Ouch, last post was in March.

I have so many projects going at any one time that sometimes it's hard to get to the important ones.  This journal was created for my own personal enjoyment, to post whatever I felt like seeing on paper: my voice, my songs, my poetry, my rants, my criticisms, my praises.  Also anything else I like, written by whoever.

But it really has been awhile since I boogied.  Here I am in a brand new city, 4 or 5 times bigger then the only town I've ever lived in, and I piddle away my time indoors.

Such is the life of a hermit I suppose.  I got really sick of the rest of the world last summer, much to the dismay of my girlfriend.  It was partly because I was growing tired of Boise, and also my wish to waste a whole school year of education on drugs and alcohol.  When we finally got out to Portland in November, my introvertedness had grown sizeably.  I had no interest in going out and making new friends.  I saw it as just another doorway into the same circle.  I wanted a fresh perspective so night after night, day after day, all winter long right up into spring, I sat in my house and thought about all those people, not doing anything, just wasting space.

I want to be around creators, not observers.  I'm trying to break away from being the observer to becoming the creator.  I write, I play music, I've even tried stand up comedy, but I guess I'll just have to keep stabbing at it till some blood spills.  It's not that I lack the patients to do these things, I lack the motivation to continue pursuing them.  This is directly caused by my view of the world.  I have no sympathy for humanity.  People sicken me.  Not everyone mind you, but the ones who try to ignore the pointlessness of their lives.

People are stupid.   Total idiots.  I guess I'm just as retarded as the next.  Boy do they sure talk though! Incessantly about anything.  They talk to hear their own voices, so full of pride as the chatter about things already done, people who will be forgotten, and ideas that are not theirs.  I don't even bother correcting people's information anymore:  At work, a co-worker tells a customer that to find the area of a circle you multiply pi squared by the radius squared.  Now, if you payed attention in elementary school, you'll remember that its just pi times the radius squared.  I did pipe up this time, but he told me I was wrong, twice.  Oh well, let him think he has more pie than the rest of us.  Idiot.

Oh god! That's not the worst part.  What I hate even more then People Who Talk Just To Talk are People Who Don't Value Their Bodies!

Take Dusty for example.  Dusty is my friend... I think.  One of the few I do have here.  He was the first person me and my girl met outside of our landlords and work bosses.  He is at least 10 years my senior, which mean we come from slightly different generations.  He grew up with He-Man, I had the Ninja Turtles, etc.  Now sometime when he was either a teen or young adult, he wrapped his truck around a tree or pole in a drunk driving accident.  I don't know all the details, but he was in a coma for a few monthes, and had to learn to walk again.  So now this guy is just another disabled living off the government, through SSI and medical marijuana for his spasms. 

Dusty is not stupid.  I assume he retained most of his mental fuctions, his speech is slurred slightly, and it sounds like he has breathing problems, but his ability to learn, while it may have been slowed down, is not problematic.  I have had many a good drunken discussion with him.  

Dusty is ignorant. He doesn't read, like most people these days, and he doesn't do much critical thinking. I doubt he's religious, and I'm willing to bet he's even less of an existentialist.  He allows his biased opinions to motivate his actions.

Dusty does drugs.  Now this, I have no problem with.  We all do drugs, and none of them are dangerous unless they're in the hands of idiots.  Dusty, who has enough trouble walking with his cane already, is an alcoholic who drinks every day.  When he's drunk he is almost completely unintelligible and he is forced to crawl to the bathroom.  If he was the type who sought out pity from house guests, I would not bother to employ his company.  He is, in fact, the opposite: very stubborn.  Dusty does cocaine too. I'm not sure how often, but I would say at least once or twice a week. Dusty also smokes cigarettes in addition to pot.  I told him long ago to ditch the booze, coke, and cigs, and stick with buds.  And he knows too.  But he continues. So hypocritical.  But he has no ambitions anymore.  Life is just day to day for him.

I sometimes worry about him.  I don't know if he's going to see 40 at this rate.  If he'd stop drinking so much it wouldn't be so bad, he wouldn't fall so often.  That guy has probably lost more brain cells to bumps on the head then alcohol.  I know he's too proud to ever talk about it, but I wonder if he bottles up any resentment.  Maybe he secretly hates his body, or himself, and just doesn't care anymore.

Sigh.  I think I need to make some new friends.  But where to start?