Malanthyus

The List Part II

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 12:24:51 GMT

Dandelions.

I've loved them since I was a kid, because they may not be pretty, or beautiful, but they are nice to look at, if a bit plain. Also they're stubburn as all hell. They're one of the few plants even if you uproot them, they have a good chance of simply regrowing roots where you've dropped them. And everyone says they're weeds. Yes, yes, it's a lethal little plant that kills everything around it and tries to crowd it out. Then again, everything everywhere it grows is trying to kill it to begin with, so I'm going to go with fair trade.

They were the first readily available "flower" I noticed when I was a kid, and I used to pick them in bunches to give to my Mom.

As you've probably picked up on somewhere amidst my whining here, I am a bit of a lifelong sensualist. Although I focus on one thing more often than not, I tend to remember most of the stuff that happens along the way.

Did you know that you can actually smell the tinge of salt on ocean air, if you pay attention? The breeze off the ocean is almost always cooler. The deep waters never really warm up, except around the volcanic vents. The water is always there, a constant, even if it is constantly shifting.

There are different kinds of sand. Seriously. My favorite kind is the finely granulated that's completely dry. You can "wash" your hands in it. Roll around in it, it falls away and it takes away the sweat and the gunk and you're this wierd kind of clean.

Some of ...well, all of the time, I value some sensations far more than others. Things I can't experience very often, they become important to me, I obsess over them. Because I can't experience them, I want them. To the point they -do- blot out the things I enjoy in life.

Looking back, I tend to become easily frustrated, and extremely obsessive over things if I can't do them. It leads to impulse buying or erratic behavior on my part. It's part of the reason I stopped playing mmo's. I was paying real money to have a "better" in game experience, or in some cases, to provide a better one for my friends. I would grow impatient over an event or an ingame item that would take days of playtime to acquire, then fork over the cash to a gold seller to get it for me.

When I was a teenager, my parents tried to get me to focus more on the real world and less fiction, so they told me I couldn't read any more fiction books until my grades improved, I almost went stir crazy.

It's the same reaction repeatedly, withdrawal symptoms, frustration, and a childish tempertantrum.

More later.

The List part 1.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 00:25:17 GMT

Things I am thankful for, happy to have:

The weather here in Misawa. the storms and rain and fog remind me of the places I really grew up in.

The lake that's just far enough it's a bit of a long walk to get to. It's really large, though you can see the other side of it, it also reminds me of home.

A good job with steady working hours most of the time. I like just coming in at a given time, and working to a given time.

A really understanding supervisor who even shares my interests in fiction.

I like living in a clean room, even though the no clutter rule is enforced.

The barracks tends to be quiet at night, or at least I'm not living next to anyone who doesn't use headphones.

I -do- have good, and extraordinarily understanding friends.

I'm not the richest man in the world, but I have enough money for all the things I -really- want most of the time. I'm certainly not starving to death.

I -have- seen the world. I've effectively circumnavigated it at least once. I've been to 4 continents. Dozens of different countries, and a great number of the united states. Just not Wyoming because it's not really there.

A pleasant working environment, most of the time no one really bothers me, and I do have this really nice old wooden desk, that's almost as worn down as me...

I do have a lovely collection of books and stories, and thanks to the internet, I can aquire anything I've a mind to read one way or another.

I'm working on creating a story I treasure, with people I treasure.

More later, for some reason doing this depresses me...

Alone at the party.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 00:47:43 GMT

You've seen them before.

They're the odd little people who are either stuck to a wall, or by the buffet, or just slowly walking around amidst the other guests, never really talking to anyone, a fixed, puzzled look on their face. The countenance is always rather bland, and you're fairly certain if you bothered to talk to them the topics would run along the lines of taxes, or encyclopedia sales, or some utterly obscure subculture you've never heard of.

These people are uninteresting, by your comparison at least. They don't contribute to the atmosphere, natural born party poopers. To them, they're all alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces. Or perhaps one or two that... humor them.
Is that the most painful part, to be humored?

There have been a large number of times when I've felt like this through my life. Everyone in the little circles that surround me gets this joke I can never seem to understand. They look at me funny, or become angry or...

No, no I suppose not really.

I feel a great deal like Doctor Manhatten sometimes. Lost in a world he both no longer understands, nor really cares enough to.

The amount of comparitive bitching I've done throughout my life has been relatively miniscule. I feel I'm entitled to yell a bit in a tiny corner of an ephemereal place I carved for myself. I'm shouting my curses to the universe, and they're not for you.

My whole life and I don't get it. I can estimate, and compensate. I see patterns, but I really -don't- get it. I can understand give and take. But I can't conceive of "nothing for nothing". Just be. It doesn't sound overly complex.

"You'll be there, and I'll be here, and that's the way it goes my dear."

How much is wisdom and how much is repeating the expressions we've heard time and again at the right moments...

"... I am tired of this world; these people. I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives. ... and I'm gone. gone to Mars. ... Without me, things would have been different ... Am I to blame, then? ... Who makes the world? Perhaps the world is not made. ... Perhaps it simply is, has been, will always be there ...".

Amusement park.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 06:38:46 GMT

I want to talk about Disney Land, so let's talk about it, okay?

Disney Land is a lot of things to a lot of people, and just about everything to children of a "Certain age", but for our purposes, let's limit the discussion to "Children of all ages". Disney Land is a place that theoretically everyone in the whole wide world can get to. Because of the restrictions of life, time available, and in some cases money, not everyone goes to disneyland though.

Disney Land is fun for "Children of all ages". It has a large number of rides that anyone can get onto, but personal enjoyment may vary, so they keep making more rides every year, and swapping out, or dressing up the old ones. People have different experiences on the rides, some scream in joy, some just scream, others puke over what they experience or see. You can't after all please everyone all the time.

Disney isn't about just the rides themselves though. It's the whole feel of the experience. The mouse shaped ice cream and candies, the people dressed up in all your favorite fantasy characters, the street and stage performances you just walk by, or stop and glance at. Some people just like to savor everything that comes with just getting to the rides. Well, not necessarily the lines. :P

For the most part, people who frequent Disney fall into one of two categories, people who've had a chance to ride all the rides repeatedly, seen all the sites, and sampled all the food, and of course, those who haven't. While admittedly the former can be further divided into people who no longer wish to see Disney, and those who'll never grow tired of it, the latter doesn't really get much more deviation than that.

It kind of creates a gap in perspectives, and the ability to critique the entire experience. People who are just getting there, even the most rational will find everything shiny and new, while the old timers will always be at least a little bit jaded with it. So you always wind up with mixed reviews whenever you ask if it's worth going there.

