My soul hurts.
I don't think that anyone understands what I'm saying, and I really don't expect anyone to, but...
My fucking SOUL HURTS!!!!
Monday, November 26, 2001
Saturday, November 24, 2001
Squaring The Circle (a swirl of black and white?)
nope.
It's not that.
I've long known that being "enlightened" leads to what others would call "insanity". ...and as for "wiser than I realize", I can guarantee you that nothing could be further from the truth. I border on being completely pompous about that. (I just tend to keep my mouth/fingers shut, which is what any "enlightened" person would do.)
I'm fine being labeled insane. (Well, most days I am.) I'm not fine with being unable to communicate.
It's not that.
I've long known that being "enlightened" leads to what others would call "insanity". ...and as for "wiser than I realize", I can guarantee you that nothing could be further from the truth. I border on being completely pompous about that. (I just tend to keep my mouth/fingers shut, which is what any "enlightened" person would do.)
I'm fine being labeled insane. (Well, most days I am.) I'm not fine with being unable to communicate.
Friday, November 23, 2001
(FROM BIRTH)
Allegedly there are certain signs and "marks of the beast" that let you know when a child is born differently. Any unusual signs or symptoms?
I was breech.
I have a birthmark/white patch on the left side of my head. It looks like a backwards "C" or the number 7.
My eyes are pretty unique.
From what I'm told, I've always had "ESP".
I remember being born. Does that count?
I was breech.
I have a birthmark/white patch on the left side of my head. It looks like a backwards "C" or the number 7.
My eyes are pretty unique.
From what I'm told, I've always had "ESP".
I remember being born. Does that count?
Thursday, November 22, 2001
What did I do?
I'm alone.
I'm making a turkey and stuffing for myself.
I cut my hair and did some laundry.
I talked to myself/selves for a while.
How can you say that you're alone when you're with your son? I'd think that would hurt his feelings a bit.
I'm making a turkey and stuffing for myself.
I cut my hair and did some laundry.
I talked to myself/selves for a while.
How can you say that you're alone when you're with your son? I'd think that would hurt his feelings a bit.
Wednesday, November 21, 2001
(Yes, to be more accurate...)
I've been legally insane for quite a while, and what other people would call insane for even longer.
There's a difference between that and feeling yourself going mad.
There's a difference between that and feeling yourself going mad.
Squaring The Circle (points)
*shrugs*
I think that there are many points... but the main one is that I think that I'm going insane.
take it for what it's worth.
I think that there are many points... but the main one is that I think that I'm going insane.
take it for what it's worth.
an old one
Sitting in the park. There's some sort of festival or something here today. I found a place to sit, but the park's pretty crowded. A lot of stands and booths and stuff. There's a guy playing guitar and singing. His voice reminds me of Kristen Hall's. He's taking a break now though. It's hot out, but at least out here in the shade there's some form of air. My apartment is pretty stuffy.
Want to smoke, but I'm sharing this bench with another person. I don't want to annoy her. What a strange world this is. I worry about a cigarette while trucks pass by less than 100 yards away from me. It's a hypocritical world.
Found myself thinking, on the way here, about people's past view of kids and Africans. Being that, in the past, African people were thought to be lower than human, why were there so many African-American "nannies"? Was it because people secretly trusted African-American women, or because they didn't really care about their kids? There were no child labor laws way back either. Perhaps seeing your children as things was the way back then. It's no wonder we are where we are.
There was once a trial, in the Christian church, to determine whether or not women had souls. (By one vote it was decided that they did.) Wonder what the view of children was. Did they get a trial; or was it not even a question?
This guy is doing all cover tunes. He's really not that great. Well, at least he has the guts to get up there.
So many people... Yesterday, most were in suits and stern faces. Today they're dressed "casual", pushing strollers or cruising for someone to create the need for a stroller with. To my left there's a stand where bottled water is being sold. Sad. In front of me, near the guitarist, is a flower stand. Profit from the earth. Sad. This is supposed to be a festival... a happy thing. Why then, am I feeling disgust? What am I missing? If people like this sort of thing, why isn't every day like this? I suppose that in order to sell the water and flowers, as opposed to giving them away, people must "work". They must pollute the other water so that bottled water is a NEED. They must pave the forest and fields, so that flowers are scarce. They must sell their souls to feel self-worth.
