Female Rejection.

I hate when someone says I don't care for them. When I pamper and adore them, yet they claim my words as fake and fraud. They think I am lying to them, believe that I am just trying to get into their pants, or gain some other kind of privilage. I hate when people think I am just using them. Think that I don't care for them. I hate being slapped in the face and called a liar. I hate the depressed that refuse to trust me. To realize I'm telling the truth, but they don't want to believe it. I hate those that act Emo.

You're confused. You're stupid. You're empty. Emo doesn't represent a new genre. It doesn't show emotion into music. It doesn't show emotions on an outward level never experienced before. Blues shows feeling, soul, and emotion. Jazz, rock, country, and nearly any other genre of music displays this. But you assume that Emo is the only thing. Emotion is music, in nearly all cases. Emo isn't real. It's fake, it's a lie, a belief to things that already exist. Don't try to give me some repertoire bullshit you got from a song or magazine. You're fake, you don't have an opinion other than someone else's. You're not human, you don't exist. You are not standing there, you are a figment of my imagination and I do not believe in you. Grow the fuck up. Emo doesn't offer anything. It isn't anything but bullshit and lies. Oh god, your girlfriend broke up with you. Yes, you're supposed to feel bad about it. You aren't feeling...

We're both mad. Furious at each other, and probably never going to speak a word to each other. I was right, she was a hypocrite. Others are agreeing. But I still feel... That I should give an apology. I still feel I should get on my knees, and let her kick me right in the face. The pain of being right. The agony. It shouldn't have came down to this. Why were we so angry at each other, before any of it came up? Before the arguement, before the debate, the discussion. Why were we holding knives to each other's throat? Why do I feel compelled to say those three words? I am sorry. I don't want to admit it, but I am. I know I am right, but I still feel like saying it. I wish I could strike it all down. I wish we could go back to how it all was before. What was bothering us? Why are we so.. Alike? Damn, am I ever sorry. Sorry for saying what I said. For doing what I did. And for being a sorry bastard. Sorry. Added: I wish I could tell her sorry. To her face, as it should be d...

I really don't give a rat's ass about Thanksgiving and what it means, but I have to say.. Tonight, is a really fantastic night. Don't laugh for some of the strange parts about it..... Well, on second though, go ahead. It's not like I care. Anyway. This is the first time in 20 years that I didn't feel outcasted from my family. I never grew up around many of them, but tonight at the family gathering for T-Day, I was able to freely commune and relax. To be me. Best part though? Is right now. At 11:06 PM, eating a bowl of simple potato soup ( Potatoes + water = soup. ), bread and a Dr. Pepper. The house is quiet and dark, with the only lights coming from the single, 60 watt bulb in my room. Serenity, at it's best.

Guys.. Are stupid. We make mistakes. We are inconsiderate. We are stupid. We don't listen, we don't pay attention, we are stupid. I was confided with information, about someone I didn't like, told to me by someone I adored. In my fury, in my rage, in my ignorance, I told another. I had to fume, I had to get it off my chest. And stupidly, I had to tell someone else. So trust was lost. I feel like a fool. I feel like shit, and what am I to do? If I believed in suicide, I'd have done it by now. If I believed in self-mutilation, my arms would be bloodied. If I believed in alcoholism, I'd be slobbering on the floor. Please, forgive me.

Don't you love reprimends for correcting someone? For enlightening them? Teaching them something new? And then getting yelled at, or slapped in the face, or urged into a rant for nearly 10 minutes debating the fact you're right, and their stubborness to admit it? I do. I like to make them get riled, to try and prove facts or points against me, when I've laid down all their facts in their original context, rather than snipped. When everyone around them, is telling that person I'm right, and they still fight through. I love it, because sometimes, I'm that person. But not today!