I've never really had a chance to see disneyland. I've been able to stop by briefly, hop on a ride or two, say hello to mickey and donald, but then I had to go. Now I find myself sharing time with someone dear, who doesn't really have an interest in riding any of the rides anymore. They've seen them all at one time or another, and, well, now they're less than impressed with the whole thing.

So, I find myself in a bit of a dilemma. I care deeply about this person, they're fun to be with, it makes me happy to just talk with them. And to be honest at this point I can't imagine the rides being as fun with someone else, let alone by myself. I'd like to think of a good way to explain this, but nothing comes to mind, so, I'm trying this.

Thanks for reading.

The man and the storm.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 02:53:01 GMT

The man stands alone upon the face of the world. He is just a man, weak of flesh, and heavy of heart. The storm laughs at the puny thing, and brings it's power down upon him.

The storm is old, and it is strong. It remembers the spinning of the world, and has a want to laugh at the puny things that think they own it.

"Am I not greatness, am I not wonder? Behold I that am eternal!"

The man kneels down, cringing against the wind. Saying nothing, he waits and watches.

Another man, or is it the same?

Stands beneath his house, soon to be ruined. The storm laughs again. "Puny thing, temporary thing, behold my wonder! Am I not beautiful, am I not terrible?!"

The storm twirls and dances, laughing as it goes, as it's done since time was time. It cackles at the man that always seems to return.

The storm dances, on a day like any other, and pauses in a moment, at the strangest sound. As if a man were breathing in, so deeply.

Looking up, the storm finally spies the man, far, far on high. Watching, waiting. The storm hears the sound begin to rise, and something pulling at it. It screams out to the man,

"Puny, puny thing! I am, what think you???"

What is a storm , thunder and water, power and wind.? Is it not wondrous, is it not great?

The man's device took the water. It took the wind. It recorded the terrible screams of the storm, as after aeons past, it felt it's last breath.

The man sighed, and turned his gaze to the vast starry deep. A storm was brewing.

The man watched, and waited.

The Value of Effort.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 04:04:28 GMT

Let's begin with basics.

Communism= Making everyone equal. Everyone puts forth the same effort to achieve the same level of prosperity. Everyone contributes what they can.

Democracy= Giving everyone an equal opportunity to succeed. Everyone is theoretically given an equal chance to become both rich and powerful, as well as famous. People contribute as much as they desire something.

The downside to communism, is that there is no true incentive for the individual other then "love for their fellow man" to contribute to the best of their ability.

The downside to Democracy is the situation which arises when the value of a type of effort becomes worthless.

It doesn't matter how badly the individual wants something, or how much effort they put forth, if there is no desire for that type of effort, it looses value, and the individual can no longer afford the things she both desires, and needs.

From a purely Darwinian perspective, this a necessary vice of the system, because it eventually eliminates elements of society that are unproductive.

However, we are all human; and we must of needs define the value of a human life. To value any human beings life less, is to lower the value of our own.

Hence the concept of the "Minimum Wage", the required minimum pay for a basic effort put forth for a given amount of time. If you put forth this much of at least this type of effort, you will not starve, you will not be homeless.

An acquaintance posted the following on a forum I frequent recently:

Here is another way of considering the tax situation:
Suppose that every day ten men go out for a beer and the bill for all ten comes to $100. If they paid their bill they way we pay our taxes, it would go something like this:
The first four men, (the poorest), would pay nothing.The fifth would pay $1.The sixth would pay $3.The seventh would pay $7.The eighth would pay $12.The ninth would pay $18.The tenth man, (the richest), would pay $59.
So that's what they decided to do. The ten men drank in the bar every day, and seemed quite happy with the arrangement, until one day the owner threw them a curve. "Since you all are such good customers," he said, "I'm going to reduce the cost of your daily beer by $20.
Drinks for the ten now came to $80.
The group still wanted to pay their bill the way we pay our taxes so the first four men were unaffected. They would still drink for free.
But what about the other six men...the paying customers? How could they divide the $20 windfall so that everyone would get his "fair share?"
They realized that $20 divided by six is $3.33. But if they subtracted that from everybody's share, then the fifth and sixth man would end up being paid to drink their share.
So the bar owner suggested that it would be fair to reduce each man's bill by roughly the same amount,and he proceeded to work out the amounts each should pay.
And so:
The fifth man, like the first four, now paid nothing. (100% savings)The sixth man now paid $2 instead of $3 (33% savings)The seventh now paid $5 instead of $7 (28% savings)The eighth now paid $9 instead of $12 (25% savings)The ninth now paid $14 instead of $18 (22% savings)The tenth now paid $49 instead of $59 (16% savings)
Each of the six was better off than before. And the first four continued to drink for free. But once outside the bar, the men began to compare their savings.
"I only got a dollar out of the $20" declared the sixth man. He pointed to the tenth man and said, "but he got $10."
"Yeah, that's right," claimed the fifth man. "I only saved a dollar too."
"Its unfair he got ten times more than I!" he claimed.
"That's true," claimed the seventh man. "The rich get all the breaks."
"Wait a minute" yelled the first four. "We didn't get anything at all. The system exploits the poor."
The nine men surrounded the tenth and beat him up.
The next night the tenth man didn't show up for drinks, so the nine sat down and had drinks without him. But when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered something important. They didn't have enough money between all of them to pay the bill.
And that, boys and girls, television pundits, New York Times experts, and Huffington Post bloggers, is how our tax system works. The people who pay the highest taxes get the most benefit from a tax reduction. Tax them too much, attack them for being wealthy, and they may just not show up anymore. In fact, they may just start drinking overseas where the atmosphere is friendlier.

The truth is, I don't really have an answer to these questions, I just felt it important to present them in this way. The only point I suppose that I would like to make is this: This is not a perfect world, nor should we seek perfect solutions. Too much of anything in the extreme will lead to the Death of Everything.

Let me tell you of the world.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 14:26:29 GMT

There is a world. That is an established fact, you can see it, and I can see it. So we know it's real.

The question however lies in what each of us -is- seeing. Or in some cases believes about what we see. That is the basis of how everyone tells the difference between truth, and faith.

There is a reason why I used the word "faith" there as opposed to fiction, but we'll come back to that.

There is a world where I am a creature that is physically unkillable, for no other reason then the fact it refuses to believe in the possibility of it's own non-existence.

There is a world where I am a scientist without a PHD, whose only true desire is to rid his planet of a no longer necessary species that refers to itself as the human race.

