The Journal of Christopher Shin|
Art vs Everyone else.
05/23/2008 07:49 a.m.
Why do they say the sword of time? Do we keep stab forward or do we jab and retract the pains? My skin is slowly bruising and the organs quivers as blood fills the ground, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of growing old, and I'm tired of people telling me to grow up. I don't have the broken loves, and I don't have the problems you have. Why can't I just fake my death and just be a fisherman. Sail the sea and hopefully die in solitary. Death is nothing to fear, and maybe I'll be sea sick, and swim through the souls. And I'm getting frustrated again as art fills my mind and all the nay says echo in my head as I rip my hair out and let it flow like feathers in the wind.
05/21/2008 09:10 a.m.
UGH!. UGH!. UGH!. I hate everything in my life, and the liquor is the only excuse I have for now. I drink and drink cause hopefully it will give me courage to do the end. Yet all I have is this stupid hope, and I wish it would go away. Maybe it's fear that I'll be in brimstones and frustration. All that I know is that death is all around me. A friend died last year, and I envy her cause I wish I could be in her shoes. I want to just forget about it all. Fuck love, to hell with dreams, and stab my eyes out with burning pokers dipped in lemon juice. Cause in the end I'm fucked.
I am currently Bad
11/13/2007 12:20 p.m.
A death and a reaction. Makes me realize that I should go back to be alone again. No use dragging those and tormenting others. I think I am only good to myself, and so I think I'll disappear like all things and head back into my shell and forget about society. It is better this way.
Weekend Warrior Poet
11/04/2007 06:36 a.m.
Funny how you can post on something to feel some sort of connection to the world. When you feel that the world doesn't understand you. Sometimes ritual saves your soul, but sometimes the ritual can you blind you from the truth.
Oh my mind is swiming as the weekend bottle takes effect, and I know I'm a weekend warrior. When poems and words seem to mix with my mind when I'm drinking. Not a crutch or an aspect of hope A depressant, but I'm tired of the boring nights so i'll kill the cells and make the liver scream.
Ramble Ramble I'm Drunk
10/28/2007 10:39 a.m.
Today class we learn about substance abuse. Well sad to admit I'm a weekend lush. I drink when Saturday comes around with wine and broken thoughts. I stay up late and take day naps to remind me that the weekend is short. My burp is that of grapes in a spanish winery. My soul is a burned up kleenex of your own sadness. My past is the broken record that seems to skip a beat a little after my own thoughts. My friends have grown to be single loners like myself. Pathetic is only defined by those who judge to quickly. My soul is your voodoo doll you seem to like to torment.
My well being is a joke that many people discard after the punch line is spent and gone. My loves are poetry that seem to make you sigh, but in the end you just magnet to your frig like fortune cookies. My taste is a combination of my youth that is almost drained dry. My fuel is the promises that I made to my comrads that seems to strain. Slowly songs of you seem to sound dead, and my family is the silver chain around my ankle. So forget me nots and your heart long gone.
I am currently Brooding
I am listening to Weezer
09/08/2007 08:05 a.m.
Early morning drinking as the rum mixes with diet soda, and the cigarette burns the lungs. All I can do is watch the destruction boil in me. Lyrics flutter and hit every chord in my heart. All the tragedy and accidents makes me laugh, and people copy me. Wearing the darkness on their sleeves makes them more distance to me. nobody knows me but me. Fame isn't what I want. fortune is only security, and love is just a rememberance of living. So what's the point when all I want is to forget and see beauty all around me. Remember that I'm the lonely one left in it all. Nobody wants to be me, and those who try can only remember the romantic views. All the hatred and frustration burns in my eyes. Sadness glares outward and midnight has come and lovers sleep but I'm viewing from the outside staring and the world is always inside.
I am currently Brooding
I am listening to Ready Aim Misfire- New Year's Day
Early morning thoughts.
09/07/2007 09:25 a.m.
They say that everybody wants to be connected some way. It's a desire that is instinct or in our genes. How come each day I feel like a dog in the woods. You know the lone wolf or the old dog who knows the end is nearing and dies in the woods alone. I don't feel any regret or any depresson. I sort of enjoy being the loner. Yet I feel that something in me says I'm not normal, but what is normal. The rebel fights against the norms, but craves to be normal. The loner doesn't know what is normal but I feel the comfort I'm in is holding me back, and I should be out finding new things. Hmm. I should go to sleep.
09/06/2007 08:26 a.m.
Him the things in life seem so different. the coat I wear makes me 20 years older then who I am. I dress like an old man and I feel that my body is younger then who I am. Maybe I have an old soul, but something in makes me feel a little different. I feel so tired and so confused. As if hot tea and cold tea have little interest in me. youth and old age seem to melt as one and I'm tul confused
Late Night dark Drinking.
07/29/2007 07:02 a.m.
Why is it that the thing you want the most you can't have? Why do people say things clique when the truth in them can't be seen now? How I wish I could love and be loved. How I wish dreams were easy, and feasible. My mind tries to understand me, but all I want out of it is... I don't know what I want. Life seems so bleak, and all the ideas of making a difference seems posthumous. Sorry to sound dark but my mind is swimming, and all the thoughts that linger this is the one that comes out when I'm drinking and trying not to focus on it but it focuses on me. os that is all I have to say.
Surprise I 'm drinking
05/06/2007 08:49 a.m.
Why do we feel that drinking with a crowd is socializing? When the wine tastes better when you're by yourself. When words come out and thoughts become poetry as you drink yourself into a stupor. Oh how we think the world can change and lovers can find each other when your the hero, but doomed to fall. We cry for the tragic Illad, but we are doomed to love the defeat. I wish I was like you and your friends, but all I have is a glass half full of red and crimson liquor. With the blood of grapes and the scream of youth. I explode into my own thoughts of how short my breathe can be said and done.
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