I started to get very scared tonight while watching the television, particularly while watching South Park's Muslim episode, the worldy push for Christianity in Israel, and obviously each ARMY promotion. Don't lie to yourself. There are ambiguous ARMY invitations that appear on your television screen. The U.S. is already trillians of dollars in debt; why not pay a bulk of actors to promote the ARMY in one form or another for some reclaim? They probably figure with enough money they could BUY YOUR MIND. It's like the world is... over. There's almost no hope. I realize I would go as far as I possibly could to save the human race. It doesn't seem like killing peple is the answer. It seems to me like the very opposite of an answer. We should be friendly to all citizens and respectable towards all religions and beliefs. "Wait" and "Stop" and "Don't" are the last words I want to be on my mind. I want to close my eyes and imagine peace in colors, blunders of blue and yellow and red and green and pink. People put flowers in policeman's guns. Hippies and bums line the streets with rag vests, torn jeans, and tidi shirts. Love is free - you're nice to me. Lost love - found love - life is all around love. Make love - try love - no, you can not buy love. Imagine love - spread love - keep your mind on love. Say love - spray love - there's no need to keep at bay love. High love - low love - as long as you can show love. Write love - read love - it's okay to need love. Plant love - grow love - as long as you can show love. Be love - live love - to everyone you give love. Know love - Share love - be a friend to love. Run out of rhymes? - it's fine. If I did indeed sarcastically type that I was a satanist on an internet chat room board (if I didn't just make that up to scare myself when I'm bored), if by being baptised at Northside Christian Church I did put myself in a holy predicament (rather my mind is creating my destiny or not), and if by being forgiven by God meant he sending me on a mission to record an incredible instrumental album (one that could be so good as to create world peace (no one would disagree with the sound because it wouldn't be any particular language)), one with painfully sad and hard-to-swallow drawbacks (the album will have saved the world if it were to have arrived sooner / or the album won't be released until after I die and on my deathbed I will rest wondering what is to come of it once I die (if I am to be cherished or loathed)) that righteously justify my penitence for the remark (one in which at the time I did not consider how sorely I would regret) I made, then I must have faith. What's happening can not be stopped.

This time I don't want to be as sarcastic. This time I don't want to severely over-quote some movie for cheap kicks. This time I don't want to imitate to impress. I don't want to bull shit. This time I don't want to be let down. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want be alone! I miss my grandma. This time I will cry if I feel like I have to. This time I want to be CONFRONTATIONAL, but POLITE. I want to take things moderately, not excessively. This time I'm starting to realize what I want. I want to be dependent, yet supportive. I want to be sharing, perhaps loved. This time I want to love. This time I want imagination, like picnics and pancakes and baby names. This time I almost want to risk it all. I want to go to Las Vegas and cleverly swindle the slots, as they've swindled each tourist now and forever. I want to travel. I want to travel. I want to travel, and see you. This time I want shared sunsets and shared blankets. This time I want to spend the money. I want to spend the money because I want to make the money. This time I want fireworks and constant music, soft and romantic, sweet and tender. This time I want to find my balance. I want to find a match. This time I want to whoop ass if someone else hits on my affection, to scrap. And I'm damn fine at it too, having it handed to me often as a child. This time I want to be bold, and heard, and respected, and understood, and pleased and admired. Likewise, I want to hear and respect and understand and please and admire. This time I don't want to be LET down. This time I want connection, and experience, and LOVE. I want serotonin and dopamine and endorphins, all types of pleasurable body chemical releases, that only life's extraordinarily wee doses can oblige, like ten-second orgasms and chocolate and alcohol and both scholastic and leisurely accomplishments. This time I want hopes and prays, and especially to share those hopes and prays. I want my brother Mike to get a job, and give up alcohol for good measure. I want my sister Laura to stop drinking as well, and strongly affirm the prostitution allegations that have been delivered to her directly through the confidentiality of massage customers. I want my sister Linda to raise her five children more carefully, and for the lack of a better word, more properly. I just want to see my six siblings in the same room at the same time. I want the hate to decline. I want them all to reside, my dad's side and my mom's side. I want my dad to see me married before he dies. He deserves to see a grandson. He has like eight granddaughters. I want to make my