i don't even know what to title this one.

i wish i had some strange little gimmick or catchphrase or punchline that could be the least bit indicitive of my personality, while also being clever, funny, interesting, and universal.
oh well, that's just the aboriginal sin of adam.


so there's a reason i don't know what to title this blog, post, blog entry, update, whatever--.
that reason is i'm in some sort of mood. a pissy one, a whiney one (but not unjustified), a lost one, a depressed one, and confused one, an angry one, and dazed one, a meaningless one: a mood that is the combination of every bad emotion there is, crumpled into a ball that has been tossed into a waste basket of identical balls which are then picked up by a garbage truck, taken to a landfill of. more terrible emotion balls. The landfill is then covered in skin, hair, plaid shorts, an orange shirt, and fitted with a disgruntled look to befit the fractionist of fractions of what's going on inside.
and that's just the begining of it.
there's the scope of the situation.

i wonder if wondering about the situation will help it. i'm writing and asking if writing about the feelings will settle the feelings. i'm thinking and pondering and molding my mind around this emotion, trying to ensnare the beast with thought and logic.
thought i doubt that i really see the emotion as an enemy, as an etheral, shadowy beast, bringing upon apocali after apocali; no, i'm sure that instead i'll just feed the monster and let it grow and mutate and destroy, yet at the same time i'll tame it's wild ways fod my own purposes. for art.

so why not, instead of going over and over going over and over going over and over what i'm writing about--opposed to actually writing it (WHAT A SURPRISE)--I just write? I'll go over various topics of the day, and see what i feel about each one, see what steps i took to reach this height. let's see.

so...first topic...
destruction

fire, pirates, dinosaurs, irony, words, the culling song, the grimorie, thunder, lightening, storms, twirling twisters, death, wish, god, the judas cow, pleasure, necrophelia.

destruction

why do i revel in destruction? why do i talk about destruction and death and even gross things like disease and severed limbs, with such admiration, such interest?
on one hand, i feel that everything else has become so inane that death and destruction, the ultimate end to it all, the extremes of which society reveres as disgusting and awful, are the only interesting factors left in the equation.
on one hand, maybe i don't know what things normal people talk about.
on one hand, maybe i don't know how to talk to people, but on another, maybe that doesn't have so much to do with this topic as it does with another.
[interlude: i want to talk to someone right now. anyone. everyone. but no one is worthy. no one wants to know, but even more so no one would understand. you don't understand me.]
on one hand, maybe i exalt destruction because that's my way of accepting it. i can't cope with such an unfair world, where the young are slaughtered, where just by living we destroy so much in the world, where just by living, we are slated to our own destruction. maybe i'm coping with the inevitable. maybe death won't feel so bad because i'll find it interesting. imagine that, imagine my face, happy with mental gluttony, at a funeral where ravens roam through the graveyard flooded with ordinary funeral music, or speeches, or something. or maybe i'm not a psycho, maybe i haven't really encountered such a loss, such a destruction, and maybe i really don't want to.
on one hand, maybe it's just something i'm fascinated by, and there's really no other reason behind it.

what would i do if i knew the culling song? would i kill people like carl streater did? the sound-aholics, the silence-ophobics? do i have an enemy? a victim?
sometimes i feel i would. something about power corrupts

karl marx says that we justify killing our victims to the point that they become the enemy.
--what am i saying? 'our victims'? what who am i how do i crazy fool stupid saying?--

what if i had a death note? would i create my own new world order?
sometimes i feel i would, just to have a life experience, to have a life as interesting as light's on death note.

dulce et decorum est pro patria mori
memento mori

enough. next topic
who i am.

adam, adam powers, berger, the first man, the first second sinner, of the earth, of the city, with power, kooky, intellectual, crazy, queer, quiet, introvert fighting to be an extrovert, social anxiety, closed, analytical, uptight, hurt, offended, human, alien, psycho, or just human. but different. but conflicted.

i feel as if i were someone else then everything would be easier. i wish i could just wear a mask and fall into the personality and live that life.
see, if i were a serial killer, or a psycho, everything would be easy. i would know my purpose in life, i would understand what i wanted and what i needed to do, i would know how i needed to act, what i would talk about.
but i'm no insane wacko murderer. i don't know who i am, so i don't know how to be, or what to expect, or what to be, or who i am, or what i want, or what to say, or who to say it to, or how to say it.
How do i say what i mean?
FUCK, I don't even know what i mean!?
i'm so completely fucked.
i don't know anything.
and i have no one to help me.
and this feeling, i can tell myself, will go away by morning, when i go to sleep.
"everything will be alright"
but when i wake up, everything isn't alright.
i wish i were an insomniac. i would have stoires to tell then. i would be up all night doing wild things, things i don't do now. and i would think wild things and have so much time, so much more fleeting time.
i wish i were a serial killer. i would have a life experience were i a serial killer. i would have accomplished something in my life, i would have used my mind for a purpose, and would know that purpose. and i would tell such wonderful stories.
i wish i were more opposed in life. i would be in a lower situation, everything would be harder, but i would fight back, and i would have such good stories.

why am i so quick to turn everything into a memory?
why can't i just live?

i first started going to youth first texas, my gay youth group, so that i can prove i can survive.
i started going to prove that i will thrive in college.
i started going so that i could know that i can exist as an individual with people i didn't know, people i was getting to know.
i wanted to know that i could be funny and interesting and amazing and an individual, a personality, a character, and different and special and loveable and wonderful and human but different and smart and wise and kooky and crazy and creative
to people who didn't know me, to people i wasn't comfortable with.
i needed to see that i can be me, whoever that is.
julie wanted to know why i didn't want her coming, well--that's it.
and it seems like i proved nothing.

so i guess i'll just drown in college...

i don't even know where i am at the moment.


no one is listening.
why does this come as a surprise when i don't say anything?
no one cares
because i don't tell anyone
i don't let anyone care
don't even give em the chance.

why can't i say what i mean?
FUCK, why can't i say anything?

i guess this topic system didn't really work.
organization is just a time waster.
not even i will understand this in the morning, i won't want to. but it won't matter. it'll just be another day to build up the same feelings, and come to similar conclusions and wonder in vicious, monstrous circles.

i can't be succinct because there's so much to say. there's so much left unsaid, there's so much i haven't said. so i have to be wordy and verbose and pity-pleading and desperate and nihilistic.

it's all one fucking justification after another.

next topic...
the end.