God,
Your words were, at one time,
The essence of my soul,
But now they have all but dissipated
From my torn memory,
And faded into the shell of religion.
O God, what have I done?
How much fleshly relationships
Pattern my spiritual course!
The Spirit has wept for me
Because I traded Him
For unfulfilling substances,
And His thoughts of me
Appear in the dreams of men.
But I reached out to the air
Beside me, and called Your name,
That You should appear
Physical yet pure,
Yet You did not appear.
I wept in my silence.
When shall I come to appear
Before the presence of God?
When shall I come to appear
Before the presence of God?
In my thoughts, twisted doubts
Tell me You are not.
Why should You relent
In disproving them?
Still, pride in my heart
Creeps like a vine
On the tree of faith,
Eventually to cripple me.
I have sat on my hands,
And laid on my feet,
And they are asleep,
My heart does not move,
I am numb and lifeless.
But what constitutes a life?
What purpose? What meaning?
Show Yourself to me:
I don't care if I go blind!
Appear in my dreams
Continually, if You will,
And reveal these mysteries.
When shall I come to appear
Before the presence of God?

After getting home from school, I don't exactly remember doing anything of any purpose at all that Friday. Actually, it's quite weird that I can't remember Friday, and Jenny, my younger sister, gave me the weirdest look upon such a question.  Saturday, I geared up for the concert that night, which I attended alone, a fact that sucked, but the concert was awesome.  Bleeding Through, Every Time I Die, Between the Buried and Me, and Haste the Day played.  I only lasted through Every Time I Die: I didn't have any earplugs (dorky I know, but I worry about damaging my ears).  The mosh pit was awesome, as were the last three bands I mentioned (the played in the order backwards from how I mentioned them).  Moshing and slam dancing is such a rush. The whole thing was amazing.
Sunday, I went to church with my family.  We ate out...go figure.  Then I met up with Rebecca, which was terribly, terribly awkward for me, which I will describe later (also why the song below is written).  Attended FWC that night...yada, yada
Today, I bought clothes and my most expensive pair of jeans from Buckle, but they're a nice fit so I'll see if they're worth it.  If not, I'll just learn from the experience.  It was a nice birthday present.
"Do you still love me?"  Well, that was a dumbass question.  It's like asking people in a funeral, "Did someone die here?  Why are all you sad?"  Sitting in the car, I'm not sure who to be angry at. Myself or her?  The better question is who deserves it more.  Probably me.  Oh, yeah, and by the way the feeling's mutual...what?...No it's not.  You still love her, you bastard, even after fucking with her head in this whole relationship.  No, you can't hug me.  I don't want you near me.  Yes, ya do.  You wish you could embrace her for all it's worth.  (This is by a way, a conversation with myself, if you hadn't noticed.)  God, I hate women; they act retarded until you get used to that and then they act smart when you least expect it.  I can't mollify this pain with some balm or aloe.  It's an irritant, but I don't know that the friendship can ever last.  Why should it?  All you fucking outsiders, you have no idea, but you think you do...or maybe you don't, I don't know...I'm just venting...I could go more in detail but I don't really want to...

A song by me, as cheesy as it may be

Narcissistic, I find that
I'd rather be the odd man out
Than better than everyone else,
But that's not really true,
And solitude never rewards
Someone with genuine pride.

Everytime you said, "I love you,"
Brought me something special and new
But now that things have changed,
Girl, you feel so far away.
All I want to say is I miss you.

Guess I'm the one to blame,
After all, I made all of the mistakes,
In what I labeled a cheesy game.
Foolish pride, it seems, is the cause
Of all my unrealized dreams,
Now wanting what I can't have.

Everytime you said, "I love you,"

Brought me something special and new

But now that things have changed,

Girl, you feel so far away.

All I want to say is I miss you.

You said I owed you a song,
But selfishness gets in the way,
So all that I can say is I miss you.

