93 lines
5.4 KiB
Plaintext
93 lines
5.4 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Eyes on the Floor
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I think I'd like to stay optimistic (I THINK I would...), but it's hard
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when you're staring into the toilet after the 6th time you've jacked off
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that day, and you realize that you didn't even want to do it, something
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just possessed you because your body knew the relief that it would find
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when you were done. It's hard to be encouraged by anything when you know
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that a large part of why you've managed to stay alive to this date is
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comprised of the remedial effects of an orgasm (or several). There's
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something frightening in that. That you've become that dependent on
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something of that nature...that it's the only crutch that you have left
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that can still support your weight most of the time, even if it's only
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for a minute or two. Sometimes, you don't even think about sex; you just
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keep a blank mind and go. Sometimes it hurts too much to think about sex,
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because you know that there's no one who'd get that close to you,
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particularly for a relationship.
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That's most of the problem, right? Relationships. No, I don't think it's
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a universal fix-all, but the idealism of a relationship holds connections
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to so many other and greater interlinked problems within its talons. I'm
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17 and I've had one relationship in my life. Yes, one. And it wasn't
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real; neither of us cared about each other and it ended after three
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weeks. It's hard to find anything but emptiness in the world when you've
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got this feeling that you're still going to be alone in whatever it is
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that you're doing no matter what or when it is. Heh...and my parents
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wonder why I've never had ambition in school...
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The two might be related, but...only sometimes, I think. Sometimes, I
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manage to tune out the whole side on relationships. I can convince
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myself, albeit sometimes in a state of repulsed panic, that I don't need
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anyone. That I don't even WANT anyone. And then i can think of Her, and I
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almost believe myself because it seems like such a distant possibility
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that a girl that perfect would ever want to even know me that it doesn't
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feel real enough to hurt. I guess that's the part that hurts half the
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time. The other half is the part where reality sinks in.
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I don't know. It all seems ridiculous, but it all always seems
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ridiculous. Everything. Only...today was extremely disheartening 'cuz all
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of the sudden I realized...it's too late! My life could turn perfect
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right now, and although I'd be happiER, i wouldn't be at all happy. Even
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if I had everything that I wanted. The rage built up too much over the
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years, and it consumed me. I am it. I hate and want to hate too much. I
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just can't fit in, and I don't even want to try because I did once and it
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made me only more tired.
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You can't control rage. You can control how much of it can take over your
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external self, and you can control what it makes you do to other people.
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You can't control its growth. Suppress it, and it'll grow under your
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thumb. Slide it behind a facade and it will grow until it consumes the
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bricks with its heat. Eventually, the rage will have grown and consumed
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ravenously, and what it doesn't capsize it simply distorts and disfigures
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beyond prior recognition. Before you know it, you'll be unable to keep
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patient for anything or anyone. You'll be either ready to fall off the
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end of your seat with anxiety, or you'll feel unable to even levitate
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yourself from it with depression. It's more or less a daily coin toss.
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You may find yourself suddenly snapping out of reveries of biting the
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flesh off of another human being in a fight for lack of a better release
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of the rage you picture spewing forth, with your teeth-clenched and your
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eyes staring acid holes into the desk/table/chair/wall in front of you.
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Or more likely, the floor. It's hard to look up, but down is right there.
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Right there to send your hate. But you don't have the finances to mail it
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away in any significant or alleviating portions. Ah, it's not helping....
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just go jack off again...
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agrajag
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
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= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
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= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
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= AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.DTO.NET /pub/zines/fuck =
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= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= WWW http://www.attrition.org/~fuck =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= http://aomt.netmegs.com/fuck =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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