Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Sean Conrad's LiveJournal:

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Friday, September 29th, 2006
9:04 pm	a picture, a moment, and some blood on the floor had an extremely nostalgic day today. the kicker? for once, it was a good thing. (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, September 23rd, 2006
8:28 am	wasted years i ran this morning. ran away from the years i wasted and the days that i killed. i wanted to disappear, but i couldn't get far enough before i ran out of breath. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005
5:11 pm	-this.is.your.life,and.it's.ending.one.day.at.a.time, 2005/02/11 07:48 Saturday afternoon, day 1: Take two naps--one in front of a movie from my childhood (can we say Never Ending Story, much?), and one with my imaginary girlfriend after dinner. I usually nap with one hand up her shirt. This is my adult equivalent to sucking my thumb. I have a hard time sleeping otherwise. She jokes that she feels like a toy doll, but confides in me later that evening that she would never have it any other way. Sunday, day 2: Do laundry, clean the house, and play video games. The lord sayeth that Sunday is thy day of rest...but, really, fuck the lord. I do some basic hygiene and then waste the day playing video games. If God has a problem with that, I'll pull a 23-hit combo and frag his ass. Bitch. Monday, day 3: Work. I wake up at the last possible moment, then whisk myself off to work and arrive rested from the weekend, looking like a million bucks. Or at least a fist full of bucks. On a good day. :( I work weekdays. I work hard. I work 9-5, or thereabouts. I make enough money to buy most of the toys that I want, but motorcycle and car insurance is so expensive at 21 that I can't afford to have both. :( I usually bitch to my imaginary girlfriend about work for 30 minutes or so, then take her to dinner at our favorite cheap restaurant. We usually cap off Monday night with a movie, for lack of anything better to do. Tuesday, day 4: Work, part deux. This is much the same, except that Tuesdays are pretty rad. I love the shit out of my co-workers, even though most of them are in their 40s, and have kids my age. :P Crazy old men and women. During lunch on Tuesday, I tend to reflect on how much I actually enjoy my life, because Tuesdays are generally slow at work and it's no longer Monday. Ahh. Serenity. :) In the evening, I come home calm and refreshed. My imaginary girlfriend and I go to Target, or some other superstore (not Walmart), and browse for household objects. She loves feeling domestic, and so do I. We pretend that we're married, and provide innocent-yet-mushy public displays of affection to those around us. We like to think they're jealous, but we only pretend to care. The truth is, neither of us have been in such a good place for a while. We know we're too young to settle down, have kids, and do all of that boring shit, but we like the idea that if it did happen that way, it wouldn't be so bad. We always have sex on Tuesday night. I can't explain it, but it just always happens. Wednesday, day 5: Work, part 3. Getting to work is a little bit harder on Wednesday. Some people call it the 'hump' of the week or whatever, but that's stupid. Wednesday is just lame, leave it alone. Anyway, Wednesday is FULL of meetings. I usually leave work antsy, because I've been sitting all day. On the way to and from work, I usually push my car's stereo near my limits. (that is to say, I was sure to spend enough money so that the speakers have a warning label on them indicating that they are "capable of reaching and exceeding concert-level volumes in an enclosed space. exercise caution." only problem is, I'm pretty lazy. I don't even exercise my body, let alone caution.) My imaginary girlfriend and I like to do something active on Wednesday, like go watch people dance and mock them as if we could do better. We usually end the night with a movie--her choice. Thursday and Friday, days 6 & 7: Glory. Victory. Thursday and Friday are one in the same for me. Both are full of long meetings and the fantasies of what this weekend will bring (usually at the same time). When I get home, I make my imaginary girlfriend laugh with silly jokes and optimistic predictions. We go out to a nicer place on one or both of these two nights--typically Ring of Fire or Lucky Noodle, but we like to mix it up with Sushi Station or Chapala--then dance the night away at home. We prefer dancing on my bed, because it's like a trampoline for her. She's so cute! I love it when her hair is short. It bounces around like little fireworks. :) After we're done dancing, we usually rent a foreign film and pretend that we're movie critics. Her haughty British accent is better than mine, so she usually wins the movie critic contest. :( Saturday morning, day 8: Race day. 8 months a year, one weekend a month, I race my car in what's called an autocross. If you're unfamiliar, educate yourself. It rules more than anything. I've been looking forward to it for 3 weeks. I talk about it at work, to my friends, and try desperately to coerce my imaginary girlfriend into riding shotgun. She gives in roughly half the time. I leave to the track, and usually get there about 30 minutes early. I'm perpetually early for everything. But I hate waiting. :( Anyway, the races start, and I do well. The driver who wins my class typically jests that I would wipe the floor with him if I put another $1500 into my car for some race compound tires and some minor engine work. I tell him that he's just being polite, but deep down I know he's right. It's a fact. I am a fucking amazing driver. It's rather incredible, really. My imaginary girlfriend tells me how great I did, whether or not I did great. She apologizes for not riding with me, but makes an empty promise to go next time. I love her, but usually admit to myself later that night that I am single, alone, and bored with my life. I miss what I had. fin Current Mood: sad (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, September 19th, 2003
