Monday, April 12, 2004

Exact Audio Copy

I've been dreaming a lot lately. Don't remember though. I never remember what it is I dream. I remember some brief fact when I wake up, but it escapes soon after.

I keep seeing the time 4:44. Radiohead's "Airbag" is 4:44. I was looking at the clock the day I was to feel sick at night. 4:44. I opened my eyes when I was sick and looked at the clock. 4:44 AM. I looked at the clock todaty, afternoon. 4:44. What does it mean?

Nothing. Probably.

The duplicity of the above statement: "I've been dreaming much lately but don't remember what I dream" makes sense in both its way.

Earlier, I felt writing was dead. It was all dead. Now it feels so alive.

You'll notice I haven't posted any post in this format for a long while. Or so it seems to me. It's because I was putting up my wall. But it's crashing down now.

Despite this, I'm a sad person. I do understand there's some good things in this life. . .but those good things'll die by the time I have them and see them it seems. Too bad it's inevitable.

I feel in love with everything at the moment. I'm in that mode. I've also consumed a large amount of caffeine today, too. Caffeine seems to make me happy. It's kinda sad in its ways. But in the end, tomorrow, once the caffeine wears off, I'll be back to my self-loathing and fuck the world mood. I guess. Deep down that's what I'll feel, but on the exterior all will be well to those who see me.

I feel beyond everything. My eyes see everything in a haze. My mind's making and servicing connections all over. Circuit overload. Basically, I'm feeling the effects of the caffeine. And being tired. All at once. This is the best feeling I'll ever feel. It's sad, but some drug gives you the best feeling you'll ever feel. . .some imbalance of the brain by a drug that forces it.

While caffeine's not labeled as some terrible drug or anything, it is addicting. To me at least. I find some days that I wish I could have some caffeine to make me feel better. To make me feel like I do now. To feel alive. And not suffering.

Like I've said before, you need something else to make you happy. . .self happiness isn't a absolution in this world. You need something else to make you happy. And that happiness is often ill-founded, desperate, full of hatred and rage, and full of a nothing else to lose attitude.

But by these fake symbiotics, there is the most beautiful things formed.

Love. Writing. Music.

Those are my life right there. Those are my life.

They are what make me happy. No one will take them.

I'm such a hopeless romantic at the moment. There's no one to be hopelessly romantic with though. I'm here, alone, like usual, since I'm too inept to care to make many friends.

Well, that's the end of this digression. I don't want to let any more out.

I've been ripping CDs all day, since I had to restore my computer to its factory setting.

I'm using Exact Audio Copy. Tony set me up. Thanks Tony. You're the man.

I also posted on OB more than I have in ages. Let's hope it gives it some life.

Life is what I want. I want to live and feel alive, please. Please.

I'm pretty desperate lately. I need something to make this all matter. It's all crashing inward, and the only lifesaver to grab is me.

It's desperation not in the sense that I want to kill myself, but it's desperation in the sense that I see so much of me that I've known so long--been comfortable in--is dying. I'm trying to find what it is I'm supposed to be. . .I need to find someone that can make me be that. Not Society. Not a Job. Not Education. Someone. Someone that's alive and I can feel into, and who can feel into me.

I need someone that gives me strength. That makes it so I can know it's worth it to go on. I want someone that I'll be a slave for, and it'll be mutual. I want to be able to make them happy, instead of me. I want to forget me, and know that other person. It's stupid. Fickle. Dumb. But it's how I feel.

Until I find this person, I think I'm stuck. Stuck to not care, not want, and feel dead. Stuck to sustain myself half-assed, and only do things when there's a dire need at the end. I'm stuck like a fly to flypaper. I'm wondering in a maze. And it's a horror. I wish the chainsaw man would kill me already, or else I wish I'd find someone to grab my hand and take me out.

The human is such a stupid dumb thing.

Again with the affable happiness--the need for a Her. It's inescapable. Humanly inescapable.

This frantic desperation, this falling wilting thing. From this I'll emerge. From this the roses wilted now spring in spring.
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