ready. set. breathe.

Sun, 19 Nov 2006 01:52:14 GMT

sometimes you get so busy in life doing things you don't really want to be doing, that you forget to find the time to do things you'd rather be doing. I guess this is growing up.

these days....

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 23:46:22 GMT

you've gotta find it in some other way. it's all or nothing baby...

i've been thinking a lot about my position. and reconsidering all those things i'm grateful for. and counting my lucky stars. and the fact that i've been blessed with such an amazing family. and fantastic friends. and a perfect boyfriend. and loads of ambition (and a good mix of procrastination, obviously there for a balance and all!!).. and all those close calls. being home in the early 90s. that truck in the second grade. that car accident. my first week here and that brush with the vehicle v. pedestrian (AKA: me) on the busy downtown street. and amongst all of this calculating, i've come to the conclusion that whatever path i end up on, i'm alright. i can do this on my own. as long as i've got you to turn to. and to talk to. and to be grateful to. because i didn't come here with a second. and i know i won't leave with one. it's just been you and me. and our unity with the rest of matter and non-matter within this universe. and i'm okay with that.

because either way, this is bliss.

:::tomorrow's another day:::

Sun, 19 Dec 2004 20:59:18 GMT

and as your fantasies are broken in two
did you really think this bloody road would pave the way for you
you better turn around and blow your kiss hello to life eternal
there's no time for hatred, only questions
what is love, where is happiness, what is life, where is peace
when will i find the strength to bring me release

____
indifference is worse than any form of boredom. i think of gauguin and that painting, and those words in particular: what are we? where do we come from? where are we going? and then it draws a link to ideas associated with true spirituality. and then to myself in general. and my tendency, which mirrors everyone else's tendency, to try and organize everything into a coherent structure of thoughts. to try and decode it all. in order so that i may understand. in order so that i may conquer. we all waste time thinking about conquest and progress, when it really makes no difference at the end of the road. there is no dead end that we can hit; there is no wall that we strive to leap over. it simply does not exist. in the end, we only go back to the beginning. it's a ring of uncertainty. beautiful and natural. and divine all in its own right. maybe this can try and justify the fact that all i ever do is question. and perhaps i'm lazy. unproductive. i'm aware of the fact that contemplation is my tragic flaw. i'm a hamlet in the flesh. with an ophelia figure as my weakness and everything. i don't know. i've come to realize that the more i learn the more i recognize just how little we all really know. just how much we lack in common sense and general awareness. of ourselves. of one another. of the world. and god. and all things related.

as much as i might like it here on occasion, there's something else that i feel like i should be searching out. that i know i'll never find here. not in this body. not within these circumstances. and more than anything i just want to fulfill my purpose and be done with this. be what i really am, not the personal identity that we've convinced ourselves we should formulate. we're all connected. all universal. all a part of one another. love really can be enough. the real issue is that not many people give it enough credit. and they place their faith in other completely unrelated things. when it's really love that unifies all of existence. it keeps us one with god. and makes us whole.

i don't know. maybe i'm just a fucking hippie after all. and maybe we should just ignore my babble. i remember when i was younger i always said i'd like to lead a revolution. and i always said it would be one of conquest. but there's no such thing as personal ownership of anything. we all belong to one another. i just wish we could recognize that for how simple and beautiful it really is. and along with that, recognize that a revolution of love is what we really need. again.

Wed, 01 Dec 2004 03:46:40 GMT

fuck. i'm just dying for some decent conversation.

honesty. pure. simple. none of that holding back. none of that having to worry about crossing the line. offending friends. no defense mechanisms of any sort. just questions. and suggestive answers. winding pathways, straight ones, without coming to dead ends. process and progress intertwined. without striving to reach some sort of goal. without the necessity for a product to symbolize our achievements in the end.

only conversation.

a meeting of the minds. or a conflict. or whatever. as long as it's open. and alive. and REAL.

sometimes i think that everyone i know comes short of being that one person i wish more than anything that i could get to know.

there's gotta be more. more than this.

as terribly ungrateful as it seems saying something like that, i refuse to be a liar to myself. there has to be something else. something bigger. not necessarily better. but something different. or similar. either or.

otherwise i'll continue to remain a mere apparition. trapped. in between worlds.

and while at times i become convinced that god (or a divine force of some sort, that i term god for lack of a better definition) may be the answer, we must first formulate the question. and as far as faith might let us travel, our primary belief should be in ourselves. and then one another. not simply in someone's word. not in prophetic sayings. those are not necessarily truths, but mere guidelines. education for a different time. left to interpretation, in accordance with cultural milieus of its day.

i don't know.

i think i wish i knew. more. everything. too much.

and then i think i already know more than enough. more than too much.

and then i begin to wonder again.