12:19 am	-i.am.the.sky, 2003/09/11 07:45 When I think of you, flashlights flicker out of nowhere. I squint to avoid the sting, but it's only a defense-mechanism. I don't mean to retract when you reach out. I just can't help it. That's how it always was. She would suck me dry and flick me to the ground, snuffing out my burning innocence by digging in her heel. Maybe I was just a cancer to her--one of 20; one of many. Just the next in line; not the lucky one. It was poison to fall in love for too long, so she slipped a microwaved treat into my hoodie and sent me home. It was over. Our next kiss would be on the cheek. Our next exchange would be a goodbye. It was time for her to light another fire, wrap her lips around the filter, and break another heart. You have to believe that I want to care. I can't. I wish you would trust that I need, but I won't admit it. I can't count the nights that have taken me deep into the heart of country roads, testing the limits of my car, my self, my mortality. If I slide off the road at 130mph, I'll die. Simple, quick, and unavoidable. I can't count the nights that have taken me to the depths of my bed, testing the limits of my walls, pressed against the corner with no escape. If I slide off of my strength, I will die. Simple, quick, unavoidable. I live a life of extremes. Sometimes I have to cast a shadow over my eyes by blocking the flickering pain of a dying flashlight in the dark winters of my past years. You have to know that I am not pushing you away when I whisper, 'stop..' (10 Comments |Comment on this)
12:17 am	-letter.to.a.friend, 2003/08/18 23:05 The more things change, the more I want them to stay the same. A letter to an old friend, my weakness: * * Begin Letter * * Regretfully, I don't like being 20. I want to say that I'm not immature; that I don't fantasize about being young and naive; that I'm experienced enough now to say that I am a product of my youth, and not the opposite; that, like Sean Connery, I am growing toward perfection. If I said that, I would be lying, however. Truth: I am immature. I fantasize about being young and naive, reliving those experiences which felt so passionate and raw. I am a product of my age--I worry about my health, feel nervous around the generation(s) younger than I, and even associate myself with men and women (not kids). I take things too seriously, and I don't know when my personality is becoming oppressive. I am entrenched in 'my ways'. I am old. I am rotten, stinking year on top of rotten, stinking year. I am a carcass of my past, decaying into the ground only to become something else: something unfamiliar, different, and certainly not me. I am a concept which has come to define me, and I resent it. You generally comfort me. Touch base. -Sean * * End Letter * * -end.youth (1 Comment |Comment on this)
12:16 am	-even.in.death, 2003/07/31 07:28 Ok. I want to tell you about my morning thus far, so fucking listen up. ;) a) I woke up to my alarm sounding, but I couldn't find it (my cell phone is my alarm). This disturbed me at first, but I realized I was just waking up, and couldn't even really remember my name, let alone locate the obnoxious beast that is my alarm. b) I scoured my room, but nothing (at first). I moved everything, checked everywhere it should be. I even checked places that it did not sound like it was coming from. Nothing. c) I finally decided to trust my alarm-finding senses. I closed my eyes, meditated, and reached in my first instinctual direction (kinda like the Karate Kid and that fly/chopsticks trick, yes?). Oddly enough, it was perfect. ;) I turned off the alarm, rendering useless its powers of annoyance (*highfive*), and sighed a breathe of relief. So, what does it all mean? I don't know. My memory is horrible, and I don't even know how my fucking alarm got there. It makes no sense. It should be plugged in, resting on my CDs. Grr. Anyway, updates: 1) Permanent hairdye is still pending my investigation. I simply have not had time. 2) My car is now starting every time. I replaced the battery. :) However, there are still fucked up situations surrounding that, so we'll see what happens. I can't believe how much I can't catch a break with some things, but others I seem to Gump my way through. 3) Metallica is on. Also, my parents offered to pay for my trip for my birthday. Fucking awesome. Fucking Metallica. 4) Work has been so god damn slow! I say this excitedly, because it means less work for me, and more free time to explore other avenues of growth at the company. Anyway, it's positive. I only wish I could stumble upon a large sum of money, but...*shrug* Oh well. 5) I have been good. The laundry needs doing, and I need something that I don't have. I wonder what that is? -i.run.to.you,call.out.your.name (Comment on this)
12:14 am	-fuck.what.they.print.in.those.damn.magazines, 2003/07/23 08:05 I got her back. She's so fucking beautiful. I think about her all day at work, and want to sit with her all day at home. I love her smell, and the way she looks at night. She still has some problems in her day-to-day life--especially in the morning--but I've never been happier. I'm so close to having everything.. I ask her how much she loves me, turn the key, and she purrs for me. I push her, and she flies. Her name is Mitsubishi Eclipse. So, like, I turn 20 soon. Two weeks, give or take. I'm fuckin' scared. I don't want to be anything more than a teenager in so many ways. I can't fathom existence like that. What if I'm not what I should be at 20? 