dad proud. This time I want my parents to rid themselves from grief, be it the involvement of domestic abuse, or divorce, or abortion, or me, or any other reason. Similarly, I want to stray from guilt. This time I want to find peace in my heart, and I want you to be right here with me while I do. I want to learn to forgive my family and their non-reconciliation, my sisters for being addicted to cigarettes or drugs or being overweight or raising mentally handicapped children, or my brothers for their sheer lack of sociability toward one another. This time I'm sorry that you have actually read this laborious stretch of text that, while appearing personally relieving to me, may appear confusing and quasi-, if not exceedingly schizophrenic in your eyes. This time I want liberation, like lying down and watching the moon and stars. This time I want attachment, and trust, and warmth, and comfort. I want your manner of expressiveness to mirror my manner of expressiveness, not which is necessary that everything you say or do is right or agrees with what I say or do, just that if you feel the need shout out, say so. This time I want to be kind, and amicable, and polite, although remaining direct and assertive. I need to be safe. I want to feel secure. I want to go to Church and worship Jesus Christ. One day I want to address all the people who have lost their lives, telling them they meant more than me, and that they meant more TO me than I ever bothered to explain while they were still alive. This time I want assurance. I want lots of assurance. My current vulnerability is of extreme magnitude. After all, my grandmother Rose died just two days ago. This time, however, I want it to hit me already. When my friend Steve died while in a coma from an automobile accident in which our last phone conversation had preceded moments before, my cycle of guilt-shock-denial-anger-melancholy was completely askew, it being the foremost encounter of something so unspeakable. This time I want to ease up. I want to learn from others' mistakes, as well as my own. This time I want to concentrate on what I can do correct, not incorrect. I want more realization, more comprehension, and understanding, and knowledge. This time I don't want to deny death. I don't want to deny that we aren't divinely and miraculously fortunate enough to make up the sheer universal mass of a human being. I don't want to deny what I don't know. I don't know the meaning of life, or existence. The step-by-step causes and effects and profound, concrete evidence that the world did not just evolve, that God created it, that humans did not revolve from orangutans and chimpanzees, that God created us. This time I want to ask the question of why much less. I want to go with the flow, for the lack of a better cliché. This time I want to see what it means to be monogamous. I want to treat with reverence, as well as to be treated with reverence. I want to keep some principles stored in my mind at the back of my brain, somewhere near the cerebral cortex in nearly infinitely small spaces or waves of thought and resource. I want to consider that while most organic forms of wildlife learn to be monogamous, most human forms do not. In fact, divorce sadly occurs in about 48% of marital cases. Thankfully, my parents have seemingly remained, or permeated. I would like to comment that some comments are left unsaid, so while an abundance of text like the one you are reading may glitter my inner-feelings and emotions, you could never truly know me without being me. Because, in modern times, this is not feasible without the situation of genetic engineering, I must conclude that to KNOW someone is more a gradual experience than a sudden explanation. This time I want to feel involved, included, important, embraced, and encompassed. I eventually want to make these feelings permanent, and percolate these feelings onto someone as a way of life. This time I want to live. I need to trade delusion for fact, considering that I didn't die while I was hit by a moving automobile in the third or fourth grade, that I am not still lying on that very windshield with my soul and mind wallowing about in some altered perception that my brain created as a sort of last-minute acknowledgement preceding death, one that stretches for seconds but seems like years. I need to rationalize, resisting to dwell on improbable dreams like a famous album and world peace, any alleged exportation of my soul for fame, or peaceful expectations like discovering someone so genuine, and unique, and entertaining, and witty, and funny, and exciting, and amicable, right, accomplished, consummated, or apparently flawless and perfect and errorless and exact for me, my spouse. This time I want to be in a continuum of experience in which you grow older, gaining wrinkles and losing hair. Because I want to be who I am, and where I am. This time… Years ago... She does to him what I did to her and
the squeaking of her bed somehow drains out
this sad song that's repeating in my head
Words that make lies that make people like you and I
and collaborate stories will never work again
How long will five minutes seem and what will
we all mean in twenty years (nothing)
Today is among all other days,
she's unique, like everyone else