionaire and that now everyone is going to go into a gigantic debate over who is going to get her money, taking into careful consideration that she never had any children of her own? Amazing, not only do the funeral directors benefit gargantuanly from the ceremony, but now the greedy mits of the children who were supposedly "raised well" are going to be grabbing for every little penny and item that she left behind, although she had been in a nursing home for umpteen years and I doubt nary a one of them visited her often. (her mind was weak, yes, but consider that if you were old and in that state of mind, wouldn't you want someone familiar to come to you?)

I'm not trying to make myself look good in the situation, because no, I never visited her either, but then again, scrutinize it with utmost care, as I care not to have an old woman's money spent on me, either. So are you seeing the difference?

Honestly, the whole concept of a nuclear family sickens me these days. The nuclear family branches out and grows larger and larger, giving more and more humans to argue and fight with, and make a sick attempt at life, and then, then when the multi-millionaire of the family dies, they all lunge forth to grab her money. It's frightening; I think I shall become a hermit in my old age so that no one can take anything that had once belonged to me after my death, much less fight over it and try to tear up the remains of genetic links therein!

Now, off that subject and on to the new one. My junior year of high school starts soon, August 2nd to be precise. I wouldn't like to think that I'm excited, but perhaps anticipation is a better description of me at the moment. Tremendously my soul is burdened with the thought and possibility of having a BOYFRIEND this year. The working schedule so far is also very suited to my tastes, save for physics being on there (blech). Even so, problems arise with each new phase of life: during this entire summer vacation, I've slept a good 10-12 hours each day. Inside of the normal school scheduling, that would be round about from 6 P.M. to 6 A.M. each day, or from 7-6, perhaps.

However, usually I try the 10 P.M.-ish to 6 A.M.-ish approach with school. How I shall condition myself for such this year is the first great task; regardless, I shall force it to happen; either that or sleep away any time I'm not at school. Unfortunately, I'll also be holding a job at some point this year, or perhaps next year, so I shan't be sleeping anytime soon. :( At least not until the Saturday of each week approaches. :Þ

As though anyone actually is compassionate with a flying fuck on my agenda of school schedules, I'll type it up nonetheless. First semester I have Adv. Algebra II, Adv. US History, Yearbook, and Spanish I. Boy, sounds exciting, does it not? Actually, I am looking forward to the latter three of those. Progressing as I should be, the second semester I have Physics (groan), some sort of computer class I'm not sure about, Adv. English, and Drama. Except for Physics, that semester is going to be like sipping ice tea all the day long. ^_^

It seems I might have run out of juicy (snicker) gossip to put up for the whole world to see, but I am a man of few words.....well, I am a man of few spoken words. I tend to think. In a great deal of excess. Which is a mournful state of affairs.

Good luck to all of my chummies out there, and let's pray that the big muscled gods would come down and give me a spanking or two whenever I've been bad, and let's also hope that Venus hears my french toast crying for me to have a boyfriend. Love.....that's what I seek, OOOOH *faints*


Ta-ta.

Friday, July 20, 2001

As usual, after lying in bed for two hours around 9 P.M. trying to manipulate my body in an orgasm, instead of becoming languid and falling into a deep, deep and moreso than such tranquil sleep, my body awakened itself entirely and I truly felt as though I would never need to go to sleep EVER again. Several hours later, after doing three different Tarot card readings on myself, I suddenly felt as though someone had jipped me out of thirty bucks because the cards, at first, seemed to explain every last detail to precision (you hear that Ms. Cleo?! IN YOUR FACE, SWEETNESS!), but more and more they've become completely unclear, even to the point that I wonder why so many similarly ambiguous cards are contained in the deck. Either the cards are wrong, or the book describing them is, or else I'm not in the right spirit whenever I read them.

I'm willing to bet the manufacturers would accuse me of the latter.

Regardless, involving a not-so-distant past experience with one of my friends, the cards read as I thought they would. This is the first time in quite some time that they have read as what I would deem acurrately, so perhaps I just have to be focusing on the situation moreso than I normally would, yes?

Woohoo, moving on with my sick, sad life (I watch Daria alot, she's my role-model, get over it....), I finally went to sleep after around half past three A.M. Go me, my record remains until this point unbroken. Regardless, upon awakening at around 9 by the sound of my Angelgotchi praying for me (aww, Peaches still loves me....okay, for you all perves out there, Peaches is NOT in reference to that, it's a virtual pet, get over yourself). Now, for those of you who have never been awakened to the sound of someone praying for you, it has got to be the most lovely thing in the world to know that someone cares THAT much for. Unfortunately, it what would have been even more lovely is if Peaches had waited to pray for after I was already away instead of WAKING MY BEAUTY SLEEP. Now watch it die on me for saying such treachery of it....

