Mmmmm...hardware stores.

I was reminded today why I love living outside of urban-dominant areas. One of perks of not living within the dominance of America's 13th largest company, Home Depot, is that you have REAL hardware stores where you can find ANYTHING YOU CAN IMAGINE and williamson's truvalue hardware store includes a paint bar. Although I'm sure it was never intended to be a bar, it uncannily resembles one. One paint maker tends 4 or 5 various old school paint machines and surrounding her is a about a 3ft. tall counter with little swivle seats in a semi-circle. One could easily seen the resembelance if one were to replace the paint machines with various top and bottom shelf liqours. I just thought it was neat and pretty interesting. Also, going to a store with a very large assortment of sledge hammers is somehow reassuring. (i.e. zombie attacks)

I seriously am losing touch with people.

As many know, I've lost touched with my Pikeville reality. Very Alice in Wonderland nowadays..topsy-turvy etc.
Now it's coming to my attention that I'm horribly unhip. I'm not indie in an acceptable way. At one time that would have pleased me. But it seems to bother me. I have no culture to integrate into when I escape the confines of appilacha. I go out alone, dreaming and hoping for people that mean something to me.
It's scary to think that not wearing enough black and band regalla is justifiable reason to alienate me.

She's put the anal sex/debauchery behind her. Her overtly cutsie/lovey dovey behaviour makes me wince. It's truly sad or maybe it's I who am sad.

I miss my friend.
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I have a question.

Where do dreams go when we lose sight of them?
What happens to the things we never thought would change when they do?
When do I forget the way the landscape of my life looked before the juggernaut of fate rolled through?

Water tastes sweeter than honey right now.
I wish I could sleep like I did when I was 10.

This is SHEER GOLD!!

Me: I don't want to exist to be a cog in capitalism.

The Colonel (Next buddah in training): Just be a cog that doesn't fit.

Hmmmm....I wasn't aware that in a career one had a choice.

My mantra about the working world, at least since I entered college, was to do what you loved and in doing what you loved you would do it well and in doing something well you could make a suitable living. I find despair in the oddest places. Where it was a porno before, I found a haunting message in the comedy of "Office Space". While trying to be a very lighthearted and VERY FUNNY satire on the state of office politics and psychology in the late 20th century, one might ask him or herself, "What has really changed?" I contend that the situation has only worsened. The working world, today, is one that appears soulless and uninvited. My little bit of experience with it was way too much. Yet I fear the path of the cubicle is the path that lies ahead for many, if not all of us. Get your diploma, get your Bachelors, get your Masters...we all end up working for people who don't want to be there and subsequently take it out on us.
It's all so unhappy and if you think about it logically, I could see why. What really constitutes the American Economy anymore? All we do is work jobs that supply other people like us with shit and services we don't really need but use so that we can escape a little bit outside of our jobs that, in the end, are unfulfilled. The tragic cycle grows and obliterates everywhere I look. It's only getting worse to me. All I ever have is a sense of the impending doom that is embodied under the banner of "becoming an adult". I wanna be creative, I want to love the people that share my labor and my vision. I don't want to work in a cold, foreign, and inhuman machine. I don't want to be productive, I want to be profound. Quality over Quantity. I guess that's why I'm writing now, I guess that's why I've been terrified that past couple of weeks. I feel the spark of genius fading in my own mind. Ask me two months ago, "Chad what are you capable of?" I would have told you, "I'm going to shake the very foundations of the modern psyche. I'm going to wake so many people up that somethings got to give."
The only solace I can take is that I MIGHT have a chance from what I've seen myself do so far. Many of the people are dear to me also got a fighting chance as well. But I KNOW that pure blind luck will pick off far to many of them and place them in the mundane world that hangs like a grey suffocating cloud all around me. I might be better off because I'm aware of this. At least I know what I'm up against. The only way we can escape is to burn so hot and bright that we evaporate this cloud away from us. We have to be stars. We have to have the hit film no one expected. we have to write the book that will define our generation. We have to be someone that rushes at what we all fear to a certain degree and defy it with youthful optimism. I see the hope of my generation pinned on being something bigger than all this. I guess that isn't the a new problem, but when before do see so little integration. The people that have given up haven't been integrated, they are castaways. They struggle to at least survive. It won't last. There's no were to go.
I blame our past. We have no less than 3 generations that think we won't amount to anything and you know what, they might just be living out a self-fulfilling prophecy. There is enough of them to make it work. Blatant distrust of the young is at an all time high. Even I turn a weary eye to people that only a few years younger than me. I can only wonder what people think of me and my peers. We're going to tear ourselves apart. Maybe doing nothing is the answer, non-participation of what you feel is wrong. What if EVERYTHING is wrong? I have no west to see my future in like Kerouac did. I don't have the great love that so many novels, movies, and songs have promised me. A love that will make life worth living. At best it's been a pleasant, but ultimately hard won diversion.
I look teary eyed at the sky and mountains, which I love more now that ever, and ask whatever that placed me here and let me in on what I know, "Where am I to go? What am I to do?" The screen fades to black with just the right piece of music and the movie ends. The message has been conveyed and the viewer hopefully goes home without the apathy we so dearly hold on to.

