a =
a couch potato. those who like it like it alot. i always got time for.... mechanical reactions to everyday. or maybe they like the fact that they can feel what they choose. one in one hand, something else that i cant remember in the other. automatic. television sucks. id rather keep updated with julia roberts too many(too many to much) teeth smile, then do other things, that i cant wedge into my tight schedule. of sleep, work, eat, schedule.schedule.schedule.schedule.schedule. i dont see the sun, or the moon. my sun is glowing. radiation smile. uv rays. pristine monitored box.
b=
broken by all the people you have seen. the people on the street in the halls in your house. who you thought you could have intelligent conversations with, those who broght humor with perpendicular questions for where and when things would appear, or if nothing which seemed like a good thing to say at the time, would not. after opening my self, by mind, towards and up to certain individuals;mind you this is not a word used to describe their outer credentials as being a unique being outside of school and in. i was left wondering, now, not then, just where it all came from, when i see you now, sitting there with a smile on your face not happy to see me, but more to recognize your space in the line up to "cool"; cool not directly linking to a type of freezing point, or lack thereof. i then, upon further inspection and quarreling decided for myself that those who acted upon such judgements with such lighthardedness as to suggest that i was not quite the friend in which they could flaunt their supposed image, their image of cool. so ditched i was. and ditched i stayed even though ditched is not the word to describe, although you might like to call it, situation. all i wanted to say is that you now fit your image, you and all the other people i see on the streets, the halls, and in my house. loathed i call you.
c=
credentials, though not quite spelled the same with a d. i followed those who fought life in a spell, something followed though not following for a reason or a season, or knowing when to stop. i never knew why i went to school without a specific destination, though i thought i knew, something because all the years spent, spent and spent in my pocket for what i was the supposed outcome. i start, i've decided that you need to know how, to understand what was to be and not if that was the question. if we were doing it for joy, and to be happy, then why feel so much pain, why hate. a simple yet specified complicated plan for your future, although never quite used that way. do i really know the meaning, the reason for all this complex season, or do i need to go to school, to read it in a book, a golden book that was paid as a threat to stop mankind to have a destined credential in the trade of my kind. of choice but not really a choice. because everyone needs a name, blue collar, white. dumb.
d=
desire. to change. i feel so weak now. and i dont even know why. or if its really a true weakness. i feel weak in the knees, in the stomach and mind. why must i feel so vulurnable as though someone had already told me the truth, that when it all came down, when i stopped and thought about what was really happening i wanted it to not bother. me or anyone else. acted in a subdued concentrated drug altered world where nothing was really true. thinking as though i was stoned again. though it hasnt happened in over a month, i look out towards as though it wasnt really there, and my weakness was gone because there wasnt really anything to be weak about. i feel safe now. i focus back to the main image now, and its dying, pain induced withering away but not leaving now. why wont you go away, why wont you leave, so i can see your dead corpse, and your soul reach the sky like i saw my other loved ones do. why am i still here, shouldnt i be inside the warm house, well i am now. i start thinking about the industry, it always comes back to this. how everything is based on recognizing nothing, and pushing the closest reality out of ones mind and focusing on things that are trivial and that have no meaning, itching now to leave, its cold outside and i have to urinate. my skin itches now, i feel pain im my stomach as i wretch. and wait for the untimely death. why was i so weak to not put it out. why did i leave it up to someone else, or something else. why couldnt i do it for all of my senses tell me to but i want to think otherwise, becuase i was taught to think about my hair; was it dirty - when did i have to wash it next and with what product, or clothes ; was my favorite pair of pants in the wash or would my breasts look to big in that black halter, or what my plans for next week week were ; was i going to the movies or the mall, or how much homework i have to do, or if john doe is in love with me; he talked to me after school maybe he wants to get married and have his children, or the latest bargain at wal mart, was knee high socks on sale this monday or maybe next monday - oh nevermind thats ankle cut socks. it didnt matter anymore all that did was this dying creature before me, inbodyed im myself, i could see my expression call out but no one heard it didnt matter anyway. what did. when i took away all the trivial happenings or the chit chat or petty conversation starters or enders for that matter it didnt really matter did it. then what would life be, it would be birth and death. thats all and a gigantic equation of space in the middle where you are hassled for breathing or lack of breath.
e=
endangered, like as though something was not the same, in a game where the players are lost. lost, as though i was not, but in my mind im paranoid, and my own familiar rooms seem strange and distant. estranged, as though, you had left me for a specific character of more calibur and feelings to be left behind for your own guilt. switched, as though i had become the one who had forgotten you, instead of the other way around, and it was all my fault but not because i have not forgotten. guilt, as though its not for myself, but why i continue to complain, through you, for nothing but specific details, i will hear in the near future, but hopefully not. crisis, as though i was going through it my whole life, and had the time to deal with it, to realize and act upon it, with such experience instead of the new wild thoughts of relationships i feel now. tired, as though i have given up, but really not, because i still love it when you treat me like a person, with a warm feeling of destine, not felt by many and given to few. confused, as though you already know what your ultimate plan is, but keep it from me in fear of denile, and hurtful feelings of remorse. unidentified, as though its never going to be the same, but i wish that it will, because you are one of the few things i want to hold on to in life.
