Wednesday, January 30, 2002
(1:45 p.m.) [link]
I just slogged (and I do mean slogged) through the first 2 eps of Record of Lodoss War (tv). Perhaps some would say that is not enough to base the rest of the series on, but I swear if I sit through anymore, I'll hark up my spleen.
In short, it sucks.
Sub sucks, dub really sucks. Anymore sucking and I'd say call it "Little Boy Blue" instead.
Stiff animation and stiffer acting. Generic plot (IMO). Music is a let down after hearing the music from the OAVs. And this came after that?
I am so happy I didn't pay money for the tapes like I planned.
The only other part I'll look at are the last few eps, just to see what happens(ed) to Ashram (whom I liked from the OAVs and was momentarily happy to see back in the TV series). But 10 to 1 he winds up dead anyway.
So far as RoLW TV goes, no thanks.
I'll sit here and rewatch my OAV tapes, thanks.
breathless / Breathe here
Tuesday, January 29, 2002
(10:43 a.m.) [link]
I've been so tired lately. All I want to do is sleep, but when I lay down, I either can't sleep, or it takes me forever to drift off, only to have someone/thing wake me right back up. But I'm tired. It's hard to focus, especially on modifying this code so it looks decent without screwing up the perl programming itself.
It's a dream of mine to learn perl, I just can't find any classes I can reach. Does anyone know of a Perl class online? I'll let my geek show as I say I think it's such a cool language. But that's just me.
Still, this wouldn't explain me being so tired, when I wasn't just last week. I was fine last week. Got rid of some stress as I retired (temp? perm?) from the yaoi fandom (everyone is taking it too seriously. Good grief, it's a fandom, not a circle of wannabe pullitzer prize writers).
Why am I so tired? Why is it so hard to focus?
Then it hits me. Ugh. I must be close. Soon it will be...
That Time of the Month
Ahh, melodrama.
Seriously, I figured I must be getting close. I always get tired around there. Iron loss, I guess, even though I take multi vitamins every day. And it's early. Too too too early. All the drama that's been going on IRL must have helped it along. Yippee.
And I wonder why don't men have something they go through (other than midlife crisis, which many have dubbed the "stupid years" of a man life, worse than puberty). Maybe if they did, they could understand...
...then again, I don't understand, and I'm the one going through it.
I don't like my horomones, (already unstable anyway), taking on a life of their own. I don't like being snappish and upset and ready to just fall out and wish I could press the button to blow up the world. I don't, really.
But it's just not something that can easily be controlled (outside of many drugs).
I don't wish this on my worst enemy, I just wish I could help the opposite gender understand a little better. I think some do, just not enough.
At the same time, I wish I could make the majority of females a bit more logical in their thinking, as well. For one thing, (unlike many I've encountered), I don't think men should be mind readers, nor do I believe that, even after years of being with one, they will be any more sensitive to my emotions than the day we first met. It's not going to happen. (Frankly, I treat a lot of guys like I have to spell everything out to them. It actually helps keep frustration down on both sides, and they seem to appreciate it.) Hence one of the reasons why when I do find I'm either close to or on the tide, I make sure everybody knows.
I can't control my moods, but I sure as hell can warn others about them.
Is there a point to this? Sorta. Mindless observations.
I wish I could make men understand better, and women more logical in their output.
...yeah, guess that's the point.
1 sigh / Breathe here
Sunday, January 27, 2002
(10:56 p.m.) [link]
Today was quiet, and I was able to sleep. Glory be.
Last night, I felt like an underpaid counselor. Sue me, I'm too tired to look up the correct spelling if that's wrong. Anyway, the list went like this: Mother and brother's girlfriend, then brother, then mother, then younger sister, then back to mother. The story is too long and convoluted to explain, but apparently I was the only logical voice in the house.
Let's not get intot he fact that they came in my room to talked to me, but never once asked me if I really wanted to listen.
I didn't.
That pretty much killed my night last night. I fell asleep today to catch up. I'm still so tired. I guess it's an emotional exhaustion.
