Despite my 'redemption', despite all my promises made to myself, despite the fact that I am letting everyone I cherish and honor down, despite the fact that I am royally fucking myself hard in the ass sleeping in bed wishing that everything would fucking end- wishing that I had the courage to o.d on sleeping pills, or slash my wrists-

Because, fucking despite everything, I cannot do anything, I fucking can't- it would not come out- or rather, I couldn't even bring myself to do anything

You can't imagine how frustating that feels, how maddening, how infuriating, how disgusting, how fucking sad, how depressing-

Listen to me- the (perceived, imagined, or not) loss of intellect, imagination, thought, psyche, of your mind- is the worst possible thing that could happen to you-

Never ever let it happen to you. Never fucking wonder, because, you know what? It really sucks- which is an obvious understatement.

But maybe the worst part is losing your conviction, your determination, your drive- even though hope totally blows, not having any is even worse-

which results in the loss of feeling, emotionally speaking- when the majority of your feeling consist of grief, anxiety, and pain- when you can't feel the spectrum of normal feeling withing yourself, when anger only comes in short, impotent, irrational bursts, when...when everything is lost, when concern is lost...

I would spend hours mindlessly skimming the web. I would come upon everything...and it seemed like my responses were faded out images of what I would normally feel.....especially when I would cam to articles about suffering, human-rights abuses, bigoty, injustice, pain......things I care strongly about...things I want to give my life to end..to make better-

I wasn't even able to read everything, and more importantly, I wasn't able to care- care as much as I used to, because, because, I was faded. I had so much ( and I still do) 'baggage', and all this was doing was adding more, and more. That's sick. Matthew, you sick selfish fuck. You hypocrite- nothing more than a self-serving pussy whose impassioned words stem from nothing more than guilt, shame, and self-righteousness- but I still care- I..

I never used to look at pain like this- alright, I'm lying. But...what I did in the past was to take that pain, feel it, push it down, store it, and fight, knowing that whatever they had gone though would not be in vain....that their suffering and pain would make me stronger, make my belief, my conviction in caring, compassion and love not worthless, not insignificant, not futile- that, that it mattered that I gave a damn. Pain made me stronger, more able, more creative, and most importantly, more compassionate.

But when I lost myself, when I rode the current of doubt leading to despair, depression, and emptiness- when I couldn't think straight- I thought

So what? Can I make a change? Does anybody really care? Can I actually fight those souless 'intellectuals' who support the cause of ignorance, inequality, and injustice- who are in turn supported by money, influence, and power- everything that supposedly matters in this world?

And most damning of all- to those who suffer, to those who are in pain, to those who struggle to find some semblance of a life, some, any kind of worthwhile meaning-

Am I worthy to carry your banner? Am I capable to fight, to express, to live? Will I dishonor your cause?

I faltered, I stumbled, I fell. And I lay there, content to wallow in the muck and mud of self-pity. I almost suffocated- my mind was shrouded in mucky fog, my eyes gummed up with sweat and impotent tears, my nose, stuffed with the smell of shitty insincerity and false concern, my ears, deaf with empty promises and meaningless cliches, and my mouth, sick of  myself, sick of school, sick of people, sick of the whole fucking world- tried to spit it out, tried to spit everything out. And what came was a neverending steam of bile- remorse, self-pity, false remarks- reeking of the-"oh, I'm fine" "nothing's wrong" "I'm ok, really" "I'll get through this" "It's only a phase".

I wasn't human. I could only take comfort knowing that the vast majority of people around me and the vast majority of people involved in "modern western culture" (A poor, insignificant excuse for a culture, rife with shallow insincerity and false promises), were even more dead than I was, only, they didn't know it. I watched, looking at them smiling without knowing what true happiness was, looking at them laugh without knowing what humor really was, looking at them wasting their life on stupid fashion trends, looking at them mistake love for material fondness and animal insincerity- does fido really love your blubbering ass or does he want his food because you and your shitty friends were out late pretending you cared at a "progressive" rally or a "culture" club, wearing "emo" glasses and using PC terms, trying to sound intelligent with words like facile and ecological ramification, armed with new terms like ecopsychology, but your dog is fucking starving and knows your phony ass is late because of his biological clock which is much more accurate than your "expensive" watch that you never synchronize, much less ever look at- your dog sees though you. I see though you. And I would fucking hate you if I didn't feel like shit and couldn't feel much of anything-

I feel now though. I felt today. I found a poem by Bao Phi, an incredibly talented poet and lyricist, and, I almost cried. I felt...not "normal", but human- fragile, weak, and needy- yet alive, driven by the eternal wellspring of emotion that exists in all humans- this, this, is life.

