Here it is.

I’m starting to understand things. But it’s only little by little. Everyone remembers their childhood, when we learned what to do and what not to do. I was a blonde kid with a bowl cut. And I talked funny. Kids in my classes made fun of my name and all I really liked to do was build things with blocks. I was weird. I still am weird. I find that at times I’m extremely lonesome. But when I get out and do the things that there are to do around here—I find that I like being alone. So I’ll go home or go drink coffee somewhere. I’ll listen to the radio and smoke cigarettes. I know all of this is unhealthy too. Not too mention kind of creepy. But that’s me. And that’s who I am. I had a good chat today with a friend. It was mostly me talking, just because I cut people off in conversation, thinking that my points are always more meaningful.

The conclusion was that everyone should just fuck off. I made metaphors with a cigarette and all I can really think of now is that I don’t know what to do about anything. I like the company of people. But in a way, I don’t. I just like certain people at certain times. Not a lot of people together, being crazy—but one person I can talk to about something meaningful for the both of us. Well, anyway it just seems that there is another stage in which I’m trying to figure out what to do: what’s right and what’s wrong. But the answers or outcomes aren’t necessarily perfect. It isn’t like math where there is always some kind of answer. It isn’t even like writing in which I can finally give up—saying: “Yeah, that’s what I feel—so it’s gotta be right.” It’s not like that at all. It isn’t black or white and it kills me. I wish this were all so easy. But tonight, I’m finding out for some reason what I am. My name doesn’t define me. My poor habits of smoking, drinking a lot of coffee, or even leading girls on I have no desire for; all of that shit doesn’t define me. I don’t know what defines me.

I got out of the shower tonight and saw my naked-self in the mirror. I looked at my chest and at my arms. I looked at my face and eyes. Then I finally looked at my penis and I came to this conclusion: “You’re the man. And anyone that doesn’t like you is missing out. The world is missing out not on your dick or muscles. Because that doesn’t define you man. You’re the fucking shit for one reason and one reason only: you’re who you are.” This may sound strange. And I would agree too I guess. But I don’t really care what people think of me, if I’m in love, or if any future action I take in the world is to become anything. I’m going to live my life. So fuck you all. For all of you that have ever hurt me with venomous words, or for my current situation, a lack of words: fuck it. I’m done with feeling this way. I don’t care if you think you know who I am, or what I am. You aren’t right. You aren’t close to being right. And do you want to know why you’re wrong? You’re wrong because I don’t even know what I am. And I know myself the best. I know what I want.

And this depression that is conceived every fucking morning I wake up: I’m done with it. It’s something I don’t want anymore. So I’m forgetting the things that upset me. Of course all the situations I’ve experienced make me who I am. But why keep hurting? There’s a lot of injustice and hate in this world already. Why should I be pissed off about things of no importance, of no desire, and that simply make me sad. Fuck you all. And to those that think they love me or know that they don’t love me; I love you either way. But you can fuck off too. Because the people that care for me the most, I know. And there’s only a few that have my back. So go to the deli, grab a ticket and wait in line: because I’m who I am, and if you want more it will take a lot of time to earn my trust, and gain my love. Otherwise, I’m done with this shit.

Let us all go and fornicate!

It's as if I am a misfit. I don't belong or relate to anything besides you. So here in lies my fault. You understand right? Of course you do, yes-- it is as logical as any mathematical deed. It’s a simple problem involving a simple solution. A year ago today, I had dreams. I dreamt like a boy unexposed to the world. I was immature, unknowing, and nothing had hurt me. I believed that nothing could hurt me. And in a way I have not changed.

But I came into contact with worldly things, complex things, and emotions that still need to be dealt with daily. Such pain and hurt you've caused, that I should, rather need, to say thank you. For it was through you that I met the world. I’ve done so much and received nothing! But there in lies the beauty of it all. It doesn’t matter how much I give because the lesson will be for those to figure out what I have given. I will never expect anything in return from anyone. And true—it’s a valid point that I was angry and bitter. I denied God. I denied Love. I said no to this world—its mountains and lakes, rivers within valleys, geographic separations that all denied me my aspirations. I became hateful and shunned away all hope for something to become of this. All that I had was that. I didn’t want to let it go. I prayed, I yelled, I ran about hopeless and desperate because I knew it couldn’t last. And it didn’t. It went fast and now that it’s gone I’ve come to terms with a few things.