25? Nah. Fuck that. I will be. I'm seeing Metallica on the day of my birth. Talk about perfect. ;> Problem: they will likely play shows from their new, shitty album. Just so that we're perfectly clear about one thing, St. Anger is one of the worst albums I have ever heard. I'm not just saying that. Eh. I've written about this before. See: other posts. Other bands at the show: Mudvayne [fucking awesome], Deftones [sometimes fucking awesome], Linkin Park [used-to-be fucking awesome], and the Limp [Bizkit--fucking horrible]. Ooh, actually, I just found a Setlist from the Florida show: Battery Master of Puppets Harvester of Sorrow Welcome Home (Sanitarium) For Whom The Bell Tolls Frantic Sad But True St. Anger No Remorse Seek and Destroy Blackened ----------------- Fuel Nothing Else Matters Creeping Death ---------------- One Enter Sandman So, like, that means...thank god?! Fuck yes. Fuck yes. I actually like the title track, St. Anger, but I'm not pleased with Frantic...eh. Shit happens. If they truly open the show with Battery, I'll be too busy swooning to do anything else. Nice work. Blackened, One, and Nothing Else Matters are also sure winners. :) On that note, I need to find my ...And Justice For All CD. I miss it. Where is it? *sigh* Anyway, had to end that entry on Metallica. *grin* (P.S. / Metal Note: investigate fabled permanent hair dye) (Comment on this)
12:13 am	-can't.help.reality, 2003/07/06 00:54 So, I was driving my car. Now I can't. My expensive, beautiful, fast, fucking incredible fucking machine fucking broke. It won't start. I won't be able to fix it for a long time. Fucking money. Fucking job. Fucking car. (Comment on this)
12:12 am	[no subject], 2003/06/27 07:24 Well, it's 7:25. I don't want to go to work, but I have to. That'll teach me to take a Wednesday off; can't cheat the system and get an early weekend. More to the point: I need more time off, a raise, or possibly another promotion/job change. I feel like I'm hitting the wall there. I'm pushed so much harder than my predecessor, and god damnit, I love to succeed...so I fulfill their every desire. I guess one is opening up on the Technical Leads team. I'm already on that team in all reality, but my responsibilities are entirely different at this point. I wouldn't normally apply (I don't want to abandon my current team of four Recovery agents), but not only did all of the leads ask me to apply, so did our supervisor (like I said, sort of already one of them). I don't know that I'll make it, but it's worth a shot. Dealing with irate customers is starting to become tiring. I can't stand four-hour long conversations with some East-coast fuck who writes into the executive staff and bitches about $29.95, then gets 30+ hours of support from me over a month's time at no charge. Sometimes I get off at 7:15 when I'm supposed to leave at 5:00. Sometimes I almost snap when I listen to my voicemail. My desk is becoming a net for this negative energy. Making me never want to go back to work. It's more horrible than I care to think about. I guess it's just...Jared and I were talking yesterday about things, and he mentioned that I don't take my work home with me, and how that was good. I don't know if he thought it was just a positive thing in my life, or a positive trait in me, but I *have* been taking it home with me lately. I need to stop that. Fuck, that in mind, I should stop writing this. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
12:10 am	-stay.in.shadow, 2003/06/20 07:37 All right. Let me preface this entry with one important fact: Finger Eleven's new album (self-titled) is incredible. Anybody who thinks otherwise is a fucking dirty liar, and I will deal with them personally. I am so god damn excited to finally purchase a new CD that I don't hate. I actually pseudo-liked Cold's, and I'm not really a huge fan of theirs, so that was refreshing. Anyway, now I feel comfortable in my beliefs that there have been some shitty-ass CDs coming out lately, and it's not just me. Anyway, next point: I'm really giddy. I sorted out this whole fucking business with my car insurance, so it's only $250 a month, rather than $350. Seems stupid to be excited...but it's like getting fucked over less. Nice. Autumn and I went bowling two nights ago. I played my worst two games ever. 56 and 85 were my scores in two games. Shit. My arm is still a bit sore, as well. I'm a lazy, worthless, out-of-shape bowler. I used to bowl consistent 120+, with a high of 172. Oh well. I disappointed myself. And Autumn beat me twice. ;) I don't mind losing, but I hate losing to myself. Cliche, but true. =/ I really want to see Gangs of New York ($1.50 theatre) and The Hulk (opens today, I believe). Hulk. He could kick my ass. *smile* I always had this fantasy that I was The Hulk, and I could 'pants' people without them being able to retaliate, 'cause I could turn green and so forth. (Comment on this)
12:09 am	-living.torture, 2003/06/17 07:57 I hate waiting to buy a CD. Finger Eleven's new CD comes out today, and I will need to purchase it after work. There are a few natural laws these days: Metallica's new CD fucking blows, bears are still stronger and more frightening than lions, the grass really *is* greener on the other side, and Finger Eleven is the best non-gimmick, hard-rock band ever made. But...what if the new CD sucks? Metallica's did. I thought it was impossible, but it did. I won't get into that, however, as that's a WHOLE 'nother can of worms...that being said, I have heard Finger Eleven's new song from the Daredevil soundtrack, and it's completely rad. Maybe their best song, or one of. All I want is a solid performance. I don't need to be more amazed than usual, or anything of the sort, but the last album of all new tracks that I heard and loved was...AFIs, probably. Which wasn't that long ago, really, but music is my life. *shrug* My roommate and close friend Autumn got on here recently. It's neat that she's into computers now. ;) Soon, my other roommate (Jared--IAM page coming) and I will make her a gamer. Has to be. In the mean time, it's just nice to see her. I downloaded the Cradle of Filth album 'Damnation and a Day', and it's actually pretty fucking rad. It's almost the epitome of shit metal, but...it has melody, and that's all I need. I downloaded it because my friend Dana asked that I attend a concert with her on her birthday, and they are playing. I think I'll go. ;> (Comment on this)
