I'm past the point of no return, though I feel this point has come far too soon. I blame the structure of things, the walls created by the by the fearful, the selfish, the victims, and they tyrants. I have been tossed into the ocean by a cadre of callous dragons and the wayward flocks, so what choice do I have? The riptide cannot be trusted, therefore passiveness is a weakness. I have little competence in my ability to swim, but if I push myself at first I'm sure that will be gained. There is a strength in me, I am sure, but I must also remember to work smarter, not harder. 

My greatest fear is drowning. My allies can only do for me as much as a floating piece of debris can. I must fight if I am to make to shore. This is the way, and my fear is my greatest weakness.

Connections, Part 1 first draft

After sealing himself in his apartment, away from chaos that was New York City, Roland Burke's first priority was to mix himself a drink. He grabbed the half-empty bottles of Absolute, Kahlua, and Bailey's from their rightful place in the cabinet over the sink and proceeded to mix them with just enough milk to keep the taste of alcohol from getting to him too much. Once satisfied with the drink, he proceeded to his bedroom where he was eager to lay down and savor solitude.

Roland took a mouthful of his White Russian before placing it on the night stand, then sprawled out in bed. He didn't care that his shoes were on the bed, or that his suite would wrinkle. Here, tucked safely away in his meticulously constructed kingdom, he was free to do as he pleased. 

It wasn't long until his peace was shattered. Just as he was about to take another mouthful his phone began to vibrate. Muttering a curse under his breath, he took a swig then sigh before answering his phone. "Hey... not much, I just got in the door... Thanks for the congratulations... eh, I still love print as a medium but twenty-four-hour broadcasting and the internet have changed the beast... I know you've heard my ramblings before... you either adapt or die... don't give me any of that bullshit... quite fucking true... to be honest, I was planning on spending the night in...hello? Hello?" 

He looked at his cell and saw that he'd lost signal. Normally he had a full five bars throughout the entire block, but he didn't make much of it. Roland was relieved that he could return to his solitude and quickly drifted off to sleep.

Can't Sleep

I can't sleep right now. My throat is soar and too much is running through my mind. The sun light has already crept through the shades, creating a defuse glow that lingers like the half-thoughts in my head.

I was told a short work of mine from this site was read at a party. That hurts. It feels like my trust was violated. Everyone can't help but hurt each other.

Lately I've been pulling in on myself. I'm stressed, anxious, and depressed. I'm loosing interest in things I normally love. I feel like I need a new beginning. I'm afraid I may live as a drifter eventually. 

I'm a wreck. My emotions are all in a knot. Guilt, love, anger, fear, hope; it's all waging war right around my stomach. 

Fetish of the Week/Month/Interval That Works Best

Welcome to a new segment on my blog called Fetish of the Week. During this segment I research and highlight an obscure sexual fetish. You see, some people thing Rule 34 is a joke, but I'm here to prove it is quite real.

This week's fetish is the quicksand fetish. This one is rather self-explanatory, as it is the sexual fascination of sinking in quicksand. I'm sure this is a lot more popular with older generations seeing that the quicksand cliche isn't as prominent as it was back in the era of Tarzan and cheesy B movies, nearly all of us have encountered quicksand at least at one point during our childhood. While quicksand fetishism may seem bizarre and counter productive from the Darwinian standpoint (if you can't get off outside of a bog then the chance of you passing your genes on slim), it does have some fairly universally appealing characteristics.

Dominant and submissive roles tend to be a strong facet behind the psychology of sex, and the person caught in quicksand seems to fulfill the later to a T (while I'm not too familiar with the intricacies of this fetish, I can't really think of a scenario where a dominant person is sinking). While donning a gimp suit and being tortured with whips and chains may get some off, I'm sure the pain involved isn't appealing for every submissive out there. A few lashings aren't really my bag, so a mud bath (I hear they are quite soothing) would be welcome over that.