I don't like to be alone, different from being left alone. I'm an anti-social person, but also a hopelessly perverted romantic. What I would give to live in every city, to have thousands of clones to date or entertain those that feel what I do. Single and alone. It is a shared feeling in everyone's lives. They hate being alone, but enjoy the freedom of being single. Relationships need dedication. Focus. Time. All worth it to know you have someone to curl up to and hold. To nudge your forehead against their back as you hold them tightly in your bed. The warmth, the love. The purpose of this post? I want my dick sucked.

A god is defined in the lowest terminology, as someone that is worshipped by others. But what is divinity? How does one classifiy perfection onto a scale of a singular being? Majestic beauty? Social talent to woo the masses? Intellect that awes and astounds? I'd just say divinity is a 'her'. And that personification is left to you all, to discover. Just whom am I talking about, and why do I hold her in such amazing regards?

I hate stoner music. I hate when people ask if I like.. The Grateful Dead. I'm especially tired, of lying to them and saying I do. Why do I? Because, this is one of those topics that if you say no, it takes four hours to explain yourself, and even then the person or group still doesn't believe you. I just hate that kind of music. I recently discovered this actually. I never really liked it, but now I just know that I don't like it. Admitting to myself and the like. I hate stoner's music. The flowerchild kind of music. Fuck it. FUCK MARLEY! So he could play a guitar better than anyone.. WHOOPDIE DO. It ends there people. It isn't a life-changing experience. I'm not going to listen to his music and understand the fabrics of time and space and the concepts of the universe. Contrary to belief, it doesn't happen. Take the weed out of your mouth, sober up, and realize this. God damn whores.

I love this song by Twista. In ways, it touches on my mentality, on others it influences. Go ahead, say you feel opposed to my opinion. I don't give a shit. You ain't sucking my dick, so why should I care? I feel Like, I feel like standing in the midst of a hundred thousand haters, Dynamite and C-4 strapped around the waist, bloody tears in my eyes making sure any mother fucka in tha vicinity Blow away and die, Kill'em off with an explosion Get up bitches, Kamikaze on you hoes I'm the sacrificial lamb, Feelin the fury flow out of every follicle in my body While you decompose Die with a blunt of dro in yo hand, I'm uppin the itchy fo fuckin wit Twista If you fuckin wit me come bet so cause it wont Be an issue-Got some nuts to come get me Then boy you gone get the picture put the flame in my Swisher Then hollows penetrate thru yo tissue Fuck yo fit up wit yo blood as I hear the cries Of yo homies screamin revenge Got no mercy on them either go to war wit the Intention...

I've always been encouraged to read Douglas Adams' books, by friends and acquaintances, but primarily my father, whom if you know.. Is a MAJOR book enthusist. Seriously, he has enough books to open a Books A Million. Not even joking, my garage is nothing but boxes of books. He has read them all. Anyway, back to my point. Douglas Adams. He was either insane when he devise the series, or a fucking genius. I watched the movie just a few moments ago, and got one of my Dad's books, so reading on it.. Fanastic work. Sure, when watching it, the most random of things will happen. You'll feel brain connections break apart, and a soft void lingering in the back of your mind. You're clueless, and yet contemplative. You thought the Matrix got you thinking? Feh. I could name tons of other titles that you know of, or don't. None compare to the insane genius of Adams'. All I know. Is I am falling in love with his books, the more I read into it. Even if it's like.. Aski...

I was told that I am a freak of freaks. I am weird, deranged, and insane. I mingle with the chicks that would frighten your children in their sleep, that would send a shiver down your spine to have their gaze settle on you. They are mentally fearful, and yet I associate with them. I was told I act normal. Like a regular person, surrounded by these monstrousities. And yet, why am I there? That is how I got labeled insane. Am I? Am I that warped?

Cold, yet comfortable. And open skies, with not a cloud in sight. The constant rotation of the airport's light, green then white. Ever stare up at the stars, and think? Believe you should have been elsewhere? Born later or before? I didn't like that about Fort Leonard Wood. Couldn't see the stars as often as I liked. Beautiful, serene silence.