Wish this guy would stop singing out of his nose.
There are no squirrels here today. I guess they know better.
The guitar man is trying to cover an Indigo Girls song. This is painful to the ears.
To my far left is a rather large inflated Tyrannosaurus Rex. Perhaps one day, a large inflated Homo Sapiens Sapiens will grace the festival of the supreme cockroaches. Wonder if there'd be bottled water there too.
Got a bug bite. It's good to know that I'm useful in some way.
Wonder how long I can sit here. Need cold. Want somewhere cold to sleep. Want to feel healthy. Want to feel positive. So tired.
Why do people feel the need to torture themselves every day? They "work out", abusing their bodies until their muscles swell in agony. They work at jobs which they hate. They dress in clothes that are uncomfortable and walk in shoes not meant for any human's feet. Isn't torturing one's self daily unhealthy? Perhaps there's some sort of higher plan. Perhaps by manipulating people to torture themselves, someone else doesn't have to do it. Slaves that whip themselves. Wonder. Who's running this place anyway?
The bugs are starting to get to me, and I'm sweating. Guess I should go home, at least there, there's a fan. I think that it very well may be a lot less torturous than this "festival".
© 1997 (by JBW)
Want to smoke, but I'm sharing this bench with another person. I don't want to annoy her. What a strange world this is. I worry about a cigarette while trucks pass by less than 100 yards away from me. It's a hypocritical world.
Found myself thinking, on the way here, about people's past view of kids and Africans. Being that, in the past, African people were thought to be lower than human, why were there so many African-American "nannies"? Was it because people secretly trusted African-American women, or because they didn't really care about their kids? There were no child labor laws way back either. Perhaps seeing your children as things was the way back then. It's no wonder we are where we are.
There was once a trial, in the Christian church, to determine whether or not women had souls. (By one vote it was decided that they did.) Wonder what the view of children was. Did they get a trial; or was it not even a question?
This guy is doing all cover tunes. He's really not that great. Well, at least he has the guts to get up there.
So many people... Yesterday, most were in suits and stern faces. Today they're dressed "casual", pushing strollers or cruising for someone to create the need for a stroller with. To my left there's a stand where bottled water is being sold. Sad. In front of me, near the guitarist, is a flower stand. Profit from the earth. Sad. This is supposed to be a festival... a happy thing. Why then, am I feeling disgust? What am I missing? If people like this sort of thing, why isn't every day like this? I suppose that in order to sell the water and flowers, as opposed to giving them away, people must "work". They must pollute the other water so that bottled water is a NEED. They must pave the forest and fields, so that flowers are scarce. They must sell their souls to feel self-worth.
Wish this guy would stop singing out of his nose.
There are no squirrels here today. I guess they know better.
The guitar man is trying to cover an Indigo Girls song. This is painful to the ears.
To my far left is a rather large inflated Tyrannosaurus Rex. Perhaps one day, a large inflated Homo Sapiens Sapiens will grace the festival of the supreme cockroaches. Wonder if there'd be bottled water there too.
Got a bug bite. It's good to know that I'm useful in some way.
Wonder how long I can sit here. Need cold. Want somewhere cold to sleep. Want to feel healthy. Want to feel positive. So tired.
Why do people feel the need to torture themselves every day? They "work out", abusing their bodies until their muscles swell in agony. They work at jobs which they hate. They dress in clothes that are uncomfortable and walk in shoes not meant for any human's feet. Isn't torturing one's self daily unhealthy? Perhaps there's some sort of higher plan. Perhaps by manipulating people to torture themselves, someone else doesn't have to do it. Slaves that whip themselves. Wonder. Who's running this place anyway?
The bugs are starting to get to me, and I'm sweating. Guess I should go home, at least there, there's a fan. I think that it very well may be a lot less torturous than this "festival".
© 1997 (by JBW)
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