SOME say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I?ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice

Robert Frost. I like this poem a lot. I'm feeling pretty shabby. It bothers me that whenever I come here, to write out my mind, it's always about how I feel this or that. It would be nice to simply write something profound, that has completely nothing to do with me and my so called "feelings." But it just so happens that I am always in some mood, and think/feel that if I was not to write it down, something would be lost to my ever changing mind. In that I mean I wouldn't be learning from myself and progressing as an individual. Sometimes I think that if I were to write out whatever it is that I'm thinking/feeling, it might help me sort out my thoughts and come up with some conclusion. I'm just feeling horribly horrible right now, and should probably just go to bed and distance myself from any sort of introspective thoughts. But sometimes I just can't resist a good write. The two prominent muscles running up the back of my neck are very tense right now. I've been so restless since about 5pm tonight. I haven't been able to be at peace on my day of rest. Seems like a waste. Hm. I bet that every individual feels like the center of the universe. Not that it can be helped, all you have is your own mind. You sort of have to feel that way. I wish I didn't. I hate that I can only think of my thoughts and opinions. Does that make sense. I don't think so. See, I don't think that makes sense, but maybe someone else does. ...But I do think it makes sense because I wrote it... Anyway, the moral of the story is that I had this dream last night, and I'm just remembering it now. It took place in this large room, almost like a warehouse. I was in there, rummaging around through all these thousands of boxes. They were boxes belonging to thousands of people. I knew some of the people the boxes belonged to. One box was my brother Blake's. And for some reason he was off at war, and I didn't know if he was dead or not, so I started sobbing because I was terrified that he was dead. I believe it turned out that he wasn't, but by the time I figured that out I was to preoccupied with being chased by this bear. I was in this house trying to barricade myself in; sticking refrigerators in front of doors and such. It was very strange. I'm just thinking about that room with all the boxes in it. It was all dirty and old. I was just looking through all this stuff. My dreams are very emotional. That particular dream was extremely terrifying. With bears and brothers dying and such. Weird. I am still having dreams where I cut all my hair off, too. It usually all happens in different ways, once I was electrocuted and my hair started falling out, so I just shaved my head, and another time I was in Pittsburgh and just started chopping my hair off with these blunt scissors. Sometimes I'm euphoric that I cut it off, and other times I just start crying. I feel very alone right now. All night I've felt like I should spend time alone, but I've desperately wanted to be talking to people. I'm so bizarre. I wish I could just figure it out. Or not care. I was reading this article tonight about committing suicide, which to editorialize, said that everyone should contemplate suicide to know what it feels like and to understand why people feel that way. Suicide is a tricky thing. When I've been at a peaceful place in life, and have taken the chance to look back on my younger days when I was suicidal and masochistic, I think about how silly that was, how it didn't make much sense them or now, and how I'd never go back there again because life is beautiful now, I often forget that depression is an addictive crutch. That when you want to die, it isn't simply because things suck, it's because of this horrible realization that life is pretty much futile. And people have told me that if they were thinking about killing themselves, they would just leave where they were and start over in some new place. I thought that for a while too, but that isn't the point either, when you have that horrible realization, a change of scenery isn't the answer. Getting it over with is the answer. I know this all sounds really futuristic, but I get this way at night when I'm all by myself, so bear with me. The fact is that you get trapped, and when things don't pick up, it gets hopeless and just seems like a giant waste of time, your time and everyone elses?, so you end it. This is weird. I read too many essays tonight. I feel like I'm stating to write one. The moral of the story kids, is that when you aren't living for anything and nothing is living for you, except yourself, you feel like it's just time to check out. Gotta go. Thanks. The other moral of the story is that being, or feeling alone, sucks. So once again, I wish I was a housecoat, and wasn't going to a school I hate, and had a decent job, and didn't live in ohio, and was beautiful, and had people who understood me. Maybe I just create this scenario in my own mind. And maybe I'm just having a pity party here. Yeah, well, no one's invited, so take your grab bags and get the fuck out. Because it's my fuckin' turn to blow my fuckin' horn and tell the world that I hate it and the majority of it's inhabitants. Especially the one's who talk about them goddamn selves' all the time. And no, that doesn't include me because I'm am on a computer writing to myself, not blabbing my life story to you in person. You chose to read this!!! This blog is not called "Read This Because I Said You Have To, Or Else!!!" And even if it was you still wouldn't have to read it. Anyway. That sentence took so long to write, what with the italicized words and all that I forgot what I was saying... Yes, so I don't know what I was talking about, let me reread... Oh, well I think I've said all I need to about that for now. Except the thing about the people who talk about themselves all the time! Man, oh, man, I know that all you really have to talk about is in fact yourself, BUT that doesn't mean that you can't stop for one fucking second and ask a bloody question or nod your fucking head. Augh! Okay done. But Jimi has a few words to say first:

Manic Depression's touching my soul,
I know what I want,
but I just don't know how to go about getting it.

Feeling, sweet feeling
drops from my finger, fingers
Manic Depression's captured my soul.

Woman so willing the sweet cause in vain,
you make love,
you break love,
it's-a all the same when it's...
when it's over.

Music sweet music,
I wish I could caress, caress, caress.
Manic Depression's a frustrating mess.
Well, I think I'll go turn myself off an' go on down.

Really ain't no use me hanging around.
Oh, I gotta see you.