Powerful song, when you're not paying attention to it. I was driving, on Friday, sometime late in the evening where the sky was dark and black. The headlights beamed forwards, and with a slip of my hand, I accidentally switched my stereo to turn on the CD player, which still had Davo's CD inside of it. Vindicated by Dashboard Confessional played. I may have pulled back from being Davo's best friend, for some time. I may have said things behind his back, and not liked him 100% at all times. But damn it.. That song got me thinking about him. I missed having him sitting beside me in the car, saying something annoyingly stupid. It just.. Felt weird.

I just helped someone take another, better option than suicide. I talked her out of it. I didn't even know her. My friend Diana, lives in Ireland, said she had a friend online that was about to commit ignorance of self-murder. i.e., suicide. She told me to call her, and gave me the number. Like.. Damn it. Why me? I'm not a nice guy. Why should I help out? I was in a jam, but did it anyway. Helped ease her into better thoughts, and pull away from suicide. Sounds like an awesome gal, just pushed into a rut at the moment. Either way. I hate being the hero. Fuck you, Superman.

God do I hate it. I realized a newer level of my disdain for change, as I read through posts made around livejournal by friends. Thoughts abound to elder days of roleplay and conversation. I miss those days. I'd give all of my Poser art, the hours of online gaming with Half-Life and it's mods, just to get a couple minutes of those days. My golden days weren't out at high school, wasn't out on some random escapade with friends. It was online. Roleplaying. Not quite sure if that is pathetic, strangely poetic, or just absurdly fucking pointless and maybe I need to stop being a geeky pussy.

Fuck you. And fuck you for ruining my silence. Males can burn. Females can choke. Give me my silence back. I'll stare down gods, and slap Anubis to get my silence back. Don't step in my way. Don't raise your voice. Don't take my silence again.

Ever been asked to rape someone? To kidnap? Torture? Abuse? I have. I'm waging between the thoughts of.. If I like it or not. Then again, she likes the thoughts of it too. Guess I can't be that fucked up.

All that time, and I didn't even kiss her. I should have kissed her. Really, I should have. Stupid me. Next time perhaps?

I totally tried to cop a feel on a female friend. It was so degrading of myself. I feel so bad. I'm apologizing, but jesus. I just feel so wrong. She wasn't too against it, but still, it's my mentality that is feeling the pain from it all. God this sucks..

I'm in love with a girl that's already spoken for. I think of her, I dream of her, and I want her. But alas. I cannot have her. Or could I? Troubled with conflicting morality. I am believing I am two personalities. One, says to leave it be and do nothing, simply move on and pout about it. The other, says fuck over the opposition, the other male. To take the mutual loved one, and claim her for my own. To disregard the consquences, and murder the built up realities. To slaughter the perspective. I really hate life at times. It's like a hard cock. Never fits right in your jeans.

31 year old married woman. A perfect MILF example. Drinking beers with her husband. Children in bed. 9 PM to 1 AM, nothing but fabulous sex. I.. Am.. God.

Fuck you all. I'm pissed. But at least I am coming home, permanently. Getting medical discharge! Yeah.. Fractured the healing parts of my fractured legs. Isn't that just peachy keen. I thought so. I should be back home, by like... March. Joy. Oh, and I may be taking a vacation to England. Haven't decided just yet.

Yeah, I have my doubts at time, but it is these small moments, that just really bring me out as king. I love me. What am I rambling on about? A chick I know online, been friends with for a decent enough time, had a dream about me last night. She described it, as being with me in some setting, where we just held and stayed close. Not entirely intimate, but she said I did lots of ass-grabbing. That sounds like me alright. She also said she felt safe and secure, and intensely horny. The even more chilling part, is that she admitted she was afraid. Afraid I would turn. Now that DEFINITELY sounds like me. I love being something other than good. Something other than evil. Something not yet seen. Fear me.