I had several things I thought I would say today when I got home, but I've forgotten most of those things.  Most of those anyway have nothing to do with what I want to say.  Really, though, I don't know what I want to say, and quite frankly, I don't know why I'm alive--not necessarily in the sorrowful, "I want to end it all now" sense of that statement, but moreso is that I want to find out why I'm alive.
Honestly, I find myself at odds with religion time and time again, and for you people who always like to tote the idea that religion and faith (or a relationship with God), the principles are, in the practical sense, inextricable.  (God still continues to intrigue me.)  First, between eternal hellfire and eternity with all of America's Christians, the eternal hellfire seems rather attractive.  Beyond the jokes though, I think Christianity lacks the "umph" it used to have.  I think Kim Klaudt described it well, "Signs and wonders will follow you, not you should follow signs and wonders."  I just think the power available is being forsaken, even in Pentecostal circles.  Again, these are reasons for my aversion to religion, so don't get on here and preach at me about how that's not an excuse and all that shit because that's not what I'm arguing here.  The common excuse is that only certain people are prepared for such power.  Really?  That's why so many devout believers don't make use of it?  Well, maybe the dumbfucks are right.  Maybe, modern Christianity is stagnant in the wake of its own human influence.

Today was colder than expected; I walked out in shorts and and short-sleeved shirt only to be rudely awakened by chilling breeze.

Everytime I journey to Andrew's or Mai's phusebox, I find myself questioning what the fuck they're talking about.  First off, I don't think anyone at FWC talks about them: I think that's bullshit conjecture.  If it's not, they're welcome to name names; and if they find this offensive, I don't really care.  All I'm saying is not to be paranoid about religious concerns if you have none.  If there's nothing to be worried about, why worry about it?  It's not your actions that have us worried: it's your willful separation from friends that care about you that's the problem.  I don't think people are talking about you.  Why should they?  I don't walk around thinking people talking behind my back (well, actually that's not entirely true, but the reasons for that deal with my depression).  I just think this shit is overplay on both their parts.  I have no problem admitting I have smoked weed or drank alcohol.  These are not the problems that concern me.  My problems deal with why these things came to be in my life and the unfulfillment thereof.  I think Christianity, on the whole, has a lot of problems, but if it didn't, it wouldn't be an accurate description of the real world.

In other words, these supposed gossips, if they indeed exist, are not supported by the influential parties at FWC, and not by God, who FWC supports.  Under such assumptions, why continue with this banter?

You may be offended by what I say, but if you are, I refuse to blame myself.  We all know our own needs for improvement, but to lord them over the brows of others who work just as hard is a farce of what you claim to face.  Each one is given what he is designed for, but to come out among men, and brag for defeating a foe and living with the bitter taste he left is just stupid.  Hail to nonconformity for such stupid claims to fame.

You rave on and on about how others misunderstand you, but have you clearly understood others and God's plans for them?  Don't trade blow for "blow" if you don't.

Second, I would wish that people would leave Rebecca to her own business, and not to interfere simply for your sake of love or whatever it is you call it.  Radical action isn't always appropriate in this case.  If she has anything to tell anyone, let her do it herself.  Believe me: I was there from the beginning.  I know. 

I'm trying to determine whether this has anything to do with the person more than the situation.  Would you carry on such a great crusade if you knew my thoughts as well?  But no, I've already told you and you misunderstood what I said time and time again.

I have many questions.  Have you ever asked something with a glimpse of hope but knowing that the chances were really slim?  That's kinda how I feel right now, not that it should concern you, although I suppose other things I've posted would concern others more, hence all these questions towards me, such as the infamous "Is school getting to you?"  No, it's just dreadfully boring, lowers my self-esteem, makes me feel very alone.  Other than that, it's fantastic; but really, there are definite good points.  The choirs here are enjoyable to say the least, and I know people well enough to have things to do on several occasions.  One of the larger problems spawns from the fact that I'm stuck in between Christianity and secularism (if there is such a word as that).  No matter what I do then, there's always the shadow of my being kind of a parvenu.  I don't know though.  I think for the most part I shove myself into corners by desiring to be maverick and then regretting it later for feeling ostracized, regardless of whether I actually am a maverick or ostracized.  There are definite times I've felt ostracized without attempting to appear "against the tide" of what I perceived as mediocre and dull.  Everytime I travel back home, I feel even more out of sync than I do here.

