*sigh*

It is not as if I enjoy being a multilayer creature of various secrets and hypocrisy...far from it. I struggle with hating myself for every single breath I take, every word I have ever spoken and for every step forward.

I'm supposed to know good from bad but no one ever mentioned the gray areas much.

I feel so sick and so fake so often.

The plus side is I have my vanilla pudding and water right this moment.

They are nice.

There is no finality, even in death. Nothing truly ever ends in the way that we would perceive it would or hope to process it as. But then again we do not even understand the ideas of things unfolding or becoming more or what they truly are.

There is no need for rash or stupid decisions.

Prudence is needed.

Maybe.

Bandwagons

As fun as they sound they are just not cool.

Original thought?

That is cool.

So to celebrate cool, here is someone more cool than me. Plus he is actually funny and not just funny looking, like yours truly:

Partially slept...mind melted...things odd...self realization...almost...complete...

Still cannot sleep...too much inexpressible stress and pain.

More Use(ful)less Late Night Ramblings

Still sad.

Not as much scared though.

Tired and medicated.

Anxiety about later today about awaking from sleep.

What am I really looking forward in life?

I mean, it's like my life has revolved around Jesus, books, music and fear of women.

More than just fear of women but I think fear of every possible relationship. Fear that by opening myself up I will be hurt worse...so it is easier to live in my world of stories and dreams that could never happen in the first place.

I want to dream big but the dreams around me all seem to be related to marriage, kids and settling down. The first makes some sense to me and the second doesn't make sense as much as it seems like something Jesus did as a cruel joke and the third terrifies me beyond any conceivable notion worth even thinking about.

Settling?

Good grief, I don't know about that.

It feels like compromise, this whole loosing myself and the unlimited potential I theoretically have held at any given point of my life.

I mean I have so much potential that I dropped out of seminary and have had a series of dead end jobs that have paid so little that I can afford gas and the occasional meal out on the town with those I con/blackmail/bribe and kidnap into spending the time with me.

It is almost criminal how popular I am.

Yes.

I do crack myself up with my slightly nonsensical ramblings.

Happiness can't be found if you don't want it or aren't looking for it.

I know it sounds so silly and impossible but I think I have forgotten how to look for it and relish it in the small things.

I mean, at fourteen, I thought my job was to fix the world. You know, that can sort of screw a kids head up. What kind of crazy thought is that? I didn't even know WHAT a Bono was much less WHO he was.

I knew bits and pieces of music that I had no identification for but at the same time I saw U2 for the first time when I was fourteen and the television was on. I don't watch football if I can help it but I saw the halftime show of the Super Bowl. I don't know if it was the first time I heard "Where the Streets Have No Name" but it certainly was not the first time I felt that feeling of God entering the room.

Once again I'm not talking about Bono. His charisma (some say ego or his sunglasses) can be seen from space but my point is that like any willing person who is honest and doing what they love a certain joy and excitement comes across.

Joy is infectious but so is living in the doldrums.

No matter what a person is looking for they will find it. If they want the dark and all the pain in this world to drown themselves in then they can find it or you know, there is always the hope option.

Even those of us in circumstances out of our control and beyond our cognitive thought processes still get to choose how WE react.

Were we made for glory?
That is a sincere question that demands a personal and sincere answer.

If life is more than random incidental collisions of particle that don't even agree with each other from second to second, if life is more than just the base chemical reactions, more than the ideas of flesh and learning processes, if life is indeed more than what we can possible dare to dream than what are we made for?

What are these longings, these desires, these dreams, these hopes and the need for them?

It is interesting to think that Psalm 14 says, loosely, that "Only a fool says in his heart there is no God."

What does that mean?

That maybe, belief in God isn't this mental exercise, this sort of book or head knowledge that gets tallied up along with your blood pressure. That to understand God is to understand that nothing is something. To believe in God takes more than just our collectively exhausted mental exercises that are honestly just menial and trite at their best.

It's not like I can judge someone for not believing or call them a fool myself.

Personally, if I was an alien that came to earth and saw Pat Robertson on television I think I would stay just long enough to declare war on the earth and get it demolished as soon as extra terrestrially possible.

Faith is weird and paradoxical, which tends to scare people. Everyone wants an easy answear for something complex.

For example:

1 + 1 = ?

I.The answer everyone likes is two.