So, without further ado, here is the poem:

                                                    BAO PHI

This is a poem I wrote the first time I went back to Viet Nam, 1996. I didn't write very many good poems there. The best one is probably the one I wrote about my family, but I'm not going to post that here. Too personal. This poem I wrote after I visited the site of the My Lai massacre, where innocent villagers were brutalized and murdered by American soldiers - and this was just the most publicized atrocity, there were others. I'm not generally a melodramatic person, I don't cry in public. But there, I just lost it. An overwhelming grief, so much so that I couldn't even really write a poem on it... the poem below doesn't even strike me as a poem, I don't know honestly what it is. I guess a manifestation of my grief. And it's graphic, because I didn't know how else to communicate the brutality of what happened there.-

My Lai

This place is filled with ghosts whose faces I can't place
but whose tears I can still taste.

I see pictures of you
eyes flaring as your huts burnt down behind you
like broken promises.

Sister, when they held you down
with their pincers of pale arms
raped you with the barrel of an M-16,
did they bother
to look at your hands
see the borders there, geography torn and weather worn?
When they pulled the trigger, the muzzle still inside of you,
did they see an entire world contained in those hands
the hills curved down from the thumbs,
mountains of callouses at the root of your fingers
soft plains of your hands
twitch and die?

Brother, when they saw you shield your younger brother
with your own body as bullets buzzed towards you
like an unprovoked hive of hornets
could they imagine that such an automatic unselfish act
of brotherly love
could be forgotten in a fight over a mango seed
yet remembered in a wedding
did they know that the shield of family love
even when useless to stop bullets
is thrown with the urgency
of survivors?

Child, when they sliced open your mother's stomach
with a bayonet
ripped you from her womb
did they pause to wonder if, one day,
you could have grown
to just once
do something as rare, simple, and important
as pause for breath on a green hill
the world rolling out like a dream beneath you
thought to yourself
what a beautiful world
to live in?

I don't know if you can hear me.
Every time I think of what happened here
I can't believe in no type of God
I just hope that someday this world
will learn to pick up its pieces
so that you can rest
in peace.

I will fight, for everyone- and myself- the feeling of pain, of anger, of the ever-powerful belief that this should not have happened, that this should never have happened, that this still goes on, in every shape and form today- that we, not a fanciful portrayal of God, eventually, will end this cycle of brutality, of pain, of the human willingness to perpetrate atrocities in the name of lust, money, nationalistic "values", and the "Common Good".

God bless America, and only America- Chris Rock.

Is that "God" our creator or the idol of our ignorance, pride, hate and materialism?

Fight for each other- not for a misrepresented western idology or a often-quoted "higher being", used mainly to mask selfish human avarice-

I will.

Hey...totally screwing myself over...should be doing absurdly late homework, but....and I'm tired from spending an arduous 7 hours surfing the net trying not to do homework...eh.......story of my depressed latter second semester *sigh*, anyways check this out:

Got this from aznpunkarse site-

cybersex manual.  don't read if you're under 13.  copied from kham's subprofile.

