Warning: the following is several notches darker than the usual fare here. Or at least, I was feeling a lot darker while I wrote it. It was written between the hours of 5 and 7 this morning. I make no claims about its merchantability or fitness for any purpose. In fact, I would almost like to disclaim it entirely, since the content is so far from my current feelings on the matter. Who really wants to admit their ugly side to the world? But, for reasons explained later on within, here it is. Enjoy. Or don't. If you don't want to get into the nastier side of me, you might not want to read it.

Starting to in the middle of a train of thought:

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Is that really what girls want? Contrary to all the common rhetoric about liking sensitive guys, I think it's all a lie. Actions speak louder than words. Girls really want the pushy ones. The assholes. Bitch and complain about how sensitive guys "aren't", or "wish this", "wish that". NO YOU FUCKING DON'T. You want the assholes. You enjoy abuse. What else can be concluded?

Goddammit I don't want to become bitter. It's like it becomes a fight every day now. The war against bitterness. Against utter loss of faith. I don't want that. I wish I didn't have to be fighting this battle. But I do. Too often, I find myself losing. I know where it leads. From bitterness, to misogyny, to becoming that which I loathe. Or maybe I already am.

I must also face the possibility that there is something inherent about me which is fundamentally undesirable. Not just undesirable. Loathsome. Disgusting. What woman would want that? I am the troll. The toad. The creep.

At times when these thoughts surface, I often wish that this thing -- this need, the desire to be with someone of the opposite gender would simply cease to exist. Isn't there some pill, some surgery, a mental labotomy that could be performed, to exorcise it once and for all? Isn't that what so many Christian sects want? To simply eliminate that part of oneself? To "cut it out of ya?" (phrase courtesy Tori Amos) Of course, they want it for different reasons -- so they can please God better. I want it rid of cause I'm just sick of this shit within me.

And then, it comes to what's the point? No, beyond that. I wish myself to be obliterated from this plane of existance. I am not wanted; I am not needed; I am doing nobody any good. And I'm not happy myself. So wouldn't it be great if I -- my entire being -- could simply cease to be. Then I wouldn't have to bother anyone with my shit, my shit wouldn't exist because I wouldn't exist, and everybody's happier.

I'm not talking about suicide here. Suicide is where you willfully put an end to yourself. The obliteration I'm talking about is more of a wish that I never was. All that I am in this world -- all that I have ever been -- disappears. It can't end, because it wasn't there in the first place. Like balefire. For the existence of an entire being.

Drastic thoughts. Is this the result of society's programming the belief that one's entire self-worth is predicated upon one's sexuality? When that goes down the drain, nothing else is worth anything? All the other accomplishments -- ideas, people you may have helped, things you may have created -- are utterly meaningless if ya can't get a good lay in the sack?

I certainly won't deny that the media loves to project this as reality. Shit, most people have been brainwashed with it all their lives. Me? Since my parents did pretty much everything they could to isolate me from the rest of the culture (unless it was "god-friendly") until my teenage years, I've only had that brainwashing for about half my life. Is that why I'm so fucked up? I've had enough of it in the latter half of my life to give me some serious brain twitches, but I can never buy into it completely. Caught in the gulf.

But then, maybe it's not the media at all. What if this is all because of who I am? A freak. A lovesick, sentimental freak, whose heart just WON'T QUIT WANTING WHAT HE CAN'T EVER HAVE. Nor should he. Hell, if I was somebody of the opposite gender, would I want me? Would I? I think I've got enough familiarity with supposedly feminine sensibilites to make some kind of call. Would I? Want me?

I try to look at myself through the eyes of a stranger who sees me. (God, I didn't mean that as a Queensryche reference when I first conjured the sentence, but there it is. I may as well listen to the song now.) Who is this guy? Some random nobody making his way through the crowd. Probably harmless. But you can never trust people, so better not get too close. And never, ever, talk to a stranger. Isn't that the advise they give children? I got it in plentiful doses throughout my childhood. Guess it sunk in well, because the converse is also true. Nobody talks to me, I don't start conversations with anybody else. Nice arrangement, huh?

So where is the resolution to this? I feel like there's something I should be able to say to "wrap this up", give it a warm fuzzy feeling to sugarcoat all this nasty shit I've just spewed. Barring that, maybe I could at least give it some ironic twist to leave the viewer in a state of disgusted -- but awed -- intrigue. Like the ending of so many X Files episodes. But right now, I'm just feeling a little numb, and also quite drained, after all this expounding into such ugly topics.

Here's what I've been thinking (not saying this is necessarily what I'm going to do, but I've just been thinking it): Cancel New Year's Resolution number 3. I know I've already said I'd put it on hold. This idea goes beyond that. I'm talking about cancelling it entirely. Giving up on the whole pile of bullshit. Why frustrate myself further? Why even try? NOTHING is made better by me trying to ... whatever it is I'm trying to do. I am fundamentally incompatible with the world. More specifically, I am fundamentally incompatible with that other half of the species I so long to know. Fuck it.

And then what? And then nothing. Life just goes on. The daily / weekly / monthly / yearly routine continues. It really ain't that bad. I've got a lot that's good going for me. More than I deserve, probably. Good job, a few friends here and there -- online and off, a peaceful life. No enemies. (yeah yeah, save the ms/billg jokes for later) Good food. Music. Movies. (assuming this boycott ever resolves) Net access, of course. Broadband is always fun, if you can get it. What more could I guy really expect? Is it really necessary to continue to bang my head against that one wall which just won't budge? Appreciate the good that I do have; enjoy it while it lasts.

Yeah, that does seem to be the most reasonable course. Yeah. Who knows? Maybe this hole in my heart which I think could be aided by such companionship really wouldn't be helped in the least. Dumb to think it would.

Still, the question that pops into my mind: If given the choice, would I give all this other good shit up in exchange for that one wish. (I suppose that one wish could be defined as true love, or something of that nature.) Probably. Would I give it all up in exchange for a chance (not guaranteed, but suppose 50/50 odds) at it? Then I'm not so sure. It's all hypothetical anyway, so what's the point of even trying to make such determinations?

I guess it's what fiction writers love to play with. These kind of "what if" ideas. Running simulations on the human spirit. That's what I love about fantasy novels. Good ones do that, and do it well.

Aw hell, I don't have anything more to say. I'm just gonna go back to bed. Should I reveal that as of the middle of the last paragraph, tears have been flowing freely down my cheeks? Nah. But I already did, so I guess that's a yes. Don't try to explain why, though. Some things are better left unexplicated.

I'll probably submit this and throw it up on the web later this morning. After (but, in the database's chronology, before) I've written (or finished up) my other big report. That'll be the one the visitors see first. Better not to assault people with the heavy shit right off the bat. In fact, I'll probably tack a warning to the top of this one, given it's nature. If people see the warning, continue reading, and don't like what they see, too bad for them. If opinions of me are somehow lowered, too bad for me.

Believe it or not, writing this has been somewhat theraputic. Why post it publicly? a) I'm a little screwy in the head, but everybody knows that. b) I often get a strange sort of pleasure from reading web pages where other people have posted there darkest, most depressing thoughts. Maybe that is also a result of (a). But anyway, I figure there might be a few others like me surfin around, and if they might happen to get some sort of fun out of reading this, then good for them. I suppose I could also try to make some reference to something or another (hah!), but it seems like there's been so much of that lately. And this seems like a strange place for such things.

Oh well. That's enough of the finalities. Good(night|day) all. I do feel a bit better now.