II.The answer from what I understand of truth is that humanity is loved by this mostly incomprehensible huge force of perfect divinity with no beginning or end and that calling him Yahweh is easier and more compact and that this Yahweh guy made rocks, trees, and people with personalities and free will. At some point things kind of got out of hand and so began this amazing love story of Yahweh trying to get His people to return to Him and had its climax with a Rabbi who said he was Yahweh and a man said some really neat things and made a lot of religious people angry enough to get him killed. Then you got the whole idea of salvation from sin, the restoration of the soul, the idea of people like minded living in community to support one another and only about twenty thousand different ideas I left out.

Which one would make the better bumper sticker?
I know these aren't original truths but I like to think I have been keeping an open mind with my search and from what I can tell they are all parts of what make up this amazing truth that is more infinite and unknowable than the female mind. Or theoretical physics for that matter.

Both intensely difficult subjects that make me break out in hives.

Although I'm not sure what hives really are. Except that bee's tend to live in them and they are a band with a strong fashion sense.

So girls and physics make me like honey and wearing suits.

Isn't logical progression a fun game?


Hmmm...maybe more later...

I am sad.

And sort of scared at the same time.

I am.

Truth is odd.
It goes hand in hand with trust though.
It's something I don't have much of when I look in the mirror.

I hear jeering voices mostly and my own sense of self imposed impending doom.


Hmm as much as I talk about metaphorical voices I'm surprised I haven't been locked up in a padded room yet.

Yay.

Is it sad I'm finding more theological relevance in some Queen songs than I do most 'Christian' ones?

I'm missing a magical little thing I would like to call 'job security'.

To do list:

-Finish applying on seminary websites for information.
-Find church resume and update it, then send it out.
-Continue to work on book
-Don't forget about work
-Continue working on the "Secret Project" for release at a later time.
-Keep trying to find a potential other job in case the store closes
-Remember to carry around a paper version of this list so I can add to it when I need to and not risk forgetting the three to five items which I can no longer remember. *sigh*

I could go for some rain right now, a torrential down pour onto my soul. Something to wash this exhaustion away with, something to start the day over with.

I don't know, I don't know and I don't know.

I'm in some of the worst pain yet...and to top it off I missed U2's performance at the Grammys.

Go figure.

I'm feeling a bit tired with some hope going about somewhere.
But other times I feel so false and fake.
Paper thin and unable to make it.

I think I have discovered the end of despair but this world is good at fooling you. Is the problem seeing too much of myself when I should see more?

Perhaps, perhaps. Narcissism is a word at the top of my vocabulary.

Thankfully there is more than me, much more than me.

I'm not sure how I am feeling.
Right now at least.

Another brick wall.

I'm not sure how to see around something so immense and dare I say scary?

God, I just want to run and hide from all of this.
This monster I have created.

It is crazy, it is disturbing and a horror show wrapped in one. Being given the gift of creation with no limits but my imagination and whatever twists it can create?

Yikes.

It's like taking a look in me and being repulsed and sickend but just enough to continue staying in this mad circular loop and not find my way home to freedom.

So many false words can cloud my mind and my throat as I stand here, just trying to form real and articulate thoughts.

I want to hate love and fear it. From everyone and everything. The affection scares me if I was to be perfectly honest. I know truth, I've been exposed to its searing beauty, the feeling of having the dark separated form light, seeing my little habits and trinkets of a life devoted to self just fall out of thin air and lay beside me, idols I could never conceive of.

It is a crime to be so narcissistic.
But this is more.
It's my life I have embraced for so long.
This path of self devoted self destruction, playing the role of disheartened pilgrim or prophet forced into self impose exile with just as many contradictions as that statement.

I want to hide from this creature I have created.
It feels more like monster than man.
More beast than human.
This towering and pulsating profane tower of crudely assembled flesh and organic material. Some pride here, anger there and of course unnecessary amounts of envy and lust.

Odd mixtures I have created and worked to perfect.
Yet, there is more.
There is more than the simple pain or the complex quotient demanding resolution in a most perplexing way.

The longings of my heart are true.
To bathe in unearthly light, to feel the self obsessed narcissistic garbage I have been wearing called "Matthew" just wash away and just be me. Not this build up little action finger capable of several articulate movements, instead just free to breath and not be caught up in worthless and time consuming self berating.

Because it is just self worship.

Idol casting and really I don't even like how my nose turned out on the statue.
I never really wanted it that much anyway.
Just a little step, a little fresh air.
Before casting off the shackles and heading into the west.
Crossing a vast ocean for lands undying and such.

Thankfully peace, hope and love remain.
And they shall conquer all.