There is a world where I am nothing more or less then a simple man, with an imagination both larger, and at the same time smaller then himself. This peculiar fellow claims to be in love with several persons, and at least one of those, deeply so.

The obvious assumption is that last bit is a description of the "real" world. Occam's razor and all that.

The strange thing however is, that I'm willing to bet money that somewhere, someone is making an entirely different assumption regarding which of those scenarios is the "real" one.

And now, because this is livejournal, and since no one actually puts too much credence into what is written here, I'm going to let you in on a secret, that really isn't a secret. If it were, it obviously wouldn't be posted here.

It's pretty simple, so try to keep up: there is no "real".

I am not saying that as some kind of religious psychobable that I believe, but rather, an honest concession to what has been presented to me. Everything you see, hear, touch, taste, even smell, it's there because your senses tell you it is. Everyday you take it on faith that they are not lying to you.

I don't really know anymore when I truly began experiencing this "outlook" save that it was around the same time I started questioning things, like the reasons behind and of "God" for example.

I will however, be the first to point out it's a pretty shitty way to live. Paranoia isn't fun, and let's be honest here, if everything was nothing more then an illusion you personally conjured up just to no longer be alone, would you really wanna know?

Even so, it is a good way to give context to the things we perceive in the worlds that we share with others. It allows you to question assumptions others take for granted, though at times you do begin to regret even that.

For the longest time I've admitted to myself on an intellectual level that I don't really care for the world that I happen to experience the most. From the get go I've perceived that the feeling is mutual, and this place could rather easily do well without me, and has been patiently waiting for me to excuse myself so it can go about it's very pressing business. Myself being mildly contrary, I've declined that particular unspoken invitation.

In my travels in the unpleasant world, I've carved out a safe little niche, that I've come to call my own quiet little corner, where I've endeavored to make certain nothing ever really changes, or hurts me. When things become too unpleasant, I generally take a vacation in one of the more pleasant worlds, up until the point the one I'm sight seeing in itself becomes boring, or looses my interest. I am after all a fickle creature.

Now however, I've begun to reach the point in my journey where I must cease dog paddling, and actually swim somewhere, else I will drown.

Even now though, I hesitate, and I procrastinate, and I... wait.
There are people in this unpleasant world, who most certainly are in even less pleasant situations. My heart goes out to them, and I honestly wish I could do more for them than both what I have, and what I can.

One relatively good friend usually says at this point "quit your bitchin" than and get on with it, even though he never talks about me, ever. I of course take the opportunity to tweak his nose over it, seeing as no one ever reads my stuff anyway. :D

The truth is that I am getting prepared to take the plunge into the deep end of this crazy mixed up planet, which seems to look even darker and murkier with each passing day. Which by way of the long route brings us to this year's big, shiny, american presidential election.

Like a lot of other people, this particular election is vastly important to me on a number of levels, the survival of the country who pays my paychecks, the value of the money in those paychecks, and the question of just what I will be payed to do, and whether or not I'll continue to receive those paychecks if I admit to occasionally liking the taste of a penis in my mouth.

I was tempted to write a letter to both of our perspective leaders, somewhat related to that last little factoid about my personal tastes; but decided upon the saner course and thought I'd write it up a bit here.

As much as we'd all like it to be otherwise, "change" isn't really a word you can toss around lightly. Whether we want it to or not, it's literally happening all the time. It doesn't matter if Mr. McCain can see it or not, our culture is vastly different then the one he grew up in. The same is unfortunately true as well for Mr. Obama.

What neither of them realizes I think is that even if they win, the world is going to change, and not necessarily the way they'd like. Each of them in their own way, is trying to hold onto the parts of the culture he sees as important, or valuable, or just plain good. If possible, they would prefer to ditch the rest, and/or call it evil, or diseased.

Mr. McCain firmly believes that I'm afflicted by a disease, even though he is dutifully nice about not saying so on national television. For that and other reasons, I'm willing to forgive him a great deal.

Mr. Obama, I'd like to believe he sees me as a person, with the assumption that I just -might- not be mentally disturbed, or in need of "fixing". Mainly because he's had a bit too much of first hand experience with people who think the world will be a better place if they just make everyone exactly like them. Or like they perceive the world as having once been.

What neither of them realizes on a fundamental level, is that in the future yet to come, regardless of the choices they make, Americans aren't going to be the ones they knew from their youth, or even these strange creatures they've encountered in this day and age. The americans yet to come are going to have an entirely different set of ideas regarding race, sexual preference and personal rights.

The only certainty lies in the fact that these will be decidedly different than our own.

I've made my choice, in the hope of a future where there is at least a somewhat broader overall definition of what it means to be a person, or to be "normal" or... well, let's just say I'm hopeful.

There is one last bit of relative "truth" I've noticed about worlds, that you get about as much out of them, as you put into them. Of late I've found that as much as I dislike the "real" world, it has things in it appealing to me. Sadly, I'm going to have to work for them. That said, if you'll excuse me, I've an ocean to swim.

Truth and Fiction

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 07:08:11 GMT

As per the title, they've kind of been blending for me a bit lately, so from here on out, I'm going to add that tag to the rest of these posts as a warning label. Some, even most of what's posted here will continue to be truth, while the rest will have at least some degree of fiction to it.

The names of persons and places have been changed to protect both the innocent, and the guilty.

A few years ago, a rather remarkable member of the field of artificial life came up with an interesting concept called a "Clanking Replicator".

What it means is basically a massive industrial factory, that's capable of manufacturing another factory, exactly like itself. This would be utilizing elements readily available at hand. In a best case scenario, stuff available in your common landfill.

The start up cost for such a device would be ludicrous, at a minimum in the tens of billions of dollars in research, development and construction. But once it was built, you would have an exponential increase in long term manufacturing capability. An automated system that would be able to build you whatever you wanted. No employees, union, just machines doing whatever you wished, so long as the electric bill was paid. All of that is feasible with the technology currently available.

In other news, the field of cellular replication is progressing nicely. Very soon it will be possible have individual organs, even limbs specifically recreated to replace those currently existing. To the point you could eventually replace every cell in a living human being. Cellular degeneration becomes meaningless when you can simply swap out all the parts. A viable form of physical "immortality".

What's the relevance of both of these tidbits?

If you're a particularly selfish individual, and you no longer require the human race to make things for you, or for any sense of continuance or company, why exactly would you continue to need the human race?

Rocks beneath the wind.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 00:59:11 GMT

It always seems to take people a bit longer to remember every year. The memory is slowly fading from the global consciousness. Sooner or later kids are going to start asking "Hey Mrs. A, what's this patriot's day thing on the calendar?" and the response will be "Oh I'm not sure, let me look it up..."