I hate puzzles.

If you were to give me a book of crossword puzzles or search-a-word, I would promptly tell you to shove it up any warm orifice that would acomodate it. I loathe anything that has the beginning assumption that I must solve it, beat it. Give me anything that isn't meant to be looked into, and insights come a pouring. A conversation that isn't meant to be heard, I can recite it. A book that is hard to understand, I see more than author sometimes.
This rule of mine applies to women as well. I have found no desire and pleasure in the game of trying to figure what they want. Guessing intentions, deciphering meaning, etc. I don't like appraoching any situation where ambiguiety is the norm.

I hated blogger with all my soul last night.

I wrote an epic entry last night and it was lost to some random internet fuck up. It was a beautiful diatribe on how the works of men are generally futile and how we as a species feel the compulsion to do something, to have purpose. The analogy I used was that we suddenly came into existence and the cosmic spotlight is on us from the very beginning. The glare blinds us to who is watching and makes us feel the compulsion to preform, the problem is preform what?
I've realized that I've all but lost my conversation abilities. I find myself saying exactly what I have to say and then nothing else. Most people are made uncomfortable by this I think.

The universe spat in my eye.

Wonderful insightful post gone to SHIT because of a stupid web fuckup.
I'll try it again.

I wonder how many more days will there be where I awake to the sound of a lawnmower humming.

I often ask myself when I'm laboring at mass genocide in my front yard, "What good am I doing? Where does this event figure into the mass network of things?" It's liking pissing in the wind, you know where this is all going to end up. My few swipes at the layers of crap grass, moss, various weeds, and a minute amount of true honest to god grass will be futile in just a few days. My mother can be proud of her meticulous yard and home for one more day. She can feel that all is right with the world because she can have her lunch to Regis and Kelly while staring at her birds feasting on sunflower and thistle seeds that are kept on a post in that immaculate yard. She is free from the slings and arrows of neighborly disapproval for one more day. She reaches a calm and placated state most zen buddhists would long for.
It's infectous you know? The dull pacification that comes from having purpose. I gain it when I cut her lawn, take out her trash, etc, etc. Oddly enough this revelation I'm working on was started by a porno and a flash flood. In the middle of watching the creek behind my house wash away what is left of my back yard, a terrible fear overcame me. It was this horrible compulsion to hang on, to not let nature be. I couldn't stop that creek as much as I could stop that aforemetioned piss from smacking me in the face. Yet I wanted God or whomever could to stop it and became angered when it didn't. I was terrified that I might lose something. After consideration, I've realized that's all I've been concerned about since I've been home, not losing something and continuing having what I want/need.
We all do it though. We all try to fucking ice skate up hill. I heard that love was a chemical imbalance that harbored the illogical actions needed for compulation. Even the nature of biology, the shared fate of life, struggles against the oblivating tide of eternity. Finding god, finding her, finding your face in your child...they will all fail. Fucking and cumming on the hottest chick you know, eating that next meal to stay alive, building empires or huts, working a job you hate to have things that you won't have one day...they are all silent screams in the grand scope of it all. The reverberations will always be too small to hear. Why can't we just exist. We do for some reason and I think we fail to see it every day. It's not utterly apparent and too hard to figure out, so we make it up as we go along, feigning that we know every line but never had read the script. It's like you wake up one day and the spotlight is one you, following you wherever you go. You feel this cosmic attention focused on you and you have no clue what it wants from you. You try as you might to satisfy it. But it never goes away. I can have your soul for one night and what then? I'm tired of being creative about what to do before I die. I just want to be and see what happens. Have armies rage around me, lovers love around me, and worlds rise and fall around me and just watch. I'm tired of yelling into the unsounding abyss. I'm going to be quiet.