___
i just wish that people weren't so afraid to question. everything. especially that which we are taught, that which is embedded into our psyches and reiterated as the single truth. to question our conception of reality. to contemplate the seemingly impossible. to create new worlds. aspire to new visions. something more inclusive. more open. flexible. more in tune with human nature. with our genuine goodness. most importantly, more in tune with the word. our bipolarities. and our understanding. honesty in its purest sense.

i long to live in a black and white world.

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 18:58:54 GMT

beneath the surface
there's only energy,
chemical reactions,
and
nakedness.
innocent.
simple.
pure.

analyze this for me. please. anyone.

Mon, 19 Apr 2004 02:00:25 GMT

honestly, great fucking night.

but one line near the end of it just kinda threw me off.

so he walks me to my door, and we're kinda making out. and he asks to come in. it's like 3 in the fucking morning. i still live in my parents' house. but that's not even what's important really. what's important is the fact that it's a first date.

and now i'm kinda swinging back and forth. cause either i give off the impression that i'm sex-on-the-first-date kinda gal. or he had some expectations that i didn't. or it was a momentary kind of comment. maybe it was planned. or maybe i just blew it out of proportion.

either way, because of it, i'm sketchy. and the current state of affairs within my head means that all those good things about him are kinda hanging out in the background, and are overshadowed by that one comment.

yeah. you think she's an open book, but you don't know which page to turn to.

go fucking figure.

maybe it's just me. and my overbearing necessity to always find an excuse to indulge in bitterness and self-loathing. though in my defense, i've been so good with optimism as of late.

Tue, 06 Apr 2004 19:51:17 GMT

"in their eyes, i would be strange and ragged and like the Prophet who has walked across the land to bring the dark Word, and the only Word i had was 'Wow'..."
-jack kerouac

yeah.

there's no limit to beauty. we all know that, even if it's strictly on a subconscious level.

life starts right here. this very moment. every second accounted for, yet every second marks a beginning. of some sort. of me. perhaps.

Sat, 06 Mar 2004 18:02:04 GMT

"when we touch upon the primal, it is just as horrifying as it is beautiful"

huh..

yeah..

stream of consciousness: the results of all the madness

Sun, 22 Feb 2004 00:01:13 GMT

i like to call this progressive literature.

ok so i start to think: kill yourself. i mean it seems like the most profitable solution to every single problem that you might have. you just don't exist. everything fades out. nothing exists. yeah, you risk, i guess, all the beautiful things that you have. there's so many beautiful things here, but, it's a win or lose kind of situation. you either take one and all. or none at all. i start to think maybe when i'm driving tonight:

i'm in my car. the snow is falling. it's beautiful. there's this tranquil sound to the music. the wind is blowing. i swerve off the road. my eyes closed. everything disappears. i disappear. it makes sense. i don't believe in heaven. i don't believe in hell. on most occasions anyway. where would i go? i wouldn't really go anywhere. i just wouldn't exist. i don't even know what i am. if i even exist now. sometimes i start to think that everything around me is just a figment of my imagination. i think that i'm going insane and that maybe i need a therapist. and that everything would be ok if i had a therapist. then i realize that, in a poor family, one can't always afford a therapist. so i have to do something like this and kind of sing into a tape-recorder. and try to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me… this method. i guess nothing.

so that's the whole killing myself scenario. i drive off the road and i die. it all works out according to plan. i'm not maimed. i don't lose any body parts. life rearranged. i'm not paralysed. i'm not disadvantaged by any means. i'm just dead. dead. this part of me anyway. and that's it. then it's just me. nothing else. not really me anymore. no sings of previous life in me. then i start getting scared that maybe i'll go to hell. i mean, what if there is a hell, and i've spent my entire life denying the fact, not believing. or believing for a fraction of my life, but not the more important fraction. when i started thinking for myself. maybe that's the problem: thinking for yourself. i don't really know. i haven't gotten that figured out yet. so i die. i'm dead. and maybe i go to hell. it can't be any worse than it is now. free will is gone. choice is gone. i'm just kind of put in this situation and i have to deal with it. things are just black and white. actually, things would just be black if you're in hell, wouldn't they? i'm assuming anyway. why is it that black is always associated with hell? and conceivably negative things in general? i never understood that.

