I sit here reflecting on the many paths I've taken and crossed in my life in the mediocre bask of hotel room light. Thinking of friends and enemies and how to discern the two. Time provides the convenience of context that immediacy doesn't allow. That fleeting happiness doesn't allow. Facebook provides a convenient window for these ponderings to those who will have them. Most do not. In a wonderland of passed and cryptic memories of people that exist (in most cases) no further than their likenesses, I see more. I see friends and comrades who were no more loyal to me than to the audience that listened eagerly to jokes gained at my expense. I have a difficult time feeling much other than nothing and the intense, indignant desire to feel more. I feel betrayed by my own sense of passion and justice in its absense. Perhaps I'm happy because I'm in love and loved in return, with no need or conscious want of anything more in terms of social entanglement. Friends are superficial things, fickle as humans beings oft tend to be. It's not their fault, simply their nature. This is why I expect nothing and expect just as much in return. Still, if even an enemy extended his or her hand in remorse and friendship I would gladly accept. I'm stupid like that.

I feel groggy with a faint sense of pain inhabiting my spine from laying so long. How pathetic. My only productive act of the day was reading The Gunslinger, an engrossing if not meandering introduction to the epic Dark Tower series. More and more I wonder to myself if Steven King's vivid sexual descriptive power is accompanied by his free hand in a solitary act of "inspiration".

In the shower I'm drawn to a note that informs me of environmental awareness and how it somehow relates to towels. It's not illiteracy or vagueness that prevents me from absorbing the message, merely indifference. Somewhere someone is caring whether a tree will stand or fall. That person is not me. I'll take the towel, thank you. (If you find yourself judgemental of my actions with any sense of accusation toward me for not caring, please reflect upon the many causes you, yourself actively contribute to).

I wonder if anyone reads this. Furthermore, do they care? I don't even know if I do. This block of unorganized thought has occupied roughly a half hour of my time on this earth. Whether I'm glad or regretful at this fact is not apparent. Time is what it is, and it passes regardless of your action therein.

Requiem for a Dream is the Biggest Piece of Shit Movie Ever

I have never, in the course of my life, walked out on a movie until now. This poor excuse for a fucking construct of any sort is the most pretentious, sloppy, pointless, self-important heap of garbage I've ever had the misfortune to watch thirty minutes of. Everything about that movie strikes me as a failed attempt of an art school reject trying to "prove everyone wrong". I'm willing to bet my golden dollar that everyone involved was in a constant session of jacking themselves off to their own percieved "genius".

I hate, HATE the repeated use of what people have creatively (note: sarcasm) dubbed "hip hop shots". They're not cool, they're not innovative, and doing them twenty thousand fucking times won't change my mind on the matter. It's like Darren Aronofsky is sitting there in the room next to me repeatedly proclaiming "SEE WHAT I DID THERE?" every time it happens. Yes, Darren, I did see. Now go fucking ram a jagged spear up your rectum, you hack piece of shit.

I'm not even kidding when I say watching that movie put me in a literal state of physical distress. And no, it's not becauase the movie is "bleak" (I prefer the term "pointless"). It's because it's a terrible film. It totally, TOTALLY escapes me why ANYONE would like (nontheless LOVE) this movie. The sense of pretense underlying every single shot of every single frame is enough to make me vomit. Speaking of vomiting, I can't deal with Jennifer Connelly's eyebrows. They're just too fucking much. I (and this is no fucking joke; I say this with complete seriousness), thought she was a man for a good few minutes following her introduction. A weed-wacker would lack the sufficient strength to destroy those furry fucks.

I'm done with this. I can't even write this because I'm too distracted by the frightening image of Marlon Wayans' thrusting buttocks. In summary, if this was a living organism, I would shove a stick of dynamite up its dick hole (assuming it's male), remove its nipples with a rusty shovel, and beat it to death with a screaming animal (which I would let live because it didn't bring the great evil to the world that its victim did).

Worst movie ever.

Thoughts

- Karma does not exist. It's a silly, if not altogether irresponsible ideal that promises universal retribution for every evil and reward for every good deed ever commited. Think of all the misdeeds that go unpunished and all the good that goes unapppreciated. It's incomprehensible to think that every force is counterbalanced by an equal, opposing one. Not only that, but I think such a belief robs the human endeavor of any sense of personal responsibility and conscience. It's easy to sit and think of how you will be rewarded for every good thing you've done and everyone that's ever wronged you will be wronged themselves by divine intervention. It's lazy and egotistical. A person should do good because it's the right thing and handle the evils of the world (theirs and others, alike) with a clear mind and responsibility. There's no invisible weight upon our souls, except for that which we accept, willingly or not. The universe is a system of stimulus and response. Even if the majority of the time actions are met with suitable counterreactions, this isn't divine intervention - punching someone in the face usually will warrant a punch back and holding a door for someone will usually warrant a "thank you". It's just rationality. To do good for nothing but personal gain is detestable, as is believing God will punish evil on your behalf. Law exists for a reason. It's up to mankind to supervise and ultimately answer to itself.

- Love will ultimately save the world, and forgiveness will redeem it. This is more difficult than it sounds. Love, in all its forms, is a process. Some things are easy to love, while others seem impossible. It's a pursuit based in understanding and empathy. We are all human beings. This is what we all have in common. A framework, if you will. Should we always forgive? What are the conditions? Is it possible to love and forgive everyone? This I don't know, as I don't know the ultimate fate of the world. All I know is that's the goal. Whether we'll ever see the punchline to this funny little joke of an endeavor is beyond me.

