Desperation and sin.
Sin and desperation.
I am getting desperate. Sitting and waiting has become my forté, "Wait for change" my motto. It's surprising how effective waiting for a bad situation to resolve itself is. Effective, but not at all satisfying. Now, in theory, if you wait for a bad situation to turn into a good one, the situation itself can get better or worse. For me, usually better. But there's a downside: things always become less interesting. If you sit around long enough to wait for the ideal situation to occur you'll just wind up with less time and more bills.
I think I might have a strong will, but I've never really tested it. Instead of force myself to bear some hardship, I subconsciously put myself in situations where I have no choice but to endure said hardship. It's weird. Even now, I'm trying to do the same thing to get myself into a different situation. Danger doesn't matter at this point. Wait, no, let me clarify that: danger does matter. Any truly constructive effort, any process that really matters, entails danger. Peril. Otherwise people would make real, meaningful accomplishments

every

day.

Every personal psychological discovery comes at the danger of the person seeing themselves as they are in truth. What could happen then? At the time, to those contemplating facing their demons, it feels as if one's very self will vanish from existence. I'm feeling like that now. If I can't change something big now . . .
No. I choose not to live that reality. I will make a different one.

Ha. Pfeh. I'm currently on a jag of excitement, so I see the world as a character in a play might: One-dimensionally and sort of shaky. Maybe I can run faster than the world itself, thusly exceeding reality itself. I don't fear danger, but rather see it as opportunities for heroism. Hmmm . . .

My body is telling me that it wants to give up. It's a feeling where you might not be drained of energy, but drained of all will to go on, no matter how insignificant the task. This might be a glimmer of survival instinct on the part of my body, or even my mind. I feel very fatigued.

At many occasions, I think about making very permanent and very hurtful breaks with good friends. I never do, completely, but I start moving in the direction where maybe I say the wrong thing (on purpose), maybe I blow them off when they need me. When I do stop, it's not out of any emotion, but from the fear of lack of resources (whatever they may be) that person may allow me access to directly or indirectly. Looking back over my previous entries, it appears that perhaps I should get some new friends or, more likely, less friends. No matter what, I am not able to deny the sadistic instinct. But what if I were to follow it? What then?

I don't like where I am. I've always had a huge urge to leave, to someplace with a different feel, a different smell, and a different mindset. Whenever this overwhelms me I have a vision, a vision that soothes me. For a while now, whenever I daydreamed of where I wanted to be, I've dreamed of Neuestadt. All of the houses are made of wood, and there's always a softness to the light. I don't want to find this place; I want to make it. I want to make a place where people just live their lives.

In shifts, old me dies. Over the period of maybe a month, I have started to give up all activities, predilections, and needs. To prepare for a wonderful time: when I change. Every so often, I try to change the focus of my life. It feels like more than that, though. It feels miraculous to give up all prior ties that I have had. It gives me a wider range of possibility than I feel at any other time. Potential, people always tell me, is something that I waste foolishly. I feel more potential in letting go of all commitments than I do in attending to people's desires. It seems like this recent change is about not pleasing people, not saying white lies, things like that. I feel more calm, more aware, more in control of my mind. It's nice.

A good friend once told me that the reason he used intoxicants was that his time intoxicated was the only time that he got rest from constant thoughts of sex. I intoxicate because I wished, all of my life, to become a great, wonderful hero. When I finally took the time to try and plan how to accomplish this, I realized that the person I wanted to become can't possibly exist in the world as it is. It's not a flaw in the world, or a flaw in me, but simply an inconsistency between the two that's impossible to change. I hope now and forever that I'm wrong, but whether or not it's possible, I can't find any reasonable answer to the big question: "What to do now?"

A group of people long ago believed that within the nature of reality itself, there was some horrible flaw that makes all of the injustices in the world. This flaw, so deep a part of reality, could only be excised after the end had come, and it was too late to live our lives. These people believed that, at the end, their King would return, release us from the suffering of the world, and right all of the wrongs.

What is there to do, though, while waiting?
It appears that I have chosen intoxication. Most people I've encountered feel some aspect of the broken promise believed in by that group of people to be eased when intoxicated. I don't know anymore if I should spend my time trying to achieve something that seems to be incompatible with all I've observed, or simply travel my way to some foreign land and try to start a new life, a new something, a new way to look at things. I'm tired and right now I am going to rest.

MARCH

I feel that I need a new template for looking at the world. A different way to put together all of the things to look at, and different objects to focus on. Maybe I look at people too much. I think I should maybe pay more attention to things of very little consequence on people, or at least of very little visual importance to most. Solder flux. Plates. Radio. Tack. I think I need some quiet time.

I guess I've alienated a couple people in my life recently. It's odd, though, because I don't feel any remorse except for the loss of any future benefit they could provide me. Is this because I had only self-interest in mind when interacting with them, or did I alienate them because I felt no connection compelling continued acquaintance? I was, in the physical sense and in a broader sense, very close to some of these people. Still, I can only view this abrupt end as a mere inevitability. I feel confused, but not too much. It seems that it was time to move on.

I feel as if I must now seek some lost innocence, and, in the stead of penance, atone through ignorance. Yeah.