unless, oh god, unless this is hell. and i've already killed myself and as my punishment i have to fucking be here. again. with everybody that i love, but that i can't deal with because they all take away from me. from who i wanna be. i don't even really know who i wanna be. or why i'm doing this. the reasons behind the poetry. the reasons behind the photos of tree trunks. i mean, no one really sees how beautiful they are anyway. am i trying to show them? i'm famous for wanting to keep beautiful things for myself. why would i want to share such a precious existence with this ugliness? i don't know why snowfalls make me happy. i don't know why people smiling make me happy. i don't really know what makes me happy in the long scheme of things. it's just a fraction. a moment in time, while i'm smiling. i don't really know what smiling is. in fact, it's becoming appallingly clear to me that i know nothing. everything that we've been exposed to, everything that's supposed to be this beautiful component of life, about life, with life, through life, i don't really know what any of it is.

back to this whole hell situation: i go there. i'm dead. i lose all sense of who i am. can't be too bad right? maybe i become someone else. maybe if this whole reincarnation thing actually exists, i'm reincarnated as someone else. and…i'm rich. and i have the means to be who i wanna be. and i don't have to worry about who i should be in order to provide for myself. i think that's another problem, the fact that we think we need to provide for ourselves in order for us to really be happy, and to be who we are. But we're too preoccupied with providing, that we somehow lose sense of the happiness component.

other times, i think that it's just so stupid for me to even think about driving myself off the road. and i start to think that there's probably a better solution out there. there's something bigger than honesty. bigger than telling people exactly how you feel and trying to get them to feel the same thing when deep inside you know it's never gonna happen. there's something bigger than suicide. bigger than releasing all of your energy literally, and not having to worry about your existence, because you don't have one. because your mind doesn't function anymore, not in accordance to convention. because you never really existed in the first place.

and then i start to think that i'll pack my stuff up. and i'll go, somewhere. i don't really know where, considering that i'd have to be with people that i know, people that i care about, in order for me to actually be somewhere that isn't on the streets. i start to think that maybe i'll pack my shit up and go Home. maybe it'll be for the summer. i'll not worry about having a job. not worry about tuition payments. not worry about obligations, responsibilities. just lie around and shoot photos of old cities for four months and be bored out of my fucking mind, and WANT to come home, and wanna be re-immersed into life, into this fast-paced world we're forced to live in. a world that i'm growing to resent so much, with every passing second of every passing day, of every passing lifetime. i'd wanna come back because it's hte only real thing i know. it's the only real enviroment in which i've adapted to functioning in. and i think that maybe that would do it. but then, eight months later i can almost guarantee that i'm gonna be in the exact same position i'm in now. so why waste four months?

and then i start to think maybe i won't go home. maybe i'll just pack my stuff. get a job somewhere. a meaningless job, something that doesn't take up too much of my time or energy. go somewhere else. live on my own for a while. away from everybody that i know. maybe i'll meet people. maybe i'll choose not to meet people. maybe i'll live by myself and have a little cat. bonaparte. maybe i'll email home. maybe i'll call. maybe i won't. maybe i'll let people think that i'm dead when i'm really not. i can be pseudo-dead. i can be dead to everyone else, but not to myself.

my world is about everybody else. as much as i try to make it about myself, it's never really gonna be about myself. my world is about everybody else. everybody else's happiness. everybody else's smiles. everybody else's tears.

then other times i get really optimistic, and really crazy, and really impulsive. and i think that maybe i'll just pack up one bag of just intimate stuff: a bunch of pictures, a bunch of socks, a t-shirt here an there, some cds. stuff them in my car. sell a lot of junk i've been pack-ratting over my lifetime and get a lot of gas money, and just go drive through the country. go nowhere in particular. maybe on my way i'll stop by. i'll knock on your door. you'll open it and you'll wonder why i'm there. i'll just tell you to pack your shit. and you'll look puzzled, stare at me. you'll be confused. i'll repeat myself: tell you to pack your shit. and then you'll pack your shit, and you'll wonder what we're doing and where we're going, and what exactly this whole thing is all about. you'll wonder if you'll be home for dinner. i'll grab your hand. you'll pull away and say: "why are you grabbing my hand?" i won't laugh. i'll have a little bit of a sinister smile on my face. i'll grab it again. i'll say that i'm leaving for good. that nothing matters. nothing matters the way it should matter: nothing really matters to me, but it matters to those that i care about. i guess it would matter to those that matter to me. you'll be confused some more. you'll kind of smile and say that i'm a little peculiar. i'll smile back. i'll ask you if you're coming. there'll be silence. you'll say: "No." i'll look down, stare at the cobbled pavement. gripping my keys in my hand. i'll feel them cutting into my flesh. keep staring at the floor. i'll look up at you and i'll say: "Goodbye."