Slightly less then 4 thousand people dead as a statement, and it barely makes a mark. Oh it was noticeable and sincere that day, and that week, and months afterward...

Then mix in the Hundreds of thousands who have either been killed or injured in our quest to "avenge" those deaths. A mark has definitely been left on the psyche of the arabian peoples, though what kind really remains to be seen.

The entire mess was stupid, and pointless, in both the cause of it, and the effects it brought about.

I favored vengeance at the start of this. I was perfectly happy with the idea of reducing the whole of the arabian gulf into a plain of glass. Maybe then we could finally get some peace and quiet. That's the kind of person I am sometimes, and thankfully I suppose, I'm not the one that makes that kind of call.

After the anger passed, and we were ordered on to aid in the Iraq Campaign, I began to question again, and realized that our leader had taken advantage of our rage to perhaps complete a vendetta of his own. Or maybe it was just greed.

The reason I favored "finishing" the job in Iraq was somewhat different however. I believed, and believe to this day that to not rebuild what was destroyed, or at least have some degree of certainty it wouldn't just immediately fall down again, would be one of the grossest acts of vandalism.

Perhaps, that if nothing changed, those deaths would be come truly meaningless, all for nothing.

The rational belief is that this tragedy that brought about madness was senseless, and pointless. I don't see a greater plan, and I don't believe in fate.

What I do know is that it's human to create meaning where there is none, because if humans don't, then who will?

You might answer back that the "truth" is that there is no meaning, and nothing we can say or do will change that.

"Field Notes"

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 22:50:47 GMT

I suppose this is something I should just add as an addendum to my "The Complete Idiot's Guide to ending the life of an Immortal" paper; but it's not quite relevant yet; or at least the evidence doesn't quite support these concerns.

Concerns. That's one way of putting it. More and more as I continuously go over what little data I've been given to go on, the more I come to suspect that my friend's regeneration problem isn't cellular in nature at all.

If that's the case, I don't think he realizes just how bad this situation could get for him.

No, that isn't me being dramatic, allow me to explain: it's a question of internal versus external forces causing this accelerated regeneration. If it's an internal force, that would mean that somehow his cells have been mutated or altered specifically to reproduce themselves at a rate that is above and beyond anything ever witnessed by humans in either a lab or natural environment. Such a modification would mean beyond doubt the cure for cancer or any number of diseases or life altering injuries, if the effect could be even marginally reproduced. Not the least of which being Old Age itself.

The evidence presented contradicts this theorem though.

The first problem with it is that none of the pieces of organic matter seem to exhibit the same regenerative process. If it was cellular, the amount of material carved from him would have already regenerated into at a minimum of dozens of copies of him.

The second problem is that he's apparently survived decapitation; and, his torso regenerated a new head, the old head is now apparently in the local morgue. And he has retained all of his memories.

Let's leave aside the question of external and internal for a moment, and go over that last bit one more time: he remembers everything he did before being decapitated, even though his brain has literally been replaced.

How exactly do you break it to this person, that more then likely, he's not who he thinks he is?
Everything we've ever known tells us that memory, personality, it's all stored in the brain. Damage it significantly, and you alter the memories and personality. I suppose if we reach for it we can say that the rest of his nervous system held onto a "RAM" style copy of his personality, memories ...soul? But that's a stretch.

Which means that the person who's walking around, talking to his friends, worrying over this ongoing problem, is only an extremely good copy of the original. How do you tell him that he already succeeded in killing himself, it's just that his body made a new him?

That aside, that horrible, horrible bit of info aside, it gets even worse.

If there's an external cause to this, it would appear to be an extremely localized "field effect" that seems to have attached itself to the main mass of his body. From what's been indicated so far, it automatically regenerates what it deems the "largest" portion of him after damage is inflicted. This is why his body grew a new brain, and not his head growing a new body.

The problem being that other then science-fiction gibberish, this has never been recorded either. Is it a wave form? Is it something we can even detect with the equipment available? Insufficient data.
Is there an upper limit to this effect? If you kill him enough times will it run out of energy? Insufficient data.

But follow this train of thought through, if his regenerative abilities are what he's claimed, if these are the things he's experienced; and the wrong person learned of them, became convinced that they were real...

They would never believe there was no way to reproduce them. They would spend every cent of whatever money they had, whatever resources they possessed, wasting their life trying to carve the "secret" from him.

If this "field" is the case, I can only make a couple hypothesis concerning it, the primary one being that it existed prior to him, and has somehow "latched on" to him. If that's the case, could there be a way to drive it from him? Or this is even a bit scarier, make it like someone else better?

I haven't been sleeping well lately.

That whole death thing, exaggerated a bit?

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 08:56:17 GMT

New outlook is going okay. No phenomenal changes, but at least I tend to make a little bit of progress each day, but I'll have to wait a bit to see if it sticks.

What new outlook you ask? That there's no quick fix, or at least not one that will actually work for me anyway.

I've recently come across someone with a rather unusual problem, and I've been attempting to help them with it. Leaving aside both the ethical and moral questions involved in my help, it's been mildly therapeutic.

I guess you could call it an extreme case of failed suicide, but that's not really what's important to me I think.

Here's a fellow that it's in pain, incredibly so, due to the world that he lives in. He's decided that he simply can't deal with this, can't live with this, and can see only one viable solution. The catch though is that something or someone has made that option apparently unavailable to him.

Leaving the fact that it's technically illegal ( and how exactly are they supposed to enforce a law like that anyway?) and in most cultures considered immoral; suicide is a part of our society.

Even though it's generally frowned upon, almost everyone will allow for extreme circumstances causing it to be the only choice available for an individual.Most notably in the terminally ill, who's physical pain is such that it seems ludicrous for them to continue living.

Great pain always seems to be the deciding factor of acceptance, whether it be physical, emotional, or mental. Though admittedly the latter two tend to be more highly disregarded.

Personally, I've always believed that so far as an individuals body is concerned, it should always be their choice. It should be as much a crime to try to force someone to live, as it is to force them to die. To take away that choice is wrong to me.

I think that's one of the reasons I'm "helping" my new found ...well, I would say friend, but we've only just met haven't we?

It's not anything he's said specifically, but the impression I take from the way he's talked about some of the people in his life, I don't think he cares for most of the human race; which I suppose is a bit understandable, depending on your perspective.

Maybe it's that he sees people as only out for their own selfish needs, and I can hardly claim altruism in my own desires regarding him, but I'd like to think some of it is wanting to alleviate the pain he does feel.