Lovely. Someone willing to shoot me yet? Anyone?
breathless / Breathe here
Saturday, January 26, 2002
(3:19 p.m.) [link]
So another day and another session of the neighbors "sharing" their music, this time directly beneath my room.
So I turn on an 80s song, "Groove is in the Heart". I don't feel any less violent towards my neighbors, and I'm still not over the events of yesterday and the day prior, but the urge to remember where I put the bullets and make their stereo my first murder victim have... lessened. Slightly.
Now I have the Gorillaz on. Sweet.
In other news, my order came in from Amazon. "The Complete Book of Magical Names" I'm going to (transcribe? I think that's right. Excuse me, I don't know where my dictionary is and I'm usually careful about word usage. I'm just slightly unhinged today) the section of "Magical Names of Distant Circles".
Losing Catala's Realm of Witchcraft was a huge blow to my name site resources. But at least I got them (and lots more) back.
Why yes, yes this is a boring, non-dramatic post. I figured it was about time I have at least one lest people think I'm insane 24/7. I'm not. More like 20/5. I put in enough insanity for a part time job. Yay me.
breathless / Breathe here
Friday, January 25, 2002
(7:51 p.m.) [link]
I said I'd finish it. Anyway, to shorten the story, I, who have never gotten out of bed before 10, am forced to get up, get dressed, be coherent, and go to her school... which is not close in any sense of the word.
Well I did it. I didn't like it, but I did it.
She also asked me to read the last entry in her journal.
Hello... I got the same condition you do... you think I want to hear about you wanting to kill yourself?!?! Do you think this is easy for me? You think I don't have the same thoughts? Well, actually, I don't. We have very different reasons for wanting the same thing.
No. She doesn't know. She'll never know unless she's reading this (and that makes me wonder how she got the URL and got savvy enough to ind this). So she doesn't know that every time she tries to make me understand what she's feeling and what she's going through, forgetting that I already know, she's in fact triggering the same thing in me, so then I have to control mine and hers.
...I love you, mother, but sometimes you can be so emotionally selfish.
breathless / Breathe here
(8:44 a.m.) [link]
Even though it's Friday morning now, trouble started yesterday morning. If I were religious, I'd say "the devil" had it in for me...
...but I'm not, and I blame everything, good and bad, on Fate.
Maybe I should start a new religion... Fateism.
Anyway, it started when the loud, uncouthe, assinine, low-intellect, former crackhead (this is a confirmed fact, trust me) started playing music around 9:30 am. The stereo is in a room down a small hall from me. My door was closed. I heard it clearly. My brother's room is directly overhead. He and his girlfriend were trying to sleep. Unable to do so, he decided to work on a song on the music generator (playstation2, but he boy needs real equipment one day, he's got talent, and no, I'm not biased. If he didn't, I'dve burned the game a long time ago). His tv has a very small speaker and is mono. I didn't hear it. I did hear the neighbor tune their music up. More than a little annoyed, David stomped on the floor. Next thimg I know, someone is bamming on the door and swearing up a blue streak. This insane woman claims part of the celing fell off (lie. I've dropped 10lb weights on the floor and it never fell off, or else she'd have said something sooner. That or she's stupid.) She also said her baby was in the room and if it had been hurt she'd be calling the police (so she's admitting to having an infant in the same room as a blasting stereo. Someone call Children's Social Services). My sister tried to go out and rationally talk to the woman to find out exactly what happened. Didn't work out, the woman is still swearing and making no sense whatsoever. Then wants to have the nerve to 1: blame it on Bri, who's room is on the opposite side, and 2: say we could have just come down there and said something.
History lesson, the first night this family moved in, they played music around 10 pm on through 11-12. Mom went down there and knocked, but nobody answered the door.
So the woman is just going on and on and screaming at Bri and she finally loses it. I swear for a minute I thought Bri would hit the woman. To quote Chris Rock, "I'm not saying that's right, but I can understand."