Speaking of which, it made me stop today when I heard that Pastor Lowrance was praying for me.  Many people say it, but he's different.  In fact, there was one time over Christmas break when I shook his hand and was scared to death of him, not because he's unkind--he's a very approachable and well-meaning character--but because I know the Spirit dwells with him continually, or, more or less, overflows from him.  I've never felt the same about anyone else I've met, which gives me the impression that whatever God allows him to do will be successful as the Spirit sees fit.  Even in moving away for spirituality, there are still some things I won't disregard or totally ignore, one of those being the movement of the Holy Spirit.  I've figured, from my own expeditions in experimentation, that anyone who uses body-altering substances frequently without cause (a generalized substance abuse) can not be filled with the Holy Spirit on a continual basis.  So if you ever hear from someone who spends much of their time drinking and getting drunk, they're not filled.  It's like this, and you may disagree with me.  The Holy Spirit is like the apex of the natural high, so far as I can tell; but He's far more than any sort of manmade drug.  Now, as to why I haven't really applied this to my life, that's another story for another day and another train of logic.  That is, however, the conclusion I've come to.

What is truth?  I find to elicit sympathy for my cause I relish in the faux facts of our glorious time, these tragedies, and the Jeffrey Dahmers behind them, all for the sake of glorifying myself for no one's sake but my own.  But if I have no purpose in these sayings, why am I saying them?  And why are you here?  Have you come to slay the dragons of our world?  Or to relish in your own weak attributes defined as some unique characteristics? 
God has blessed the clairvoyant.
I could feel the rush, if I had stepped outside that box keeping locked on to some faulty target.  Blame the others for my lack of self-assertion; theirs is unbearable.  When you cannot let them know, build up a few walls, say a little shit, abuse a few substances, and you're alright.  Fulfillment's just a shot away.  I had daydream about being attacked by two grizzly bears, but being able to defeat both.  Angels came to restore my body back to health.  What do you ask a God you don't know if you know anymore?  What do you say to those you've crossed in selfishness only to recognize your love still remains?  Would you care as much if I said it?  If only guns weren't so expensive, the end would be in sight, but is that the end I want?  I could say many things to fill many pages, but none that could fulfill my heart to You, O God.

I'm about to celebrate my birthday with family, and all I think about is how much life sucks.  Someone said that happiness is not the purpose of life but rather the result of a life lived with purpose.  And yet, what can I gain by doing nothing to achieve nothing?  My life, so far as I can tell, has only the purpose of a shell covering insurmountable depression.  Why can't God at least take that away?  I wish He'd just kill me and get this stupid thing over with.  I'm restless and tired of beating around this shitty bush called my life--the venture into boredom and celibacy via relationship ineptitude.  I feel so lumpen for the posterchild of religious influence...

This weekend, I celebrate my birthday...kindof.  With all the excitement of a kid on a trip to the dentist, I have approached the weekend with the semi-dread of not being content.  Brother Harrelson, care to self-prophesy?  I profess to nothing else than what people would expect--that is, the rumbling and tumbling of the fall of Rome, corrupt kingdom with a crapshot end.  Luck of the draw did not fall on us tonight; we didn't get Jesus' clothes out of this batch of gambles.  Solving the negativity problem is not just an issue: to me, it's more a crisis than anything else.  As depression waxes old in the spirit it oppresses, the spirit dies along, tailing success with injustice.  It's a bigger problem than I've originally surmised, and I can't countermand my own soul forever.  A change is always needed in humanity.  Yes, I'm desultory, but please retain your composure.
I realized today that maybe, if I pray, God will grant me a vocalization in speaking that is less monotone which would grant me better chances with opposite sex.  Of course, anything aside from Georgia Tech would do that.  Would that even fulfill though, as misogynist as I've become?  The women I consider even do not consider me, and those have their own needs to be fulfilled by other agendas.  Whatever...Love shits on you when uninvolved and uninspired...

Pretty much, I'm sitting here trying to fIgure out Matlab, the ulTimate programming Shitfest of the century.  Just sang to aluMni todaY in chamBer In a Room THat haD fortunAtelY good acousTics as OpposeD to the D.M. Smith building where prActice is held.  We sang "Comin' Round the Mountain" (a verY cool arrangement I might add) and "Ride the Chariot" (your standard joyful old-timey hymn sort of thing).  It went well, and we got food afterwards which is always a plus for that sort of thing.