From a tactile perspective, mud can be rather pleasing. While it currently is a hassle while I traverse UConn, I remember a time where I would play in the backyard with my tonkas around a small pit of mud. Getting muddy was such a staple of childhood that I guess it's only inevitable that some people might not grow out of that. Also, who doesn't love a little mud wrestling? How often have we heard of guys raving when they hear about girl on girl mud wrestling? Well, quicksand fetishism seems like it's just taking the next step!

Two of the most common noises heard mid-coitus are the moan and the whimper. What are two of the most common noises heard while being trapped in quicksand? The moan and the whimper. Coincidence?

While I've done my piece to try to make this unusual fetish a little easier to understand, don't think I believe everyone should get on the band wagon. I don't judge any fetish, but do be forewarned that this can be taken to extremes (see Drowning on page 290). However, if you avoid solo treks to your local swamp and just be responsible, I don't see any harm in this save for a los shoe or a yeast infection (I can be wrong, though, as I am no expert on yeast infections).

I'm not sure yet if I should end this segment with a fairly generic sample of the fetish of the week. Even if I do, it will always be something tasteful (ie. no nudity) if not safe for work, so, without further adieu I leave you with the youtube video that initially tipped me off about this messy fetish.

(this video does not contain sexual acts or nudity)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvGeLGeFrrU

Tune in next week/month/interval that works best, and if you have heard of a particularly interesting example of rule 34, feel free to fill me in and it be the next FETISH OF THE WEEK/MONTH/INTERVAL THAT WORKS BEST!
-Jake

Greatness Can Not Be Reached

I feel drained, and I have for a while. Three weeks at least, if my improvisation is any indicator. I really need to learn to be content without being the greatest. It's a problem that's plagued me all my life.

Right now I feel like I've strived to accomplish so much yet accomplished so little. I'm a failure by my standards. There is always some way I can be better. Always.

Why can't I find a way to tell any of this to Kat? The best thing I can open up to is a blog. I need some sleep.

Stream of Consciousness Again

These decisions I must make...I'm hesitating. I've preached decisive action and now I am left feeling like a hypocrit. What happened to valuing friendship? What happened to feeling a connection to people. I feel like I've lost so much. I feel like I'm lost. I've fallen and instead of knowing how to stand I find all I wish is to sleep. It's my sole want, for I can't really put my finger on clear wants.

I do a great deal, but is what I do what I want to do? Do I merely want the title of one who does such things? Is who I'm with who I want? Are those I'm not with the ones I want? I am a wayward ship without a compas, and a cloudy sky blocking my view of the stars. Buddha says there is a source to all suffering, but it is one I have yet to find. Is it because I have to work to find it, and it's just so much easier to sleep? Why do I not sleep just to satisfy the urge?

I want to create right now. I want to be valuable. I want my life to have some value to me. It seems my problem is I keep wanting that stock to go up.

Why can't I talk to her? Why can't she talk back? Does she want to listen? Will it all be healthy? Whose setting the trap this time? I want to solve the mystery. I believe time brings with it closure. Is that a lie? It is, and it might we why I'm waiting for the future.

Closure.

Close.

Lose.

I want to feel lust again. I haven't felt it in weeks. I want something to ignite passion in me. I want to lust.

Fuck you. Fuck you for judging me. You all feel the same and yet "eww Jake" hides your own fucking shame. I hate you. Why do you do this to me? I want to cause you all pain. I want to share my suffering with you. Then you can see. I have the potential to be a madman.

Absurd Ramblings of a tired Madman.

Maybe I can love you all after I've reconciled my hate. You've hurt me so often. Fuck you.

If suffering alone taught, then all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added understanding, compassion, patience, love, openness, and the willingnessto remain vulnerable.- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

I've said it before: I'm nineteen years old, what the fuck do I know? I say this a lot when I offer advice as a word of caution. Roughly translated, in Jake-speak it means "I want to help you out with what I've learned in life but I'm afraid to commit to it because I might be wrong". I want to be wise. Make the smart choices. Minimize my fuck-ups. Make it seem like I'm less of a fool than I actually am.

My parents have taught me two things. One, respect is earned, never deserved (despite my father's insistence). Two, age alone does not make one wise. Then what does? What magical elixer would transform the beliefs of a nineteen-year-old fool into something meaningful and lasting? I thought suffering was the answer. That posed a bit of a problem for me, since I didn't feel I had suffered at all.

