There are a thousand sanities worth leaving to take your madness home

It seems I'm getting worse at updating, but that would be because my enlightening states of mind are occurring less and less and I feel there's no point in writing if it means nothing to me. I mean to mean every word I say and in every word I say there should be some deeper cryptic meaning, if not literal and gut wrenching to the person who reads it. I am not so perfect.

I was informed today by my Lit. teacher that the story/poem/thingy I wrote below and turned in, was phenomenal. I hate it. How can he say that? He wants me to enter it into all sorts of literary contests. That would look good on college transcripts but I'm not sure how and when to submit it and I feel it's really incoherent and strange. I am not very proud of it and I only displayed it for the sole purpose of updating this thing.

Nothing much has happened lately to really to be passionate about except that I got the new mewithoutYou album. It made me happy.
I really don't know how to say this, but well, I think I was kind of meant to find this band. Out of everyone in this world and everything, nothing has grabbed me like this. Nothing has been so clear, this is God's spirit in a young man with a band. This band is like the only thing on earth that makes me feel completely connected to God, except for Him. And lately, I feel like maybe I'm not measuring up to my old expectations, but mostly not to his expectations. I'm completely indifferent. I hate this with whatever feeling I can muster at the moment. I just want to feel again. It's my ongoing plea. I want to feel the holy spirit envelop me like it did before. But I've started to realize God isn't a feeling no matter what they all say. I just haven't figured out what He is. And I never will. But Lord, if you can hear me, I am broken again and I need you. I don't mind if you don't come to me by one of my senses, but I want to know you are here somehow. It's not my job to presume what you are anyways, you aren't a sense.
All this sorrow and impending doom I've felt lately for my country, well, I just don't care anymore. No Lord! Shouldn't I be weeping more and more everyday? Shouldn't I be unimaginably sad and lonely? I don't want to be, but I feel that it's how to be awake. You feel that don't you? It's none of my business really. But I think it's been raining more from your tears, your tears for this mad world. Awaken us! Good God please!
Can't I be sure of anything anymore?

Tom said his creative moods were from a pendulum swing back and forth from creativity to nothingness again. Or something like that. Well I just think of the Pit and the Pendulum and how that pendulum gets ever closer...Sometime soon it's going to cut my chest all the way open and then I will be more accurate in saying that my heart bleed out of me. Maybe I'd cough up blood, in that case, there's just more literary symbolism in that and in that case maybe I'm sputtering and choking on it. I'd like to breathe for once. I don't know what I'm saying.

I wish people would stop presuming that they need to rebel against everything they've ever known. We grow up and want independence so badly and before we know it, we trade in everything for cold hearted logic. I'm afraid for my brother. He makes me wonder. He's afraid for me and thinks I'm a lunatic for believing what I've always known. Apparently if you've always known it, it can't be true. And apparently the church told me everything I think I know, therefore it isn't true. Well I don't really care what the church says, I'm quite content with my own experiences and things that can't be written or described. I'm pretty sure a few Sunday school classes didn't make me this way. Just made me more aware of a formal labeling for this sort of stuff. I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say here. I'm sad though. I don't feel it most of the time, but it's always there. I don't want to think I'm right and I really don't want to put a label to what's right and wrong, but there's too much wrong in what I see and I can't help thinking this is right, no matter how painful it feels. I'm trembling and buckling underneath all these lofty and meaningless labels that the world demands from me to make sense of myself, but I'm afraid I can't offer up one that they would except.

We bought a new car this weekend. My parents left Edric and I at the mall, which was nice at first but it got boring fast and I felt like we should have been somewhere else doing something else. Everytime I offered a place to go he'd say sure and then once we got there he wanted out. It was back and forth constantly and the only thing that pleased him was to sit down. But then he was afraid of people he knew coming by and seeing him. The mall just personifies what's wrong with us, I think. And by us, I mean everyone.
Anyways we were left there for three hours to wander around, while Mom and Dad looked at cars. And it was getting dark and they still weren't there to pick us up so I called them and they came by during a test drive and picked us up. We packed into this small VW Pasat station wagon with the poor salesman. He must have gotten worried with my dad driving. I must have made it worse when I suggested past test drives where he did doughnuts in the parking lot while on a test drive. We got back to the dealership and Edric and I sat around for a while talking about annoying people on his bus and such, and playing hangman. Then my mother informed me that they had bought the car. AH! Without me making this important decision? No! I started pitching but didn't really have time as I was made to clear out our Jeep and move everything to the other car. I had recently just put a $5 Wake Forest decal sticker on our old car. That pissed me off to now get rid of it. And I didn't even get to say good bye to our old car. I was almost in tears all while my poor friend Edric stood there and watched my foolishness. I hate to think that this is only a car.

Next week is Thanksgiving and I get the whole week off for once. I haven't thought about it much though.
This Friday our football team is supposed to play some sort of championship game far away and so half the school will be absent so they can travel to that game, but I think most will use it as an excuse to just plainly skip school. Why should football be what the school is centered around? It's ridiculous.

I miss Tom a whole lot and yet I'm not sure I feel anything. It's unbearably lonely without him, and yet I've never met him. Talking to a box just isn't good enough anymore. I really need him here. But I don't feel much of anything anymore.

