i want to be a street poet. i want to move to a major city and express my tortured emotions on streetcorners for pocket change, and have some savvy girl fall in love with me because i’m brilliant and in tune with myself. i want her to understand me like no one ever has and be able to look past my physical shortcomings and realize that in the grand scheme of things looks don’t matter, 70 years from now everyone looks the same male and female regardless of how you live your life and how much hairspray you used april 25th 1981 before you went out, becuz when your 90 years old, everything sags and falls out. and then my friend, you only have you, after the senility and alzheimers has whittled away your brain, and your trapped in your own mind. all you can do is reflect on your decisions and wonder why everything was so fucked up. so yeah, i want to shout deep poetry at people doing their christmas shopping.

i want to be an artist. i want to surrender myself to paint, charcoal, graphite, clay. i want to make powerful works and be famous for a day before the always-moving art scene forgets me or gets bored with me. i want to live in a loft, in the bad part of town, and draw inspiration from the wise homeless people living in the filth of my block. i want to know the ins and outs of city life, be witty and charming and live by those virtues, all sacrifices made becuz of my passion for the art i create.

i want to be different. i don’t want to be shy, fat, ugly, have a big head, pale skin, hairy everything. i don’t want to be emotionally constipated, or “just a friend”. i don’t want to be the nice guy. i want to be the type of guy that you see in movies, who lives only for himself, does everything his own way, and everyone loves him for it. i want to be quietly psychotic but have that work to my advantage, allowing me a freedom and care-free demeanor needed to achieve these goals. i want a reset button i can use to put life back to square 1, so i can live this life all over again, or possibly just a whole different life. i want to be smart, attractive, funny, caring, selfish, violent, self-serving. i want a better face, body, personality. i want to be whatever type of person i need to be for bobbi and others like her to want, to not have the traits that makes her think “well, jr’s better than everyone i date, but i’m just not attracted to him“. i want to not be me. i do a LOT to try to make up for how unnattractive and uncharismatic i am but it doesn’t seem to matter. and it enrages me when others do NOTHING and get that which i desire simply because they are attractive. this is fucking bullshit. dammit… i wasnt pissed when i started this but now i am. fuck the world, fuck everything and everybody. none of this shit is worth it. i mean, really, am i that ugly? so ugly that i’m not even worth treating like a normal guy? no flirting, no sexual inuendo? lots of jokes about sex with me that make you laugh just a little too hard? damn. damn damn damn. i didn’t mean to vent. this is what happens when i stop posting, things build up and you get a nice jr-emotion goulash all at once. i just don’t understand why i don’t desrve it. i haven’t done anything especially mean or wrong in my life. i even believed in god for the first 12 or 13 years of it. but the injustices done to me prove otherwise. i literally begged and pleaded in many crying rages to god for something, anything that would make me believe. and you know what i would get? picked on at school. parents divorcing. family falling apart. dead pets. absolutely nothing good. i hate to sound conceded but i think i’m just a little too smart to actually dupe myself into religion just to alleviate some stress and feel like something was guiding my life, feel like somebody cared.

just so you know, this was inspired by a movie with charlie sheen and the girl from law and order in it. angie harmon. it was about a stockbroker who gets fired and his girlfriend leaves him, for a brazilian guy, and his girlfriend wrote a crappy advice column for a smalltime newspaper owned by angie harmon. long story short he becomes sensitive and falls in love with her, and they live happily ever after. before that i watched the x-files, this kid was half bug or something and there was a girl he had liked since a young age, and he was really smart and insightful and always nice to this girl. one day she comes over and she’s like i realize your te one for me etc etc, goes to kiss him, he pretty much eats her face with his weird bug mouth and she starts calling him a freak and turns him into the cops. what got me was, after he got away, he still made the fireflies spell out “i love you” outside her window. she didn’t deserve that shit.

anyway, i need to sleep. my soul is ravaged by demons made not by hell, but by man, life, this world that has become wraught with iron visages of pain and greed and deception. i pray for an end to it all, all our suffering. i wish things were different. i wish i was the person you want, i wish i could live up to your expectations. i wish i was profound enough to make up for the lacking physical attractiveness. perhaps one day i will rid my mind of the pitfalls and hazards incurred by another person’s proximity and then maybe someone will look past the curtain, to the wizard inside, and let themselves feel that which they deny. it’s a longshot tho. people like me are destined to be more or less alone forever. i have a few friends, and i’m thankful for each one of them, but i don’t feel at all connected to them. i close myself off from them because i’m afraid of them not liking me as i am, but more than that i am afraid that they will use any information i may release in that effort for closeness against me. it’s happened several times before. it’s more complicated than that… the friends i have now, i’m nothing like. they’re all better than me in many ways. cj is more charismatic, fun, outgoing. floris is more talented, attractive, easy going. joanna and bobbi make me look like a troll, not that you would ever really compare me to them. they are all so superior to me, i can’t really understand why they bother with me at all. maybe that’s why i do this every so often? to try to root out some deep truth they are afraid to tell me? some hidden meaning to our friendships that explains everything. some kind of answer. none is forthcoming tho. i’m not sure that one even exists. i really miss the times when we all could hang out together, before college and relationships and breakups and everything destroyed that. i hate worrying about one friend showing up when i’m with another and the awkward situation that would result. i hate feeling like a traitor when talking to one about the other. i feel like i have something buried inside my chest, something big, something important, and i feel like if i were to let it go it would cause the world to end, or maybe just my world. maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. you know in movies, when someone is fatally wounded or sick, and the time is at hand, there’s always a girl at his bedside, and maybe he hadn’t said a lot of things he should have? and he gasps out those last few words, on the brink of death, and the girl is crying and tells him she feels the same way? i desperately want something like that to happen. i have always wanted that. since i was old enough to think about girls that way. it’s kind of a strange thing for a young boy to dream about eh? how bout a young man? i’m fucked in the head. ok i’ve been typing for 25 minutes now. i think i’ll finish this up. i’m just in a very frustrating place right now and i feel like i don’t have anything i had just recently. i HAD a very good friendship with bobbi but i realize now i was overinflating how much i meant to her. i HAD a very good friendship with cj but i don’t think i put enough effort into it and he’s moving on now. i HAD happyness, even if it was only the result of ignorance, but now i have begun thinking about it again and it’s driving me depressed. now, on to my next nightmare. good night.