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Blogroll Me!
There are people on the net that have nothing better to do
with their time
then be nasty to other people online. They post rude comments, spend hours
a day talking about sites they hate so much, that they well, spend hours a
day talking about them. (lame) They mock the owners and posters for their
opinions and their right to free speech. They expect everyone to fit into
their narrow-minded little world view or else they throw a temper tantrum.
To these people I say grow up.
Here's a bit of info people...the web is
a HUGE place. If you don't like what I say here, or who I am, or what I
do, or talk about, or what I look like, or the color of my hair, or
whatever asinine thing you dwell on, go somewhere else. It's
really, really easy. Honest. You just click the little "x" in
the corner of your browser and *poof* the offending, big, mean and nasty
site has disappeared.
I pay for this site. It's mine. That
means I can use it for whatever the hell I want to. Don't like it if I'm
bitching about something in my life? Oh fucking well. Go somewhere else.
Think I'm stupid for expressing my thoughts? Too fucking bad, don't read
them. Somewhere along the line, someone forgot this simple fact: Live
and let live Don't like me, cool, fine, whatever, I don't care.
This journal is NOT for you. It's for me. I'm not in it for popularity or
fame or anything stupid like that. I write it because I need to write and
express myself and get things out of my head sometimes. So read or don't,
it doesn't matter, but don't waste my time (or yours) bitching about it.
*gets off soapbox*
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Wednesday, March 30, 2005
My So-Called Life
I'm not real. I feel like I play at a life; a game of pretend I only have to dust off and wear the mantle of a few hours here and there. Then I take off the facade and put it back in the closet. I'm not real, I'm just what you expect me to be. I'm not really me, I'm just your expectation of me. There really isn't anything there behind the surface. Cut my strings, and I'm just a broken puppet. I'm not real. I'm just a game of pretend. A game I only manage to fool into the likeness of reality because I so rarely have to actually play it. Most of the day, I don't exist. I sit. And stare off into emptiness. Doing nothing. Thinking nothing. Feeling nothing. More and more I've come to realize there truly isn't anything there in the long hours, days, months, years that no one sees. Just like the toy sitting on the shelf, waiting on someone else to come along and animate me. I'm not real. There really isn't anything to me. There aren't any hopes or dreams or accomplishments. They're not mine. I'm not that person. Maybe I never was. Maybe it was all just the dream while sitting on that shelf. All a delusion of some vibrancy that was never truly real. Some daydream fancy that never was. I'm not real. I put on the clothes. I wear the makeup. I speak when spoken to. A sophisticated but hollow system. But, inside, I'm empty. There's nothing there. I look like the real people; I walk like them. You can take me out but you can't get within. There's nothing there to find. I'm not real. I'm not a person. I'm just a toy sitting on a shelf waiting for someone to come along and animate me. There's nothing there. Nothing within.
~ flowers bloom by Memory and Dream
at 3/30/2005 01:17:00 AM ~
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