I've realized that people are a lot like grammar rules, if that makes any sense.  Generally speaking, certain things will work, but there exist many exceptions to those rules.  Plus, to succeed, one must not only master those rules but go beyond into the realm of creativity with them; otherwise, the writing and the personality are dull and ignored.

Past that, however, people tend toward that which and who makes them feel good about themselves.  That's why an altogether worthless person to one may be a diamond ring to another.  It's all quite arbitrary.

I've created myself, my own image, that someone can copy, given I pry into others' business with a despicable character and misconduct in consent.  You could say that I'm a rapist to personalities, devouring and consuming others' darkness for my pleasure, but then again, you love me, like THC to a psychological addiction.  I find no peace.  I am nothing, like the ultimate lack of fulfillment, such as pornography.  Half of you wouldn't comprehend anyway this mess, for I've dug an sin well instead.  Ravaging the land while it's ravished with me.  Something I could never comprehend how you hated me before but loved me since sin, nothing could be more backward in this rusty tin can, or carbon, and covalent bonds, fucked together, like a hemaphrodite.  I'll say whatever I want as long as you want to hear it.

Met with Ann Pitini today, the area manager, whatever that means.  She was cool, told me what I had to do to clear up the infraction and all that jazz.  Turns out Derek knew before I told him, which kinda takes a load of my chest but not really, for I still owe 125 via check/money order.  The check's impossible; my parents would flip if I told them the real reason why.  I'll have to find some way to get a money order.

I had a dream that I was arguing with everyone from FWC about my problems, something to the effect of what exactly had been going on.  My dreams are never very specific in my memory.  It's like I interpret them from the get go, and those concepts qualify what I remember of the dream.  I ended up arguing with Rebecca along the course of my dream (imagine that).  In other words, it's like my dream was forcing me to come to terms with what was and now what is, if that makes any sense at all.

Speaking of FWC, I don't really wanna go back there at all anymore.  It'd be awkward with this phusebox and all.  At least the smart ones would ask questions that is.  I'm just honest on this journal of sorts.  Second of all, I think of what's gone on there is bullshit, not to exclude other more deserving places.  In all honesty, I think the main driving factor of that place is a collective group of people who've attended there for a long time, or maybe not.  Maybe it's the other way around.  I may piss you off, but I don't care.  I've attempted to say in the open through subtlety what would be inappropriate in those same venues to say with tactless speech and wayward wording.  Problem is, Turning Point is only better or worse for this, but what am I saying?  Who knows truth anymore?

Churches are only well-equipped for ministry when they realize that the oversaturation of men's involvement/thinking in the work of God is counterproductive to the eventual goals for that kingdom of Heaven for which they work; however, the difficulty lies in the assumption that places of oversaturation exist just not in the church in which such corruption is mentioned.  If don't understand this, fuck you. 

Anyway...Such has been my dealings with most churches, i.e. FWC and FRBC as well as several others.  The levels vary, depending usually on the involvement of the key members.  Larger churches, I believe, would not tend to have such problems because they are forced to rely on structured settings to begin with--the difference would be neglible.  Spirituality in those cases is more remote altogether in dealing with ecclesiastical issues; so I guess you could say the problem exists but in an inextricable form.  A harmony is formed, an understanding of the size of the church and the lack of individual involvement in key church issues.  This also means that such issues can be covered up easily by the bureaucracy that be in such cases, but these larger bodies are not so much my concern as the places I'm involved in.

My problems with FWC, quite frankly (again not excluding others but hey this is my opinion block), is that rod needs to be ripped from the asses of the bureaucracies involved there.  Because it wasn't, division was created.  Those involved know that division well enough for me not to rehash the clear infractions on the parts of both parties.  If you don't get it or how both parties fucked up, you're probably a bumbling dipshit anyway, or 8 years old, so it doesn't matter.