bloodninja: Baby, I been havin a tough night so treat me nice aight?
BritneySpears14: Aight.
bloodninja: Slip out of those pants baby, yeah.
BritneySpears14: I slip out of my pants, just for you, bloodninja.
bloodninja: Oh yeah, aight. Aight, I put on my robe and wizard hat.
BritneySpears14: Oh, I like to play dress up.
bloodninja: Me too baby.
BritneySpears14: I kiss you softly on your chest.
bloodninja: I cast Lvl. 3 Eroticism. You turn into a real beautiful woman.
BritneySpears14: Hey...
bloodninja: I meditate to regain my mana, before casting Lvl. 8 Cock of the Infinite.
BritneySpears14: Funny I still don't see it.
bloodninja: I spend my mana reserves to cast Mighty Fuck of the Beyondness.
BritneySpears14: You are the worst cyber partner ever. This is ridiculous.
bloodninja: Don't fuck with me bitch, I'm the mightiest sorcerer of the lands.
bloodninja: I steal yo soul and cast Lightning Lvl. 1,000,000 Your body explodes into a fine bloody mist, because you are only a Lvl. 2 Druid.
BritneySpears14: Don't ever message me again you piece of shit.
bloodninja: Robots are trying to drill my brain but my lightning shield inflicts DOA attack, leaving the robots as flaming piles of metal.
bloodninja: King Arthur congratulates me for destroying Dr. Robotnik's evil army of Robot Socialist Republics. The cold war ends. Reagan steals my accomplishments and makes like it was cause of him.
bloodninja: You still there baby? I think it's getting hard now.
bloodninja: Baby?

-------------------

bloodninja: Ok baby, we got to hurry, I don't know how long I can keep it ready for you.
j_gurli3: thats ok. ok i'm a japanese schoolgirl, what r u.
bloodninja: A Rhinocerus. Well, hung like one, thats for sure.
j_gurli3: haha, ok lets go.
j_gurli3: i put my hand through ur hair, and kiss u on the neck.
bloodninja: I stomp the ground, and snort, to alert you that you are in my breeding territory.
j_gurli3: haha, ok, u know that turns me on.
j_gurli3: i start unbuttoning ur shirt.
bloodninja: Rhinoceruses don't wear shirts.
j_gurli3: No, ur not really a Rhinocerus silly, it's just part of the game.
bloodninja: Rhinoceruses don't play games. They fucking charge your ass.
j_gurli3: stop, cmon be serious.
bloodninja: It doesn't get any more serious than a Rhinocerus about to charge your ass.
bloodninja: I stomp my feet, the dust stirs around my tough skinned feet.
j_gurli3: thats it.
bloodninja: Nostrils flaring, I lower my head. My horn, like some phallic symbol of my potent virility, is the last thing you see as skulls collide and mine remains the victor. You are now a bloody red ragdoll suspended in the air on my mighty horn.
bloodninja: Goddam am I hard now.

--------------

BritneySpears14: Ok, are you ready?
eminemBNJA: Aight, yeah I'm ready.
BritneySpears14: I like your music Em... Tee hee.
eminemBNJA: huh huh, yeah, I make it for the ladies.
BritneySpears14: Mmm, we like it a lot. Let me show you.
BritneySpears14: I take off your pants, slowly, and massage your muscular physique.
eminemBNJA: Oh I like that Baby. I put on my robe and wizard hat.
BritneySpears14: What the fuck, I told you not to message me again.
eminemBNJA: Oh shit
BritneySpears14: I swear if you do it one more time I'm gonna report your ISP and say you were sending me kiddie porn you fuck up.
eminemBNJA: Oh shit
eminemBNJA: damn I gotta write down your names or something

lol....hahahahahahaha...

I've been dead- for so long. It's just so hard to try- to pick yourself up again after seemingly turned to shit- after newfound gifts and talents, innate abilities and characteristics, life, emotions, and personal feelings erode, crack, shatter, deteriorate-

But they haven't left me. I truly believe that they haven't. Yet, I have never been in such an incredibly bad state before, and I mean never. I have to try- but no, I have to succeed. Perservere. Still, the only thing that I have managed to do, at all- is to barely hang on- to, to me, and everything.

That, obviously, is not enough. I want everything back- and that is not enough either. I need everything back- and I need to relearn how to grow. Doesn't that sound funny? Isn't growing involuntary, something everybody goes through?