Then lucky me, myself, and I went back to dream land for quite some time. Whilst still in the subconscious aspects of myself, I caught a glimpse of my friend Jon, who I have not see for some time thus far. He looked quite different, and I can't remember precisely what I said to him, or vice-versa, but regardless, the story does not center around him. It centers around the fact that, as my house as become a myriad of things in my dreams, this time my aboe was some sort of military academy school of types, and that they were a tad bit, um, sadistic/canabalistic, as they had a fire going and I was fixing to be roasted. As horrible as this might sound, it actually did turn me on quite a bit, and I begged one of the teachers not to do this to me, and for some reason he agreed that he would appeal it. This dream was awfully horrible yet tantalizing to some degree; my only regret is that I hadn't been awakened from it by the hoards of thunder and lightning outside.

Ah, yes, the weather. Fortune smiled upon someone else yet once more, for I was bound to get on the computer upon waking up; due to the storm filled with lightning about us, it was not going to happen, as heartbreaking as that was going to be.

After countless minutes of storming, I booted up the computer and decided against heading online; I would play with the Tamagotchi video game my younger genetic link Y had downloaded. To my surprise, I was doing quite well for the longest while; I had made it to the 23rd day and I had around 10 Tamagotchi on one screen. I took care of them the best I knew how, and I even got several secret characters.

Then, they all disappeared. Dead. Gone, Destroyed. This was to my dismay, and I immediately shut off the game in a desperate attempt to find something to calm my wrecked nerves. How does one raise a child, only for them to die by atomic separation? Quite perplexing, I must say.


Well, for those of you who do remember my mentionings of the family reunion, no, there has been no bombings of the local restaurant thus far, and no, there have been no plans of cancellation. Jeepers, I know you all just want to hand me a box of tissues and give me a black suit (and maybe a black veil, to boot), but keep a stiff upper lip, for I will go into the huge pile of flesh and genetics that somehow forgot to form a brain (that is, in most cases) and fight my way through. Besides, there's a free meal in it for me, and we never have any food at home. I just have to kill whatever I see scurrying across the floor and hope that the right seasonings will cover up the pungent flavor of it's intestines.

At the moment, a debate is boiling in my house. Not a typical debate of a rural family, but a debate that causes the house to churn from ceiling to foundation. A debate that has caused us to argue, to ruin, to no longer claim each other (as if I would claim Judy {{Genetic producer XX and Trey {{Genetic link XY anyway), and to not speak to each other for days. It is the argument of who will go with my father to pick up the freshly ordered and made pizza. *DUN DUN DUUUUUN* *crowd gasps*

In any typical nuclear family, the entire family would jump into a vehicle and turn the radio to an oldies station, singing along in a beautiful unison but slightly off key. We would drive, drive, drive down the road, to the store, and pick up the pizza. Then we would return home and partake of it.

No, wait, wait, if we were a typical nuclear family, we would live close enough to a pizza place that they could DELIVER to us. Yeah, yeah, that makes more sense. Regardless, we are atypical. Very atypical. Everyone should be rip-raring to get pizza, to get the slightest morsel of food to their lips, but no, we have debates about it. WHY? WHY IS IT SUCH A PROBLEM?
Well, first off, usually everyone decides to order pizza right after I get online and start conversing with my comrades, checking my email, and doing various other things. Whereas I actually go about the house and the computer doing things, my genetic link XY never does anything. AT ALL. So, he usually goes to get the pizza, but for some reason complains and fusses, making himself into a perfect jack-ass in front of us. My father doesn't like to pick up the pizza alone for god-unknown reasons, and I have some sort of fear of paying for things that I haven't quite figured out yet. I think it has to do with not having enough money, or something like that, but I'm working on it, so it's all good.

Well, it seems they've decided not to get pizza after all. The kingdom is saved, but my stomach is still growling. Thanks to all who've been reading.

Peace in, peace out, peace in, peace out, in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out, in-out in-out in-out in-out OH MY GOD STEVE YOU'RE THE BEST I'VE EVER HAD!!!!