But here's nine things I like about him:

-You are talented in areas I am not, namely music and dislocating body parts.
-You have a peculiar way of expressing yourself. I am always fascinated by even the simplest things you say. Usually.
-You see colors in music. That's a definate gift.
-You are intelligent and I can release my 'intelligence' on you without feeling too uncomfortable or held back by mind capacity restrictions.
-Everytime I speak to you I feel like I'm not being judged, at least not very strongly. And I feel wanted sometimes, but mostly needed. And that's not by things you say to me.
-I need you. You are the one I tell about everything. And every conversation flows even when we have nothing to say. It's truly a gift to have such a person like you in my life to be able to share myself with because I am a very different and conflicted individual and I need someone to know that and pretend to care.
-You look like someone I've been thinking of for a long time. I think I basically made this ideal person up in my head, and when I saw you I realized you really looked like it. But you are my new standard anyways.
-You help me to be myself.
-You are kind to me.
-You have opinions and a life and you don't think like everyone else. You are a true individual and an exception to all my rules.

Conversation that seems important to show for some reason:

Me- Your eye keeps looking at me.

Tom-Aye. I'm sorry. It tends to.

Me-Aww. I hope that was a compliment. Unless you were talking about the evil eye. The evil eye is hypnotizing. It's sucking me in. And it's swirling. I'm heading straight for that white dot in the center where the light hits. I wish I could just write a poem about this

Tom- do it. And say it's metaphorical

Me- I'd have to explain why this is significant to my childhood. I grew up to look at it. That's what

I forgot that I needed to sleep. My body will remind me tomorrow morning. And I've said this before, but we're in God's hands now. Now, if you'd just stare blankly at this screen until it sucks you in and you fall asleep on the keyboard wondering what sort of curse this was, I'll be happy. Everyone needs more sleep than they get. I'll be happy too, if someone would send my Tommy boy this way. No one needs to be alone anymore.

Someone make me afraid of what I've become!

A 'poem' about childhood I had to write for Lit. class. I used some old journal entries for it. Awful it is:

It just might be one of those Friday feeling days says I
As I look to my hugging tree for a hug.
I always had one when the world seemed free.
I might just be a hippy that doesn't require tofu and lives in a tie-dyed world of psychedelic acid trips without the acid trips. I might just run off with the hippies and feel alive.
Yes, these are the times I feel alive, that feeling I would say is hippyish, is more reminiscent of childhood than any other feeling.
(And if you think childhood has nothing to do with being a hippy, then apparently you’ve never met a real one)
And childhood was alive.
I just didn't realize it at the time.

Such a precocious child I was, sitting on the sewer eating a Popsicle and taking it all in with a sense of wonder, that I would later bitterly call life-what a female dog.
How wrong I am!
Then I believed I could touch the stars and soar above the houses and off into the distance, maybe to the neighborhood pool or in the creek looking for some sort of adventure where I could surely come back covered in mud, or maybe just next door at the neighbor’s house where I could plant stink bombs in his car.
I’d fly off to the future and find myself as a teacher, teaching a class where everyone was named Emily and they all needed me desperately to discipline them as my parents had done for me.
Sometimes I was a gypsy and sometimes I was a witch or my mother because I could be anything I wanted to be.
It required that I keep a bag of bay leaves and meat tenderizer under my bed and prance about in my mother’s high heels and layers of necklaces.
Often a rousing game of POGs could cure a summer afternoon’s boredom or perhaps pulling Barbie doll heads off and filling them with ketchup.
Each morning for half an hour I was told what a special neighbor I was by a man that had an obvious case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Mr. Rogers.
And on the radio The Beatles told me all I needed was love.
And some nights when my invisible friend, Daisy, wasn’t there, or Peedie the pink teddy bear was in the laundry, I would wonder if a serial killer was under my bed or where I would go when I died.
These were the times spaghetti was ‘pasquetti’, book bag was ‘packpack’ and all adults were considered ‘dolts’.

Now that I am becoming a ‘dolt’, I’m losing my sense of wonder among all the ‘doltish’ things my life gets caught up in.
Someone remind me of what it feels like to be a child again, oh someone make me afraid of what I’ve become.
These days the only reminder of my childhood is that rare occasion I feel the need to run off with the hippies.But then, I am made up of youthful memories and monumental events that remind me where I come from and lead me to where I am going.

Invisible hands in a very very mad world

Grace and peace to you from our Lord Jesus Christ, my dearest journal readers. I forgot what I was going to say and so this journal is a result of it.

Tom might be rubbing off on me. I've been listening to Mad World on repeat.

All around me are familiar faces Worn out places, worn out faces Bright and early for their daily races Going nowhere, going nowhere
And their tears are filling up their glasses No expression, no expression Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow No tommorow, no tommorow
And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I'm dying Are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you Cause I find it hard to take When people run in circles It's a very, very Mad World
Children waiting for the day they feel good Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday Made to feel the way that every child should Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous No one knew me, no one knew me Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson Look right through me, look right through me

^^My life sometimes. I see it all sometimes the way it really is. Why I am burdened with that? Oh Lord have mercy on this wretched soul! This wretched way of life, this futile cause! I give it all to you. Please forgive me. Make me new again. I want purpose so I can give it to others.

I didn't intend on making this long. I wanted it to be short to represent my attention span, or you know, make an impact. I forgot how to do that I guess. And it's because I haven't ever done it. I forgot that and gave myself credit.

If I was a basket filled with holes Then she was the sand I tried to hold And ran out behind me As I swung with some invisible hands
I was dead, then alive She was like wine turned to water and turned back to wine You can pour us out, we won't mind A scratch around the mouth of the glass
My life is no longer mine.