12:06 am	-can't.lose.anything, 2003/06/09 08:11 I haven't posted in my LiveJournal since, like, December of 2000. I can't believe it's been almost three years since I used to sit on my ass and try to illustrate my life. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it sure failed me on a number of occasions. I was looking for pictures of my car to post this morning, but I couldn't find them (I can't lie, I'm proud of myself for getting my shit together and making it happen). Instead, I spent 20 minutes writing a page or so describing the aforementioned lack of LiveJournaling, et all. Unfortunately, I closed the wrong browser window, and the rest is history. You will have to be content with my relatively short, relatively vacant, ill-thought-out post. Deal with it. (Comment on this)
12:05 am	-taken.me, 2003/06/05 07:44 I have only been back here for what seems like five seconds and I'm already nostalgic. I think I will stay this time. I only wish I had more time to be here before work...I love you all. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
12:02 am	-death.of.seasons, 2003/06/03 07:54 I used to be here. It didn't feel right. This is my redemption to and for myself. -falling.stars.encircle.me The only thing you will never call me is someone else. Current Mood: amused Current Music: A Perfect Circle - Pet (Comment on this)
Sunday, May 26th, 2002
3:28 am	..something from the past: so beautiful and true. I read a livejournal tonight. The entries span the lifetime of our friendship, but every word is so far away. From beginning to end, almost all I could see was innocent flirtation exchanged within our comments--almost. Mixed in were a great many ambiguous confessions, very few moments of doubt or fear, and so much time invested in saying everything just right. Come to think of it, everything was said 'just right.' I handled every situation perfectly, but I should have made a mistake. I should have said, "Damn my silence, but I've never admired anything more than you. I want to fall asleep with your hand on my side and wake up drooling against your cheek." Tragedy aside, I can't stress enough how much platonic love I have for this woman. The last thing I would ever do is tread upon that sacred ground. That would be pure disrespect. I suppose it's for the best that I bite my tongue. I couldn't help but feel the tinge of disappointment in her very first gazes. It was like this dark glimmer in the corner of her eye; it reminded me of a tear. Perhaps she wanted to love me, but just couldn't bring herself to it. I doubt that, though, for as much as that may have once been true, things are different now. The time for action came and passed uneventfully. It's a shame that I blame myself for something that could have only hurt us. (un)Fortunately, I never did bring myself to jeopardize our friendship by asking for more. The last thing I ever want to do is push her away from me. No matter how hard it has been to watch and want for a few years, it could never equal the pain and sorrow that would be a lifetime of need. Selfish: I wish I could start over. Would I risk our beautiful history over a stupid relationship? I don't know. It probably wouldn't have lasted, anyway. Nothing that perfect ever could. I thank all holy things that we only met as friends. To expect more than that and then see the discontent in her soul would have destroyed me in so many ways. Expectations never were my ally in the war that has been life. Even so, I can't help but wonder: ..did I read her wrong? ..should I have made a move? ..will I ever be able to forget her? No. The answer to all of those questions is no. How do I know? " 'cause I'm sitting here all alone, really tired, and depressed to the verge of tears, just like every night of my god-forsaken life. Therefore, I know everything. Right? *hopeful look* " -showing.all.my.teeth- -bleed.me.every.hour- Current Mood: nostalgic Current Music: Floater - Pet (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, April 1st, 2002
1:45 am	-april.fools- It stuns me how suddenly things change. Only, you see, there is no such thing as 'sudden', there is only shrouding deceit and masking lies. Secrets are kept for the comfort of the uncomfortable because the that deranged individual is suffering from being a pathetic, weak human being (or else thinks that of you--believing you can't take it when, in reality, they can't). I once thought that betrayal was the worst of all feelings, but more precisely it's the feeling of being erased. The feeling that the lines have changed, and you're now outside. To them, the picture would be prettier without your stray color. They want you gone. Further, it's the feeling that you are so repulsive in some way that your feelings are not even worth the five seconds of vulnerability it would require on the part of the third party to just confess their lack of care. A lie, in a round-about way. It is somehow a better option in the mind of this skewed individual to just play a distant, passive role until you give up. To summarize/allegorize one of my favorite movies, they take you off payroll (stop initiating contact; break plans without fail, apology, or even recognition for weeks on end) and just leave the situation to 'work itself out' (act like NOTHING IS THE MATTER!). Lumberg fucked her. Well, fuck you. Fuck you and fuck your kind. You only hurt me and I won't let it happen again. I, among a blackened field of former life, will be planted anew. I won't ever feel so innocently again. That is something you and so many others love to take from me. I mean it this time. Fuck it this time. Today is the first ray of sunshine that penetrates the cloud formed by my burning fields; today is the last day I will ever entertain a second thought about you and yours; today is the last day I will ever care for anyone but myself. It isn't worth it for a split-second and it hasn't been for years. No good has ever come from me investing trust and care. I've thrown in the towel for a long time. I give up like never before. * * * * * I'm sick, I'm miserable, and I recently realized that every sacrifice I have ever made only disappointed the intended beneficiary and destroyed a piece of my psyche. I'm really confused right now. Pull the damn trigger. .s -no.one.got.loved.here,so.i.cry.alone- -help.me- Current Mood: distressed Current Music: VNV Nation - Forsaken (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, May 31st, 2001
