Wednesday, October 21, 2009

worth

I am disgusting. I am a creature of bad habit. I have nothing to live for, and I have entwined my life with nothing important enough to die for. I slip and fall without noticing because I'm so used to it. I treat no one with respect, and yet expect it from everyone else. I have never done anything right. I am not doing anything right. I will never do anything right. My life is waste. I am trash, garbage, and sewage. I will never be positive about it. I will never think anything I do is worth more than the time I wasted and the people I distracted.

This is my life. There are many like it, but this one is mine. Without my life, I am worthless. Without me, my life is nonexistent.

there is nothing worth doing anything for. Science AND religion are wrong.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Lucy the Backwards Healer.

"Just keep listening. It's important that you keep listening."

It's harder to post in this blog anymore. I don't want it to be. This blog used to be a huge part of my life. Now it's hard to even type. I blame a couple of reasons:

1) I may be moving on, whether or not I want to. Life has an annoying way of doing that, without you wanting it or even knowing about it.

2) People I care about very much now know about this blog. Every word I type has a terrible effect on those people. I guess maybe I was hoping they would eventually assume I never updated anymore.

I'm sorry to anyone my absence may have been detrimental to. There are those few I have been emailing back and forth, talking things out with. But now that I don't live in Seattle, now that that stage of my life is over, it's much easier to be a normal teenager. Some regular kid who spends his time with friends, or at his job making rent. Trying to do life normally.

That's never who I wanted to be, I don't want to be like everyone else, pretending life is something easy. Pretending I'm okay here, living it. All I want to do is encourage you not to fall into a regular life. Do NOT spend your time talking to friends, shopping, going to school and working and making yourself believe that you don't have any free time. The years of your life you waste doing this you won't remember later. They won't produce stories you tell your kids. They won't help you be a decent human. Go do something out of the ordinary, and don't tell anyone about it.

I don't know where I'm coming from or where I'm going, I just really want to update this blog. I think about it every day.

Sometimes I miss my old apartment. I miss the snow and the cold walks through snow with a jacket on. I miss numb fingers and steaming coffee. By the time I wake up now, the temperature outside is higher than any coffee I could make. Cigarettes don't feel good when you're already sweating.

I don't know what the fuck happened. I hated Seattle when I was there. None of it seemed appealing. I felt stressed and used and uneasy. I felt crushed and completely insecure. I worried myself sick every night of the week. I woke up before the sun two times a week. I rode buses everywhere. I saw at least ten bums a day. It was freezing.

But here it's hot. Here, I've fallen into uniformity. I hate it. I thought I hated myself in Seattle, I hate myself more now. And for reasons that don't make me want to be a better person.

And for the idiot that asked why I wasn't over Amanda after the pool incident over two years ago: We got back together. We started dating again, deciding life wasn't worth it without eachother. We got closer, got insane for each other, got engaged, got our own apartment. That's fucking why.

Maybe she was the only reason I wrote in this blog. She's the only one that made me feel like I could write this blog from a perspective that was meaningful.

My girlfriend now doesn't hurt me, doesn't make me feel insecure, doesn't make it so apparent that every other guy is better than I am. On the other hand, that means I don't have to strive for her love. She doesn't even think I'm an asshole.

And I am an asshole.

Everyone needs to know that. For some stupid reason, everyone needs to know.

BRAVERYK@GMAIL.COM

Thursday, July 2, 2009

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/arts_and_culture/8129782.stm

How does this make you feel?

Sunday, April 12, 2009

suicide

The number of cigarettes I have a day has increased dramatically. I'm at about 12-14 now. Spending so much time doing it, I think it's about time I analyze it.

When I started smoking, I smoked because Amanda never let me do it. It made me feel better to think that there was at least one "benefit" that came from the break up.

I kept smoking because I was depressed and wasn't strong enough to commit suicide.

I kept smoking because all my friends do it.

I kept smoking because I was used to being the judgmental asshole, but try smoking a cigarette in a public place, and see how everyone else reacts. It's a pretty swift role reversal.

I smoke now because I am addicted, and tonight, I will smoke purely for the suicide.

braveryk@gmail.com

Saturday, April 4, 2009

If I wrote a book about my life, it would be called "Asshole."

I've been telling people, when they ask, that I'm an asshole for about a year now. Ever since I discovered that fact about myself. I find people deny it almost immediately, and dismiss the fact that I said it.

And I almost believed them. But times like this make me realize that I am. I mean, I really am. So when someone else tells you that they are an asshole, believe them. They know more about themselves than you do. Isn't that the point of life, thought, and intellect?

