Murder Murderer Love Inc.

I hope my life doesn't boil down to waiting once again every day for a letter from a far away fantasy. Distance makes things work, and this primitive form of communication develops both mystery and romance. Maybe just on my end of it, but it's worth writing a thousand fictional short stories in my head to replace my memories. A vacation away from the same old days full of the same old stories. I can write the same old words here, but I'm getting quite bored with that...there are only so many times you can repeat yourself before routine turns into insanity.

Seeing the family this last week was nice as always; interesting conversations that I actually felt involved in for the first time in my life. It's sometimes nice to let go of high school life and the everyday broken chords, and have time to regain oneself among those who know you best. A Friday night spent with good friends around a fire leaves me content...the laughter and unaswerable questions of life rang through the darkness like a beam of truth in the usual world of chaos. A Friday night spent thinking about what life will be like in ten or twenty years leaves me empty...the stars and the endless expanse of the 1:00 AM air makes room for uninterrupted contemplation. It was the first time in a long time that I was able to clear my mind for more than a few seconds and focus.

I see my friends around me preparing for the rest of their lives - talking about which college they'll be attending, whether or not their grade point average is 'adequate', what they want to do with the rest of their lives - this makes me feel foreign and strange. I've got my general ideas, and my foolish dreams of course...but I have yet to map out the path that I'll be taking let alone walk it. It's hard to think that I will one day forget what I've been living...these friends and enemies, the weekends and this boring town, the peacefulness and the static...more important things await years past now. I might never think about someone again, and that scares me in a way. I am too entranced by what each person I know...I am too entranced by what they have given me in the past year...two years...four years...ten years...I have grown based off these people. They are not simply random faces in a crowd I cannot navigate...they have given me so much. A few years from now, when we have all 'grown up' and moved on to new and exciting lives, will they simply become blank portraits on the page? Will they simply become ghosts of fading memories? Will I?

Some day, we will all simply become records and awards...names on a list and pictures on a wall...we will become statistics. It takes so much to change the world; it takes so much to be remembered once you die...I think people are scared of that. They are scared of becoming just another human that was born, lived, and then died. Everyone wants to be important; everyone wants to be unique. It is hard to say whether or not these preparatory years of our lives will present us with a chance to really make such a difference, but if not...the change has already been made within us all.

I can keep having my dreams of grandeur; these goals and silly aspirations that are usually only found in story books. What better way to live forever than like a book on a shelf? Let's all dream of the perfect song for our ending credits, and never forget that we are each unique and alone in a sea of six billion dreamers.

Somewhere between a shell and a ghost, I wait. I sit quietly without any sign of physical struggle for an aeroplane to come and take me away. I've made too many bad decisions in my life to not afford a ticket; no stops to awakening. One way to escape. Give me unharnessed strength and an ice cold conscious. Give me complete lack of empathy.

I want everyone to sit down for a moment and think about how many times in their lives they've so stupidly felt sorry for themselves. We're all record breakers here, yes? In our adolescence and teenage depravity, we've grown accustomed to feeling slapped in the face and playing the victim. I'm sick of laying the blame on someone else; isn't it about time we all face the facts and take responsibility for our imperfections? We should be able to let go of our hate of it, and embrace the beauty within the discord. We're so focused on saving ourselves that we've never even considered what it would be like to be destroyed. We'll never stop fighting. We'll only stop fighting when we collapse against the grain - ignorant, and frustrated because of it. Aren't you just sick of fighting?

I look at so many people that I wish I knew; I wish I knew what they were thinking behind their seemingly simple routines and daily existences. I know that there is something deeper behind their exhausted eyes and busy schedules; it is rare that they ever escape from their self-built prisons and let their true being out. Do I know you? Do I know of you - something beyond our petty arguments, shallow opinions, high school naivete, 8:00 meetings, and 10:00 deadlines? I'd die for the opportunity to. I'd die for someone to find a key to release me from the same prison. An oil-painted portrait in a safe somewhere - under lock and key - cherished. Unable to learn and feel; touch and absorb every aspect of being.

If you know what you're doing here, or have any inkling into what you think your life should 'be' - please tell me. Leave a comment back at my LiveJournal, e-mail me, write a letter - whatever. Give me a phone call under midnight stars - give me moonlit confessions and walks without destinations - give me something through the static. I'm genuinely interested in what each of you has to say. I'm curious to see how lucky you are; how beautiful you are. As for myself, I'll tell you when I grow up. Until then, I'll keeping caring about the last step I've made. I'll keep walking backwards just to see the past I've grown so comfortable with; I will never move forward again. I'll succumb to idiocy and pointlessness, because we all have to have something, right?

Somewhere between forgotten and searching, I wait. I sit without any sign of shedding a single tear; losing my dignity; finding what haunts me. I'm waiting for that aeroplane to come take us away - please, come take us away. I sit and await rescue. Give me endless opportunity. Give me indefinable hope.

Such silly things to worry about. Mindless, pointless distractions. The differences between one order of words and the puzzlement that follows. Inferior goals that never reach completion. An endless search for the rewind button - crushed under the unstoppable force of time. Progression. Wouldn't it be refreshing to forget? To cure the incurable disease of unwanted memories and rid of their lasting effects? Imagine there was no such thing as remembering. You could get hurt and easily let go. You wouldn't need to learn from your mistakes, because you would never need to let pains of unexplainable deja vu affect you for longer than a split second decision: Am I finished learning about being hurt?

Hopefully, in a week or so, I'll be receiving a letter from far away. It's rash of me to think that my words will mean more than just words. The power of human emotion allows us to forget reason. It gives us the chaotic and stupid ability to let ourselves feel exposed and weak. Depending on how these cards play out, the Queen of Hearts might reveal a winning hand in the end. On the other hand, I might lose everything in a beggar's game.

