=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= SoulDome -------- i live in a room constructed by myself. it's not the tangible type of room, nor the type that you "crash" in when you need a place to sleep or hang out. my room crashes all on its own. it's soundproof and airtight, and the only thing that leaves it externally conspicuous is surface tension. that is to say, if you inflate a balloon under some dirt, the dirt's going to shift a bit to make room for it. everything stays inside. nothing may escape until the pressure's gotten too much and the balloon will pop. for some reason, i have a deathly trepidation of the room exploding. not so much in and of itself, but... but just what would happen. i'm sure it's something that i wouldn't want, were i in a sane state of mind (is there such a thing?). it might be self-destructive, or maybe just plain explosive. bloody or cacophonous. i would say "hateful or just a bleeding of despair", but i've been noticing more and more that the line separating those two is smudged into a pastel blend. there's almost no difference at all. none except how the light reflects off of them. anger is a fighter's despair, and desperation is a vacuous anger. desperation is all the energy and anti-energy of hatred with the fight removed. if anger is a serrated knife, then desperation is a serrated handle. the room itself is kind of like a window. not like i, myself, am behind a pane of glass, but as though something within me is. i suppose that, should it be true that such things as souls exist, it is my soul contained by this alienating cellophane. like there's just some...some block between my body and something within it, and each needs the other so it's just hurting both. like two lovers in cells a little past two arms' reach apart. in short, it always feels like something's missing. i don't know what "it" is, nor "something", but..."it" needs that something, and that something is not in "it". everything has this unmistakable and disorientingly bewildering sense of lacking something. everything is a broad term, eh? needs to be. "everything includes how i feel, what i think, my ambitions, other peoples' ambitions, other people themselves (both individually and collectively), ideals, beliefs, nature, the world, the universe, the atoms that make it all up... it goes on. sunsets hypnotize me. a beautiful landscape or scene captivates me, especially if it has the smell of fresh, un-building-or-exhaust-perverted air to it. i love the fall air smell and feeling right now. it makes me want to run away from every person in the world, to my own spot in some gorgeous woods, and just...expire there, slowly taking in the splendor of my surroundings as i descend into a peaceful reverie of death. needless to say; i won't. life's not quite that kind. never has it been easy for me to appreciate this fact much, but...i live for the little things. i don't mean the little hugs or kisses kinds of things, or the "good things come in small packages" banal bullshit. i mean, nintendo. guitar. masturbation. email. anything that will kill the time in the day with the least pain and do its best to keep my mind off of the gnawing and caustic sense of utter sequestration from the rest of the race that i feel like i have imposed on me. i think i've been living my whole life on the subconscious tenet that i would just live for whatever pleasure i could wring out of life until i can get no more, and then just kill myself. is that not fucking PATHETIC? the rest of the known world just sucks it up and moves on when they feel like something's bothering them, but not me -- oh, no! i just shut right down and wait to off myself. i honestly would feel compelled to kick myself if i didn't feel like that's all i HAVE been doing all these years... i don't know if i'll be another suicide statistic or not. i really don't. i refuse to make my mind up about something like that until i really feel compelled to decide. it's not an easy decision... "to be, or not to be?" maybe it's just the constraint that bothers me. i read an article in which the author said that he tried promiscuity to commit suicide; hoping that he'd get AIDS. suddenly, after the 17th time or so, he realized with horror that he could also be infecting his new partners if he'd actually succeeded in the contraction. he stopped, and it turned out that he was clean. now, that kind of thing makes no sense to me. i mean, it does and i've considered it, but i don't like the idea of that kind of time limit. i also remember a FUCK article about how much the author hated suicidalism and depressive people talking about killing themselves with nonchalance or even enthusiasm. well, although i don't think i'm quite laughing this off anyway, i'm making no promises that i'm going to do it any more than not. is that a good sign? i can't tell anymore. "can't tell." i can't tell anything anymore. can anyone tell me; are there REALLY people who enjoy living? like, people who look FORWARD to the thought of living; to the future? or is it all faked and a sham, and i'm a black sheep in a black flock, after all? i don't know. thanks for listening, my room got a little too hot and the air just a bit too thin. i think i'll return to it now; i've got a fine sunday to kill from inside it. perhaps some day i'll air the place out; i just haven't figured out how. in the meantime, you know where you can't find me. -agrajag http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Club/1610/Dep.html =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions = = Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = To receive new issues through mail, mail majordomo@attrition.org with = = "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back = = issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK = = FTP.DTO.NET /pub/zines/fuck = = FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK = = WWW http://www.attrition.org/~fuck = = http://aomt.netmegs.com/fuck = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=