ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \"The moonlight spilling through the blinds / the music and this glass of wine / make me think you're feeling what I know that you're not.\" - Me This is my only vehicle. To obsessively update this dark chasm of emptiness in hopes that the repetitive typing will give way to some earth-shattering conclusion. That I'll be furiously tapping the keys in some disconnected manner and look up and see that I've outlined the path of resolve on the screen before me. But all I ever really see is a string of self-deprecating bullshit and a slowly blinking cursor. I've been reading other people's diaries in an attempt to objectify my loneliness and atrophy. There are plenty of kindred spirits out there. There are also, sadly, vacuuous wastes of human existence, carelessly chattering on about their insipid, beautiful lives. "Ted is so great and luvs me so much, I just wanna squeeze his little cheekies and spread him on my toast. I luv my car and my friends. Ray-ray, cheekit-cheekie boom-boom and all that, you know what I'm sayin, girl!" Do yourself a favor and buy a fucking dictionary and shoot yourself in the face. I detest baby talk and that insiduous fucking knack people have for speaking improper english in an attempt to make themselves look cool. It's not even a stab at greatness, to elevate oneself above the masses. No, because being intelligent or superior just isn't cool. It's a deliberate scheme to reduce one's intelligence in the eyes of one's peers. Because, let's face it, who's sexier: The college graduate with the good job and the nicely pressed slacks or the stoner with the heart of gold that is an idiot-savant at auto maintenance? I depsise this fucking cess-pool of idiocy. On a more introspective note, I'm in a very bad mood. It's a further manifestation of the funk that currently consumes me. I'm terribly lonely, but I have no one to blame for that but myself, as I have shut myself away from all forms of human contact. I answered my phone twice today, and both times I was greeted by people who wanted to sell me things. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I was civil with both of them. Why? I am lonely and angry and, oddly enough, hungry. I attribute all of this to having no outlet for my... well, shit, really. I have no mircophone to belt out my sorrow and anger and self-loathing and so it remains inside, eating me away like a fucking virus. I have no forum on which to rant and rave and gesticulate wildly about the trappings of mortality. I have no one watching me. I'm a Leo, for fuck's sake, I have to be watched. I have to have people pay attention to me. It doesn't matter what kind of attention it is, just as long as it's directed at me. I need the stage. I am a whore. I am everything that I hate about humanity. I am the vessel of my own remorse. I hate myself for what I see of them in me. And I can't stop it. 8:00 p.m. - 2004-03-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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