Another, More Brief, Set of 'Words'

Calm down. I'm not going to kill anyone. I'm not going to kill myself. I'm not going to do anything that will disturb my or anyone else's lives. I felt like I need to clarify that. Obviously what I wrote is to be taken very seriously, but the extent to how serious it all is can only truly be known my me. Me, believe it or not, is a person who deep down, I rather enjoy. The person who I am is quite lovely and honest in my opinion. Well. Personally honest. Socially, I lie to everyone. All the time. It's quite sad and entertaining. Before I begin another seemingly melodramatic rant I'll cut to the chase. Cut. Ha! Segue. Clever, inadvertent wordplay. Yesterday when I said repeatedly that I 'just' myself, I meant that I cut myself. Silly mistake. To clarify yet again: Last year around this time I CUT myself several times. Purely from a place of curiosity, may I remind you. Now, I did it again last night and I might do it again once I'm finished writing. It's very interesting. Cutting myself for reasons that seem to me to be asymptomatic is oddly liberating. I'll leave you with a final, likely obvious observation, especially considering the current whereabouts of this writing: People seem to be much too preoccupied with their own shit to care too much about anyone else's. That applies directly to two sets of people: Me, and most of the people that I've encountered, including someone I love dearly and is a great friend to me. To the person reading this who thinks that it is them, it is not. I know you and care about you far too much to place you in that category. We're all selfish to an extent though, and I feel that is important to recognize. Buona sera.

Words

To a greater or lesser extent, I dislike every single person I know. I need an outlet. Whenever I become extremely emotional, much like I am in this moment, I just get stoned and make everything happy, when in reality I'm just pushing everything away and when I return to consciousness, everything is shitty again. I completely understand but drug addiction is a thing. Completely. If I knew the right people I could see myself becoming addicted to some very troubling drugs and ruining my life. When things become really shitty there is no where else to go except up. Until you find a new way to bring yourself down, in which case you live there. You dig a deep hole there. You bury yourself there. You kill yourself there. You kill the idea of happiness there. You kill the idea of possibility there. I often wonder what it would be like to take another man's life. I don't know if I have it in me to kill someone. Obviously killing someone is wildly circumstantial, but if justified, I like to think that I could kill someone. I sometimes feel like killing someone. Never myself. Not my precious, pointless existence. No. Of course not. I just want to project my years and years of frustration and rage that have been suppressed by people who just want me to be happy and will do anything for me. Other people's happiness towards and for me has led me to become wildly unhappy and thinking often to myself what it would be like to stab someone in the heart and watch the life leave their body as they sink deeper into insignificance. Every once in a while I'll send out a distress text message to a friend or two, but once I confirm that everything is fine, though I'm always lying, they immediately dismiss it. It is understandable that they believe me and that they dismiss me, since they have their own problems, dealing with my personal bullshit shouldn't be a priority. I just find it amusing that everyone is all concerned, and caring, and full of it, until you "reassure" them that you're fine, and then all is immediately well. I don't ever honestly want to talk to people about my problems because I don't care about what anyone has to say about them. I just want to know that people care about me. I don't want to experience the caring, I just want to be aware of it. That's why I always turn my phone off immediately after sending those messages. I don't want to talk about my feelings, I just want to scream and yell and punch someone in the face until I can see the bone breaking through what is left of the skin on my hand. I want to destroy something. I want to witness something completely fall apart. I want that thing to not be my own life. There are a few more words I want to share with you, future self, who is already aware of all of this, but is simply being reminded of what a shithead you used to be: I just myself a few times around this time of last year. I don't hate myself or anything. Well. I do sometimes, but that isn't why. I just wanted to bleed. I enjoy feeling pain. I've been injured so few times in my sheltered, governed for me little life that sometimes I just want to bleed. Nothing too serious. I just myself in the fatty part of my leg, so it was just the first layer of skin. But I did it once. And then I did it five more times immediately afterwards because, as the joke goes, it hurt so good. Though I check Blogger almost daily to see if any friend has posted intimate details about their lives, of which I am thoroughly curious, I hope nobody reads this. I hope that because I don't want to have a conversation about it. I think I might go break some bottles in the alleyway. What if I threw a rock through a window? Nah that's passive-aggression. What if I punched someone in the face in such a way that when they looked up, there was blood running from their nose and mouth. There I stand in a fit of adrenaline, my hand throbbing, likely also bleeding. Whenever I have justification to get into a genuine fight, I want to warn the Internet, and the detective reading this, that I might not be able to control myself. Things might get out of hand. Depending on my state of mind at the time, I might do what the narrator of Fight Club did and punch his face in so many times that he'll never look the same again, if he ever looks again. Jesus, I wish I wasn't this angry. My GPA in high school was 3.6. My GPA last year was 3.2. My GPA this year is 2.8. I'm digressing, and you can literally see it in numbers. I'm so sad. Not emotionally. Me as a person. Looking in from an outsiders perspective I am a sad individual. I shouldn't be alive. I don't contribute anything to any field or discipline or anything. I don't even contribute negatively. My sole purpose on this Earth is to figure myself out. I'm afraid that the day I achieve happiness, is the same day that I die. One must know, not fear, but know that someday they're going to die. I have so much more to say. Goodbye.