f=
freak.i once told a girl, she was asking for help, but not really knowing it, she asked me to write a message because i was an aqquaintance, a real true friend would not need a petty message to show her support of admiration, of undying bonds between to inter connecting beings. as i wrote i thought of dropping the pen right then and there, and staring bleakly into her face, and telling her, do you even know who your real friends are, do you really need this. but didnt, i dont know why. but i continued writting. as i started, my mind went blank. i began with the inviting "hello" as a normal person would write, not to scare her off, and belive i was a homacidal maniac. but rather a quant, stereotype in her mind, because thats all i knew i was to this person. i continued, thinking, and stopping because i couldnt decide, whether to write lyrics to a forgotten band, that meant nothing to me, or write about other things she would soon forget, i wanted to leave an impression, but didnt know how. i hope.....i dont want to wish her a good year, that would be a joke, for me on behalf of me, and also for her, as she would look back and realize the height of my un-stereotype. i hope you accomplish all that you wish. destroy gender roles, in family, work, relationships. i had just finished skimming through the edible woman. you should read these books, crimethinc. for beginners, the edible woman, 1984, evasion. have fun. i signed my name. and relized i had done alright for the time constraints, maybe i would have an impact. when she looked upon this book down the road, when she had no idea of my name, i would be refered to, as the punky girl, she ate lunch with, and talked about how cold it was, and boyfriends. i would be the girl, who didnt really talk to her in class, but did on occasion. the girl who was the stereotype and the message fitted it. she would amagine me as having a job, maybe as a art currator, or a clothes saleswoman at a nice goth store in the city. in the system. maybe i had failed. i hadnt made an impact. ill remember this, when i write notes to people who i dont really know, who ill never really know. and remember who the stereotype is.
g=
gratified, for not only a reason but for something to live by, leaving nothing behind as though my corpse was right beside me. as she left me alone, alone to wander in the shopping mall isles, to fend for myself and wander scarcely. he left his time up to fate because its who and what had taught him, there was nothing close to the cause because he was scared, what they thought, for those who think alike as those who follow many, right right? she was unlike most her age she spoke in syllables unknown to her kin and almost definately unspoken by those with suposed credentials and knowledge. and although she felt alienated, as though she could only be herself, when she lied to others over a silver screen, and when she used unappropriate dialogue, she felt she was cheating herself out.
h=
hated for the fact that i cannot think of creative ideas. i sometimes think that because i might not have a knack for talent, that i cannot come up with ideas from the snap of 2 fingers, that this makes me less. i sometimes think that because what i know came from someone elses head, that im more less of a person. wouldnt it. dont you. yourself, make up the ideas, and dont the ideas make up you. if they were someone elses, then does this make you someone else, or a direct copy of another human being. does this mean that there is hundreds, or thousands, or millions,of people walking around with the same ideas in their heads. what if those ideas make up who they are. are you them. are you an ideology. do you have ideas or do they have you. are you made up of them. are they made up of you. sometimes i think that i dont have an original thought in my head. i think of all the things i have learned from everyone else. school. how im taught what your taught, and we both think this is right becuase you say it is. if so, where are original ideas. are they "crazy" are they fiction. how can this be true, that something out of the so called loop out of the so called loop, "revolution" isnt revolution, by the way. i dont want to belive in fiction, i want solid ideas. i want to have benifits, social. what is social. why do we interact. why do i like these certain things, am i chemically imbalanced. is that our chemical makeup. do you even understand a word im saying.
i=
i have absolutely no clue, not a single incling of faith, or knowledge of what i am. im serious. i have no idea what i am. why i think. i learn, but who says im learning. why am i here. where did i come from, what am i. it scares me, to think about why everything is so familiar, even though i dont know what scared is. i know the textbook term, but i dont really understand. if i dont understand, what it means, does this mean that i be fearless. i dont know. do you ever not want to move because your afraid that you'll die. that you dont want to come close to death, so you hold your breath, not moving, not an inch, but seconds later you gasp for breath, and realize that nothing you were telling yourself was true. i fear death. i have stumbled on a self realization. i never feared death before. until i thought about what i really belived in. i cant belive in god, that there is a divine being, that decrees everything for you, that you have to live according to his laws, for eternal life. or can i. what is eternal life, heaven or hell. what if its just like earth. i dont know what earth is. i dont know what i am. why im living, what is living. i dont know what is surrounding me. how it works, i dont know what people are, why they are there. people are curious. they want to know what things are. how can people explain things. science. why does these things work like they do. who says they do. how did they come to this conclusion. the human species is very weak. we will cling on to any idea if it promises immortality, because we feel safe with familiarity. no matter how outrageous, or is it outrageous. sometimes i think that the bible could be true, but we are so caught up in science that it cannot be scientifically correct. what if those things did happen. when you step back from the earth, metaphorically of course, and think about the fact (or not, i dont know) that we are things, creatures, that exist on a planet,(or not, i dont know)we take pictures and talk with voices , and type on electronic boxes, we walk, and fall, and we are. or not, i dont know.
vocabulary is useless, if you dont know what it means, why should you. how did u find things out for yourself, you didnt, you learned them from someone else, who? was it god. or something else. who knows. how can you say something is true unless you see it. how can you belive something with proof. have faith, in what, if i cannot even explain myself, how can i have faith is something else, something supposedly higher that makes no relevency in science, that doesnt make sense or could not be true on earth.
i feel so alone now. im loosing breath now, i cant feel myself now. all i have known is fading now.
so i have established that i cannot prove a god, and i cannot cannot prove a god. so what do i have faith in. i need something. i cannot belive in nothing, i cannot be atheist. i cannot belive that when i die, that i am gone, forever, that it is it. or can i. what if it is true. it leaves nothing for the imagination. what would it be like to be just gone, forever. that once the brainwaves are gone, im left for decomposition. this thought leaves me in tears as i start feeling skepticle. i have no idea what will happen to me. will i go to a greater place, heaven. or a worse place, hell. is that possible, is it a hoax. will i be gone, no existant, will be be born again. i dont know. i wont ever know, until that moment, when the brainwaves stop.
j=