Mom called and I explaiend to her what was going on. She tried to talk ot Bri, but Bri was far past listening to anyone (by this time the woman had retreated to her porch and would not come out like she had before). So mom, who was at school, flew home. By the time she got back, everyone had more or less calmed down (the neighbors started playing the music again, though). Mom, however, was still upset and that in turn re-riled everyone else up (save me, I was the calmest one there, for once). The situation was explained, she called the management company. I don't know what will be done, but we're going to either force the company to relocate us or else file suit, as because of the tenents they've allowed to let come in, we've all suffered some extensive emotional problems, and it's interfering with our ability to go to school/work.
Okay, that was Thursday morning. This morning I'm awaken around 6ish by my sister, who hands me a letter from mo asking that I go to school and explain to her prof why she can't go to class today (so hopefully he won't drop her). Apparently she tried to take a bottle of pills (she said my picture stopped her. It has a mean expression on it, and she knew I'd be pissed). So I go in and talk to her. She's bi-polar (where do you think i got it from) and is apparently going through a crisis situation. I'll finish this when I get back.
breathless / Breathe here
Wednesday, January 23, 2002
(12:28 a.m.) [link]
After reading what I could about bi-polar specifically and depression in general (and realizing I have been screwed by my parents genes) I shall head off to bed with this bit I recall reading in my ex-therapist's office (while waiting for her to show up):
"People who suffer from depression often trigger their condition when they become introspective. Contemplation, especially alone, has been known to cause distinct mood swings, usually feelings of worthlessness and/or lonliness. If continued unchecked, this can lead into a more acute period of depression, which begins the cycle."
Sorry, can't remember the book or I'd list it.
Basically, left to my own thoughts, I'll trigger my own depression?
....well, I guess I'm screwed. Good night everybody.
breathless / Breathe here
(12:15 a.m.) [link]
Please, O Lord, make the nice psychiatrist give me some happy pills. I've earned them by now, haven't I?
breathless / Breathe here
(12:13 a.m.) [link]
12:08 a.m. as I start this, don't know when I'll stop.
I want to stop. I want the world to stop.
I want it to stop and I want off this ride.
Because I don't want to keep seeing the beasts. Big, soul darkened creatures that slowly drain the world dry of life and happiness and joy... if such things still exist anymore.
And I don't want to keep seeing the demons. Not the ones of religious doctrine, but far worse, with mishapened minds that can twist another because they are jealous and will not rest until all thoughts are as ugly as their own.
I don't want to keep seeing the monsters as they tear the land through, uncaring of life, whether a human, animal, or plant. They won't stop until everything is a wasteland for their kind to breed on.
I don't want to see them anymore... because every time I do, they wear a face much like my own.
breathless / Breathe here
Tuesday, January 22, 2002
(2:51 p.m.) [link]
I wish I could get rid of this condition... which I whole heartedly blame my mother for.
I don't like having my emotions dictate who I am. I don't like having something trigger a depression, because there are so many triggers.
I certainly don't like having to take a pill.
I've always said normalcy is highly overrated. I still believe that and won't change.
I don't want to be normal...
...but I'd like to be emotionally sane. (key word: emotionally)
I'd like to have someone IRL to be able to talk to or go out with or just maybe get things off my chest to. And I'd always be happy to listen to them in return.
...reminds me of my last friendship. Ended terribly. I made sure I was available, to the point of attending a funeral to a person who I did not like, surrounded by a family that didn't like me. I didn't go for them, I went for her.
But she didn't understand, that's a two-way street.
You give and give and there'll be nothing left if the other just takes and takes. That's all she did, too... take.
Honestly, yes, I'm still resentful about it. I wasn't asking for money or some huge favor or really any at all.
I just wanted her to listen to me without judgement, without some ready bit of (lame) advice...
...and definitely without turning it around to her own problems that I've been more than willing to listen to for the upteenth time.
But I have to give up. I don't think I'm going to find this kind of compromise with anyone...
...almost anyone.
My computer is becoming my most treasured friend, and my bitterest enemy.
I love how people will tell me to just get out... go socialize...
...ain't that easy.
First you have to find someone with common interests.
