Stumbling block.

Life has fallen into a normal sort of cycle over the past month, making it difficult for me to get much done in the way of writing. Most of this has to do with my classes this semester. I've selected two very reading intensive classes, as well as two excess classes, resulting in Mondays and Wednesdays that are absolutely packed. Between doing my homework, attending my classes, and getting to the gym regularly, I've had little time in which I actually feel inclined to write. Much of my time is now spent relaxing, simply because of the way my classes are ordered.

In good news, I've finally set upon the proper way to tell a story that I've been working on for a long time. It's turned into a sort of fantasy for children, though I cannot write any simpler than usual, so I suppose they must be very well-read children. While I haven't managed to get much writing into it, the idea has formed itself properly, and I've begun the novel in such a way that I will remember how to continue it. I'll probably put it out of my mind soon, and return to my first novel, but we shall see how it turns out.

I've also been lacking in the poetry department. There are a few new things I've wanted to try, particularly since my mind was opened to poetry last semester, that I haven't gotten around to. Now and then, I'll put out a poem or two, but for the most part things go much slower than they should.

In my personal life, everything has been good. The only conflict that I find myself in is against myself. I've been cruel lately, mean and unkind. Now, that is not to say that there is anything wrong with this. Hate is a natural emotion, an indicator that something is undesirable to the mind, and thus should be avoided or fought. The problem with hate arises only when a man uses it indiscriminately, when he does not sharpen his emotions to understand what is truly deserving of scorn, and what is simply foolish prejudice.

What I've come to realize is that I've been more hateful and critical than is necessary lately. In the process of seeking the best in man, I have not ruled out hatred entirely, as some men do. I understand that there are men truly deserving of hate, and that to treat them with love is a mockery of the emotion. But I also understand that these men are few and far between, and that neither hatred nor its corollary, love, are to be given freely. A man must first properly understand his subject, in all its manners, before he can pass such a judgment. But again, my judgments have been hasty recently, and this is part of the problem.

In my quest for the best in man, I've tried to maintain a proper balance, and tried to understand when to pass judgment, and when not to, and of course I've made mistakes. But in the end, I wish only for justice and good. These two arise only when the proper emotion is given; when men deserving of love receive love, and when men deserving of hate receive hate. I've allowed hatred and confusion to dominate myself moreso than usual lately, and I've been careless in my speech and actions.

Again, above all, I want what is good. At times, I fail, but at those times I must pick myself back up again and continue the journey. I've been more hateful than usual, and in recognizing this, I can now endeavor to be more kind. I apologize to anyone I've ever hurt, because this was none of my intention. Above all, at all times, I intend only what is good.

Emotions are not my strong suit. My first real experience with them was in high school, when I fell in love for the first time, and was forced to think about what I wanted in life for the first time. As a result, I deadened my emotions, tried to hide them all behind cold rationality. It wasn't until last year that I realized this, that I had created a dangerous imbalance in myself that was hurting me and the people around me. Since then, I've tried to understand and properly use my emotions, and put them to the right purpose. I'm glad to say that for the most part I've done well, succeeded. But there will always be times, when I make a mistake, and this is one of those times.

But again, I must simply pick myself back up, and continue. And that is what I continue to do.



I am an antisocial person. This is something that I must readily admit. Perhaps I do not give the appearance of such, to most, but this is the fact.

When I was a child, I did not have very many friends. I had a few very good ones, and then many of them moved away or were very socially awkward, much like myself. As a result, I was not a social person. I spent my childhood reading books and playing video games. It wasn't until high school that I began to change into the person I became today. At first, I had many friends much the same as myself, in the manner that I always had in my life. We were awkward, we were antisocial, but we were like this together. At some point, we all decided to mature up a little, and started doing actually social things. We joined the play, and at this point I actually opened up for the first time in my life.

I made many new friends, and I fell in love. I realized that I was depressed, and began to exercise. I began to see, for the first time, that I was an intelligent man, and that I wanted more for my life than I already had at the time. Since then, my inner values have remained largely unchanged. My outside beliefs, my incidental traits, these have evolved and changed continually, and with every year that passes I change drastically. But at the core of my being are a few major beliefs, around which this change revolves.

I believe in the goodness of man. I work at all times towards self-perfection, (and thus its antithesis, self-destruction) and I try at all times to share my dream with the world. But of course, this is still not easy for me. For all intents and purposes, I began to be social roughly three or four years ago. Since then, I have made great strides, but I am still far from equal to many people who have been social for their entire lives, and I am certainly far from being perfectly social.

One of the great holdovers from my past life, one of the few things that I have not yet overcome, is my love for loneliness. I spent four fifths of my life being antisocial, being alone. It is easy for me. Being among others, sharing myself, this is difficult. It is hard for me, and when it fails me, when it rebuffs my attempts to join in it, I must naturally retreat to my room and the safety of myself. Some of my friends do not understand this, do not want to believe this. They tell me that the real me is the one that they see everyday, when they have no concept of the me that hides and keeps itself away from all others. Some close friends, they have seen my antisocial self, I have shown them bits and pieces, or perhaps more. But for the most part, the vast majority of my friends see only an outer shell, the necessary barrier that I must erect in order to be social.