All I can think of is a story I thought up to compare. Once there was a man who had a dog. And one day that dog needed to run away. It knew the woods and mountains. And it was time for it to leave and discover the world. When the man woke one day—his wife having died years before—his only companion had left him. And he was desperate like I. He ran around his farm yelling. He cursed the dog. He said there was no God because this pain he was feeling, none could fix. He shouted that if there were a God he didn’t matter. And so he searched the woods and climbed the mountains. The old man learned all he could to be like the dog and to find him one day. And then he stopped by a river and sat down thinking. It didn’t matter anymore.

He had spent all his time—nearly a year, being so angry at his dog that ran away. He wondered why. He had given the dog everything—possibly even more! He gave him food and allowed him to even sleep at the foot of his bed. He loved the dog so much and he knew the dog loved him too. They were all they had for each other. But then the old man figured, wherever that son of a bitch is, a little runt that he had taken care of since he was a puppy—wherever his good boy is, he is happy. And that’s all that the old man cared about. His loneliness and rage wasn’t for the dog and his actions—but for humanity’s incapable ways of controlling our destinies.

And that’s how I am. I cannot control one single thing except the way in which I perceive things to be. And that old man can no longer be enraged like myself. We must learn to become one with what is happening and perceive it to be a thing of positive light—of endless hope and possibilities. Yet we will always question and always be deeply hurt at the woes that we have experienced. The anguish of love and of asking an indifferent universe questions of complexity that we have no understanding of: is what irks me to the most inner parts of my soul. For I thought about you! I screamed at the black night my hate for God, my contempt for fellow man, and the hurt that I have experienced—How I wanted it to be experienced in your heart as well! I wanted ever so much to yell it across the pond in my neighboring town and have it travel to your ears so you would know. But the sun rises earlier there and the seasons are opposite like our feelings. I have no more hate to spread and no more love to give to you. And like my made up old man, we are tired of traveling intellectual roads of questioning. And we know now that it is all so insignificant. For if you and his beloved dog are happy, we through the laws of necessity must be as well. So here’s to my coming nights and early days, my dreams of love will become filled with lust—and I raise my glass for you, the old man, his dog, and for all of humanity—let us go fornicate! Cheers to Happiness! Cheers to Lust! Cheers to the rising sun and all that it will bring with it! For I am no longer sad or lonesome and love will find me behind it, tapping it on the shoulder saying “You’re it!” I have a crush and an eye for brighter days in life. The constant rush won’t stop and the loneliness will always be there. But I will begin each day with a hope that may tremble from time to time—but will stand with me—even when all else has run away. Even—when all else has run away.

There wasn't much I could have said. And driving home in a snow storm, with my truck going sideways at times, made it all seem so much more dramatic. Of course I could've died. But I wasn't thinking of death. I was thinking of different things, like things I could have said, perhaps, things I will say. But being home now, slightly warmer than I just was, it seems insignifcant. I'm tired and I'll be going to bed right after I write this. And even though I'm still thinking about those things, and I might be thinking about them tomorrow while I serve people their fish; at this point it doesn't matter. The things I have tried didn't really work. The things that I thought would help me quit bad habits, haven't helped any. I still think and still smoke. I still try to solve problems that either have nothing to do with me inparticular, or things that I have no control over to begin with. And one day I'll die from this. I won't be wearing my seltbelt and I'll go flying through my windshield. If the impact doesn't kill me the jagged pieces of glass cutting my throat will.

But as I lay dying in a drift of snow, with my body becoming numb, with blood making the snow around me impure--I wouldn't be thinking of death. I'd be thinking thoughts of night. How it's dark and how perhaps I could find a solution in the next life. If I even believe in that. But what I think I could've said, or how perhaps I could have done something different in all the instances I think of--I realize right now, with the week's fatigue catching up--I'm rather ignorant. I know not what I will do nor the reasons for any future action I may take. I'll just live it and take whatever comes my way.

I'll take whatever comes my way. And if nothing comes. I'll be here thinking. Because I can't quit that, even though I'm rather dumb.