I can pretend to understand me but that would be a bigger lie then anything else that has escape my lips in this lifetime.

I could continue to open these scars and bleed until the self rightousness is fufilled but God, I am so tired of it all.

As quick as I am to abandon truth, love, hope and reality in the name of compromise and chilidish dream chasing of phantoms long dead, truth is more evident in the midsts of confusion and even dispair.

The pain is a cold shock.

Diving deep into the bitter chill just to realize the truth I knew to begin with, that what I'm looking for has been found.

It is another morning for what it is all worth.

Sometimes I hate myself beyond any absolutely conceivably describable rage, right now would indeed be one of those times.

Taste is indeed the enemy of art.

I'm feeling like a bit insomniatic with just a touch of megalomatic.

Deceleration

Shades of Seasons will be published.

It has to be published.

I will publish it myself and sell it if I have to.

I'm hanging on a thin thread and gasping for air while trying to not loose the last visages of sanity that is remaining.

Every last prattled word will have meaning that you never it could have.

There will be no end to this and every turn you perceive as a disappointed failure will be yet another victory I will turn around to destroy you with.

There is no end in sight because every line is sightless, every thought pattern is interconnected to the overwhelming presence of absolute truth and you will not, I repeat, will not and never bring me down and destroy that which was preordained.

I may simply be the clay vessel that will be broken and sprinkled out across this world but the word will live on, the message will live on despite your interference since the garden.

Do what you will with your forked tongue and bite deep on my veins and spread thy venom as you will. I welcome you closer so that I might shove the dagger of absolution of all sin deeper into your spine.

His will be done and may you suffer in your eternal night of despondent regret.

Half Eaten Chocolate BeLoved Mixed With Bitter Sweet Love Stationed Right Next to Visceral Visual Pornography

The notes and chords strike down right now, soaring melodies fluent in every language but the one I can use right now.

Words simply defy gravity as I beg to steal some sense of mind, of peace about everything.

You know that idea that everything will be okay.

That despite growing trepidation everything will be okay.

It seems like religion is good for one thing and that one thing is that if you embrace it you are readying yourself for impact. You are trying to see reality head on and then let yourself just crash full on unto the ground.

Shattering like a bottle of aged wine, letting the purplish aged flavor splash across the sand, making awkward lines from the shards of glass as the ground drinks up every last sin.

It is this funny sense of vertigo, loosing sense of who you are and just why the hell you are even there in the first place; letting your hair down and kicking your shoes off just long enough to realize you are out of mind, out of place and the fact you were in the wrong neighborhood to begin with.

It's a trip, trip in your mind and through it.
Realizing the water is shallower that it looks
that looks are everything and you are what I mistook
when I took a look to look outside
and try and find beauty.
Instead I found a shallow pond
and not my ocean.
My soul used to ache for you
and now it is simply repulsed.
I would make outlines of my sins in blood
just to see you smile.
Now I want it back.
My time, my smiles, my heart and my blood.
Every wasted breath, every broken promise
and every half truth that gave birth to a lie.

I'm not asking for much,
really,
just a little bit of everything
and not much else.
Just a bit of sanctity
in a world of indulgence.
A little bit of purity
when every thought
is burning lust through that last.
A little bit of this
and a little bit of that
all that is good
and a little bit worst.
Just a tiny bit of pain.
Little bit burning
and a whole lot worse.

I can't give you anything more than this half formed lies that I pretend to believe. Your pictures are beauty that makes me cry, your skin is perfect just like the lies you wear on your shoulders like that lace you hold onto so dear.

I want to say I understand life but the more I see, the more I feel, the more I experince it all leaves me more unraveled than the last. It's like that pale lace dress, just starting to unravel; unlacing the lace really in a sad sort of way.

Some sort of way that makes me as nauseated as only real life can.

Humans cannot bear too much reality, much like T.S. Elliot said and I myself have endured more of its bitter sting than I can scarcely comprehend.

I feel the building tension in my throat as I brace to scream.

I've grown so sick of this world and this retched revolving vile procession. I feel the bible build and I want to vomit out all this pain, this growing resentment I feel. The shame of me being jealous of this trash you love to call your God, this jade statue that can't even hear your useless pining.

Hearing every useless scream that is never said as it rings in my ears, this useless bitter and trite conversation I have with myself every single night.

Why do i run circles in these squares?

Isn't it about I anyway?

As the music continues to hum with static hisses and popping screams across my electrical synapses causing my soul to relate in ways I don't even understand, maybe even while I still have your attention at this very moment I can remmeber just how slutty my own spiritual walk is while I am growing so fond of pointing fingers and throwing jagged stones.