Anyway, at the time I was involved in FWC teen Bible quiz program.  For one stupid thing they enforced was this crazy notion that all tournaments could not be sanctioned if they conflicted with a church service.  Seeing as how Bible quiz in the southeast part of the country sucks relative cock, this statement alone was proverbial blasphemy.  Obviously we were getting the Bible, I mean, I memorized all the fuckin books I attempted to memorize (fucking is ironic, but not as ironic as you).  Second, no one bothered to memorize all of the said material except me and sometimes Josh, when he felt like it: this excludes concordance material, about which no one really gave a damn save my dad, because I couldn't figure out a good way to memorize such things quite honestly.  Towards the end, obviously, I was getting kinda pissed.  To memorize all that without any help whatsoever sucked, despite the fact that I didn't even give it all of my time.  Plus, the cliques of tbq nationals weren't much into obliging sensible people.  The national championship is riddled with closeminded imbecile children with harsh imaginary rules and worse temperaments.  But for all this criticism, I do say I did have fun most of the time while doing it; but obviously, these things I've said overcame that enjoyment enough to push me out of the program.  I do not deny the importance of such a program in the Christian faith for any denomination, and the game attached to it makes it more reachable for people.  People fashion for themselves labels for people, which I guess in some cases I have, but do so with reason hopefully that you will understand my case, and not do the same for me.  The problem is that the problems shared a small minority as far as the program was concerned until the battles over the distribution of funds as well as various rulings came to a simmer.  My parents abandoned the program for idealistic conflicts with the leadership in place and furthermore the church for the same reasons.  The ideals of the leaders did not promote necessarily the best of the best; instead, tbq was used more as do what you want social time in comparison to my parents views.  I do believe now that a balance between those is attainable and affable in the grand scheme of things, but in this case, the program simply did not put out as much as it could.  We dicked around with it to an extent.  Also, the funds were distributed likewise according to these socialist ideals.  Funds were partial to parts of the program that favored more involvement as opposed to reward for progress.  Such ideals eventually carried over to the Fine Arts program, but TBQ by far is a better example of these facts.

Truth is, FWC embraced ideals that favored more control by a few and less say by those it aspired to help through pacification of the people by paying everyone the same respect judicially.  Unfortunately, this balance did not coexist with sensible ideals.  If one imbalances funding for seed as opposed to maturation, one's crop results in dying young species.  Obviously, after my parents left, the program lasted one more year, and subsequently died.  No help existed because obviously funding for said party time (or practice time) outweighed the continuation of such results to nationals.  Everyone relied on those share and share alike techniques to reach fruition and did not.

In other words, you can't dole out money for a program that doesn't do anything.  So yeah, you have a lot of kids in your program, but no one cares if they don't do anything.  If you don't reward memorization, and instead reward half-assing shit right before a tournament, no one will do anything and that's what happened.  My parents were gracious enough to say, "Ok, it's your ball: roll with it," and step out.  But then it was abandoned.  You can't have your cake and eat it too.  They were aspiring to do greater things with that program, but that didn't happened.  Apparently, letting people take care of their respective lots in a way they see fit as a form of management is inappropriate to some people.

You dipshits, you are the same people who kicked out Roy Stone for not understanding what his dreams and aspirations were.  You'll get nothing from God, b/c God sends people your way and you kill them.  Instead, God sends you people who keep you in the dark and keep you from stretching beyond your comfort zone.  So you sit around idle all the time.

You're the same people who don't take the ministry of God seriously.  You have ideas, but God doesn't enter into those.  You're the ones who cared more about getting to Fine Arts Nationals than actually doing well in what God has helped you to do.  You assholes, you would've been better off had you lost, but now you are delusional for your own grandeur.

I hate these people who don't question, who never ask, who just sit around and let the mundane sweep them off their feet.  It's pathetic.  I've dealt with it enough to vomit.  No offense, but I want to offend you.  What ever happened to signs and wonders will follow you?  What ever happened to quality craftmanship?

But what am I talking about?  No one listens and no one understands...