- I believe people now when they say they're "too busy". Now, that doesn't discount from it from usually being an excuse. It is. But now I accept it as a possibility.

"Don't Forget to Breathe"

Imagine forgetting to breathe. Imagine such basic, essential knowledge escaping you. What would you do? Assuming that you even KNOW where the closest assisted-breathing device is, how would you get to it in time to save yourself? You wouldn't have the strength to ask someone to give their breath to you. Even if they did, it would fail to keep you alive for any amount of time and you would, inevitably, die.

Human memory constantly makes errors. Perhaps not frequently of such magnitude, but it's undeniable that such lapses occur. Is it such an impossible proposition that one of the infinite, complex functions of the human brain will fail at its most daunting task and, as a result of its shortcoming, the spark that associates "breath" with "life" will defuse, causing the ultimate slip of the tongue?

Now consider that, at any given moment, your brain is occupied in said infinite functions, meaning that, at any and every point and time, this rather silly form of demise is entirely possible.

Thus, I leave you with this most practical tip in the difficult journey that is life: "Don't forget to breathe".

The Monster in the Closet

Self-evaluation is a difficult, meticulous, frightening venture, altogether obscured by the tedium and preoccupations of everyday life. Few of us tread this dark path and fewer succeed in answering any of the questions either time or honesty permit to be asked. Why are we here? Where are we going? What is our true nature? What's the validity of our lives and the ultimate meaning at their end? More and more I find myself suspecting that there is an ulterior truth to the mundane order that is "normalcy".

Day after day, we go through the motions, unsuspecting that anything is occurring beyond our immediate reach. We have jobs, relationships - the list goes on. It's in between the hustle and bustle of obligation that we're left alone to face the crisis of idleness. And what do we do? We play video games, watch movies, eat, pursue sexual gratification - all fun, but ultimately pointless endeavors. Now consider being robbed of any of these options, or any options at all, and being made to sit in a room for an extended period of time. Alone, but for the indifference of the walls surrounding you. Your mind begins its labor of analyzation, evaluating and decoding every word you have ever spoken and every action you have ever taken, trying desperately to remember the motivation and the desired versus actual outcome of said occurences. As an author edits his work draft by draft in pursuit of utter perfection, you percieve everything that was, is, and could be as a direct result of your existence. How much real influence do you have in the chaotic foray of life?

It is often said that anyone can achieve anything with the utmost work, motivation, and persistence. Even if one reaches their goal, despite all physical, financial, or any other God-implemented handicap, what next? You're President of Earth, but one day you'll be the president of nothing more than a mound of dirt that, with no pride, suffocates the rotting carcass of someone who lives in nothing more than the fond memories of future mound-mates and poorly financed PBS specials.

Memories. What an amazing compliment to the already convulted human construct. Even psychologists don't understand their work. I'd go as far as to say that they are even "creepy". Sure, we as a society question the validity of phenomenon such as ESP, but accept this highly mysterious and powerful function as the "norm". It's an old philosophic supposition that memories are indeed the fabled human soul, and that is the only way that one may outlive their own demise. Evolutionary proponents will add that our unwavering pursuit of fucking is also an attempt at immortality through the venue of offspring. I can't help but believe both (the former due to its sheer appeal, the latter because "they said so").

However, these are very general in application. Very few of us have the luxury of knowing why we are doing what we are and the foresight to know what will become of us in the future. Sure, we're going to school or working because we want to "further ourselves" or "make money", but what would you do if you could do anything you wanted? This is the thought that fucking haunts me, that goes bump in my night. What is humanity's true face? What are the deep, dark desires repressed by the all-powerful social system? How many demons are truly among us and why do they exist? Are they, ironically, the result of repression or an inherent factor in the human equation?

This leads me to a rather bleak theory: our lives, relationships, pursuits - indeed, everything that defines us as both individuals and as a species - are the result of massive social conditioning. It is an acknowledged fact that conditioning exists. However, try to comprehend this very simply truth. Everything you do and believe are not you, but what society tells you to be. What you thought you are is just a mask bound tightly over your primordial flesh with the tenderness only fear and desperation may provide. In other words, you are nothing more than a fictional construct whose sole purpose is a lie to mask the horror that is your true self.

Do I propose we all go out and gratify these urges, disregarding the laws that keep our world afloat? Of course not. Anarchy is an ideal reserved only for ninteenth Russian philosophers and 14-year-old kids that buy ripped jeans at Wal-Mart with the belief that their purchase is an affront to the omnicient "Man". Laws exist for a reason, even if their existence is a lie. It's the lie that makes it meaningful.

I've come to two conclusions: either mankind has come to some unanimous understanding at some undetermined point in the course of human history that their nature is indeed evil and hedonistic and they implemented these things called "law" and "order" to contain it, or they are blissfully oblivious, avoiding this fact like a pink elephant by continuing about their silly lives without question or insight.

I don't for a second claim that anything I say is true. Afterall, these are meandering thoughts occuring in the early morning hours on a soda-induced euphoria. It is just as likely that these theories are true that I'm spattering utter bullshit. I'd like to believe I am. I'd like to believe there's no monster in the closet. However, from time to time I can see him peeking out at me. Watching. Waiting.

It's for this reason that I cannot sleep.