To quote 'High Fidelity', "Should I bolt every time I get that feeling in my gut when I meet someone new? Well, I've been listening to my gut since I was 14 years old, and frankly speaking, I've come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains."

I'm a sucker for suspense.

I see a million and one desperate cries for a soul mate...a girlfriend...a boyfriend...I see a million and one 'heartbroken' teenagers with nothing else to lose...I see pointless rants as far as the eye can see (but notice, I'm the one that's looking). I see wants and desires and nothing even loosely resembling needs. Success and failure; cause and effect. It's ironic how I can even think of looking for consolation and typical relief inside the trivialness of a silent audience and journal entries drowning out rhyme and reason in blind epiphanies. There's so much more beyond the text on the page; something I'm not getting across. I wish I could combine all the petty feelings I get from chemical reactions and electrical currents through my brain - the results of smiles, conversations, beloved songs, prose, and other useless things. Can you hear me? Can you hear me trying to say 'hello' from across a crowded room?

There's been one too many dreams of the past; a special place inside my head where all the little tidbits and outtakes of my memories can have their revenge. Dreams or nightmares - I don't know which anymore. It's been far too long missing someone; missing some days. There's nothing left to do but write a long forgotten letter. A present wrapped in a brown paper bag - words like jewels and confessions like gold - hidden behind a rough exterior.

How can a dream be perfect? How can images inside my subconscious mind make me react in such a way? I'm just flying and falling at the same time. Vertigo from not knowing what to say and not knowing how to act. Chemicals inside my cerebrum composing her touch - a blanket of warmth in my mind writing her every breath. The room is much too cold - the blankets have been pulled off - and the rumors of her have whispered silently into the blackness of 3:00 A.M. Maybe dreaming will bring her to me - maybe she's dreaming too. She always said she was a dreamer.

Shake off the morning; soften the dryness of my throat. Shake off the sleep and break off another bit of time wasted. She's still smiling beautifully behind my half-closed eyes. Maybe she'll be out in a few days.

I'm not sure how we are all doing - living our lives. I'm starting to really wonder if enough people are appreciating every single day of their life. Do they really enjoy their lives? Is there really a way to measure? Quantitative and cold. I know for sure the numbers are decreasing daily; I'm one of them. Robotic and programmed to routine; short-circuited by any thought of retaliation. Basic and based off a calendar. I need someone to share my demise with me; or pull me up out of darkness.

I need a like mind, or an inspiration. I need another lost soul, or another bright flame to help me find my way. I need a flickering beauty behind 35 milimeter film. I desire to share my readily overflowing heart with someone. Yes, another angsty teenger on another 'lonely road'. Why don't I pick up a guitar and write a song about it? Why not? Well, I've already written enough songs about that. They're all horrible as well. There might not be any songs worth writing anymore.

One day, this will all end. Someday, there will be more songs to write. Maybe we'll all find happiness, and we'll all stop complaining. Maybe one day we'll start loving and stop worrying. Heh, maybe some day soon. Maybe when we're all done tap dancing for an invisible audience, and stop building mountain ranges from our sadness...we'll finally find peace.

Beyond all the things I've tried my hardest to leave behind; beyond all the things that have held me down or I have been too blind and stupid to appreciate; beyond the little annoying flaws of humanity is where I lie. Blindfolded and broken. Left with no armor against the cold wind; left with no hope against the cold world. I laugh. The cold world? As if the world has been truly cold to me? I quickly thank my lucky stars; I pray that my losses can seem miniscule to the greater powers at hand. Let me be cold inside my own perceptions, and I shall not rain an endless shower of complaint and relentless suffering upon what I find so usually uplifting. Let me have my fleeting moments, and I will be set.

Let's sail away. Changing the subject away from a clouded mind; Let's sail away. Simple words really; perfectly crafted upon poety, and weaved with ease between haunting melodies. Thanks again, Conor. Let's sail away. I finally skipped the slippery rocks of my hesitation, and landed on dry ground with a satisfying calmness. Nervousness aside, I even surprised myself. Minus my horrible sense of timing, it couldn't have been better planned. Let me set the scene. Your typical angsty teenage boy fights endlessly for the right words. These words never come. He turns to his secondary defense against the rediculous power of his opponent (an invisible unseen force - true and powerful, yet impossible to fight) - music. Music, music, music. Words and their surrounding harmonies. The boy finds consolation within this. A mixtape is in order. Slowly, the songs that make up the puzzle-piece, ransom-note concotion of this boy's infatuations come into place. Each piece seems harder to fit than the last. A grand dance is composed; the time comes. The opportune moment arrives, and with a smooth sense of inescapable failure, the boy dives in. All things said and done, the scene is over. Always listen to the lifeguards when you're a kid: No diving headfirst in unknown waters. He never saw it coming; he never even had a chance.

So, silence. Welcome to the new blog; this is the new shit. Every other little cliche' line about the beginning of something new and the development of new memories should be inserted here. The new birth of some even deeper meaning. Whatever gives you dreams at night. I decided to let go of glass-against-glass; it's not who I am anymore. It would be so hard trying to fill the shoes of the former me. Times have changed, and people have changed. In all honesty, even though the internet is nothing but a perfect experiment in human anarchy and will never be anything more than numbers and invisible measurements of quantitative success determined by code, tags, meta, lists, and endless information...why shouldn't the internet change to? We should celebrate the little life we breathe into this cold corpse.

So, end scene one. Lights up, spotlight stage left. Welcome to your new life; would you like a lemonade?