One way or another.

Okay, now what?

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 01:00:54 GMT

I thought I knew what I wanted, and now, I realize I have no idea.

You've heard this before, and you can predict everything I can type here. Do you have any concept of how frustrating that is to me? I suppose the more painful part is that I can predict it too.

You'll rant, and you'll rave, and like so many others, you'll shout out "change!". Now it's my turn to question which of us is the more predictable.

Value, much like the concept of good and evil, is determined by the perceptions of the individual. What is valuable, in either a physical, or metaphorical sense. What is meaningful to the soul, and to the mind, and occasionally to the body.

Take away all the assumptions you've made, and everything literally becomes worthless. Ask anyone that has found themselves interested in suicide.

I would submit to you that depression and it's children are in fact a symptom of the mind loosing it's ability to place value on what it perceives. My theory seems to fail however in my case, or at least I'm not the best of examples to work with.

I've just discovered that a large number of the things I thought I truly valued aren't, well...

Real.

Was it only self delusion? Was it all a lie I told myself, to hold on to this fragmentary hope of an impossibility?
Don't be bothered, this isn't really supposed to make sense to anyone but me, and if you think you've already deciphered my motivations and poor grammar, I by all means salute you Sir.

I think the most painful part, the one thing that truly shattered my illusion, is that my false idol, in the end, wasn't as harmful to me as it could have been. That humanity was shown in unwanted mercy. That the truth was in fact kinder then the fiction. How does that happen exactly?

What does this mean, my truest friend? What is this strange truth you've cursed me with? That there is no final fulfillment to be found in others, yet instead nurtured in oneself? Your contentment I have seen, and your mercy, and happiness, I've no doubt. What price was paid I wonder, when carnal desire is murdered, and fled?

For an age it seems, those hungers have driven me, and now, you've forced me to face the fact that I can find nothing I truly want in them. I have been shown beyond doubt that I was wrong, but now...

"You can have everything you thought you wanted, all you have to do is stop wanting it."

My hatred is gone, my lust is gone, and it's not that I've awoken to find myself an empty shell; say rather I've discovered there was nothing there to begin with.

So I can go anywhere, but regardless of your opinion, I'm going to sit here a moment.

I think I'll drink a toast to a dead dream, even as I put a stake through it and salt the earth it's buried under.

Productivity.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 11:41:13 GMT

Next Monday will be a whole month without caffeine for me.

Not soda, not coffee, not tea, and sadly still no one seems interested in boning me.

Okay, strike that last, I haven't put any effort into looking about locally, with the exception of 10 minutes in a quasi english speaking chat room that was theoretically filled with desirable males akin to my orientation.

I'm in the mood to freak people out so lets talk about that for a sec; you see, what may or may not be clear by now is that I like to fuck. Period.

Male,female, are they attracted to me at all? If the answer is yes, then on some level I tend to be attracted to them. I don't know if it's some kind of instinctive desire for attention or not, but that's how it seems to work for me.

I draw the line at extreme obesity, other then that, it's all gravy.

I'm seeing a therapist/counselor these days. The big thing she tends to ask about lately, is the concept that I tend to sabotage myself, and that I'm most likely not as bad as I presume myself to be.

Of course toss in the ongoing thing people point out is my extreme lack of self confidence. Very pretty long time friends have harped upon me about this fact for years.

I can say I have at least 3 very pretty friends; that is like a wonder in of itself to me.
I have a word I found recently that I want to include sometime in an ongoing conversation I have with one of those friends, but I can't quite think of a way to slip it in at the moment. "Milihelen"
You can look it up on google or wiki, but breaks down to the amount of beauty it takes to launch one ship.

The 'diet' as such I decided to try this week is a mishmash of hopefulness, rumors, and starvation tactics, flavored with lots of liquids. Basically no sweets, avoid in between meal snacks, drink lots of -healthy- liquids (juices, sports water, water, skim milk) heavy on the fruits vegetables.

I want to get back down to a weight where I look comfortably skinny. I never have been, I've always varied between 'plump' and 'chunky'. I think it's once again the "Not quite one or the other" factor again that's killing me.

It seems like I've lived my whole life around not quites and 'just good enough'.

I'm functional. I can carry on a conversation, complete my job and it's responsibilites within the proscribed time frame such as it is. I can walk and chew bubblegum at the same time.

The whole point of modern Psychology, psychoanalasys, etc seems to be able to create this legendary "functional" individual.

I say today that I'm tired of being functional, I would like to be productive. And pretty. Pretty would be nice.

Hell, I'll settle for attractive to extroverted acerbic...

eh. You get the idea.

Impact.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 10:54:42 GMT

I'm punching walls.

Not real ones. *THWACK*

It doesn't have the same effect of feeling your knuckles driving into a substance that doesn't give. *THWACK*
Even so, I try to find at least some comfort in this. The alternative is to skin said knuckles and possibly hurt my hand.
*THWACK*

I've always been really good at imagining things, it'd be nice if that was a useful talent for a change.

Say you want someone, really, really bad. They might even like you a little bit. But from what you know of this person, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt, they're not attracted to you, and they never will be.

*THWACK*

The simple answer is to be a friend, and/or move on.

*THWACK*

I'm afraid. I'm scared to death, that this is the only one like this I'll ever find.

I want to talk about japanese "boy love", "Yaoi", Shonen-ai stories. The males involved in them rather.
They don't exist. Anywhere.

There are no gay/bi males actually like that. It's an illusionary subculture created by teenaged females in japan, and later america, catering to a fetish for "pretty" men.

Here's a subtle truth about me; I'm not fat,and I'm not ugly. However, neither am I Skinny or pretty, nor even handsome.

So where does that leave a person? Am i "Neither fish, nor fowl, nor good red meat"?

Don't give me platitudes about "I'm sure you'll find someone somewhere just for you" or "You're not that bad looking" or any of the half a thousand other bits and piece of canned bullshit society fucking feeds the mass of people it delegates as "Not quite good enough".

I want to be depressed, I want to feel pissed, I want to slam the walls.

But I'm supposed to be dealing with that, so watch me deal. See? No bruises.

That sexy, sexy sword slash.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 14:34:06 GMT

Blade goes in, monster squeals, falls down, goes boom. Next. Target, press the shiny on screen button, your character does this fascinating dance of death thingy, the mock up of an intelligent creature is gutted, stuffed and mounted, as seperate pieces of loot you can turn in to vendors to make better weapons and armor to help you kill harder monsters so you can get stronger to kill more monsters for loot to get better weapons.

