Patrick

My patience is gone. I'm sick of hearing people offer nothing but miserable excuses as to why they fail at this or that or why 'things like that' don't happen to 'people like me.' Get over yourself, bloody neanderthals. All the time you spend brooding over petty, largely nonexistent or of your own making, problems could be used in an effort to further your pursuits. Though, I suppose that employs far too many intelligent ideas for such a 'weak, distressed' meager being as you. Heaven forbid you find a path of purpose and leave nothing to bitch about in your insignificant life.

Heaven forbid I find a night free of having to councel you idiots time and time again, offering the same damned advice over ad infinitum. Stop being a bitch and do something for yourself. Its really quite simple.

... I declared, "Give me a fucking smoke!" Or not. After 10 years of smoking, I'm done. Last Wednesday was the last time I'll have ever smoked. I went from two packs a day to nothing. Never again do I want to hear some spinless nitwit bitch about how hard it is to quit (especially when they're using nicoderm in the process). Just stop. Its terrifically simple really. If a prolific smoker such as I who loved every moment of every cigeratte I ever met can go cold turkey on a whim, you too can be less than a bitch and just stop.

In memorium of all the smokes whose butts shall never cross my lips, this drink is for you...Salut! :)

You scored as Mathematics. You should be a Math major! Like Pythagoras, you are analytical, rational, and when are always ready to tackle the problem head-on! </td> Anthropology 100% Mathematics 100% Linguistics 92% Philosophy 92% Engineering 92% Journalism 92% Psychology 92% Sociology 83% Theater 83% English 83% Biology 75% Chemistry 75% Art 50% Dance 50% What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3) created with QuizFarm.com

“…for a man who wishes to act entirely up to his professions of virtue soon meets with what destroys him amongst so much that is evil.” Niccolo Machiavelli. These are the admissions of a coward who strives not for a furtherance of perceptively pure intent but to secure the good fellowship of brutes even more selfish than he; to attain robes lined in gold which otherwise lay beyond any civilized manner of procurement; or so he would have us believe. Though lavish fortune did not find its mark in Niccolo’s graces (surprise surprise), his archaic dribbling formed of feeble mind has found fit a place of nobility in establishing the foundation of thought for which we supreme civilized beings find makes a marvelous excuse if ever the ego anticipates an obstacle. Would he have us believe, “I error, therefore I Am.” ? It seems, sickeningly, so. Our society worships falsity and reveals in fecal infested novelty. We have evolved into a magnificent Sloth, which takes away the gruesome burden of ‘looking the other way’… we’re far to slow a creature to even notice an event of marked interest, and far to slow to take hold of what such an event might yield… so, ho hum, on we go taking laps on the path of repetition, making sure of course to trample at least one unique patch of grass previously unmolested so that the landscape might seem a new and exotic scene when embarking upon the next pass of the course. How great we evolved sloth’s are! For should we repeat the course in our own lifetime, the path traversed is little more than a distant nostalgic memory and we will proudly crawl on and stamp out a new patch of grass for those who are yet to come.

The air is thick with the erroneous reassurance emitted by hollow tongues in dark corners. Our grand evolution has necessitated the loss of depth perception so as to assure that if one foolishly wanders from the sanctity of a well-known dark corner, the fog at least will still follow to hold your vision in place.
The fog carries with it a stench so putrid that our progression to the sloth has also necessitated a change to our olfactory receptors so radical that the very hint of a sweet aroma will ensure the masses are sent into spasmodic convulsions until such time occurs when the Proper Authorities are able to rid society of this most foul nuisance.
Our sense of touch has experienced a similar decline. So dull and flat has this ability become that rarely is one aware of any object or event not previously known by the individual to be in direct proximity. Even at that, it is only the expansive amount of time spent by the object heckling any particular sloth that the individual might come to pay it an iota of casual attention, provided the fog is thick enough for one to properly see.

Throughout my existence I have always been aware of these perceptions to some extent. I have never believed the words of another on the premise that they held their speech as truth so it must be such, nor have I accepted the decisions and lifestyle choices of another as acceptable solutions for myself. I am tired of being tired, tired of being a ‘good citizen,’ bitter that, indeed, I do not live to my professions of virtue, and endlessly depressed at the wholly nonsensical repetition these virtual truths hold. No more. I will not exist for the truths of another that are falsities for myself. I will not hold my tongue in fear of punishment. I will find satisfaction only in pursuing life and the experience of life as I see fit. For my physical and mental health, I can exist no other way. To continue the current path presented by the making of others is to ensure continued misery and agony, and I will suffer this course no more. Some beings talk of free will, I intend to live it.

PS: I’m well aware I took our very dead Italian friend out of context.

Every evening spent at my parent’s house I make it a point to meander about the neighborhood, temperament or weather be damned. By 1 a.m. I am typically medicated enough to start my nightly adventure of traversing the concrete suburban jungle. Odd, that in a town populated with 30,000 souls I've yet to meet another being on my midnight escapades. I've traveled north and south, east and west, here, there, and back beyond that place we used to go... only everywhere I go, it seems I am the only one to be found. Surely I am not alone in seeking sundown adventure? On occasion, I might chance upon a shadow walking through a dimly lit living room or a tired car finding its way home, but never do I seem to happen upon those searching the shadows for things they may have missed earlier in the day. Should I not find another midnight adventurer in 100-years, I should never stop discovering each dwindling twilight anew. Though neither should I cease to amaze at how many a wondrous things are missed by those who’d pass chance for an extra hour of late-night television or early retirement.