6:52 am	Chapter 17: You When humans began to evolve, there wasn't much to work with: a few men and women scattered through caves, huts, trees, and any other shelter they could find. At that point, humans were just another species on Earth, but they were messing around with a thumb. It allowed those pioneering "cavemen" to do two essential things for their survival: hunt and gather. With this came happiness throughout the land, but as the generations continued, so did the drive to become something more. Somewhere along the line, a genius of a previously unchallenged caliber made a fire. It was amazing. Heat?at night? Weird. Who knows how long it would be until language came across, but it obviously happened sometime. The wheel made it possible to move large objects with minimal effort. Sad as it may sound, these were the glory years for humans. Nobody fought with each other because they were too busy fighting nature for their place in the food chain. Nobody got divorced, or even jealous over love, because men gave in to their primal urges (this hasn't changed much) and women were forced into submission. Nobody was put away in jail, because there was no crime. And certainly nobody looked down their nose at a former friend because they stopped wearing Guess jeans, or some equally trivial reason. Yeah, you saw it coming, the human race's streak of good inventions had to come to an end. The invention that will ultimately lead to the downfall of the human race is, of course, civilization itself. Ok, we all know that only trouble can come from a certain phenomenon known as "mob mentality", so what the hell were the higher-ups thinking when they came up with this idea? Since the induction of civilization, countless travesties upon mankind have taken place on a seemingly daily basis. Civilization has killed and subsequently martyred countless people (from Jesus for his followers, to Genghis Kahn for the Mongolians, to John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. for nearly everybody involved in the 1960s) for having rogue ideas. If you fail to see the logic here, don't feel bad. There isn't any to begin with. Most people will probably agree here. The problem resides in a group of people who get so worked up over a stupid idea (ah, there's that "mob mentality" again) that the stupidest one in the bunch usually carries it out. It's funny, I can picture in my head the same exact thing happening with the punks who ripped the antenna out of my car and shattered my back window. What a stupid idea. Anyway, if it weren't enough that the people of this planet kill our heroes, they have to start idiot wars and kill tens of millions at once. I mean, sure, Earth needs some population control, but that's just out of hand. You'd be hard pressed to find a man that would drop everything and willingly go into war - even harder pressed to find an army's worth. Coincidentally, I was watching an old episode of "Taxi" the other night. Tony Danza was talking to some world leader about war, and he had a great idea. "Why don't the leaders themselves step into the ring and play a few rounds?" Simplistic genius is my favorite kind of genius. Think about it: no one dies, no beautiful countryside is destroyed, no enemies made for all eternity?only a few downsides. The terms of the fight could even be laid out before the match begun. Don't get me wrong, boxing isn't my favorite thing in the world, but come on. It's foolproof. You might stop to ask yourself, "Where's he going with this? Do away with civilization?" Well, no. That wouldn't be possible, anyway. By no small degree, the worst aspect of human civilization is society. Because of this, we have hate. We have racism, we have discrimination, we have sexism, we have homophobia, we have religious zealots who belittle everything around them, we have anarchists who throw bricks at things that represent conformity, we have poverty, we have slavery, and we have hatred. I'm focusing mainly on America here, sure, but that's all I know and love. From the founding of this country until the 1800s, African-Americans were used for slave labor. They earned no pay, were beaten for mistakes, and given some straw to sleep on inside a broken down hut (or worse). Finally the abolitionists succeeded, but this only lasted a few years. Until the mid-1900s, there was a constant flow of slaves into the United States of America. Whether it was children, Irish, Chinese, or whoever, there were no regulations in the way of pure slavery once again. People worked for almost nothing, just as before. Land of the free, indeed. For the first time in almost two hundred years, we had a fair work force going by the 1950s - as long as you were white. Just our luck, right when we thought we had it right, we realize that we have more problems than we could ever imagine. The 50s were fake?plastic, if you will. I won't get into the civil unrest of the 60s, the weird trends of the 70s, or the perversely disfigured economy of the 80s, even if they do support my point. Right now all I care about is the current problem with society. If you take a look at schools in the 90s (a.k.a., the future), all you can see is dead bodies. Sure, we might produce a few Nobel Prize winners in our generation, but we've probably had a few killed by their peers, too. The problem with this can't be pinpointed, but it lies somewhere in society, dormant for now. It shows itself to the victims of society, giving them a way