Despite the claims of a lot of online guild 'strategists', there isn't a lot of thought required to partake of the mmo genre. To be blunt, the whole point is not to think, it's like sucking down emotional candy. You're strong, you're fast, you've defeated the evil, saved the innocents, conquered all your enemies, You. Are. A. Hero!

Every aspect is this visual and audio input telling you over and over again what a great and truly wonderful person you are, and how you can be even -better- if you just do this tiny little thing. To get to the next sword, the next quest, the next monster. There's always something else over the horizon. All you have to think about, all it makes you think about, is how great and magnificient a person you are, while you're playing.

So you wake up one day and find yourself thinking that you can put off picking up the dry cleaning, or studying for a college exam, or any other of a hundred and one things you really need to be doing, just because you can't stop thinking about how cool you are when you swing that digital fucking sword.

So yeah, I was stupid enough to get hooked on another mmo, and I'm trying to back slowly away from it, and get into simply writing a webcomic about them. Research my ass, now that was a dumb idea.

Another symptom is that I seem to go hiding in one of these things when ever I get into something resembling a close relationship with anyone...which makes it a very good reason to do cold turkey right now.

This is what addiction means to me, your mind comes across a feeling so good, that it doesn't want to really feel anything else. All you really give a damn about is this one feeling, and fuck the rest of the world. Now all I gotta do, is bottle that, and put it in this story, and maybe I"ll have something. Meanwhile, gotta get my mind off this game, being laid would be nice in a slutty, pathetic human being sort of way.

For the surprising number of people who actually read this and remarkably worry about what's said here, these feelings are very much appreciated, but completely over reacting. These articles as such (R, I'm sorry about the grammar I really am, but you know I make the mistakes just for you... ;) )are just me venting, like so many other people.

So to end on a ligther note, "Beef: It's what I'd like for dinner."

Now if I can just find someone to help me out with that...

Bread for thought, food for sleep

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 14:59:05 GMT

I don't know why I'm writing in this again, or if I'll continue to do so. I never do. In a thousand, thousand worlds, I write in this till the end of my life, in an infinite number more, I never touch it after this.

What troubles my sleep lately is my interactions with people. Part of it is the things I've done, or rather the things I no longer do in connection with my mother and brother. I begin to suspect I"m finally getting over my abandonment of them; now I find myself facing my other choices concerning my no longer speaking, or rather having the same connection level with others.

If you keep cutting pieces out of your heart, do you reach a point where there's nothing left to carve?

I would like to think I loved Terra. I wept and I screamed finally after I forced her/him away. Perhaps because I was afraid of the responsibility that came for caring for this fragile person.

I liked Lync, a great deal, and I told myself and him that I loved him; it was pointed out that I shied away when he told me he loved me. I tell myself the truth is that we were both looking for someone that was nice, that we could live with, that we could settle for. And the thing that ecchoes strongest in responce to the accusation it was my fear of love, someone saying to me that watching me and lync, it was like looking at an old married couple and I knew it wasn't that the fire was gone, it's that it wasn't there.

I want fire. I know deep down, that because of who I am, that it is an extremely unlikely scenario. A very good friend of mine tells me I"m a hopeless optimist. Everyone I know in real life calls me a depressing pessimist. There's a bit of irony somewhere, but I can't seem to laugh about it.

I came to the place I am now to jump off a cliff and force myself to catch onto something, and let everything that didn't want to fall away. Real life doesn't get to be so simple though.

I want fire; I want to be burned. The reason I'm even alive today is because part of me wouldn't settle, wouldn't just say 'alright' to the things life handed to me. From the day I first knew myself, life told me "You are expendable, you're trash to be thrown away, so that other people don't have to be. This is you, this is who you will be, and you will never have better. You don't deserve better, so shut up and take it."

A few days ago, someone held a mirror up to me, it was distorted as hell, but like all mirrors, you can always see a bit of truth in there. So I'll be smashing this one too.

So the pessimist who's secretly an optimist will continue on his merry way to hell, and gods help anyone that gets in his path.

A day of days

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 05:56:28 GMT

*for those who care, file under 'random nonsense'

I do believe my shadow has escaped.

He is a silly creature, he thinks he can escape his creator. An impossible feat that.
Everything comes and goes in cycles, and everything eventually goes back to where it came from. Reguardless of the damnation he stores for himself, he will never be able to hide from the light.

I don't particularly miss him, he talked far too much, and said very little.

In other news, must find way to engage in sexual relations with over sized japanese male.

My guilded Cage

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Mon, 28 Nov 2005 14:41:53 GMT

SPARROW: You need the group. You may quarrel
violently with your friends, but you couldn't
live without them - ALL of them. While they
can be exasperating, frustrating, cruel,
foolhardy, they often find you to be the same.
And you share many good points, too; you're
courageous, survivors to the last man,
competitive and more than a little ornery.

"Fair well, little yellow bird,
I would rather face the cold,
On a leafless tree,
Then a prisoner be,
In a cage of gold."

I've been trying to get someone mad at me lately. So far not really working, but then I haven't put that much effort into the project. More focused on figuring out why he does this to me; the whole "thump, thump" heart thing whenever I notice he's in reasonable range to communicate with. It's become more then a little clear I haven't got a chance in hell of anything actually serious or steady with him; and I should be glad he actually takes the time to actually talk to me.
I should look up one of those psychology web pages and do research on why personality types are attracted to others. My big thing is that I seem to be attracted to very insulting/acerbic/extroverted personalities that other people don't like dealing with. Mental Masochism? Possibly. >.>
I actually want him to yell at me or something just to experience contact with him that much more, feel his so eloquent words cutting into me. Heh. I'm totally head fucked about wanting a head fuck. Perhaps the saddest part of this is I'm considered a productive member of society. I pay taxes, don't complain much, and spend most of my time working as a human shield in defense of this country. Who the hell cares I'm a messed in the head pervert?
My biggest worry lately is that soon I won't have access to IM programs whatsoever when they finally clamp down on security. Then i probably won't be able to talk to him, or hear from him at all; he's never seemed to be big on actually writing emails; or maybe he just politely ignores the twisted monologues I've been sending...
I think day to day that I could leave this place; there are excuses I could use that they would let me go. I've more then paid any debt I had with over half a decade of my life, and I came to this place even before our way of life was "threatened". I'm not happy here, and with the things I feel now, I realize I never will be. All that's left is the question of just where I could go.
I'm aware of the fact If I looked a little harder I could probably find another perspective signifigant other just as rude, probably as intelligent, and theoretically as attractive. If I lucked out, maybe even one with a streak of sadism...
I happen to like this one though. Maybe because being carefully ignored is a kind of punishment in of itself, and it does make the moments he chooses to shine on me a little nicer. Ah well. I guess I'll just keep doing what I've been doing for now, it's not like I haven't got the time.
Time enough to think of a "good" way out of this cage. Time enough to convince someone I am serious about being serious. Time enough to think of another way to make said person smile.

