It's around five thirty p.m., and its only gonna get worst
from now on. At eleven, the climax shall begin until around
one a.m., when the pain will cause me to take some sleeping
pills, or the new substitutes I always find. This is
whorabble. At the pick of my youth, I am addicted to shit
and people who only do me harm. Alcohol shows me things I
wanna see. It focuses me on the present, cause I can't think
about anything else. My memory somehow fades away, and I
don't give a fuck about what is going to happen in the next
second. But this alcohol does not solve anything. I know it.
The annoying thing about it, is that it shows everyone how
bad I'm feeling inside. And since I don't care about what is
going on around me, I don't even attempt to hide it. Just
let it show. And oh,. I love the stupid lies. If somebody
takes any interest in my disposition, I say I'm tired. Come
on people! Don't tell me you're so fucked up!!!! Don't tell
me you believe the shit I'm telling you!!! I think you all
just don't care enough. You  love the stupid clown that
tells you interesting stories and smiles all the time. Yea,
sure. Sometimes it's nice to hear him talk about an
emotional experience, cause sticking your nose in somebody
else's business is always interesting. Perhaps for a second
you'll find yourself in his touching stories. Identify with
the shit, and let out a gentle moan. Well keep you sympathy
away from me. All fucking bullshit. So I'm waiting for him
to call. Once more in my life I'm Waiting for the fucking
phone to tell me I'm alive. And the phone does not ring.
Yea, there were times I stretched my self on the floor,
trying to save myself from thinking about loosing it all
once and for all, while crying my ass off. And then, the
divine sound would be heard. Yea, divine, cause sometimes I
truly believe god has something to do with it, and he is
trying to save me by giving me hope. I even use telepathy.
These are the cases in which I hold the phone really close
to my forehead, and I kiss the upper part of it, praying
they would call. He would call. I then press it to my heart.
And swear I'll be good, and attempt not to sin any more.
Regret not festing last atonement day. Or the one before.
And understand how pitiful I am for asking such a stupid
egotistical wish when there are so many other people to be
heard all over the planet, who suffer much more than I do. I
don't feel I have the right to suffer, or to ask for help.
No. I do not carry my pain in a noble way. I let it drip,
and I wallow in it until I forget the hour, and my
disposition, and just fall into some kind of mental sleep. I
try to imagine suffering people, with no arms and legs,
those that have cancer, or lost a beloved one. I try to
think about those who saw their lives fade away during a
terrorist attack, or their families that have to remember
their lose for as long as they live. But this just does not
help. I am stuck in my own pathetic world. Sometimes I cry
for help in silence. I suppose this is one of these times.
Sometimes i speak to someone, but I know no body can help
me. Why did I turn out like this? Something wrong with the
genes? The way I was brought up? Don't know. I thought
finding a job will help me. But it does not. Well maybe just
for a couple of hours I'm invested in it. The minute I come
home, it all comes back to me. The loneliness, the
depression, the feeling I just don't belong here or any
place else. The feeling I have no true relationships. And
worst of all, the feeling it would never, and couldn't
possibly ever get better.

      So I got into music. Bought a stock of c.d.s, paid
for private guitar lessons, took my lungs out trying to sing
properly. In lyrics I'm trying to find answers to questions
that bother me. For example, what do you do when you love
somebody that does not love you? What do you do when you
feel ugly and twisted? When you feel you have got no
strength to carry on? I also love the way the lyrics
describe things I'm going through. If somebody else suffered
from it so bad they let out a song about it, than I must not
be crazy for loosing my mind over it. Tori talks about a boy
she fell in love with, and how her expectations were
shuttered. How she thinks of him, and what they could have
meant to each other, and how he is gone now. Duritz talks
about the waiting. How you wait for her even though you know
that she ain't comin', but you just can't help yourself. He
also talks about the difficulties in sleeping, when the
so-called angels do not allow him any sleep, so he just does
not sleep any more. Oh it is so horrible when I can't sleep.
So many bad bad thoughts come up, and they scare me so much.
I'm not happy, they tell me. I don't have the chance to be
happy because there isn't such a thing. Its just a western
idea to sell more vacations, as said in "twelve monkeys".
And even if such a thing existed, I could never reach it
because I think pain is artistic therefore I shall always
define myself according to it. Always find ways to reminding
myself how everything sucks. I do not want to live like
this. But what if I am not able to love?

      Some days ago, me and my new object of pain went to a
nature spot. I felt great. But I couldn't show him. I felt
he was too far away. I didn't think it was me. So there was
silence. A lot of silence. Annoying, full of tension
silence. Time past in a wonderful way. I felt at place, and
I thought he liked me then. When he had put his head on the
grass, I offered my lap. Wasn't scared any more to show how
I feel. Touched his arm gently. His chick bones. Silence.
Always silence. He does not replay. On the way back, I reach
my hand to touch him. He put his arms around me. I attach my
head to his chest. He tells me it's time to move. I, again,
want to just disappear from the face of the earth. Why does
it have to be like this? Is it because I did the same to
others? Paying the price? Don't know. My songs don't offer
an answer for that. They only talk about the lack in them.
You see, I know there are much more important things in life
than love stories, but without them, nothing is worth shit.
Nothing. When I am loved, I feel this spring of energy and
power that helps me handle the day. True, when love is taken
for granted, and it did happen after a while, this feeling
is gone. But till then, it is wonderful.

      So my mother told me: "you are not a nice and a worm
person. You are cynical, and think that the world revolves
only around you. This is the reason you are not happy, and
if you keep acting like this, you shall never be". Well, I
don't know if I had mentioned it before, but I really love
my mother. Love her between rare and medium rare, with a bit
of hot pepper. I love my father as well. I even loved him
when he came to my room and told me he is getting sick of
seeing me in his house. Oh, how much I love them both,
-myself, -the whole fucking world! Oh, words just can't
express
.So, once again, I'll just shut the hell up