I heard a kid tripped on x; no seriously, his chains felled his legs right over the spot of his comatose girlfriend.  Pompous windbag that I am, never seem to eat anything but spam.  I called up my girlfriend: she said God told her to, then I said fuck you, God told me two things about you.  You're a whore and so's that church your ex-boyfriend went to.  Said he tripped into porno, then confessed he was horno.  Are you into sex?  I know I am; I've extrapolated from the Bible all that can.  I even masturbated to the Song of Solomon, if you believe that.  Well, what's the difference?  Your reverence for God makes no cents, either, if you believe her of him, depending on the gender of a general sex offender who paid indulgences to make sure the priest would never tell, neither would the child he molested, that he was a child molester.  But if you're celibant and made that sacrifice, why do you sacrifice issac on your sexual palette.  Well, Andy Stanley, and Pat Robertson said it, it must be true to form, always stupid and fucked up just like worm Kahn put in those guys on that one star trek movie no one saw, b/c they were too busy praying about a witnessing opportunity that God just gave when their friend said that he wasn't sure where he'd when he'd die and you just stood there like what trying to avoid the dumbfuck because you're a superficial bastard.  Yeah, that time.  But I'm only here cause Pat Robertson kicked me out of Venezuela after he killed the girl I impregnated to by saving her baby then sending her husband to a war in a country for oil.  Then he died.  Then she commited suicide because the church only gave fried chicken for a week.  Said something about she was whore, or a little more, when the pastor knocked up her door.  Maybe that wasn't my baby anymore.  After all this, trust me, I've made as much art as the kid's girlfriend who tripped on x after she inhaled glass shards for an hour took off her clothes after making me promise I wouldn't do it til I proposed.  Wow, that was awkward I told her.  That bitch wasn't even hot.  I was just that ex-boyfriend, totally misguided and missing the point.

So I was watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind just a minute ago, and as cheesy as it sounds, I used the restroom after it ended and wept...

And you know what?  Fuck all of you.  Fuck all these people who tell me how critical I am, how judgmental I am.  God, you infernal bastards!  You have no idea who I am or what I'm about.  You imagine and generalize out some monotonous motherfucking piece of carbon.  Tack on nicknames like the fucking walking Bible or some fuckin entertainer.  I hate you all.  I've always hated your hypocrisy.  I tried to be like you...to be liked.  Half of you wouldn't give a damn if I died.  I'm so tired of my charades...this bitterness is only getting worse.  I've tried to forget the Spirit.  I've tried to forget all I've known.  All I seem to do is push everything away...

I'm just recounting these memories of mine...all these memories...
Why'd I even bother with this shit......

Make Yourself by Incubus

If I hadn't made me, I would of been made somehow..

If I hadn't assembled myself, I would've fallen apart by now..

If I hadn't made me, I'd be more inclined to bow!

Powers that be would have swallowed me up,

But thats more then I can allow!

(But!)


If you let them make you! They'll make you paper-mache!

At a distance you're stong, until the wind comes..

Then you'll crumble and blow away...

If you let them fuck you! There will be no foreplay!

Rest assured, they'll screw you completely, until your ass is blue and grey!


You should make amends with you!

If only for better health!

But if you really want to live...

Why not try, and Make yourself?


If I hadn't me, I'd have fallen apart by now..

I wont let them make me..It's more then I can allow!

So when I make me, I won't be paper-mache..

And if I fuck me...I'll fuck me in my own way!!!


You should make amends with you,

If only for better health!

But if you really want to live...

Why not try, and make yourself?

---------

I've never particularly enjoyed the music to this song (there are much better Incubus songs around, especially Fungus Amongus).  The difference is what it says and the problem it entails.  People always talk of living beyond the proverbial influence and/or not caring what others think.  If you really didn't care what others thought, you would do whatever you wanted, but you don't.  Making yourself only works half the time, and even then, can fail in bringing you happiness.  Fuck people, but fuck these stupid transcendentalists who say through human progressive psyche we can attain shit beyond our wildest dreams.  My "progress" hasn't made me content--much less, happy.

Like as the hart desireth the water brooks, so longeth my soul after Thee, O God, yea even for the living God.  When shall I come to appear before the presence of God?  My tears have been my meat day and night, while they daily say unto me, "Where is now thy God?"

That's a good question.  We can't all have what we want, but I can I be given the satisfaction of wanting what I have?  Am I always to lay my head on bed of discontentment?