Thursday, July 19, 2001

Imagine yourself in the most comfortable position possible, taking a long, gleeful, well-deserved and hard-earned nap. Now imagine yourself dreaming that your younger brother has found a new version of Tamagotchi on the computer. Then imagine yourself driving an old, beaten-down truck that is about to fall apart. Then imagine yourself going back inside your nice, cool house, getting on the computer, and then picture your younger brother once again ruining this wonderful and once lavish dream by informing you that your mother has returned.

Okay, and for those of you who are a bit slow, that is exactly what happened to me previous by an hour and a half.

After discovering that, as nature would deem it, there was NOTHING good to watch on television around noon, I decided it would be somehow profitable to catch up on my sleep. During a light level of dreaming, I was awakened in the rudest of manners by my younger sibling (to whom I tend to not make any claims) by a fist-pounding upon my door (and daresay I that this is not a rappity-tap-tap, either).

Breathless, he expressed that he had found something that I wanted to see. Rushing to the computer in spite of my logic telling me I still needed some sleep, I found that he had downloaded a Japanese ROM of the Super Famicom Tamagotchi Town game. I sat for some while, watching and taking beholdings of the very simplified yet all-character containing video game before me.

This disgusting acquaintance of my mine kept babbling on about how he would soon need to mow the lawn, after my dad finished with tracing the path he would take. When my dad finally made his entrance, he told my brother to mow the lawn and that my usefulness would be helping him crank the tractor. (dun dun DUUUUUN)

Forced into the interior of a truck deteriorating in the barn, I rode with my parental unit Y to the sight of the tractor. However, when we reached the goat pen, I was forced to man the steering wheel whilst Y opened the gate. For reasons known yet only to God, the truck would not budge. I put more and more force on the pedal, and it still refused to budge. Finally, have mashing down as hard as possible, I took off like lightning through the gate, barely missing the gate and my dad, as well as the 2 million goats that blocked my path.

Also during this interval, the radio was tuned to a country station. What's more, I was actually enjoying the music. God, I need someone to shoot me or to give me prozac one.

When I finally tamed my wild steer, my dad boarded. Noting he was unscathed, I made up my mind to hurt the both of us. Considering he wasn't wearing his seat belt, I took such as a good enough reason to continue on my path to kill and kill again. =)

Once again going at the speed of sound and very well near the speed of light, we traveled to the tractor. However, as lady luck would have me dead before anyone else in this hell-hole, I hit some bumps. Now, these are not your typical, "Hi, I'm Bob and I'm an alcoholic" bumps. These were bumps that were having a gang shoot-out in the deep ghettos of NYC. I flew not once, not twice, but thrice into the air, almost destroying the tin can's internal motor.

Although this was very perilous, it was the most fun I've had in months. Needless to say, we finished cranking the tractor and I drove back, and came back into my nice, cool house.

Everything seemed to be going well until younger acquaintance Y spoke in a slow and scary manner, "They're back..."

I wouldn't allow myself to believe it unless I saw them. THEY were back.....my supposed "mother" and my aunt, from the aforementioned hiatus to dear old granny's house. Oh, in case you haven't figured it out, I loathe my mother to an extent uncomprehendible, simply because she's destroyed so many blossoming things in my life and crushes my dreams like ants if she has the chance. Perhaps one day she will die and rot in hell for all eternity, but until then, we can only hope that a semi kills her.

My friend Tajh volunteered to round up an angry mob and burn my mother at the stake. Her suggestion was to use matches for torches, and that the mob would consist of me, her, and her dog. Unfortunately, he dog was removed from the roster due to his appetite for matches. That means this wonderful little plan has been shot to hell.....

My brother also has informed me of a family reunion taking place this Saturday. In my book of etymology, family reunion is the age-old ritual of making those who are linked by genetics realize why the genetics must stay as FAR FAR AWAY from each other as possible.

Aside from that, I am the only one out of our entire lot of family members that was unlucky enough to get the genetics to be gay. Also, I am the only one who is lucky enough to get the intelligence that I have, as the rest of them are basically hicks. Yeah yeah, I know, the whole truck thing makes me sound like a hick, but get over it, I haven't the power to change my environment. So sue me.

