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ive traveled to thailand and going to china this year, going to london early next year. i live in tokyo and its probably one of my favorite places in the world. when i was 18 i could barely leave the house, i was so agoraphobic, i was afraid of going to mcdonalds drive thru or making phone calls. i was 100% sure i would be homeless and go nowhere in life. now im blowin my trumpet at all them haters who said i wouldnt be shit.
the note in his pocket read: i will stop it, it will not stop me, i will not grow old

fighting in the shade

i used to feel guilty for my disgust in humanity. felt like an outsider. sometimes like a worm, crawling my way through the days. felt like a slug. opposing opinions to the stautus quo are quickly dismissed, and those who feel differently are pushed aside. as a raging river of mouths babbles about this and that, always the same thing, the same problems. it leaves a feeling of apathy, turpitude. but it also stirs up the flames inside. awakens a feeling that echoes inside every tortured soul. this is the root of our fucking rebellion. we realize that others are like us and it is ok. we are the jaded, the creative, the different. we are everyone who is not them.

and we watch the political circus go on. no longer afraid of our own emotions. learning to stand and no longer crawl. learning to fight in the shade. like the 300 spartans, overwhelmed, without a hope. they didn't throw up their hands and give up. because they knew they couldn't change anything. they were victims of circumstance. being jaded is not an action. choosing to fight despite knowing it is action. and they made an impact. damn right they made an impact.
the note in his pocket read: i will stop it, it will not stop me, i will not grow old
Private Witt: Do you ever feel lonely?
First Sgt. Edward Welsh: Only around people.
the note in his pocket read: i will stop it, it will not stop me, i will not grow old
i had a dream i found old photos in my brothers old room; a constellation lighting up the night sky, a solar/lunar eclipse taken by his ex-girlfriend. and just like that, a series of old memories and rare moments began to play back in my mind. know how they say your sense of smell has the strongest tie to memories? its false. my mind hopped a fence behind my grandmother's house, skateboarded and made music with childhood friends, walked to the corner store in the neighborhoods i grew up; i woke up feeling lonely for one of the first times in my life.
the note in his pocket read: i will stop it, it will not stop me, i will not grow old

Apr. 22nd, 2013

Any damage to the brain is unreliable at best. Brain damage results in that vegetative state. The bullet is flexible and the brain is resilient; you will end up as often as not a faceless, motionless wretch, trapped in a body that no longer moves, hearing and feeling a world you cannot touch, taste or see.

The heart is less resilient. Major disruption to the vena cavae, the ventricles, or the arteries will stop the body's ability to maintain necessary pressure. A fountain of blood will burst forth from the chest, staining the space around the body like so much rust; a temporary and tragic testament to a waste of lead and life and the love of those around. And do you know where the heart is? Most people don't; it's more central than the usual expectations. A bullet through the upper part of the lung is very survivable indeed. You might breathe funny and destroy your ability to move your arm, and live again, a more miserable existence than that in which you find yourself at present.

Here's the real hell of it: depression and frustration and hatred are mechanisms to prevent activity in a different world than that in which we live now. It is best to sleep long hours and move little when the nights are long and the days are short and the food is scarce, during the dark European winter. But the adaptation is no longer relevant now when we are expected to move about, when we can shut ourselves inside and make an artificial night.

We must instead play a different trick on the wicked and limited body and brain. We must convince it that we are heir to the greatness of our ancestors, that we are still the mighty hunter on the plains of Africa. We must run - a block or two at first, and damn the opinions of the onlookers. We must gradually run further until our breath comes in ragged gasps and the sweat of our back runs down the crack of our ass, and we must learn to love the fire in our lungs and muscles.

Because, you see, your fear and sadness are lies. Your empty threat of harm to others is as well. Suicide promises a respite, an early exit that must be reached in a few short years in any case. This promise might be great, or it might not; but you can take advantage of death at any later time, and cannot reverse the decision to die once you've acted upon it.

So live, and run, and learn things and win meaningful victories. I will be truly amazed if doing this does not erase your urge to die.

the note in his pocket read: i will stop it, it will not stop me, i will not grow old

let your spirit be teeming with fury.

let your strength be unusual and controlled. the average is the borderline that keeps mere men in their place. those who step over the line are heroes by the very act. GO.
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