out. Maybe it's the acceptance of killing in television, the authority figures that ignore harassment, the accessibility of guns or other weapons, or the age-old fact that Charles Manson can grace the cover of Time Magazine. As a kid, who honestly hasn't wanted to show the whole world their problems? The only difference between a killer and everybody else may very well be a small tweak in the brain, or even something as simple as a strong motive or an available weapon. Perhaps the only thing that's even worse than school shootings are the conditions of the schools themselves. Funding is cut repeatedly to the degree that elementary school is now a joke. Teachers have to tolerate worse and worse behavior unless they want to punish the whole class. Kids are becoming disgruntled with large class sizes, where a small learning deficiency can effectively end their productive lives. I don't know why all this is true. Maybe it's because drugs are becoming easier to get. Maybe it's because some kids are comfortable with sex by the time they're 14. At any rate, somewhere along the line the authorities lost all respect for their own children; nobody loves the children of the future, the children of society. What does it teach me when the government can't pay for me to have a P.E. class, or photography elective? It teaches me to ignore the needs of those below me. It teaches me to stake out a high place in life and never, ever look down. Furthermore, it teaches the politicians of the future to ignore their children, and they will ignore theirs, and so on. What does it teach me when an authority figure doesn't intervene when someone is being harassed, teased, or even roughed up? Of course, I will draw the conclusion that hate is all right. Not that it's good, but that it isn't that bad. As long as maybe not too many people see it, it's ok. Perhaps worst is the size of the classes. What am I to think when I feel left behind in the curriculum, or that the teacher doesn't have enough time for me? Well, realistically, it would be almost impossible to dedicate time to any of the students when there are forty of them in one room. I'm a child, though. I lack reason. I can only act on my feelings and intuitions. I feel that I'm nothing, that I'm stupid. Lacking in some major way because I can't keep up with the other students. Most importantly, what am I to think if all of these things hold true? I feel ignored by teachers, hated by kids, and unimportant to my parents?so I kill some kids and shove my problem in everybody's face. "Ha! This is what you get for messing with me!" Hell, if I do that, I won't ever have to come back to school anyway. Anyway, I've had enough of that hypothetical situation. It's sickening. On that note, I wish it were only hypothetical. It seems impossible that this could happen, but it's happening all around us. Not in the past few months, though. Maybe guns are a fad, but what's next? Bombs? I don't want to know. We're back in the 50s now. People drive nice cars and have more money. But in school, some kids suffer through every day. This decade may go great, but it will erupt. It might be sooner than we think that the ashes of society's children cover us, spewing from the volcano that is the public school system. On the other hand, if I were an optimist I would point out the fact that some people do recognize the problem, and hopefully will do something about it. Only time will tell. And isn't that ironic, my worst enemy being the only salvation? Current Mood: feeling more pain than before... Current Music: Staind - Me (8 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, May 21st, 2001
10:38 am	Chapter 9: Her It may sound pathetic, but I have never talked to the person responsible for the most profound changes in my life. As long as I have had conscious thought and memory, I have begged for recollection of advice that has changed me in a positive way from my parents. There really isn't any from my mother. She is a nurturer at heart, and seeks the comfort of others out in her daily routine. On the other hand, my father lives for himself. He is convinced that he is right, shoving his doctrine down your throat as though it were steel wool. I don't resent him for this. That is just the person he is. I can't help but respect a person with adamant ideals, even if I disagree. Unfortunately, he takes a distant second on the ever-truthful scale of "How many nights out of ten do you stay up screaming/crying about this person?" That scale has never lied to me. I trust it. Anyway, as I said, he is a distant second to my one true love. "True" only because, frankly, we never spoke a word. Our flawless silence paved my future. It was first in the 8th grade that I saw her. I was then a sheltered youth, seeing a flood of new things for the first time. A girl, dressed in black, alone all the time. I could see it in her eyes; I will never forget her eyes. I saw this girl every day, but I was in love with her from the first. I loved everything she was and everything she would someday be. I would give anything to have talked to her even once. I would give anything to do it all over again. In so many ways, I want to be her. She embodied everything I then loved and still want. I longed for her, I cried for her, I lived for her, I died for her. I lost it all for her and she will never know. I lived without life for a time, making a fantasy world my reality, filling the missing piece of my puzzle with the wrong section of jigsaw. Every time I forced a piece into the gap I let her create, it bruised the pieces around it. Everything was out of place. I was forced into a revolution of sorts. I don't know what it was, but I was different. I took to myself more because I lost faith in the world. To this day, I don't trust the thing that governs everything around me. I am the only one who can put the pieces together, and I know the pieces fit because I watched them tumble down. It can never be the same, but wounds can be repaired and