It is time for release.

It has been too long, my little black book. Maybe I am feeling as I am because I have neglected your reflections for too long. As my thoughts spew through my being and into you, I come to realize that I don't even know where to begin, or continue, rather. I suppose I must reinstate what I said in the last entry; that this existence is no easier whatsoever, and that it is impossible for me to escape this undying loneliness. My actions and etiquette have strayed from my goals of late, and my mind has been filled with demoralizing thoughts. Is it wrong that I sit in an ever decaying physical world, wishing that the human race was not the Earth's cancer? Is it wrong that I hope for hope itself? That I contemplate thinking for the sake of thought? That I change in the name of change? I tell myself that this is the way that things should be, and yet every day I see the opposite from other. I cannot help but shed a tear when reflecting upon what we have become; what I have become. To keep this pain pent up in my spirit forces my mind more towards madness, behind this self constructed barrier. The true war soaked battlefield is within my very essence. The metaphysical pain can be cured by physical release, however, and what remains is the beauty of the body. The art of my essence. The creation of beauty ushers in such immense states absolute pleasure, for I have discovered another euphoria. Euphoria. It frees my being from its loneliness for some time, yet some time is not all time. Some time that is time nonetheless.

-Trash Incarnate; February 12, 2010 ~ 10:40 pm

The visit with my father, the visit with my home.

I arrived expecting nothing more than the regular enjoyable yet unexciting times I have with my dad, those times that have become so scarce of late. Yet, this time it felt much different, like my father sensed that I needed assistance with my direction in life. I hadn't seen him in almost seven months, for I am just beginning to rise up out of the roughest time of my life thus far, and felt that I needed to see my dad again. My father brought me to a place where I felt utterly at home, in that grungy town. I had never felt as genuinely content as I did when I was in that place, and I have felt few emotional connections that are as potent as the connections with my father that day. Now I am returning to my mother's house. This place that I am supposed to be able to call my home, yet I cannot feel the same way since I was so easily thrown out without any remorse. And they expect me to feel the same way as I once did here? Never. Once unwelcome, always unwelcome. This was once my home. This is not my home. This can never again be my home. Now I am returning to my mother's house, with new inspiration and new direction because of my father. More inspiration than I have ever felt in my entire life. There is only one thing that I have devoted my life to, and I have now never been so sure about my life's direction. I will retain the will to continue onward in my dreams, and I feel that the only direction my life can go from here is forward and upward. Life already feels like less of a burden, even though I know that nothing has changed.. yet. I will achieve what I am so devotedly working towards.

-Adam; January 23, 2009 ~ 4:10 pm

Others don't care? Incorrect! There are select few whom I still matter to.

A day in that is filled with burning combustion is always a grand day, indeed! For within such days I breathe in more smoke of the sages than the tainted oxygen of our society. The combustion of the elders enables the cracking open of the mind; realms. The combustion of the elders enables the clarification of rationality; reflection. Said days are filled with knowledge and idiocy, learning and forgetting, achievement and struggle, cleanliness and filth, growth and regression, might and weakness, giving and taking, happiness and fear, love and rage; all utterly trapped in a chaotic maelstrom that at its end has left a single thing behind. This thing that had been lost to me for all too long; forever-age. Still, it is never quite as satisfying as that waterfall that calls herself hope, and will never compare to that endless garden that calls herself love. However, it does remind me of their true emotion; reality. This thing is the embrace that calls itself reassurance. The resolve gained from its embrace is nothing short of immense, and confidence is restored with ecstatic haste. Others do still care.

-Magmatide; December 24, 2009 ~ 1:10 am

I will cease this consumption.

It has been little time since my last entry, however this sorrow is utterly overwhelming and seemingly infinite. I am stuck in a frighteningly terrible position. But, I realize now that I have already lost her either way, I suppose.. Oh! How I dream of crushing him, delivering unto to him the entirety of my hatred and rage in the form of physical anguish. This rage that resides at the core of my very essence, tearing away at the parts of me that are beyond the boundaries of the physical. This all consuming hatred. I have never before wanted to break a person as much as I do now, truly and severely shatter him until he is nothing but the dirt from which he came. However, I do accept that he will not present to me an opportunity to unleash this consumption, and once again I will have to force this ever growing cancer of spiteful emotion back into the depths of my essence until I cannot suppress it any longer.

-Adam; December 19, 2009 ~ 2:50 pm

Your eyes do not play tricks on you; they show you brief moments of truth.

There have been many devils trickling their way through the cracks and corners of my immediate existence lately. I have yet to catch them doing anything other than wandering, or watching. Further still, there is never an occasion in which they wander and watch. There have been few said devils that I have noticed in particular; watchers. These ones that I have noticed revisit me in the same few depths of my optics, seemingly thrilled that I am capable of seeing them at all. Now this makes me wonder; if these devils are watching me, are they watching others as well? Or to others are they wanderers? Are these wandering devils that slip through my existence not for me? I will remain in constant pursuit of these questions, I suppose. These wandering devils pass through in plain sight, even right before my physical being at times, for they are not frightened. However, when there are devils around that are watching it is very perplexing. These ones are always hiding in one way or another; behind, under, inside, part of. Devils watching do not seem to occupy one physical space, but instead a wide array of spaces, all unimaginably close to each other, and these spaces in which they exist know no boundaries. I am certain that they are aware of my devotion to watching them back, with all of the intensity that they have watched my being. Even now their movement is relentless and unresting. This leads me to ponder just how many devils I did not even realize had wandered by, or more saddening yet, had watched me without my being realizing. Have they chosen to reveal themselves? Or am I breaking away from my being?

-Gas Mask Man; December 19, 2009 ~ 5:25 am