Definitely not happening here, and the only place it could happen is just too far away.
too too far
Then you have to be able to face people, which has become increasingly diffcult as time goes on. If I'm not just scared to death because I don't know if "today's my day" (for a bullet, that is), then I'm seeing it all in red.
I don't want to go to jail, even if the person I'd wind up killing did deserve it.
I'm trapped in a prison, my own doing, more than likely. It's not that easy, though I wish it were.
Well, I do want to break out. I guess... after I've rested, I'm going to start looking into the causes and possible means of curing/controlling this problem.
::sigh::
I guess the first thing I should do is... admit it. To myself. I can say the words, but how do I make myself believe them?
...would it seem melodramatic to say it here? ...probably, but... just...
...I suffer from bi-polar disorder...
...and I want out.
breathless / Breathe here
Monday, January 21, 2002
(9:23 a.m.) [link]
For the next few days, I'm going to overwork my brain and try and come up with a plausible theory as why certain things/people become popular, while something that is of the same caliber... doesn't.
Something tells me, however, whatever reasons I manage to discover or come up with, won't be to my liking.
1 sigh / Breathe here
Sunday, January 20, 2002
(10:55 a.m.) [link]
Welcome to the hood...
Your freedom of speech isn't suppressed.
Your right of choice isn't compromised.
Your religious preference isn't ridiculed.
Your war stance, whether pro or anti, isn't questioned...
...nor is your political one.
Why is this? How could such a place be a social haven from all manner of judgements from narrowminded people?
Simple.
Nobody gives a rat's ass.
However...
Your life is generally in danger.
You are no longer regarded as an intelligent human.
Indeed, any display of intelligence can get you marked as a social outcast.
Bullets have no names.
War stance doesn't matter when you're already in a fighting zone.
Police are no better than the residents.
I dunno, it's a tough call to make... having FBI come to your door to harass you about your feelings for government, or this place. I'll go flip a coin on it later.
breathless / Breathe here
(9:20 a.m.) [link]
It's extremely cold... I'm in Cali, and it's extremely cold...
Because this place has no insulation. Actually this place is made with toilet paper and spit.
I'm going to see another therapist on the 24th. I'm not holding my breath there'll be much improvement. County-provided services tend to be way below services paid for either by the patient or by healthcare (depending on the type).
My mother has a letter written from her therapist. She's going to either force the current management company to relocate us, or she's sueing for emotional distress. Along with the letter that dates how long she's been in therapy (over a year), she has audio tapes of the noise levels around here, pictures of illegal gambling on premises, overflowing trash dumpsters, hazardous health conditions, etc. The coup de grāce is the tape of the party leading to the shooting.
I've been here for nine years, perhaps more. It wasn't always like this. The complex was newly relocated (old building, hence the lack of such modern amenities like insulation) and we were, in fact, the first family to move in. But whoever did the screening did a lousy job. The third family in began downfall. Loud music, though at least they confined it to waking hours of the day...
I've seen families come and go, each progressively worst than the last. Now I have one underneath me who like to make my walls vibrate with their music at any time, day or night.
Think they care mom's a heart patient, or that the stress stops me from coding or learning new programming languages? Course not. My respect level would double if they knew what I meant when I said computer program.
I know I've always had a slight emotional problem. Emphasis on slight. It was never this bad, though. Now, after living here, one could perhaps classify me as a danger to society.
...what a hoot.
But for the sake of my family and my freedom, I've confined my violent homocidal and suicidal tendencies to writing.
I wasn't expecting Mo`re out of all this, but whatever works.
Lapses in sanity, sociopathic tendencies, a rather apathetic view towards the sanctity of life and towards religion...
...I guess he was only a matter of time, then, looking at it.
So now, without further ado, I present another Mo`re Moment...
[Warning]
I think it was cold. It certainly wasn't hot by any stretch of the imagination.
Makes me wonder how long we'd been there.
...and stiff, definitely stiff.
Thing wouldn't budge an inch unless I broke a part off.