No. I feel, I know, I, from the bottom of my being- know that growth- is not mere biological, psychological or social-oriented change- it is a...a, constant, somewhat conscious reaffirmation, re-evaluation, and almost spiritual development of your inner character- your inner conviction, force, your inner fire that drives you- call it "soul"-( yet, it is much more than that) along with the realization of a humanitarian connection and responsibility and the willingness and attitude to analyze and meet that divine, that supernatural link- do you understand me? At all? Maybe I am just rambling, and I do know that my previous statement came out jumbled and somewhat odd, yet....you know, what I feel- don't know? You will, eventually.

I have denied that opportunity, denied everything- which is, ultimately- stagnant in nature, and thus, some kind of (mental, physical, social) death.

I've been dead too long. Let the buds flourish- I'm through with death.

I never want to stop growing-

Inner fire, inner spirit, inner sacred soul- rise, sear my entre being, expose my imperfections and flaws, burn and light my unhealed wounds and help me to work though them, and though that- surpass my previous self. They may leave scars, yet, despite the ugliness, scars are a measure of one's pain and experience in the world- one must never forget. It is our imperfections and flaws that ultimately cause us to rely and trust in each other, yet it is through other people's scars that we realize true admiration, beauty and connection- their "ugly", yet triumphant and oddly enchanting scars represent their victory over a flaw which may very well represent a wide open, terrible wound and insecurity in ourselves, and thus, even though we are tragically flawed, we must see this beauty in others and in ourselves, no matter how horribly "ugly" and "scarred" we percive ourselves to be.

This is truly redemption, is it not?

Better late than never.

The act of placing a pen to the empty white expanse of paper, the art of tracing endless patterns that extend across the page, the frantic rise of innate thought, the formation and resulting cohesion of an interweaving web of ideas, the hasty, almost paroxismal-like release of thought through the expression of the written word- the words, which come from within, the true message and measure of one's inner being, splayed out on the ever-recieving endless realm of page after page, bare, for everyone to see-

It left me. Or, I left it, and therefore let it leave me- has it really left? A new gift- gone? Or is it merely dormant?

Imagine- imagine a setting aside of motivation, the loss of hate, anger, pissed off concern. Imagine a growing, ever-threatening disillusionment of oneself, individuals, people, society, life- discontent stemming from innumerous issues previously held in check- it gets stronger. It's getting harder and harder to care, and even more difficult to think- sleep is your constant companion, and an oppressive mind fog arrives, first as a guest, second as a buffer, third as a smothering blanket that inhibits thought, emotion, and action. Apathy is the name of the game- a weariness etched deep into your very soul. Despite that, despite the fact that you cannot think straight, or even feel- except in short bursts of irrational, pent up emotion, mostly irritation, annoyance, anger, disappointment, sadness, and numbing grief- you have responsibilites. School. Family. Obligations. I can't do anything, much less schoolwork. I can't even fucking think straight, or even think 5 seconds in advance- what is this? What is this fucking half-page essay question in front of me? What are all of these fucking questions? A midterm? It's gone. Family? Leave me the fuck alone. Obligations? I don't want to see anybody. Fall deeper. Sleep more. Fail, at everything you possibly need to do. Soon, it seems that you can't even provide appropriate, much less fling sly rejoinders and witty, crass remarks in response to anyone, much less your friends. Rage at the apparent futility- can you smile, motherfucker? And eventually, give up, first physically, then mentally, then spiritually, then emotionally- no, not emotionally. At least, not totally. The only emotion you are left with is regret. Regret, and self-inflicted pain. The nothingness begins to descend- and all you have left to fight it with is two pillows, blankets, and a large cushion. It's hard to feel much of anything anymore- yet, you still have to smile inanely and make small talk in public- help everyone except yourself. It's even hard to become angry, even at something that you eventually realize to be serious, and potentially deadly. You're slowly dying- and you realize it- every short, yet painfully long inch of the way. You're getting fucked, and there's not much you can do about it- you can't even stay in front of the computer long enough to get anything done, but, oh no, you can do anything that doesn't help you-  anything that doesn't relate to the slowly approaching darkness. Take your eyes off the computer screen. Throw your hands away from your cock. What the fuck is wrong with you? I don't know. I can't even pinpoint where it started and what exactly caused it. It? What it? What kind of it? Time- only goes forward, never back. And nostalgia is an evil, conniving bitch, and so is that bed you spend most of your time in. You're tired of being tired- but all you can do is lie awake, praying for sleep, shivering under a thick blanket. But you can physically feel more- you notice more- and it seems like you're operating under a more primitive state of mind- one that is incapable of formulating and putting ideas on record. Has deterioration actually been the game all along? Goddamn you- but no, that's not entirely true. You can still hide, still hold somewhat of a normal appearance, you can still talk, carry the informal tones of eduation as your dialect, think and answer short discussions and questions in class- but you can't think further- and you can't put it down to hold, much less record it. wh-

