Like nothing ever happened

I stopped writing because there was simply too much to write. Two years ago after I came back from New York, I guess I felt like I had too much to say. That was my excuses to stop writing. There was just too much to say to catch up to all that has happened.

They say a book can change your life. Sunfood Diet Success System, Walden, Eating for Beauty, the Bible, As a Man Thinketh, and the Bible are books that have changed me. Somewhere along though, I stopped reading as well. Maybe I felt that there was too much to do besides read? I became more and more of a stimulation junkie over the past years. I guess books lacked the stimulation I wanted.

And so I sit here stimulated. I had an episode of rage a little while ago, but of course, the weed calmed me down. I was thinking about my life. Where it is, where it had once been, where it is going.

It seems to be going nowhere, really. I know it's not a great thing to tell the prospective employer so I make up this concept of what an apt pupil or eager student would say, and dammit I can play the part really well sometimes. The smart ones see through it and recognize the no good piece of shit I am. My bosses at work know I won't ever get anywhere, maybe that's why they allow me to make the mistakes I do because I don't really have much else going for myself.

There's no such thing as rock bottom. Things will continually get worse and worse as you allow them to. I mean, there's really no end to how bad things can get. The devil poisoned my soul and my sight. I see bad things, hear bad things, think bad things. My mom says I should spend 30 minutes a day feeding my soul.

Through studying philosophy and logic and critical analysis so much, I've learned to not accept anything. Of course, I took this to an extreme, and there is indeed nothing in this world I accept. In fact, I reject this world. I think of it unfair, wrong, and not worth living in unless you are one of the fortunate enough to be driven, motivated, and loved enough to want to move on blindly. People shun religion, but I admire it. Religion provides meaning, a philosophical blueprint, of how to build a stable life. It provides concepts meant to be understood as "beyond us" and therefore worth believing in to attain a better life. Creating a consciousness, and a law, that is understood to exist independently and guide us towards a "greater" good is only natural with human logic. Maybe some of us have grown to reject such concepts and others have fully integrated them into their lives. I don't have a core philosophy anymore. I'm just a madman lost in the world.

I feel like being motivated was just a phase for me that has passed, or maybe I'm a sobby little bitch. Or maybe the same thing that calms my rage is the same thing stopping me from getting up and changing my life: weed.

I don't believe in myself anymore. I really wanna die a lot of the time. I don't think I can change. I'll change for like a few months, then fall back asleep on my deathbed. Maybe this is just how I'm thinking because I'm in the dark and all I see is darkness and dark thoughts. I need to shed away these layers of dust blocking the lamp of my soul from shining.

I woke up the neighbors from yelling at myself loudly again. I'm sorry. It's suppose to be New Years Eve and were all supposed to be excited. About what? About realizing at the end of the year that I've gained no social accomplishments? That I'm still and ugly fuck loser that cant even secure a group of friends to party with at age 23? That the friends I once had could give a fuck less about my loser ass. I thought at least this year I would have someone to hold close when that clock strike but she fucking left me.

My anger book says that I have a lot of blind rage, and that I allow my anger to get so high that I lose all conscious thought and I act purely off of instinct and the "old brain". This is probable as no sane main would smash a bowl on his forehead, or break his own windshield, or crash his own car, or break his own foot, or his own blackberry. I can go on but why...

I'm tired of being angry all the time. I used to be happy, really happy. I had a drink with an old friend who is visiting LA and she knew me back when I was all about dancing, art, creativity, love, and being positive. Then, I don't know, the world brought me down and I, I stayed down there with everyone else.

Everyone isn't down there though. So many people found a way up, or out, or elsewhere. Where the fuck do I go from here? Can I still dance? I was contemplating over this "can I still dance" bullshit 2 years ago and ended just fucking my life up over contemplation. I'm bad at making decisions. I sometimes drive in circles for minutes to an hour because I can't decide what to do. I can count times I missed multiple opportunities after being caught in the ruts of my indecision and made none in the outcome.