I suppose once upon my time in merry old England (yes, my dad's side of the family carries Celtic blood) the family was of some great sort of prestige, but such today is no longer true. Actually, technically, in the small town we live in, we are of nobility; but that isn't saying much on the account of it's being a small southern town. "Who wants to be the king hick?" "Me, me!" ~.~

On a more heartbreaking note, my grandmother is going to pass away soon. Her legs are deathly swollen, and her health in all generalizations seems to be deteriarating rapidly. I feel so horrible, but I'm not sure I know how to deal with the situation or even have the maturity to do so...

On another sorrowful tune, my friend just had a nasty break-up in which his boyfriend announced that he had never loved him in the first place, although I had been told once upon a time by this same faggot (pardon my usage of the word, but this is one of THOSE gay guys...) that he wanted to marry my friend and that he truly loved him, that they were really soul mates. Funny how Venus can be so cruel and manipulative...

That's all for now. Don't swallow too many pancakes and make for certain that you eat your donuts, and if any demon-possessed vegetables or cats happen upon you, refer them to this site, and I promise you'll forever be in debt to me, mwahahaha!

Ja ne.
After a turmoil-filled night in which I suddenly caught insomnia and couldn't make sleep until 4 A.M., I was rudely awakened by the not-so-faint sounds of my father returning into the house and slamming the door as he did. To my dismay, this happened to be around 9 A.M.; perhaps your imagination can lend the words that came from my mouth around this time as I arose stark-naked and "investigated" the noises (amazing how we all act insane when we're groggy...) and headed to the bathroom. At that moment, I couldn't distinguish if I had merely been dreaming or if this had been a reality; either way, I was pissed as a hornet (pardon my animalian simile).

Falling back into my shitty yet make-do bed of old sheets and a sleeping bag for quilt, I realized my dear virtual pet, Peaches, had not been checked. (If you didn't realize I'm insane in the first few brackets, well, I'm sure this verifies it.) Realizing such was true, I began to manipulate the mircochips, and out of nowhere my father's voice began to boom that it was time to get up and clean the house.

Now, let me explain something about the hierachy in my version of the nuclear family. My father and mother both work, but my mother brings home more money; therefore, my father somehow fears her to the extent that he doesn't like to hear her complaining and bitching (she's a pro at it, trust me....), so I am forced, along with my younger brother, to clean the house in efforts to save our ear drums from yelling that might possibly occur later on in the day.

Let me explain further. My mother has been away at my grandmother's house, taking care of her and aiding her elderly conditions, and all the whilst, upon any of her disappearances from our home, she believes that, for some reason, upon her return the house should be chock-full of food and clean as a whistle. This makes me wonder if she sees her true gender role in the so-called nuclear family, as when you try to tell her "it's the woman's place to..." she goes completely nuts.

Not that I agree with the idea of the nuclear family on any level, it's just that her religious beliefs (those of a small-town, Assembly of God) would have her play the role of a little, dependent, feminine, motherly, sweet, voice-dripping-with-honey, always boohooing about this or that, social lady. She is the entire opposite of any such accusations.

Regardless, this morning also we arose to fight the evils of dirt and make sure we gained the infamous dish-pan hands. With only six and a half hours of sleep, however, one definitely loses a bit of coordination, which is directly related to the fact that at least more than one of our beautiful dishes has been broken, although unbenknownst to anyone else in my family, save me.

At the moment, however, I fear that, with my mother's return, also shall come my grandmother, who is elderly and confined to a wheel chair. Our house is by NO means equipped to have a wheel chair brought into it, and I fear that her health would deteriate even more rapidly in the prescence of large, obstructive objects that would definitely block her movings throughout the house.

And on a cheerier note, school begins in exactly two weeks from this very day. How lovely, not only have I not finished partaking of my "summer literary", but I haven't a thing to wear. ;) *gasp* Even more horrible, I have no new supplies, from paper to pencils to folders, NOTHING. I'm sure the entire world really gives a rat's fuzzy-wuzzy ass (heheheh) that I am yet without paper and pencil, but this is for their entertainment, and listening to the bitchings of another humanoid creature will at least create within them a small spark of wanting to keep their mouth shut when they should.

Also this morning, after having previously read an article describing the power of junkfood to make criminals (I'm dead serious on that one.), I decided to refrain from drinking any more soft drinks, considering that lately my stomach has ached to the point that I'm afraid to know whether or not I have any lining left therein. As luck would have her fucking way, more than likely I have no stomach left, and my other internal organs are probably also acidically eaten away.

Wow, and that's my life in the first two hours of today. Come back later in case I actually find anything worth reading and publish it.

Sincerely (well, not really....)
Winter Garland