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Fucked Up College Kids File 510
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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t w e n t y t w o
a year has past. the longest of my spent life
no doubt, has just f l o w n by
me without a g o o d b y e, probably because it
is still here -- still near to help me.
in one year i have learned so many things -- it's
u n r e a l to think, in one past, i was merely
twenty. would i have imagined it then, -- my
conscious self -- which dreams in my life would
unfold themselves post sleep? and how many?
for the past six months i have been free from
cubicle walls, working in the unfinished dungeon
of my basement -- by myself, yet for myself.
you see, this has always been my dream. not
quite, yet what i have seen in them -- yet six
months, in t i m e, is still early.
off hand i can't say that i've done a lot, but
when i think about it, i've been through a lot.
i have loved. i have loved before, you see, but
not like this. for i have always poured love out
over w a l l s so high -- no love could get in.
for the first time, i pulled someone up over the
walls -- for the first time, i let someone l o v e
me. sure -- some have loved me b e f o r e,
but it doesn't take long to learn your love is
not wanted, though effort a p p r e c i a t e d.
what have i learned from this? love h u r t s --
as much as, if not more than, pushing it back.
See, when you wall out everything, you're merely
injured by your lack of what you imagine love to
be, to feel like, coming in -- a feeling seemingly
so much greater than the feeling going out.
yet when you accept love, there is a hell of a
lot of shit that goes with it -- makes me wonder
if this is how my love felt. with love, at
times, one pays the price. but i am
s t r o n g e r now. and having t r u s t e d,
i feel i am more able to trust m y s e l f.
i used to f e a r the m word, appropriately
abbreviated by the four letter word 'm i n e.'
it's not so bad being someone's. it's just that
f o r e v e r bit i seem to mind. the mind is bad
at times . . . or who am i to discredit my life's
guide? i will rephrase that -- the m i n d is
difficult. just when the inter-relational strife
builds up, a few choice faces, along with the
rest of their natural selves, invade my dreams.
in waking, i shortly ponder why i put up with
this begrudging entity curled next to yet far from
me. to a c t on such dreams would be blissful, yet
oh so temporary, ecstasy. once reality hit, the
ecstasy would exit, and in that void i would at
least hope to feel guilty- feel s o m e t h i n g.
knowing anything feels better than the numbness.
my song at nineteen -- rather fitting, especially
when sung by a thirty-year-old friend of mine --
'hey n i n e t e e n, no we can't dance tonight,'
left me fumbling ever so ungracefully towards
ecstasy at twenty. by t w e n t y one, or near the
end, i should say, it was just no good at all.
and is no good. and probably will never be. maybe
by twenty t h r e e i'll loose my apathy. oddly
enough, it was when apathy hit -- when i let go of
how i wanted my life to be -- that my dreams began
to unfold before me. to think i used to abhor the
word, 'a p a t h y,' at t h i r t e e n, ready to
take on much more than the world around me.
it's no good. i was never much a fan of depeche
mode -- lyrics where nice, but the music just
didn't move me. now with my acquired grains of
w i s d o m, i realize it was never supposed to
move me, but s t o p every little thing
that flows within me -- jolting me to a screeching
halt -- with the first note, rendering me intern-
ally void, e m p t y, for the music to pour the
words, themselves, into me, filling me, forming me
into a substance of my dreams, not them of me.
once, and only once, did this song move me --
one night, my inhibitions long since drunk away,
rendered my walls a form of putty. as everything
within ceased on cue, external warmth molded the
words forming within me. and since, that putty
seems to have formed s t o n e memories.
i have learned about myself, and yet learned no
shame. i am known to regret too much, to hold
onto too many things, yet n o n e i hold now are
y o u n g -- and hopefully by twentythree, none
will remain. i have learned to regard the g o o d
and bad, with not indifference, but acceptance.
to n o t d w e l l o n t h e s e t h i n g s.
my tension is loosening. my neck and shoulders
actually feel f r e e, unbound by the weight of
the stresses i once carried with me. i may
be far from stress-free, but at least i can turn
my head, see over them -- b e y o n d the 'me.'
there are t h r e e men that i love -- only one
that knows he is o n e of three, yet still stays
with me.and possibly a fourth that thinks he knows
where i am falling. though i have yet to create my
own stipulations between the definitions of love
and _in_love_, i can, with a seed of certainty,
say that by then, the 'in' will have found me.
what concerns me is, then, will i have found it in
only three? what is it that holds something so
precious as love as h o s t a g e for one? with
the answer to this, will someone please help me?
in my h e r m i t a g e, isolated from the rest of
the working world out there, that endless hummm of
white-noised cubicle culture is replaced by the
stchurching of sprinklers, the meowing of mowers,
the chatter and laughter of children singing
through the trees to the music whistling in the
winds. though seemingly isolated, i am far from
the a l o n e that i felt, surrounded by so many
people, yet so few who chanced to get to know me.
i have the freedom to do what i want and when, to
write in bed, well past ten. to structure my day.
to w a l k the dog. to pet the cat. to feel at
home, in a place of mine own -- something
i h a v e n e v e r q u i t e h a d.
in this past year, i have grown a lot. have read
a lot. have loved and laughed to my heart's
content. did dare to crack a smile -- a toothy one
at that. the light is returning to my once
blue eyes, to dawn the dewey green. this past
year, i believe i have found my 's e l f.' in the
next year, i plan to find confidence in it, in me.
yt 060898
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