Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters

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Well please give me direction, I think I just caved in

Am I the only straight man around who can get angry at a pretty girl for smiling at me?

I'm talking to an old high school aquaintance about isolation and loneliness and I am feeling even wierder and less well suited for society than usual.

I came up with a metaphor for people that I like. We're like puzzle pieces from random puzzles all dumped together on the floor of the earth and only a very few people will fit perfectly with each of us, a few more will fit well, and a large number can be made to fit well enough but there will always be seams there.

And I haven't really found anyone to fit with.

If I go at the current pace I will graduate College while I'm still 22. That makes me happy.

Whenever I get to the part of Chris Isaac's "Walk Slow" where he goes

"And Iiiii still dream of you, and Iiiiii will call your name,
And Iiiii know I will wait, till youuuu come back again" I always start singing along and get a little teary. I don't know why that is, maybe it's that he sounds SO lonely and I identify with that

I feel more myself right now at 4:05 AM than I have for a long while. It feels really nice to be in my own skin again. REALLY nice.

I've been spending a lot of time lately daydreaming about being alone with someone I love up in Maine. There's something about late night and music and moonlight on a lake and the thin northern air and the woods and nature and someone warm to sit next to that sounds infinitely desireable. I can't even fathom the pure enjoyment I would get out of just lying in a rowboat on a cold summer night with somebody to TALK to. Oh well, I guess some guys fantasize about sex with Heather Locklear and they won't get that either.

I think that I want to type up the Chris Isaac song "Don't get so down on yourself" so that people who read this journal will have an idea about the sort of thing that gets me to cry in a good way. Also because I'm jealous of his voice. He has the smoothest gentlest voice, so much so that his songwriting and music are almost secondary to the sheer beauty of his voice.

I got the picture
That you finally sent.
I read your letter.
And I know what you meant.
That's you and me in Salt Lake City.
You sure look pretty.
Wish we could go back again.

And are you on my mind? Everyday? All the time?
And though you're far away. Don't you know I feel the same?
Ohh well. Anyway. I just called to say.
Everything's gonna be okay.
Your friends aren't that far away.
Anyway. Don't get so down on yourself.
Don't get so down on yourself. Don't get so down on yourself.
Think of me with you.

Ohh well anyway. I just called to say
Everything's gonna be okay.
Your friends aren't so far away.
Tomorrow's another day. Don't get so down on yourself.
Don't get so down on yourself. Don't get so down on yourself.
Think of me with you.
Don't get so down on yourself. Don't get so down on yourself.

Don't get so DOWN on yourself. Think of me with you.
Cause I do.
I think of you.

In text form it's pretty cheezy but when he sings it, there's something there. Something sad and comforting at the same time. Like seeing something beautiful and having nobody to share it with. I can remember standing in Riverside Park watching a fire in New Jersey over the Hudson River and thinking about how beautiful and sad it was at the same time. How nature could be unfathomably gorgeous and cruel at the same time (I won't say just like women because that's not my mood. But if I was less melancholy I might) And I didn't have anyone to tell about it and it made me sad. Because human's are social creatures and what's the point of experiencing beauty if you can't share it? Some people can but I can't.

I'm so lonely. Even with people around me I'm lonely. Jeff says that I'm searching for someone to witness my pain, and maybe it's true, but I think it's more profound than that. I want EVERYONE to witness my pain. Someone told me today that I seem well adjusted and fairly normal. That hurt. I always thought that I wore my pain on my sleeve. I tell everyone who will listen about my father's suicide. Doesn't that mean something?

I hate the way most people are so willing to go shallow instead of deep. Shallow conversation drives me bonkers. Nicities (sp?) drive me bonkers. I deserve to be shoved into a concrete box and shoved off a short pier. The only reason it's a concrete box instead of concrete boots is that I think suffocating in a cold damp box would be worse than drowning. It would take longer too.

I don't actually believe I deserve that I just feel very alienated right now. Very apart from society and people and the world. Sometimes when I'm watching a DVD I can seperate the audio and visual tracks in my head so that it looks like bad dubbing even though it's not. I don't like that, it breaks illusions. I guess a lot of illusions are starting to break down for me, but I've said that plenty in the past without it being true so who knows.
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