I love seeing the blood of the guilty spilled so I think mine would be a good addition, right?

I mean, every time I see a good idea I love to be enamored with it, fawn over it and try to supplant the desires you placed in my heart at the beginning of this long night of dark pain.

I try in vain, I try so damn hard to forget you. I lay naked on this mixture of gravel and pavement and I just pull myself forward and let the jagged edges just rip into every last part of my body, letting blood just spill over onto the ground and fill in the cracks making such a pretty pretty petty pattern on the ground for you to see.

My religion, my spiritual endeavors of selfish self indulgent self assured fiction that I love to paint all over myself.



The hours bleed by into moments separated by segments of serrated edges.
Exasperatingly enough time stand stills every time I stare at the clock, not even the second hand is nice enough to click aaway for me.

But the moment I slow down long enough to realize things are not about me the time rips through me in ways I can't even pretend to understand and you know, oh God you know the pain it rips forward out of the soul and paints all over the walls and the floor and the ceiling. All of this bitter pain of ideas lost, lusted over and bought again and again for a petty little price you couldn't have sold me on if you tried, just because I wanted it for free.

Yeah, On and On About Nothing Particular

Curiously enough, looking back over the past couple of years with my writing habits I think I'm approaching the end of what I like to think of as my "post nanowrimo burn out" but it's not just being burned out with writing...it's with life and
living here.

I started this blog a couple of months after returning home from college and I didn't necessarily mean for it to chronicle my flirtations with insanity but in ways it has...it's like reading the journal of some sort of mad man...or really just a confused kid dealing with depression.

That's all I feel like.

This kid.

This kid with dirt on his face and untie shoelaces, lost and looking for his mother. Or maybe just his father.

I don't know.

I really don't know very well.

It may be me coming off of the pain medication from yesterday or just the nightly meds for my stomach but I just feel so...outside of myself. Beside myself and beyond myself.

It's this weird feeling I get. These weird convulsed thoughts that just seem to pulsate as they rattle through my often hazy labyrinth of a mind.
Maybe I'll just get used to the meds or maybe I'll change with them.

Or something.

I'm not making much sense in my heard much less out on here.

Current headlines?

I'm updating my viral protection for my pc and laptop.

Yes.

Exciting I know.

Almost as exciting as the presidential election was, except this will actually effect me if I get a virus on my pc and laptop.

I'm also having more trouble than usual as far as spelling is concerned. Boy am I grateful for the spell check function on Mozilla but this is just sad. I couldn't even spell concerned correctly just a minute ago.

There it goes again.

Maybe the medicine is just making me slower, just making me feel higher and less human. It sure does make all of life have this impossible dream like surrealism where I am not even sure if I am awake or dreaming.

More than boredom interlaced with tedium and insanity it is just this mediocre false sense of security that I do not even pretend to understand.

I don't feel alive or real, it is almost like life has been reduced to this two dimensional card board paste black and white clock in and clock out being jerked around by the neck surrealistic reality television show lie.

I need air.

I need to breath.

I've forgotten the taste of sweet oxygen while being trapped in this shell, this lie I fell in love with and openly embraced so I wouldn't have to bother thinking of what being free really meant.

If this really is the first day of the rest of my life then I don't even know if it is really worth living.

Is it really worth enduring this mad and senseless scramble for pleasure when the only reward is a cheap high followed by having the world crash down on my shoulders?

I've got nothing to offer this moment, nothing to offer but mere criticism about the tedium and pain.

Seeing people pass like puppets in front of a spotlight, chanting terribly worded mantras about pop culture and cash for less.

I do not want to face the world, I never meant to throw myself out into things like I have, all I want to do is try and crawl back into bed and pray for a quick death, you know cheap freedom from my mind and physical ailments that serve to only remind me how cheap life is.

Introspective looks only serve to remind me I'm a shadow of an image that looks in a mirror terrified of being and more important, please remmeber this, terrified of even feeling a thing.

Feeling creating being, if not, it just at least points out that you do indeed exsist and have a great responsibility tasked upon you. That responsibility of life, living life with all of its shame and beauty.

It is looking to find purpose in a vast article of rambling nothingness, I'm rather sure it is there and I believe rather strongly in purpose...but God it hates, God does it hurt so much to be born and then be reborn in this pain. Being a living shadow seeking redemption and hoping for the remarkable to save me just before my final pained breath of air.

*sigh*