That would have been stupid, considering I was looking for the other parts.
It's like trying to put a 3D jigsaw puzzle together, only a lot more.. ah... decomposed.
...and smelly.
I wonder if this is the time that it would sink or float? Next time this happens, I should experiment.
...this little piddy went to market... this little piddy stayed home... this little piddy I found in the corner...
Um... let me see... this is a... that's a... what part is this, anyway? Ah well. I'll just toss that. It's like the extra screws you get when assembling a bike.
...there's a religion icon on a chain... cross, if I'm not mistaken. I wonder what sect of Christianity...
...or was it just a fashion piece?
Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name...
I was there when it was written. It's just words. I suppose one could theorize that there is a certain kind of energy humans extend through their faith and belief in these types of things...
...I want a bologna sandwich.
There's a... oh! The left thumb! Almost through!
...whoops. No problem, we'll use glue... hey, I didn't say your head could fall off! You know how much toruble I had piecing that back together...??
The kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven...
I'd like to know when I became Death's assistant... or maybe I'm making him work overtime. Now that would be funny. A little payback for ignoring me.
...I think that index finger goes on the other hand...
I wonder if I could get away with artistic license.
Give us this day our daily bread...
That part was redundant. I tried to tell them, but nobody listened to me...
...and forgive us our debts...
I've too big a bill to ignore, I would think.
...as we forgive our debtors...
Never in a million years until I'm the one cold, dead, and in the ground, or a thousand ashes spread out to sea. I'd like for them to try living this long without reprieve, watching the world around you get closer to hell until it surpasses the "dreaded" damnation of souls. Hah! Real hell... that's in living... or being forced to come back.
...someone remind me not to hold a body part when I'm upset. Ick... I don't think I can put that back together. Well, not like you're going to be having any kids anyway...
...I'll use putty for the hole.
...voila. I have successfully rebuilt... something. Okay, this tears it, I'm going to take those anatomy refresher classes. This does not look like the original.
Ah well, I'll just break it down and put it in the garbage disposal.
...without the cross. It'll just mess the machine up...
...as always.
breathless / Breathe here
Saturday, January 19, 2002
(6:04 p.m.) [link]
Two weekends ago... (don't start that why are you talking about it this week, because I'm only now composed enough to talk about it)...
...two weekends ago, I revisted a song...
...t'was the melodious sounds of multiple shots fired randomly at a dense crowd.
I was inside, but that doesn't really matter. Bullets have been known to go through walls with enough provocation. In fact, they have. Many a moon ago one nearly shortened my brother's life. (Had he been over to his right by six inches, I wouldn't have him around to bug me today. Compute that, six inches saved his life...) So walls mean nothing.
My sister was outside at the time. She hurried inside (proof that overweight people can run with proper incentive).
She had a friend with her who said all 21 young years passed in front of her eyes.
Oddly enough, mine didn't.
I was mere yards away. Some plaster separated me from Death. Very. Weak. Plaster.
I didn't flinch. I wasn't scared. I didn't get flashes of my life and mournful regrets.
Not saying I was happy, nor would I have been about dying. Truth, it probably would have sucked big time for those I'd leave behind...
..but no fear and no sadness.
I can't say if I'd go to heaven or hell, or even if I'm accepted the fact that such places exist (it's debatable).
I can't say my death would have meant much.
I can't really say anything...
...save the sounds were somewhat haunting...
...
And looking back, I heard the cries and tears of others that can only have been heard by someone who knows the sound intimately. Someone who lives within a community that has been built around the symbolism these noises represent.
Forget the war on terrorism, forget being shellshock, forget war victims...
I can show you all of that right here.
...I want to show you that violent symphony being argued and debated about as it occurs in far off lands is really only a few miles away.
...there was a victim. I last heard he (he? Believe it was a he... a nameless person...) is in ICU.
But with the shots I heard the echoes.
...I heard the tears of babes as they would never know their father being struck by that sound.
I heard the cries of mothers/wives/sisters weeping over graves of lives much to young now gone.
I heard the sirens breaking the illusion of peace during the night to send off another victim.