i'll start walking toward my car. get in. slam the door shut. press the powerlocks. wait for them to fail me. the way i'll fail everyone else. it's inevitable. i'll get the urge to turn up the music as loud as it can go. there's gonna be a buzzing in my left ear. i'll feel like there's a metal plate in my head, that everything's spinning. that i just made the biggest mistake i could've made. i'll think that maybe i should go home, but then if i go home, i won't be able to face you again. my head will fall on my steering-wheel. i'll wanna cry, but i'll have no tears. i'll barely have a reason. i should've expected it. we're not even friends. neither my mind nor my body understands why i should be crying. because i don't understand why you've become so important. i'll lift my head up, put my keys in my ignition, turn my car on. i'll feel your hand on my window. you won't bang. you'll just place it there. i'll look up at you, and there'll be tears in my eyes, but there won't be spillage. i'll unroll my window. your hand will slide down. you'll ask me to unlock the passenger door. you'll open it, throw your little bag in the back and hop in. i'll put my car in reverse, back out of your driveway. put my car in drive. we'll get on the highway. pick a random sign to follow. toward an unknown destination. pick a random road that really leads nowhere.

i'll drive. you'll just stare. you'll stare at the way the highway moves. you'll stare at the trees on the side. you'll look at the way the light casts little shadows on the pavement. maybe some rain will fall. maybe some snow will fall. you'll wonder if you'll see a sunset anytime soon. i'll tell you that we can see whatever the hell we wanna see, because we're not really bound by anything conventional anymore. you'll wonder about money. our claim that money doesn't matter, the claim of my entire life, will become fully realized. everything revolves around money. resting my hand on the steering-wheel, my other hand will be placed on the shift gears. you'll grab my hand and you'll hold it in yours. just for a little while. we won't really know what's going on. we don't really wanna be together, not in the conventional sense anyway. i can't look at you because i wanna keep my eyes on the road. you look at me: your gaze just pierces, through me, through my window, onto the other side of the highway, into an unrecognizable world. i feel you smiling, but i don't see you smiling, and i don't really know if it's right that i feel you smiling. because i shouldn't really be feeling anything where you're concerned.

i'll begin to wonder what you put in your bag. we have no food. we need to make a stop. something's going on in my head: is this a mistake? should we turn around? maybe we'll go somewhere, grab some coffee, talk it all out. i'll drive you back to your place. you'll make it back for dinner. i'll drive myself home. my parents won't be home yet. they won't know that i left. they won't have found any notes. i wouldn't have even left a note, had it not been for an obligation that i feel towards the people i love. my friends will never have known i was gone. my significant other will have had no idea. no one will ever have known. except you. you'll go back to your life; i'll go back to mine. won't really make a difference: i'll see you two days later. you'll walk by me on campus. we'll pretend it never happened. it was a bad dream. you'll kind of stare at me, out of the corner of your eye, wondering what the hell is wrong with me, knowing fully well that it's the same thing that's wrong with you.

i wanna self-destruct.

that's what life's really about. i think. i think i know, but i know i don't. the fact that i think should be good enough.

yeah, self-destruct.

i feel like destroying something beautiful.

random stuff

Fri, 13 Feb 2004 03:31:11 GMT

something along the lines of beautiful
you watch me suffocate
in liquid air

these grand delusions
involved in an overlap
of momentous occasions

hands pinned behind my back
mouth screaming silent arrogance
fires blazing in my retina
burn all these visions to hell

the nerve endings are
the most sensitive at the tips of
your fingers
they trace a solid path
across the edge of my face
leaving burning wounds
nothing heals with product
only with process

calluses
these permanent strings embedded in
my skin
polarized in nothingness
no gender relations

only chemical imbalances

the thought of never feeling again
seems like a loose promise

it carries a strangely comforting tone.

warning: this is a mother of a written word. AND it's pretty personal.

