To those not left in the dark to Enter the Void, I only need to say one thing: I've peeled off a lot of band-aids. My mind operates in two directions: the past and the future, and--haha, pun, kindof--it leaves me a bit torn at times. I replay the most intense moments of my emotions all the time. I stir so strongly the most painful of all my thoughts, and then I try to recount the world at the time of these memories. I try to recount my pacing, my words, everything as I can possibly remember it. And I know that the one person in this world who wants to grow with me, as I do with her, hates this, probably most because it is irritating, and possibly because it isn't good for me. The reason why I like these times though: I think it strengthens me as an artist, and that's what life is to me, is art; as I've said too many times on here already. And also just for my reflection. Some people like scrapbooks. I like objects, pictures, and memories. And I like holding these memories in my mind. And I probably recount so many bad things so often to make sure I don't forget. And I'm just thinking about this for the first time really, but remembering some things doesn't necessarily make me depressed, but probably advances my absurdity, but I think that just makes me all the more eccentric. But furthermore now. You know. This is the part with the band-aids. I think, despite all the blah-blah insane-blawdaoahweoheb mess I just said, I think it ends up healing me, or making me a better person. I don't feel as vulnerable as I used to, because of the reminiscance of the bad things. I feel on a higher level of thinking too, which I'll talk more about in a minute. I find myself apologizing a lot still, but I'm much less sincere about it AT TIMES. There isn't much I'm sorry for if I intentionally do or say something. The only reason I say sorry now, I believe, is out of habit, which I'm trying to break. [STORY TIME] As we all know, children are recording devices that emulate everything around them. When I was in Kindergarten, I got in trouble for something. It might have been the time my friend looked up this girl's dress on the playground, and I was somehow blamed for...being an accomplice (?). It may have been because I laughed, or something. Anyway, I got in trouble, and my teacher forced me to tell the girl sorry. I was shy and probably more stupid than most people were at my age (I realized later I was a bit slow. I'm not laughing. I was really kind of slow.)And due to those two factors, I was hesitant to say anything at all to this girl. And if I recall correctly, my teacher was angry, and kept telling me to say sorry, until I finally did. This is the one time I recall having to apologize, and then later there was god. GOD, I don't want to talk about religion right now. I'm sick of it, but for the sake of story time, I'll continue. After being Christian, there was my obsession with asking forgiveness of my sins. I often prayed in silence for forgiveness of everything I did that I didn't think God would be happy with, and as I was taught, we should not only say sorry to god, but to the people we hurt. LOL, this is so retarded. Okay, okay-- so anyway. Even after becoming Atheist, I maintained the desire to rightfully apologize in cases where I was wrong or rude or a jerk to a person. And sincerely, too! And then the past few months came. And I find myself feeling hardly any guilt for things anymore. YET I say sorry in situations still where I would otherwise feel guilty, but as said already, I'm trying to break away from those impulses. I think people should take advantage of their right to speak their mind, under the right conditions. Usually only sorry people apologize. Nostalgia and higher thinking for me. Okay, I'll admit, this part is mostly written for you, Pookiebutt. You seem to make fun of my little thing. The same thing that is pretentiousness, the same thing that is my "always right"ness. It's all that single force. But HunnienutCheerio, I don't want you to be under the impression that I think I'm better than everyone. =( As my weak response always has been to this, I do think I'm better than a lot of people around me. And I know you agree. But when I say things like "higher thinking," I just mean, I think that it's made me wiser to things. And I think for philosophy and morality sake, higher thinking to me means, a new collection of thoughts, no matter how ancient or common-sensical they already are. And above all, you know that one thing I am vulnerable to is the thought that I'm just an idiot. You know I fear being an idiot. And though it doesn't bring me down any, I always have the thought that you and everyone secretly agree that I'm stupid. (Feel free to tell me otherwise. Your kind words are like magic to me ;P ) And all of this went way MORE off topic than I had intended. This thing isn't to be in my defense to everyone's points against me, as it seems to be. BUT HERE I GO AGAIN: I'm thinking right now