replacements can be made. I started looking inward to repair my once vestal puzzle, now raped with pain and suffering. In 11th grade, I met a girl who was just like her. I had so much residual adoration and trust for my silent lover that I trusted this "replacement" with everything I had. Of course, as most high school relationships are, she cheated on me, admitted to it, and then denied it - in that order. This messed me up considerably, and I continue to deal with the pain she caused me. We were together so intensely, and she led the way. She gave me the first kiss; she spoke the first fifty phrases of "I love you"; she invited me to her school dance; she cheated on me; she left me. I took in everything she brought to the table and gave everything back two hundred percent, sans the last two. I did my best not to lie to her. Alas, it was all for nothing. Why? I don't know, maybe because I bring it upon myself. I learned three things from that experience: a) never, at any cost, put your feelings and trust into the most beautiful girl you have ever seen, b) don't pretend people aren't who they seem to be, a person's soul doesn't lie, no matter how much you want it to, and c) never date again in high school. It will only destroy me further, which is the last thing I need at this point. My silent worship for this woman destroyed me for years, and when I was finally getting over it, I committed emotional suicide in another person. I will recover with time, even though it's been well over a year. Maybe I take things harder than most people, but that's just me. My soul is frail and my hide even weaker. I trust so easily, and everybody around me knows my weaknesses. The truth of the matter is that anybody I know could easily destroy me as a person; I have always felt like I was on the verge of a break down. Hope drives me, steers me, shifts me, and even changes my tire. At the same time, I don't regret or resent anything I've done. I'm not complaining about my life, just observing. Women have always been a bleak piece of my deflowered puzzle; perhaps part of the sky?blank, hard as hell to find, and almost impossible to fit comfortably. Current Mood: depressed Current Music: Tool - Forty Six & 2 (14 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, May 7th, 2001
3:41 pm	Chapter 1: Me There are some fundamental things about me that must be understood in order to grasp even the most basic significance that any given event holds to me. These are the things that make me who I am at the deepest, darkest level. Without these things, I would be someone else entirely. I would be nothing more than a copy of an imitation. If that were the case, well, I'd rather be nothing. Anyway, I was born on August 10th of 1983, around 10:11 in the morning. I've been alive for nearly eighteen years, but I still feel like an infant. It seems that everything I do is like learning to walk, or to read, or even to tie my shoes. I allude to my struggle with the laced demons at least once a day, every time realizing that life is a struggle, and without a struggle there would be very little life in me at all. I only have two vivid childhood memories. I know, it sounds stupid, but it's true. The earlier of the aforementioned memories took place when I was three, give or take a year. As the story is told by my mother, "Oh, Pat just lost his grip on the boy, but he landed ok." I see it differently. I'm not sure why I can't forget this. It was a quiet day, that much I remember. The only sound was of the stove simmering some concoction that we probably ate for dinner, which I probably hated. Upon reflection, I realized that this was, in a way, the calm before the storm. My dad called something out - I think he burned himself - and suddenly, I was in a short, but sweet, free fall. I don't quite remember why my dad was holding me, but he was. Perhaps I was just in a lonely mood and wanted to be held. It's not important. The ceiling seemed to fall away from me, but it wasn't until the side of my face slapped against the linoleum that I realized the cold truth of the situation. Life always lies like that. The only feeling in my body was of the chilled tiles against my newly bruised cheek. I didn't hit especially hard, but it shattered my trust for all time. I don't know why. Like most things I feel, it follows no pattern of logic and no predictable curve. Such is life. Now that I think about it, it's ironic that both of my childhood memories involve me being injured. Also odd is the fact that both events were quiet in the moments before "impact". My second memory involves a haven for all things evil; a place that I can only shudder at the thought of. The adults in our lives dubbed it Sandcastle Daycare, but for all of us who actually had to endure the torture that took place in the dungeon of that particular castle, it was the seventh ring of hell itself. Maybe it was the food that they forced upon us, perhaps it was the naptime that they made us suffer through, or it could have even been the seemingly endless list of pointless rules. Regardless, it was not a place I looked forward to being at when I arose for breakfast. I was wearing a pale green jacket and some form of green pants. For some reason, I was walking around the swings with my friend, Mathew. We were talking for a while about G.I. Joes, Transformers, throwing rocks at people, and eating caterpillars, but then suddenly we stopped talking. This was very awkward for our young bodies, being the summer between first and second grade. What were we to do if not talk of toys and eating bugs? Well, my inner genius suggested a nice jog behind the swings. I didn't bother looking to see if anybody was swinging. I didn't care. It was silent, and that frightened me. Kids either talk or waste energy, that's the simple truth. I had to resort to the latter. Well, as could be easily assumed, a kid on the back swing hit me right in the chest, knocking me over a low wall that was behind the swings, on top of