Didn't go to church tonight, which I kinda regret but not totally.  New sport trend is ultimate frisbee now, but I'm not sure whether it just vexes me more.  I'm just waiting for a break, is all...

Just so you know, the above biblical reference came from a song by Herbert Howell we're doing in chamber.  I like its sound...

I want to lose all my self-inhibition to people.  I hate people.  I wanna be blazed again...

For those of you who believe things like this picture are gross, inhuman, or inappropriate, this is no joke.  I came across a site with pictures like this one, and they scared me from depression and bitterness for a time.  May these souls always remind me of not only my own mortality but the glory in life I have.

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace;
In fine we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Well, it turns out again plans have been foiled.  No fungi last night, just green, which again doesn't do anything for me except make things taste better and calm my sporadic swings of emotion down, which is cool, but not really what I wanted last night.  Only having one cup of hunch punch, cause my system's weird about drinks of that nature, I wasn't tipsy either so that last night was more of a disappointment than anything else.  Ah...experimentation...or something like it...

I got my Ion Dissonance cd in today but I can't get it b/c (a) I got the email twenty minutes before the package pick-up closed and (b) I'm in a hotel room with my dad right now about to finish another gay chem 1310 lab.  Man, I hope I do well in these classes; I just wanna fix my grades and be able to springboard off of that to something else so that I can figure out what I want to do.

My birthday's comin up and looks to be another drag, although I'm not sure if my mom's planning anything yet.  She keeps asking me, but I don't know what I want to do.  Personally, I'd sooner forget it than anything else.  Earlier, she even asked me if anyone I knew would wanna come down.  I'm like what the hell in my mind.  The only one who would want to would be my ex and that would just be awkward.  Whatever...I'll try to think of something...

Friday night's the big night...can't go into specifics b/c dumbasses follow lead so easily.  Anyway, I got to conjour up forty bucks for the trip; I don't know, though: Trotter keeps babbling about mentally preparation and all this shit.  Really, I just wanna sit back and relax when it hits, hopefully it's good, unlike the dro, which didn't do too much.  Let's not forget the unfortunate two nights one of which is gonna cost me fuckin seventy-five bucks.  That's gonna suck.  Worried about school; I need to go to class.  Hey, I'm just lazy, but I think I can make it tomorrow.  Some reason my internet seems slower now, which sucks, but oh well.  It's kinda been on the skits ever since the start of the semester.  Getting better at guitar, working on some really basic sweep picking and rakes, but it's gonna take some time to be up to speed, if that day even comes.  Or if I fail miserably at my own dreams...it will be a while...but I'm waiting, even if it kills me...which it might...

I went to Dunwoody tonight, and attended Gravity, the youth function there.  It was alright overall: worship was really good, but the feelings died down in the end.  There was a salutary exchange of words with Kristen (or however the hell you spell her name)--nothing of fantastic report, I'm afraid.  I need to actually work out cause I haven't done that in a while (probably make me feel better).  This young woman (cause I don't want to call her a girl, seeing as she's 23 and engaged, but woman alone sounds overkill on formalities and such) named Sarah reintroduced herself.  I say reintroduced because the first time she didn't really bother to pay attention to me.  It's ok; her head was in a different place.  She seems happy with her fiance, the main service talented drummer named John, a fact which I like because I feel joy in knowing other people have well-rounded relationships and divorce seems so fashionable nowadays.  God, it's starting feel like ages have passed, like I'm in a parallel universe where I'm involved in everything.  What the fuck ever, though.  It doesn't matter, not really.

I like the college group at Dunwoody, not because I can relate to most of the people there, but because the people there seem trustworthy, stable, and cool (no consistent language here).  They're all older, despite the fact that there are some people more in my line of existence except that they don't come around to what's known as The Edge--Kristen being one of those "stragglers", I'm afraid.  She seems busy, or at least preoccupied with other things other than relationships.  It's hard though with relationships.  I'll manage.

I don't mind any of this sounding selfish since no one on phusebox I know knows about this site, except Nathan, the creator of this little jig I'm using.  I just need to pen my thoughts, you know...