Work provided stability. It nurtured the feeling of applying one's self daily and being able to reap the earnings with two monthly direct deposits. After searching for a position for almost a year, one would indefinitely feel committed to making the best impression to prevent such a search again. I wore my nicest black dress shoes, with newly purchased black slacks, and a fresh H&M collared v-neck to show I'm classy enough for rich people, yet hip enough for Santa Monica tourists. I swallowed customer's shit and chewed it with a smile. I was so good they had me work six days a week overtime my first few months.

It gave me a schedule and a reason to get out of bed. It gave me extra spending cash and at what better time than to have a dope ass girl to spend it with. I fit in, and with that fit I acquired a sense of belonging. I felt appreciated. Things were going in a good direction, and was eventually mentioned possible promotions. But of course I didn't get the promotion.....

Speaking of which, I gotta be at work at 10am, and I've stayed up til 6. Great Job!

The Relapse

I tried to change for the better. I went up into the woods and asked God to touch my soul. A girl who I had once let down brought me down with her. I lost it all. I fell for her but tripped into oblivion. When I finally hit the ground I exploded into light. I met Anna. We opened the door, we went into dreamland together.

But she woke up. I'm still in the dream. Or maybe I woke up and she's in the dream. Whatever the case, she's gone.

Maybe I'm handling it like a bitch. I handled it like a man for the first two weeks, then she called me over. I a wore a purple heart my heart on my sleeve unaware this would be a suicide mission. I died on the beaches of Normandy before I even got off the boat.

I thought I found true love this summer. I did, but she doesn't know it.

I became the boyfriend Margo wanted, when she was my age. Now I understand.

So many parts of me want to be violent. I'm tired of the violent urges without the violent results. The only thing I hurt is my property and my own self. What kind of faggot bitch shit is that? She didn't like it when I was violent, neither did I. The rush just gave me stimulation. I wish these violent urges would go away. I don't like taking it out on myself. I didn't deserve this scar on my forehead.

We all know I'm not going to do anything. So i drink and drink and sit and sit and play and play. I joke and joke to laugh and laugh hoping I might forget the pain. I smoke. I smoke. Smoke. Smoke. Smoke. But you smoked when things are good Andre, so what excuse do you have now?

There was a lady who called animal services on my dog Bigdoggy and made my mom pay a fee for reasons beyond knowing, but I attribute them towards personal grotesqueness. She built fences in between our houses and never asked for our permission to do so. It was an intrusive fence. Bricks and metal bars. The workers left all their residue on our side of the fence and never fixed it. I recall playing it was used to be a lawn, mixing cement and dirt that she never cleaned up. They always littered on our property because we didn't have the ability to keep it up. She left dirt on our side and pavement on hers. She eventually built metal bars in our backyard as well. The only reasons we received for her actions were invalid, made-up grudges and saw us as her enemy years later.

I went down to her house when I went to visit an old friend who lived on that same street the other week. I fulfilled some of my vengeful fantasies, but at minimal cost. Maybe I'm entertaining this thought too much.

Ironically, she attended the church I now attend.

The fault finder will always find faults, even in paradise.

Anna saw the best of me because I marketing myself to show my strengths. She applied for the position and so did I. Our relationship started like most of my jobs, first I am full of ambition and obedience, then I get used to my job and see what I can get away with, then I usually realize I wouldn't be going anywhere and eventually lose interest in the company. She kept her interest in the company, while I ended up being the slacker that showed up whenever he wanted.


Where did I go? I'm a ghost. I don't exist.

I dont dance anymore. That's the only thing that moved me forward. Fuck everything else, really.
I still want to kill myself, but knowing the pain my mom would feel knowing her only son was dead, keeps me alive.

I dont want to die, I just want to stop fucking up. I want to stop thinking bad things. I want to be happy and open and remain that way. I want to be driven, I wan't to believe in myself.

But I doubt, and therefore, I fail.

And then I get tired of being in the slow class, and try to break free from the bounds of my fatalist thought patterns.

And I actually do, for a good while.

Until I relapse and get stuck with myself, once again.