This is perhaps indicative of me. I was never built for many friends. I have many, yes, but I have few close friends, and they are very tightly knit, much in the same way that it has always been. And, of course, this is how I prefer it. For any man with sufficient standards, there should be very few that meet these standards, and thus a small group of friends that he approves of. But at the same time, even some of my close friends seem to think that the me that they see, is the real one, the one that I enjoy and nurture.

This is false. The real me is one that I hide away, that I keep in dark places like these, one that tries often to connect with the social me, but in vain. I am a different person here than I am in life. I am a different person whenever I am alone, and this is the person that I prefer. This is the person that enjoys writing, and spends his time reading old novels to divine the secrets of the world. Of course, I enjoy being social, as an escape, as a rest to take my mind off of things. Work is important, but play is always necessary lest a man work himself to death.

I have been thinking on this antisociality, recently. Sometimes, I drive friends away, after a long enough time, simply because I do not esteem them highly, and even if I do, because I have grown tired of them, as they do not grow and change as I do. What I am trying to get at, is that I am not so sure that I should continue this blog. This makes a public mockery of my life, a mockery that at many times I would enjoy. But those are not these recent times of thought.

I also think that perhaps my last post was a bit harsh. I meant only to communicate that I do not really do this for other people, and that this is a blog of mine, of my thoughts. I really don't understand what it is that inspires others to think of my blog in the way that they do. But then, at the same time, there are people who read and enjoy this blog, and have taken good things away from it. I suppose that if for anyone, I really write it for them. I didn't communicate this properly, in my anger. I don't need to write this blog. It is far from central to my life. But, I would like to help people, I would like to change the world for the better. I do it with these words, with this hope, with this dream. I want to speak to everyone who enjoys this blog, I want to apologize to them. Perhaps I hurt you, I had no intention to.

In fact, I want exactly the opposite.


Since you care so much.

Now, I have been trying for quite some time now to ignore the fact that this blog has made some sort of effect on the real world, and that people actually read it. It is obvious that I cannot continue to do this forever, so here I intend to do my first and only blog directed wholesale to my readers.

This blog has been running for, as I count it, about two years, perhaps a little more. Now, the first thing to understand, is that this blog was not written for you, it was written for me. In the beginning, I had a few juvenile visions of being some sort of angry celebrity, and I acted accordingly. It didn't take me long to realize that I'm not good at being angry all the time, that I didn't enjoy it, and that most importantly, I simply wanted a place to put down my own thoughts. All of this occurred before I revealed this blog to anyone, and I have since deleted the original posts in the interest of coherency and decency.

I only told one person that I was writing this blog, my best friend. I didn't tell him where it was, or what I wrote in it. He didn't read it. In fact, I wrote in this blog without an audience for about a year before telling anyone about it. Then, in a move of incredible foolishness, I decided that I had nothing to fear, and I linked it for everyone to see, after prompted by my girlfriend to reveal it to her and no one else. Since then, for better or for worse, I have endeavored to put my thoughts down as they occur, with honesty and some degree of intellect. Needless to say, I was indeed shocked when I discovered that people not only read my blog, but treated it with the utmost amount of immaturity and an insulting manner.

Let us be clear. I'm not writing this blog for other people. I'm writing it for myself, in order to understand and clear my own thoughts. I don't care whether you read it or not, in fact, I would probably be better off if you didn't. If you don't like the ideas expressed in it, tough shit. This isn't intended to be serious, revelatory, philosophical, or highly intelligent. This is intended to be the inner workings, in of course a highly imperfect and flawed, unrefined, state, of my mind.

As such, I don't care about your comments. If you leave me a helpful, kind comment, thank you. I didn't mean to get you involved in this, but I have the utmost respect for your kindness. If you leave me a comment that carries virtually no meaning or importance, then cool for you. If you insult me, I will respond. If you insult me in an unintelligent, unreasoned manner, then I will mock you. If you insult me in a well-thought, intelligent manner, then I will mock myself. You are a better man than I, who would never stop to develop a well-reasoned argument for the sake of anyone else, and I respect you.

This blog is also, you must understand, not very important. I don't dedicate myself to it, or any of the ideas contained in it. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it, I only write down ideas as they come to me when I'm in the mood to write. I'm not going to reply to your comments in any meditated way, because I don't have time to. I have a life to live. I have food to eat, books to read, books to write, things to do, worlds to conquer, women to love, a life to die, etc. If I live to the age of 100, that will be only 52596000 minutes in which to enjoy myself. I'm not going to waste 60 of them writing a clear and detailed response to anyone, when I could be using it to go read a book instead.

Another fact I would like to point out, is that for the most part, my friends don't read this blog, while my critics appear to read it religiously and have no clue who I am. This blog is certainly far removed from real life, and I am certainly a far different person in it than in ordinary existence. If you are reading this right now, chances are that you have no clue who I am, and can shut the hell up when it comes to judging me and my lifestyle. If you would like to contact me in real life, and get to know me, go ahead. If you still find me a despicable person afterwards, then feel free to insult me as much as you wish.

Which brings me to another point, that I am only a man, a man trying to be the best that he can be. It takes a certain sort of cruelty, I think, to find this laughable, and an even worse sort of one to insult me for it. I only want what is best for myself and the world, and work toward it with all my effort. If you find this underlying premise laughable, then I have no place for you.

And for the record, as many of you seem to have gotten this wrong, I love my girlfriend, and she's pretty damn awesome.