Chaos and Beauty Created From Nothing

If you recall, I wasn't particularly happy at school last year. Not having friends around me, but a never ending ability to purchase drugs is apparently bad for my mental stability. Nonsense, right? So towards the end of last year, amongst all the drugs and the not having friends, I managed to make a new friend with someone I had known all year and sort of thought negatively of. I had an Oral Communication class with this girl and we were the two theatre students in the class so we did very well with very little effort. Prior to us really speaking more than a few sentences to each other I thought that she was just another one of those silly bitches who was remarkably unintelligent and was just good at theatre. Regarding the former, boy was I wrong. The final assignment for this class was to develop and present an 8-minute persuasive speech, on which I attempted to persuade the class that secularity in public education and formative development, basically in all general aspects of life, should be the goal of an idealized society. I need to back up for a second. I knew this girl from the first day of classes. We were both theatre majors so I saw her more or less every single morning. So, to the assignment: we both had been neglecting working on the speech so both of us were in the classroom the night before it was to be presented. What happens next is nearly impossible to explain in depth because it is, in my mind, something of a phenomenon. Simply, we just clicked. There are some people, that for whatever reason, I get along with extremely well and am able to maintain a constant and immediate repartee. It was perfect. At one point she called her boyfriend and told him to bring her chips and salsa from a drawer in her room, placing 100% of the responsibility of obtaining food onto him. Eventually he showed up in the room delivering her her food and having a quick chat with the two of us. The best part about this (and it is important that I tell you this otherwise the last several lines were pointless) is that this dude had directed me a few months prior and we get along swimmingly, so he didn't at all mind that I was spending hours of alone time with his lady, especially given the platonic setting. That's that, though. Moving on. After that night, we spent a surprising amount of late night time hanging out and having surprisingly intimate talks about how we perceived ourselves and how we thought about others, music that we enjoy, etc. Among this short period of time we even, while talking and walking around the remarkably small campus, decided that we would go out onto the roof of one of the main buildings. It was awesome. We lodged open the window and broke down the screen. This was obviously highly against some kind of rules, but the idea was much too appealing to not follow through with. It was just true and honest friendship. We went from not really giving a shit about each other, to becoming unprecedentedly good friends. All of this happened in a two week period of time, mind you. When I had to say goodbye to her it was devastating because we talked a lot about how we were likely not going to see each other for a very long time. We even, very sadly, said goodbye to each other and then ran into each other later that day and we almost became teary eyed.

Two weeks pass.

We become friends, or whatever it is, on Skype and have a conversation for two hours via the chat feature. Throughout this conversation we had been casually talking about sex which eventually led to the both of us admitting, rather candidly, how much one desired the other sexually and that if we had just fucked each other we wouldn't be having all of these emotional issues. Finding out this information mere weeks after we became very good friends, in light of the fact that we won't be seeing each other for months, maybe years, was very unfortunate, to put it lightly.

Eight months pass.

During this time we would text the other about once every month or two. These conversations never lasted more than a few hours. Last night I texted her telling her how shitty is was that those two weeks were like bliss and that we haven't seen each other since then and that I wish I could go to Winona to see the show that she is in, but the Amtrak tickets are too much money. I also told her that I missed her, and that was all. A few hours later she shares a few things with me. She told me that my message made her smile, that she wishes she would've broken up with her boyfriend because she wouldn't then still have incomplete feelings for me, and that she might be in town on Friday, which is a day and a half from now. I questioningly responded to her comment about having incomplete feelings for me and she said that she felt completely herself with me, that she could tell me anything, and that people like that don't come around too often. I wholeheartedly reciprocated and that is as far as that conversation has gone. I am wildly curious as to what is going to happen in the coming days. I've been wanting desperately to write about this all day. I feel better. I'm not going to be able to focus on anything until she shows up, if she even does. Though, I wasn't focusing on anything anyway. I take solace that whatever happens, it'll be good to see her. Writing about something that isn't super depressing and self-loathing is a nice change of pace. Tune in next week when I return to moaning about life's woes and sadnesses.