Obligatory Thanksgiving Post

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Thu, 24 Nov 2005 02:39:12 GMT

Yeah, like who doesn't do one of these? *Completely ignores the billions of raised hands*

Though, I am honestly thankful for a lot of things. The fact that as much as I dislike actually having to talk to her, my mother is still alive, along with my brother. That my niece is okay, and she's found probably a better set of parents to live with. I'm thankful I have a steady job, no matter how painful and depressing it is sometimes. Possibly the most surprising of all is that I'm honestly Thankful to be alive, and happy with it.
I'm thankful for cute boys that shouldn't think they're shallow so much. I'm thankful that I have friends.
I'm thankful I can actually make a positive post every now and again.
Anywhoo.

Here's wishing you and yours a happy holiday, and I'll say to you much like the sidekick girl from El Hazard, if you can't be with the ones you love, Love the ones you're with. ;)

The lessons of pain...

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Mon, 21 Nov 2005 13:58:51 GMT

The easiest way I've found to tell you have a streak of masochism is to subject yourself to excruciating torture for a prolonged period, and see if you feel better afterwards. Finally got back on the treadmill again today after doing some upper body lifting beforehand, and most of my muscles hurt rather exquisitely right now. On the plus side, I do feel kind of "content". My big "goal" in this I suppose is to loose at least five pounds and turn what's left into muscle; maybe just be relatively boinkable for someone that didn't look too close at my face. :P
Anyway, this is me trying to keep track of my overall progress, as soon as I figure out how to do the link trick where only part of the message shows up, I'll try to keep the stats off the main page.
In the mean time, currently 174, gut is rounded. Bad thing that. Worked on 15 pound 10 reps, 30 reps total, extended work on crunches, scissor kicks, and a couple other abdominal exercises; 20 minutes on the treadmill, 6.6 mph. Gods but I've got to do better than this if I want to get anywhere...o.0
Comments, suggestions, criticisms requested!

Implications, and/or So very sleepy...

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Sat, 19 Nov 2005 14:01:50 GMT

There is a consequence to every action, or so they tell me. Maybe been thinking about them too much lately. My biggest problem (one of them I suppose, I've been talking to the cutest shrink lately) is being afraid of what happens after I say or do something in front of someone. I'm afraid I'll hurt them, or anger them, then they'll start yelling at me and it generally goes down hill from there.
Yelling, not really the worse thing that can happen to you comparatively. Physical abuse is much more long lasting and inflicts more mental trauma, or so I'm told. It's kind of just that it seems like people have been yelling at me my whole life. My mother and stepfather did it a lot when I was a kid, and Mom liked to yell all on her own even before then. The triggered response is to shut up, crouch down, be as inoffensive as possible, make them happy and maybe they'll stop yelling at me.
If I work at it, maybe I'll be so nice for them they won't yell anymore.
*Pokes that thought* Yeah, that one really hurts. Must be something still there. My parents almost never laid a hand on me; a good deal of the time the yelling was to keep me out of trouble, tell me not to do stupid things; they weren't the worst possible of people to grow up with; and I had it a lot better then a great deal of people. It's kind of turned me into something of a mouse though. I don't cringe at people, when I see someone above me doing something stupid, I point it out, politely maybe, but I still do so. I am not afraid to talk to people, it's just...I have a hard time actually opening up to knew people, ones I don't trust yet. It seems to make me go on hyper alert whenever I meet someone whose opinions might be really important to me.
I look at these so-called "problems" and they seem to utterly petty to me. It's not as if I was hooked on drugs, or turned into an alcoholic (I actually managed to break the family line of them, yay me), I learned to let out the anger I had built up, and understand what the people around me are going through as well. All jokes aside, I'm neither psychotic nor sociopathic, and my coworkers seem to think pretty highly of me most of the time. But...." If I work at it, maybe I'll be so nice for them they won't yell anymore"
Those words won't go away, just like the problem just doesn't go poof. All I can do is keep trying to cure the symptoms I suppose, be aware enough to speak a little louder to compensate for not putting enough force in my voice; maybe be a little less overly polite talking to people. You can change anything if you practice at it long enough, or so I'm told.
My job has gotten interesting lately; they keep changing the hours we work around. It's hard not to feel jet lag all the time, let alone find the wear with all to try to work out. I start another shift in Five and a half hours, that'll last till 7 in the morning, then off for 16 in theory. They have the night shift work part of the day shift, just for us to be productive. And joy of joys, on Monday we switch to a different shift again. Going to go to bed now, sleep for a bit, maybe dream of getting some mail from someone who doesn't work here for a change.

Progress and Pictures.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Mon, 14 Nov 2005 17:04:24 GMT

I'm actually planning to keep this running gag more current for a change. And miracle of miracles, I'm doing so. I try to compare this to what other people type here day to day, it always seems to be a rehash of the days events, funny things that happened to them, ups and downs. For me, most of the time it all seems so monotonous there's no point in writing the same things over and over again.
I live in kind of a prison with only so many rooms. I walk up the stairs I walk back down them. Very quickly if I can help it, because I like to stay skinny; even with the kinds of food they make here.
"Planned Maintenance System" or P.M.S. (and if there ever was a more appropriate acronym for the process I'm about to describe to you, I can't think of it) is pretty much what it sounds like. An organized system for maintaining equipment. Doing "preventive maintenance"; the idea being if we mess around with the shit enough now, we won't have to fix it so much when it actually does break.
The downside to this being how much you can break just by messing around so much. A case in example would be this rather complicated evolution involving the satellite dishes for a form of SHF communications. There's a little sheet of paper they give you with a nice neat organized set of steps concerning what to do, what order to do it in, and what parts or tools you'll need to do it. Sounds simple enough, yes?
Unfortunately, you have to remember this was all copied down by a bunch of really cheap publishers, cribbed from the working notes of demented engineers. In other words, the documents bearing on reality is minimal at best.
So what should have been a couple hour process turned into a 12 hour ordeal, which just now finished. Progress made finally. Yay. Kill me now. Or just boink me. Definitely the latter, I would love a good reaming right now, just to get my ass to relax it's so sore.
Strangely enough that brings me to the other details on my mind today. I think right now if I ever came across that legendary "Beholder" fellow, I'd gouge his fucking eye out. I would like to think I can appreciate beauty. I am no encyclopedia when it comes to art, or understanding architecture, or grasping the nuances of the human form; but I can see the differences in painting styles, or how a person is depicted in stone. There's a question for the ages, do "ugly" people appreciate art more then "Beautiful" people do? Or do they simply obsess over it more, knowing that something like that can never really be theirs? There is a piece of artwork I stare at now and again lately; it's an amateurish depiction of a person. No masterpiece; but the feeling of that person comes through. For that much I treasure it. I set it up as part of the desks top’s wallpaper actually, just to be able to think about it every now and again. I suppose if I looked hard enough, I could find a better version of the "source material", but I don't really want to. I haven't truly cried in years, and I have no desire to weep over something I know will probably never be a part of me.