Now spread that over more than three months.

You wish for it to end. You realize the consquences. You look for a meaningful way out. Death comes to mind. So you walk everyday, wishing that you serve a greater good though your sacrifice- to save one from a burning house, from the path on a onrushing car, the staccato gunshots of a sick nation. See? it's not suicide. Something that grows more real every fucking day-

The blessed fire is gone. The flare of extraordinary imposing thought, the rush of inhumanly fast ideas, hypotheses, theorems, metaphysical, social, political, historical, emotional, ethical, philosphical, and psychological thoughts. The thoughts that would fill the void of irrationality, bridge inconstant and illogical postulates- on the ball of numerous intellectual feet and poised fists, ready to spring and smash everything in your path into a red faced, nervous coughing constantly denying wreck- after which comes submission. The burning light that calls you in class to answer, to argue, to point out inconsistencies in your numerous teachers logic, views, points, outlook, and psychological mindsets- pointing out one and everything- YOU MISSED THIS MOTHERFUCKER! SIT THE FUCK DOWN! I THOUGHT SO BITCH! TWO DOSES OF EMPIRICAL LOGIC, THREE DOSES OF SOCIO-HISTORICAL-BIOLOGICAL-BACKGROUND, five doses of a impervious, undeniable moral standpoint, 7 doses of intellectual adaptability and emotionally moving rhetoric, and a extra helping of a passionate yet cool, composed, educated and holier than thou verbal bearing- and the feeling, no, the knowledge, that you knew that you were better than everyone else- and more. And more. And much more. And everything.

I'm not whole- I haven't been even remotely close- I've been granted a repreive- yet, will that be sufficient?

If not, death will be. I'm sure of it.

L-A-Z-Y  A-S-S  M-O-T-H-E-R-F-U-C-K-E-R

That's been my fucking mantra, logo, slogan, name, religion, inscription on cock for, oh, my whole spring semester.

I haven't done shit. Nothing at all. I have fucking 20 books to read, 4 papers to do and I have only done one. I broke my promise to my english teacher....damn...I'm so lazy....ugh....I even got an extension...and I ended up doing it crappily late in the morning, ditching some classes in the process- ugh.

In addition....I'm still incredibly tired...I sleep waaaaayyyy too much- I've played Wolfenstein much more than anything else.

I'm even more lazy than last semester.....if such a thing is possible....I mean....I was sooooo bored at home....yet....I did incredibly pointless and stupid things instead of homework 1. Bad porn 2. Looking for new wallpapers 3. Staring blankly at my screensaver slide presentation 4. Looking at crazy Japanese stuff (........one thing. They have virtual porn stars..I mean...wtf?) 5. Thinking about sleep at 6 p.m listening to music while playing Wolfenstein

No fair. The cute girl in my antropology class who oddly, always smiled at me ( even when I was a morning zombie...when am I not?) when I came in and randomly in class isn't there anymore. No fair......she was cute.... and In addition to being cute...she had japanese cat ears on one time in class also.....neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko neko..............yeah...I should have said something to her...but I was tired...not to mention I was going to say something along the lines that I didn't deserve her smile..

Shit, I'm drifting.

Oh well.

At least norrath is out......jahahaha...my character is such a badass....Dark Elf Anti-Paladin/ Dark Knight/Shadowknight/ Evil looking mofo

Damn, I'm tired.