some kids inside of a large sandbox. Not only was it quite embarrassing, but it also destroyed my clear, peaceful mind for a day. Horrible thing to happen to a kid, ears ringing and mind racing. Perhaps something good came from it. I was better in school from then on. I didn't exactly master first grade, but second grade was a snap, and it got easier as time went on. Of course, the only reason I know this is because of my report cards. I have those two memories from my life before I turned ten, and the four years after that don't really hold any thoughts unless somebody else brings it up first. I don't know why that is, but it means that I only have a few memories to hold on to. What a horrible thing to happen to a person who lives so much in the past. Every memory I have seems surreal, though. Maybe it's the same for everybody, maybe not. I wouldn't know. When I feel my past could not have existed because I don't remember it, I have to convince myself that it did happen. If not, what then? I become insane? Usually I go about convincing myself of the past by asking myself questions. It helps me to discern what is reality from what is in my head. Reality does not work in an expected pattern, so any clich? event in my life is either the fault of myself or another imperfect human being. Life does not take the expected turn; people take the expected turn. Life does not carry a rulebook, or a code of laws, or an appointed president with an initial vote of less than one third the theoretical voting population (notice lack of the word elected). Only two things dictate life: fate and karma. There really aren't any other choices, when you think about it. Does some form of God create fate, or do you create karma? It's all a matter of opinion, I suppose. When put in the magnifying glass of karma, it makes questions really interesting. Why in the world can't I remember anything? I'm entirely sure that other important things must have happened to me during my life. Why, then, can't I recall them? Perhaps I led a horrible life in a previous existence. Perhaps I was done some extreme wrong in my childhood that karma, in its mighty balance, erased it from my memory, leaving me naked, with emotional wounds of ill-explanation. Well, a trauma would explain a lot, I admit, but I don't know. As mentioned above, clich? things never seem to happen unless it's the fault of a flawed entity. "Karma's a bitch." On the other side of the coin, fate creates a much more bland existence, if you ask me. Why did I change scholastically so much in that summer? Was it really the impact of a reckless swinger that improved my grades, and perhaps my concentration? Fate answers, respectively, "Because you were meant to," and "Well, I can't tell you that. It might give away your destined future." When I think about fate, I just sigh in boredom and fear. What comfort is there in the fact that you may die tomorrow and be unable to do anything about it? I don't understand the majority of religions for that reason, among others. What comfort could you possibly find in trusting your life with something that has arguably never left behind any tangible evidence of itself? Well, faith?that is an entire book on its own. I won't touch that with a ten-foot stick. What does this all mean about me? I don't really know. It just seems right. I don't look at my life now and think, "Sean, what happened to you?" I think more along the lines of "Wow, ya know, that makes such perfect sense." My life is based upon this mentality and those few events. I assume many more things have shaped me over the years, but the few that I chose to mention are the catalysts for which everything else accelerates. The runway, if you will. Everything else takes off from here. This is where it all started. Those are the things I recall. I can't say that I rejoice upon many my memories, few and far between, but at the same time I would never take any of them back. They paved a road for my future, albeit dangerous, windy, and unstable. Those are the cards I was dealt by fate, karma, or perhaps by an overzealous swinger with a thirst to kill. Whatever it may have been, to it I owe everything. Current Mood: worried Current Music: Tool - Maynard's Dick (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 1st, 2001
12:31 pm	- There.was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched you fall away. - I downloaded "Schism" (the new Tool single -- but if you didn't know that, you need to learn) the other night. I was at first knocked down by the music, which is so addicting. Only today have I listened to the words well. I can't think of another band where the singing matches the music so well. I don't think such a band has ever existed. Could ever exist? I purchased Salival two days ago (the Tool boxed set -- same applies here: learn!). I wept slightly during the "Stinkfist" video. It was so beautiful and Stinkfist is such a perfect song. I can hardly contain my excitement. Lateralus is released in two weeks. In three weeks after that, my tongue will be punctured twice...I hope. Roughly two months after that, my labret punched at 00ga. I hope I can find somebody in the area who can make this possible. Until then, I have to write an auto-biography for school. Three chapters (make-believe excerpts from a 20 chapter novel) ranging from 2-20 pages. Believe it or not, I can't wait. I'm starting tonight: Chapter One: "Sean, what the hell happened to you?" I get this question a lot. As a youth, I was normal to a strange degree. Perhaps normal in an unintelligent way. That all changed when my father dropped me. I imagine my head slapped against the linoleum like nothing else -- especially to him. Of course it was an accident, but I hope that nobody ever forgets. ... Anyway, so on and so forth. It will be fun. I depart. I know we can figure something out again. "I know the pieces fit, 'cause I watched them fall away." Current Mood: blank Current Music: Tool - Schism (3 Comments |Comment on this)