about all my days of seeming depressed. "Mopey", I call it. And truthfully, I don't know if mopey is even a slang word. I can't remember if anyone in the world has ever said this in my presence. It just feels like a real word, so I use it. I truthfully am this way, because it is often just a product to the variables of the setting at the time. If it's walking on a nature trail in HOT, HOT, HOT weather and I feel sticky from sweat and other people aren't around jumping up and down like monkeys, then yeah, I'll probably act depressed, even if I'm happy and actually enjoying myself. But thinking about those times, that's one thing I want to change about me. My =| attitude. It doesn't work for Jeanine Giraffelo (I SWEAR THAT IS MISSPELLED TO BE FUNNY), and it won't work for me. OKAY BACK ON TOPIC NOW A look back at everything. The good and the bad. The incomplete sentences (;P). Everything makes you sad. When you think about the bad things, you often build onto your lack of self esteem or lack of something about you, and when you look at the good things, you may end up thinking how that will never happen again, and if it does it'll never be exactly the same. I don't want my constant nostalgia to bring me down as a person, but be the most amazing inspiration to my art and to make a very good autobiography someday (Oh god, I have the treats for everyone who loves other people's memories! And still collecting memories, since 1988!) Today on July 14, 2006 at 5:22 AM and forth, I want to use my memories to serve me only, and not to tear me a part from myself or from the things I love. No matter how painful the most painful feeling so far has been for me, I own the feeling. It is something for my collection, and I will persue it only to better my life, as I want my life to be. This is a promise to myself, and hopefully it will act as a gift to my Darlin' Lover, who has shared most of my pain, even if she didn't want it. I love you! =) I also want to start living more of a life. I don't want to be mopey anymore at all. I want everything to be exciting from now on. Hopefully. (I WILL POSSIBLY COME ADD AND RECONSTRUCT THIS LATER ON TO SOUND AND LOOK BETTER, BUT FOR FUCK'S SAKE I'M ABOUT READY TO GO TO SLEEP) I have felt many things through many of the entries I've contributed on sitDiary, whether I've made them apparent or not. This has indeed been a diary to my growing, moreso than it seemed, because I do not keep the usual "today I did..." kind of thing. But despite all the things I've said on here, this is probably one of my last few entries sitDiary will be a part of, because I want to move onto some other diary type website, and let's fucking hope I don't end up sharing my thoughts on MySpace, solely. There'll be a couple more entries at least, I think. "I look at the little child. I can now plainly see the body with no distinct traits. Except for one thing. Dozens and dozens of cuts. I see a band-aid sitting there that I didn't acknowledge before. So, I pick a random cut, and place the band-aid gently on it, right where my cut is. On the chest. I see where another band-aid had already existed on the body on the arm, and I peel it off to see if there was a cut beneath it, oddly enough there isn't. I look really closely to the body, and before my eyes, I see finger nails forming. Just like that. Fingernails. They're brittle and so thin. I see two tiny holes shaping under a lump in the middle of it's face. Nostrils. Everything is shaping. I have a feeling this thing is going to look just like me when it develops. I sigh in relief, for some reason. I close my eyes, and lean back. I hear the...boy...sigh, too. And he lies his head against my bloodied chest. I smile, and a tear of happiness rolls down my face, just as I reopen my eyes. I never look at him again, because I know just what he looks like. I know he's smiling too. As my head is facing the ceiling, I notice that next to that useless lightbulb in the far left, another lightbulb begins to flicker out, as it joins the cold, lightless emptiness of the other one. My heartbeat is going at normal speed now. Everything will be okay, I know it. My eyes are still brightening, but beyond the improvement, to even more whiteness. As everything in sight goes blank, in white this time, I think one last thought: I remember doing this once before. Things keep getting whiter and whiter. And my heartbeat is getting slower and slower." -Jack P.S. Happy Birthday to my brother, Jeremy, who won't read this, but I want it to be written somewhere that I did say "Happy Birthday." I love you, and you have created very amazing things for my bank of thoughts. I remember all the times we laughed together, all the bloody noses you gave me (only two, incase that sounded like a usual thing for me), and all the painful times I got you in trouble. You have contributed more to the thing I am, more than you probably know, and I hope someday we'll be as close as I did always wish as a kid. Happy 27.