[7:44 p.m.] : [2004-11-14]
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It never really becomes clear. It never really makes any more sense. The feelings simply subside in fragments and waves. More and more I recognize and embrace my capacity to forget. For, in the end, I think it is the only true redemption. the closing words of a short peice entitled El Falso Quodlibet, by Paul Hornschemeier. it's from a book i've had for a few years now, i pulled it out and was thumbing threw it after my reread of JTHM(Johnny The Homicidal Maniac). Dear Die-ary, the passions that drive us should be the ones we respect and admire. To feel contempt for ones motivations is a vulgar thing. Too often, it seems, I've succumbed to less than admirabble compulsions driven by this furiously reprehhensible machine of mine. So many things inside that I can do without- desire and urges and whatnot. so extraneous. By the time I write in this book again I hope to be as cold as the moon that lights this page. The closing words of JTHM itself. reading these it struck me how much i've changed since i started to be so self aware, since i started to really feel pain. i can remember hours of sleepless nights laying in bed feeling heartache like a physical pain in my chest, trying not to feel anything at all. looking at it now, i disagre with it all, it makes me feel very foolish. the process of turning myself off and forgetting everything, it seems to me now a ridiculous way for anyone to act. ...hm, i guess maybe i'm not really all that emo anymore. still i keep having the depeche mode song get right with me rattling around my head. i will have faith in man, that is hard to understand. the opening words of that song. |