Tue, 10 Feb 2004 05:05:43 GMT

i know i should really start minding my impulses, and i try, i really do, but sometimes there are certain things that over-run every possible attempt at self-control. and i need release. my mind needs it more than anything. my body might need it just as much. so here it is:

consistency of thought.
trapped in an evolution
of a resisting body,
a resisting spirit.
you spell out words with the lines of your face:
things i've never even been exposed to
let alone familiar with.
my chest rises,
my lungs disengage,
they separate from within.
blood rushes through my collective.
i hear crickets
i see violinists
and a coffin,
our bodies inside,
decapitated.
my heart is yours
in all of its malfunction.
i don't remember why i smile
and i don't know the meaning of love.
the smallest things captivate me
stir up uncontrollable urges
drug my imagination:
sounds of trees whirling in the wind.
my pulse multiplying.
your uncomfortable silence,
your scattered glances.
you touch the curves of my body,
run your hand over my right hip
steady, slow and up,
then rest it on my waist.
we've all got our theories on time
the adolescence of those inexperienced
all of life's lessons in a paperback novel.
love is what those crazy kids
post on public property.
graffittied inscriptions of desire
laid out in the form of bathroom poetry:
so and so loves so and so
forever and ever
until the end of time.
a heart. addition symbols.
it all Equals = love.
love is the way you stutter in speech;
love is the way i try to look nice
each time i think i MIGHT encounter you.
love is the makeup i put on
that i had forgotten i owned.
love is the way i try not to look at you
every second of being exposed to you,
the way i try to avoid you
for fear of realizing that it was planned:
that somehow i knew you were gonna be there,
even though i showed up by chance.
for fear that i'll tell myself
it must have been fate,
and that i'll believe my own word.
love is the way i watch you breathe,
squirming for air in tight social situations.
it's the comfort i find
in your soothing voice.
love is the way i think of you
every time i light up a cigarette,
the way all those little things
work to remind me that i know you.
it's the way the sides of your body glow
when you lift your arms to reach
and your shirt lifts slightly
in an utmost, undefined grace.
it's my being annoyed by your presence
when more than anything i want you to stay,
but i fear being too close to you
for too long of a time.
i fear that you'll grow on me
that i'll get used to you,
that you'll then disappear,
depriving me of the most genuine happiness
i had ever known.
love is in the way you say my name,
kinda quirky. definitely unsure.
it's in the way i take to sleep
an image of your face
so divine, in its beautiful construction.
you're the last person i think of
before i shut down to recharge.
i start to wonder what you could be doing,
whether you're working out your frustrations.
i wonder if you're an insomniac like myself,
and stay up to wonder much in the same manner.
i wonder about what we are
who we are. as separate entities.
who we could be together.
whether we'd make it,
until the end of time
or maybe just till the end of the day.
i start to think that no duration could suffice;
no amount of the ticking clock could satisfy.
love's the way you invade my subconscious.
it's the way i walked into your room
the way you watched me move,
slow and steady.
it's in the guise of my innocence,
in the movement of my hands
my placement of them on your chest.
it's in the way i touch your face,
the way i run my fingers through your hair,
looking into you,
seeing past you,
something bigger than matter.
something bigger than us both.
the way i stare at the area in which
your heart claims to lie--
a piercing gaze.
my eyes close. briefly. yours follow suit.
the sound of breaths.
our noses touch,
but we never kiss.
we wouldn't dare.
it goes against every conventional rule;
it breaks every law of gravity,
severs lines of friendship:
not between us--
for we're not really friends--
but between us and other friends
individuals that matter:
completely.
conventionally.
realistically.
friends that are committed;
friends that would mind.
i rest my head on the left of your chest;
i listen to your heart beat;
i feel your lungs rise,
with each strain of breathing.
it's heavy... my head.
thoughts collapse.
my hands fall to my side,
they fall into yours.
our fingers touch. then intertwine.
you move loose strands of hair
away from my face,
placing them behind my ear.
i smile. i'm uncomfortable.
but i forget that i'm uncomfortable.
because i feel alive,
maybe for the first time in my life.
a serious intensity awakened.
your finger runs over my bottom lip
a soft kind of effort. subtlety.
i proceed to bite it,
maybe out of habit,
maybe because i'm nervous.
noses touching again.