A Poor Decision with an Afterword by My Libido

I don't get out very often. When I do I seem to put myself in weird situations. Before last night, the last time I 'went out,' I ended up in a basement of some foreign students' house dancing to Bulgarian club music. It was very odd. There was a lot of fist bumping going on. So last night I was checking stupid ol' Facebook and I saw that there was an improv show being performed by the group that I'm technically in but haven't gone to in months. I figured, I didn't have anything else going on, I could use some social interaction. So I smoke a bit and then head over to the show. About two hours of lovely comedy later and I was talking to one of my friends that I made from the club since I hadn't seen him in a while. The show had been over for a bit and I was asking him what he was up to after the show and he said that usually after a show the guys get together and party and he asked if I would be interested in going. So I agreed. I otherwise would've just gone home, got more stoned, watched a movie, fallen asleep weirdly early and then woken up bored and ashamed. The latter part of that sort of happened anyway, but let me continue. So after inefficient plan-making had subsided I went back to my place to grab all the necessary Evan-going-to-a-party essentials: Small amount of weed, lighter, condom, chapstick, eye drops. Time passes, insignificant things happen, eventually my friend Brian and I are sitting outside the house of the party we're about to go into, smoking rum flavored cigarillos, having a chat. Once finished we go into the house to find that every person at this party is in the kitchen, and that every person at this party consists of five people. Not at all what I was expecting, but hardly a bad thing because it was the dude who lived in the place and four random, good looking, quick witted, wildly responsive girls. Brian immediately said to me how sorry he was and that he let me down, but I didn't care at all because I was getting along great with these girls. Eventually we all were relatively drunk, the girls more so than the rest of us, and we made our way into the living room. Again, time passes, insignificant things happen, and the girls who earlier had apparently been talking about their lesbianism, as most close girl friends do, likely to piss off the males in the room, decided that it was time for them to go to another party and that we were invited. Brian immediately asked the host if he thought that us going would be a good idea and he said that personally, he wouldn't. I didn't really give a shit what this dude thought at this point because he had made it very clear that he didn't really want those girls in his place anymore, which made no sense to me at all. Brian was hesitant, but I told him that I'd be more than happy to go with them, if anything for the sheer entertainment value that surely would come with whatever party they were going to. I'll be honest though, in my mind's eye, it was a distinct possibility that I could've slept with one of those girls. They all loudly admitted to always wanting to fuck hipster dudes. I don't usually act like a hipster dude, but I'm very aware that I dress like one, and they said this directly after commenting that I was wearing skinny jeans, slight v-neck and a hoodie. I mean. It is impossible for me to know what these girls were really thinking, but for all I know they were just telling me that they wanted to fuck me! So, they leave, and I'm in a room with three other dudes. I wasn't previously aware that one could piss off the past, future, and present versions of oneself with a single inaction. I accomplished that last night. Now, I remembered the most interesting girl's name so I looked her up this morning and managed to find her: we're interested in A LOT of the same things. It gets better. Around people I don't really know, the drunk/stoned version of myself is just an exacerbation of my sober self, so I don't say anything because I don't like being shunned and physically ostracized. After half and hour, or so, the rest of the party shows up, all dudes and one really attractive girl who was dating one of them. Most of these guys are in the improv group that I haven't showed up to for months with no explanation. It was extremely uncomfortable for me because they were all good and drunk/stoned when they showed up and I didn't have a single word to say to them. Summary: I was invited by four good looking girls to go and party with them, but instead I decided to get stoned in a circle with a whole bunch of dudes who probably didn't really want me to be at their party in the first place. I know I don't usually do this, but if I see the more interesting girl around, I'm going to do something about it. I wish all of my friends were up here. No. I wish I would've gone with those girls. That is the only thing I care about right now.

This is likely going to be read as a wildly sexist comment, but seeing as I haven't had sex with anyone in about five months I'd just like to say something purposefully ignorant: Depression is something I truly don't understand, because if this friend of mine gets to sleep with his unbelievably sexy girlfriend on a frequent basis, and still thinks terrible things of his life, then he is surely experiencing something beyond my comprehension. Seriously though friend of mine..I just want your girlfriend to stand in front of me, perpetually bending over/walking in place for the rest of my life. I have a weakness for girls with perfectly shaped asses. I should've gone to that fucking party.

A Short Rambling

I don't have anything in particular to write about. I'm about to go see The Asteroids Galaxy Tour downtown here in Minneapolis. It's all very exciting. I'll leave here in about twenty minutes. I'm readying myself with Grimes and a small tree: I'll call it a bush under these circumstances. Boy, I am in a peculiar mood. I've recently become acutely aware that my shoulders are usually tense. Most notably when I'm under the influence of the greenery. I'm now listening to Bastard - Lemonade / Orange Juice - AssMilk by BADBADNOTGOOD. What a ridiculous combination of words all that was! It is an excellent song though. Excellence is subjective, so don't take my word for it. Go find it. Be resourceful. May your journey be fruitful. This song is almost over and I need to get out of here. I thought that I wrote more, but the empirical evidence certainly suggests otherwise. Enjoy your lives. Goodbye.