Grasping at straws...

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Sat, 12 Nov 2005 21:40:12 GMT

Say you're in the middle of the ocean in a hurricane. Not in a boat or anything, not even a life preserver, just being tossed about; knowing any moment you could be sucked under for good. If such is the case, no matter who you are, you'd eagerly grab onto anything you could reach; any kind of stability whatsoever.
I feel like that now; and believe it or not I'm ashamed to write this.
I've never really made a post believing anyone would actually read these, now I'm pretty sure that someone will, and I still want to use this as an emotional outlet. I'd call myself a masochist, but anyone who cares already knows that.
You're in the water up to your neck, your head goes down a couple of times, you reach out with both arms, and your fingers brush against something. You grab for it. Doesn't matter what it is, where it came from; it HAS to be better then where you are now. It could be a piece of cloth, or seaweed, feathers stuck together by bird shit; or miracle of miracles, some driftwood you can actually float on. The end result isn't really important to you, it's just for that moment you see a way out, and you have hope where there was only slowly encroaching despair.
I kind of ran into someone recently online, and I feel this way about him. Or what I want to do to them. Just reach out and hold on. Keep talking to them.
I can say I'm attracted to him because he's so bloody eloquent. The way he knows all of these different methods of entertainment. The way he's so comfortable with who and what he is. Just how perfectly normal he makes everything is a huge way he just draws me in. I feel like I could listen to him for hours, and sometimes I have.
Then I remember I'm coming out of a relationship (and thanks to new individual I should really find a better word, like so many others lately, he's forced me to realize multiple meanings of it) that was all kinds of messy. And I'm seriously desperate to grab on to anything that means I won't be lonely anymore.
Add on the fact I only just met the fellow in question, and the scenario spells out all kinds of bad judgment call. Yet, it isn't just sexual attraction and the mental sparks are more then just the need to boink the hell out of him. I like talking with him. Hearing his views on politics, or how a story was portrayed, or interpreted.
I can actually imagine going out to dinner with this person, being able to sit down at a table and simply talk for hours. That's just precious to me. So, bottom line, I don't really know if the reason I'm attracted to him is because I'm just grasping at straws, or because there genuinely is something more there.
There's no real rush involved here, sadly I've got all the time in the world on my hands to just keep talking to him, see if how I feel now changes over time. But, I hope not. I still want to sit with him at a star bucks cafe someplace and just go off on things like the origins of languages. ^^

Dolls and angels.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Fri, 19 Aug 2005 01:09:54 GMT

Night

?? Which Angel Or Demon Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

I really don't know why this keeps happening. Whenever someone makes an estimation of me in an "astral" or psychic or psychological sort of way, they sooner or later say I'm a mixture of good and bad. Which admittedly is true but do they have to be so smug about it?
Okay, yes, it's true I'm a horribly perverted nymphomaniac that simply likes being with another warm body period, in whatever manner available, but there are limits to that and I would never be involved with causing someone unwanted or unwelcome pain. ((Yes, yes all of you straight and narrow types, there is such a thing as welcome pain))
I can be mentally lazy, and physcially driven.
You would think talking about how a car is parked would be easier. Thing is it's this really small paragraph that's supposed to link the the observers discription and feeling about it with how they feel about it's owner, and helps to define this other character by the kind of Car he chose to buy. In this case, a Silver Lexus, an import Luxury Sedan style car for those of you not up to date on current models. Yes it's a cool "as in calm, reflective not the exclamation" color, and the choice is interesting. Expensive enough for the rich, but practical and dependable. The damn thing just screams "Intelligence and Good Taste". Kind of sexy that as a matter of fact. But that's the vibe you really get from Gomichan's Character Milo Sterne, he's all over "kind of sexy", like he's balanced on this point between just plain slutty and not. Of course you want him to bang you, and you can just tell by the look in those deadly blue eyes of his he wants to do it to. But he's in control of himself, and by default, you. Maybe I should just call the car "quasi-slutty"....

Silly Mal, Happiness is for other people.

malanthyus@yahoo.com — Tue, 19 Jul 2005 09:28:45 GMT

*Warning, depression speech please pass by to next constructive entry*

I think though we're all wondering when exactly that might be.
I do read my previous entries. Not exactly seeing much other then a long string of "yup, still messed up".
There are things I should be doing right now. Studying for my next promotional exam. Figuring out the best way to take college courses within the time available considering my working hours. Working past this writers block I crashed into on a fan fic I'm doing. Yet here I am, whining to you.
I think I do this in the vein hope that if I put myself on a guilt trip enough times, write it all down, mark it off, It'll actually make me change. Six years now, and I haven't not really.
Feel so damn selfish over complaining because I hurt,over a relationship I broke up.
I hurt someone, horribly, I made this beautiful person cry, and didn't shed so much as one tear at the time,now I whine and mone about how much it hurts they're not here. It seemed like the sensible thing at the time, get him out before my bill collectors closed in, I wasn't "deeply" in love with him. I told myself that. I didn't feel things the same way.
There was so much I was doing wrong at the time.
He almost always had a crush on me. That made me afraid of him. I didn't see how anyone COULD be attracted to me. I didn't see any goodness in me. Nothing that wasn't a lie. I felt myself lying when I said I loved him.Lying when I said as Long as there are horses on the Moon. Lying with every kiss.
I start to wonder If it's because I wouldn't let myself love him. Wouldn't let myself get too close. Wouldn't let myself believe anyone could love me, or that I could have a relationship that was more then just physical.
This doesn't cover everything. Not even close...I'm still avoiding the fact that I don't really want to move forward or back. Just sleep. And dream. And not be in pain, and at my heart I'd be okay with that.
But not all of me would. I keep drinking water, I keep Running. Maybe if I can just set an hour a day to study...
If I can just move a step at a time, maybe I can change.