Sure, I was tormented as a kid, maybe a bit more than most, but I know one or two guys who were right there with me getting tormented just the same and I know it didn't make them any more wise. My parents...my parents used to always be fighting. I don't want to try to go back and remember all of it. I can see my dad sleeping during the day in that massive bed with the black padded edges. Me and my brother had to be very quiet because my dad worked the graveyard shift. I can't remember whether he quit because he could't take the hours anymore, or if he was, like he often was, laid off again. I remember my mother's dread spreading to me and my brother whenever we'd here is truck pull in early from work, afraid he'd lost another job. My mother would cry a lot. My grandparents would always bitch about him, about how my mother should just get up and leave him. I had heard the bitching so much it stopped phasing me, all except for a mild discomfort I could never shake. My father had a tendency of smashing things, to this day the sound that makes me jump the most is shattered glass, and there was one pretty bad night when my dad went about smashing things, I think it might have been my parents wedding picture, and my mom was screaming at him and my dad was shouting back, and I ran out of the house crying. Fortunatly my neighbor, Jason, my best friend back then, was up, and the two of us went to hang out in our joint back yard (we lived in a duplex). I remember crying and him telling me that his parents got a divorce and it all worked out, and I think from that point on I wanted them to get divorced.

I don't remember when, but things seemed to get better between them. They still seem miserable with each other, but after they got better jobs and we moved to Waterbury I don't hear them shout the same at each other. My dad's not the family problem anymore, though, I am. For the past few years I've been nothing but lazy, arrogant, disrespectful, and an ungrateful burden to this family according to this family. I'm not even sure what's true and what not. For instance, over this past break I've taken to lying on the couch because it does't hurt my back. The bed in my room kills my back, it has for years, I've even been taken to the family doctor because of the pain it would cause. My parents have had three years and they still haven't replaced the bed. My dad, however, wants me in my room. I asked him why and he just shouted at me, telling me he was the law of the house as he slammed the door on the way out of the house. The other day I woke up by hearing my parents shout about me, my dad saying "I don't care, he's nineteen he can get his own place. I don't want him in my house.", my mom replying "you're crazy", my dad saying "he has no respect for me. I told him not to sleep out there and he basicly said 'screw you'"(for the record, I said "Why can't I sleep out here? My bed kills my back.", although he might not have heard the whole thing as he stormed out of the house). Apparently from the snippets I've gathered he doesn't have a reason other than its his house, his law.

Respect is earned, not given.

*sigh* I've ranted a bit, and it doesn't really fit in this post but I rather post it for people to read than not. Maybe my parents are as bad as people tell me. People aren't actually here for what's going on, and they're only hearing my side of the argument. I always have the doubt.

Enough of that, the point of this post is that I thought suffering alone validated my beliefs, that pain would guide me true. The above quote made me think about that, and how wrong that belief was. I can be patient I suppose, and this post seems a good indication of openness. Love and compassion...I used to be very compassionate individual, very empathetic, but it feels like that's changed. I've really gotten caught up in what I want, caught up in me. While playing Call of Duty 4 the other day I realized how awe-inspiring and admirable it is that people really do put their lives on the line for something greater. I don't think I'd do the same currently, I seem to value my own life much more of others. It feels wrong. In my quest for wisdom it feels like I've lost track of that part of myself. I've become more distant, less idealistic.

And finally I've tried to make myself more vulnerable for life, but I don't think I really understand what it means. I've been taking more risks, pushing myself outside my comfort zone and what not, but I don't think that's what it means. At least not entirely. There are still things I don't seem willing to accept: being wrong, being unremarkable, being weak.

I feel better now, and if you've gotten this far then I thank you. It means a lot to me to know people read what I have to say, more so than it seems. I feel like I've gotten to the bottom of something, but charging at it and trying to champion it like I do with so many other things is a mistake. My gut tells me so. I just have to try to life better I guess. It all seems to come back to that.

Thank you,
Jake