Perhaps... perhaps I heard in that sound, the sound of my own stepfather as his life was cut short when his face was blown off.
Perhaps.
I know I heard the sound of lives irrevocably changed from both ends of the barrel.
I stopped crying a long time ago. Tears... they don't change the sounds that echo.
I admit to being insane. I'm one of the few. I can see the lines of insanity, and where I crossed them. I crossed them two weeks ago as I listened to the shots fired.
...I just smiled and thought they had a nice pitch.
breathless / Breathe here
Friday, January 18, 2002
(7:18 p.m.) [link]
First off, to anyone thinking of criticising this weird design (or this journal period), let me say a few things first. (Then if you simply must let your point be known afterward, I'm not responsible for the moron-o-meter breaking due to overload).
Yes, I know the design is weird. Yes, I know I shouldn't have a busy background where the text is. Yes, yes, yes, I know I'm breaking all manner of implied/expressed/limitating/anal rules of web deisgn in doing this.
So we've established that as a fact.
But...
This isn't a site for public consumption.
This isn't a site trying to sell anything.
This isn't a site trying to be up there with the Joneses of web design.
This isn't a site that will get me fame, fortune, or notorioty.
This isn't a site made for the average surfer, (if in fact made for any surfer at all).
...and so on and so forth.
This is a site for my personal expression.
This is a site to reflect my views and opinions for myself.
This is a site to mirror my emotions at any given time.
This is a site to give me freedom of the above in a comfortable environment.
This is a site that allows me to rant and rave to the only being that will listen without judgement and/or prejudice... my computer.
But perhaps more importantly than any of those things...
Nobody is forced to be here.
That being said, if this admittedly eclectic design is not to anyone's liking, there are other sites I'm sure will be all to happy in serving the masses proper web design etiquette.
In short, feel free to leave.
I'm not out to make friends and/or allies here. I'm here solely to have an outlet that will keep me from killing the residents of this area... for a five mile radius. If anyone wishes to see how I go about performing such a task, you're welcome to do so...
...but in the end, I must selfishly proclaim that this is for me, and I shall do with it as I see fit, and that is all.
I may be the only one who reads it, too. I wouldn't be surprised after the previous piece. All well and good. This way everyone knows where everyone stands.
That being said, again, I am not responsible in case the moron-o-meter explodes.
Thank you.
breathless / Breathe here
(12:23 a.m.) [link]
Which is worse... complaining about things you have no control over...
...or complaining about something nobody is forcing you to do?
And don't give me that "don't complain at all" because people are born to complain.
Why complain about a site/fic/blog/show/etc... when (unless you were like me and had to sit thorugh the original Gidget movie in HS drama class because your teacher was a wanker) you don't have to go to these places or look at these things?
It makes no sense.
And then you want to write about it...
...isn't that a waste of time?
BTW, the only good that came out of HS was being forced to sit through the movie "Sayonara" and realising I liked it.
breathless / Breathe here
Thursday, January 17, 2002
(5:05 p.m.) [link]
I wish I could forget. I wish I could lose myself somewhere far beyond pain and darkness. I wish to become intangible... ghostly...
nothing.
I wish I could let things like sadness and anger pass through me like my fingers do against the wind.
To be so... be not...
I wish I were not sitting here right now, wishing I could forget the very thing I'm remembering.
Confusion.... one-oh-one.
I wish...
And would I be a ghost? Forever condemned to haunt the dusty halls of an abandoned house... a forgotten memory...
...to be forgotten...
...to forget...
Oblivion.
It frightens many... but now I crave for it. For a peace born as only nonexistance can bring.
Because, as Hamlet said, we may still dream in the sleep of death, never to awaken.
Not to not be... to never have been...
Such a peace can only be imagined by those who do exist, because those who don't have no worries... no emotions... no cares...
nothing.
Do not think I'm afraid of this. I'm not. How can I be? I would not be to care at all, so I certainly would not be afraid.
I wish to forget...
...forget than I am.
breathless / Breathe here