Friday, March 27, 2009

THIS POST IS NOTHING LIKE USUAL AND SHOULD BE DISREGARDED.

I don't have any inspiring quotes for you, I don't have any meaningful phrase to base this post on, I just feel like writing. I'm not even sure what to say.

I want to find someone who I really relate to. Sharing the thoughts you thought no one else had feels so liberating. But, at the same time, it's sad. We realize we aren't the only one striving for novelty.

Oh, I remembered a quote, and in doing so, decided a topic.

I have a friend who thinks that being a "good person" depends on your amount of "street cred." After feeling like Iknew that being a good person was decided by your thoughts and how you act on them, the mere thought of this made me angry.

We got onto the topic by discussing a mutual friend, whom I have an almost immeasurable amount of respect for. Throughout high school and college, he has made nothing but good choices. He is a devoted, caring, and genial person. I respect him for not only putting up with distasteful habits, and temptations, but his ability to be social, even though he doesn't partake in the usual drugs that make a person that way.

My respect is the most valuable thing I could give him. Although this may sound like I do agree with the importance of "street cred," I think there is a large and important distance between the respect I give the mutual friend, and the type of respect the first friend referred to, which is the type you give the strongest guy in prison.

But what really does make someone a good person? I always thought of a good person as someone who values thought. Intellectuals. I respect those types of people. Maybe that's how I connected 'good' with 'respectable'.

You are good when you make good choices with a good mind. Anyone could open a door for the girl. some will do it with hidden resentment. These are who Holden would call, "phonies."

Some do it while looking at their girl and smiling. They smile every time they look at her. These are the good people.

Who gives a fuck if everyone else respects them, when they have no insight into your thoughts. You are who you are when you are alone. There has never been a truer word said.

"Your mind will be like its habitual thoughts; for the soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts."

I don't know why I wanted to write this, I just really feel like getting back to who I was three months ago, when I wrote more.

BRAVERYK@GMAIL.COM
I would love to hear more from you guys. It would help me.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

I come towards you.

"We are generally the better persuaded by the reasons we discover ourselves than by those given to us by others."

I urge you to read this blog. while thinking about yourself, and not me. I'm just an asshole.


Friday, February 27, 2009

Suitcase tracks in the snow.

I remember the night she broke up with me. It didn't rain, like it should have. It always rains in books or movies, when change happens. It'll suddenly pour, like the clouds don't give a fuck to what you're going through. "Here, now you're wet, on top of all that. Go inside, where you used to sleep with her."

It didn't rain, it snowed. 
It was like rain, but much, much colder.
And I had to roll her suitcase through all that.

And it's not even warm where I live now, like it should be. Like you always imagine when you hear of the place. Even at noon, I'm uncomfortable without a hoodie.

braveryk@gmail.com

"You still owe me all those sodas."

Finally, I feel the urge to write again. It's been gone so long, I had forgotten what it felt like. Phrases sounding like music rushing through my head. The Frenzied fear that they will be lost from my memory before I get them written down, somewhere safe from my own forgetfulness.

Though once penned they will seem foolish, disorganized, juvenile, they sound like music.

I remember trying to kiss her, the first her I ever had, for the first time, for my first kiss. It was in a movie theatre of all god damn places. I remember setting it all up in my head carefully, like dominoes. I had a script written in my mind, and expectations that could have busted through the roof of the place. I leaned over and said my line, a bit too quickly, I think. I remember that, because she didn't hear me. She said "what?" as I sheepishly leaned towards her. A quick peck, the strangest feeling in the world, and I pulled away.

I felt sick, I felt depressed and I felt angry. I remember my best friend at the time, and still to this day, trying to get me to do that the entire movie. Jesus Christ, it wasn't like I didn't want to.

Her small lips provided little surface to put my own on. And I don't really know what I was expecting at all. Explosions, fireworks, cheering? Nothing like that ever happens. I swear life would be better with a special effects team. Now I realize that what I felt was the correct feeling. It didn't feel wrong because I had any problems, only because I was a beginner. The feeling doesn't change if you don't have a well-intentioned heart, unfortunately. Oh, the things that could be avoided if physical advances only felt good through true love. Of course this world is too bitchy to give us any outside indication that we ARE with our true love.

True love, I'm not even sure I believe in it. How can you know, anyway? You haven't met every girl in the world. You haven't had the time or chance to analyze even all of your friends.

Anyway, I still want to hear from you. BrAveryK@gmail.com
Any one of you could write these entries. It's just a matter of remembering who you are. You'd be surprised how many people relate.

Thank God for those of you who are The Narrator.