your lips touch mine.
a brief moment in time.
a fraction of a second really.
AND time stands still...
and still...
and still more...
tranquil in its foreverness.
i do nothing.
my mind races.
thoughts collide with one another.
nothing is real anymore.
i start to think:
they're all in this together
intentionally holding us back.
i start to imagine scenarios,
create conspiracies.
they wanted it this way--
for a reason.
we should have adhered
to the written word.
we should have followed the signs,
obeyed the boundaries,
curbed our curious natures.
i begin to kiss you harder,
feeding this evolving hunger.
your hands still clasped in mine,
you pin me back, up against the wall.
my back pressed solid,
parallel to the structure.
my hips lifted.
your hands slide down my arms--
in a caress almost--
they slide past my breasts,
around the curves of my body.
with my white shirt craftily removed,
my choice of lace fully exposed,
an opiate shot of purity.
your hands find their way back to my hips:
you stare at me, i can feel you,
though i refrain from looking up myself.
i keep my gaze on your shirt.
i trace my fingers from your cheekbone
down the middle of your chest,
vertically across your navel,
resting them on the studded belt you wear
to be fashionable.
function is too conventional a reason.
i pull you closer:
into me--
wanting to consume the whole of you,
wanting us to become a single being.
my blood is rushing everywhere,
a state of self-destruction.
my head has forgotten all thought.
body is mechanized and dumb,
adhering to nature and law.
fate plays its wildcard.
our eyes meet for the first time
in what seems like an eternity.
silence.
heavy breathing.
persisting hunger.
the comfort quickly fades.
blood runs to your cheeks.
you speak apologetic words.
resulting embarrassment.
inevitable.
a timed few paces
in the opposite direction,
you move away from me.
i want to blend into the wall,
to disappear completely.
i have nowhere to recede to,
it all falls on you.
and always considerate:
you give me plenty of space.
my hands rest on my chest,
a modest gesture on my part,
and completely fucking useless.
both of your hands raised,
confused, from both directions
you grab your own head.
eyes closed again. tight.
much tighter than before.
your head shakes:
left. right. left. right.
a notion of denial.
somehow we understand:
we fucked up the system.
you,
still full of apologetic words.
in the midst of it all
i remember my shirt:
a swift reach, a quick action,
and i'm wearing it again.
overbearing displacement,
it creeps upon us, kills the mood.
my eyes remain glued to the floor:
this is somewhere I don't wanna be.
an entrapment.
i'm lost in your presence;
you're lost in mine.
more apologies follow. then:
"what just happened?"
still heavy breaths.
i'm overcome by silence,
unable to lift my gaze off the floor.
i realize i really like your shoes.
but i know it's not the right time to mention that.
i finally look up,
regain some sense of where i am,
some sense of a muddled reality.
regain a juvenile kind of voice.
semi-stuttering. unsure speech.
my single line accompanied by umms:
"i don't really know."
you:
"yeah."
me:
"i should go."
you:
"yeah, that's a good idea."
me:
discomfort. agony. anxiety.
my heart feels like it's bleeding,
decomposing through its insides.
it's beating with an effort.
it wants to beat itself out of my body.
"yeah."
persisting discomfort. a need to laugh,
to release tension.
not the right tension,
not the right method,
we stopped that--
stop thinking that.
a mistake.
it was a mistake.
me:
"you should fix your hair."
you:
an uneasy laughter.
"goodnight jas."
a sinister smile circulates upon my lips;
it hides behind my flushed face:
it hides from myself.
there's a mutual kind of understanding,
a memory scratched out.
i stumble for the right words, but
the right words have abandoned me.
the right words are nothing but a cliche.
"i'll see ya."

nothing compares to the feeling of self-destruction.

Sat, 24 Jan 2004 22:50:04 GMT

at most, the only times i ever feel truly in control of myself is when i'm doing harm to myself.

because i make that choice. soundly. knowing the consequences. disregarding common-sense; disregarding any element that may be a part outside of me.

fuck. what am i doing here?

to boggle the mind... or to make it aware... either way...

Tue, 06 Jan 2004 04:18:41 GMT

Religion is an insult to human dignity. With or without it, you'd have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, it takes religion.

i'm gonna think this out before i randomly start debating to no one. then i'll debate to no one. but more efficiently.

NOTE: i added 4 people from my other journal world_overdone mainly because i don't think they'll be annoyed by my mindless contemplation. if anyone else wants to join in for some pointless wonder, please feel free to do so.