Australopithecus

My bed-room just had it’s nightly nocturnal emission, spurting a gooey mess of John all over the computer desk, leaving tiny wriggling organic jet planes wriggling into the interior of the internet and impregnating cyberspace with it’s cozy seed. How is that for graphic?
I was trying to go to sleep and I found my pillow plagued with loud thoughts. I thought to myself, “Perchance I will whisk my pillow away and build a home for it in the stars.”
Then I came online. Nobody was here, so I decided that I would make my second “journal” posting, as promised. I am, after all, supposed to put one up every night. I still haven’t figured out exactly what I want the tone for this thing to be, though. It’s mainly a challenge for myself, to see if I can organize my thoughts and put them somewhere instead of just letting them stew and boil away into nothingness in my head.
I’ve been thinking a lot about things, lately. Things like love and time and death. All those things that I really don’t have a whole lot of control over. Things I have NO control over, to be exact. I was thinking about love because I don’t know what it is, I was thinking about time because it seems to be kicking my ass, and I was thinking about death because my imagination is morbid and I am pretty much always thinking about death.
I have a lot of friends, and I have a girlfriend whom I care for a lot; and I say that I love them. I say it all the time. And… I do believe that I do. The thing is, I still end up feeling lonely, despite the love I feel that I have for them, and the companionship that they so willingly offer me. I could pine for any woman in the world, I could be jealous of any friendship in the world. I often do, and I often am; but it’s not because I lack those fulfillments in my life. I am lonely because, although on the exterior I have an unlimited supply of warmth and comfort from all those people that I know and care about, on the inside I do not have myself. I do not know who I am, I cannot connect with my own mind. If I do not have the love of myself, how can the love of others ever entirely fill that space?
That’s what makes people get greedy. People like Me, inside our chests is this huge black hole that wants to suck the love out of anyone it can because it’s own love is in short supply; that’s something that can make us clingy and it can destroy relationships and lives. I guess you can just chock that up to another lil’ problem made to torment the lives of Man, though. It seems everybody has it, but nobody knows how to deal with it.

Tomorrow I plan to go to apply for jobs at Wendy’s, and at Jersey Mike’s. I need a job really badly. I think of the two I would prefer to work at Jersey Mike’s, because it is a far smaller chain and I think it is an individually owned and managed franchise. I don’t want to punch in to another international corporate powerhouse, or allow my name to be stamped on the employee roster of the Beast and be forever denied entry into the break-room of righteousness.
This is my attempt at being honest and uncensored, and it is just coming out as a whiny and hackneyed attempt at depth. That is okay, though, I will press on. If at my heart I am just a whiny hack who craves depth, then so be it. I will just have to accept my whiny hack-dom and move on.
Having my hair short makes me look like a nazi. I probably should have gone to a barber or something to get it cut, but I was trying to get it over with before I lost my resolve. I have finally come to terms with having short hair, now. It is a crazy thing, but I think it actually works as “Me”. What the hell do I know, though?
Tim raised an interesting point the other day. He said that adults (which I now resemble) can sport a larger array of hairstyles then kids can. That is probably why I don’t look as bad with this as I did when I was a younger lad. Or maybe I do look as bad, and I am just better at lying to myself. Either way, it’s a good time.
I left my cinnamon at the apartment. I will have to go back and get it tomorrow morning, if I want to have a cappuccino or anything. I had to use this other cinnamon this morning that really sucked, it was “chopped” and not “ground”, and it had a built-in grinder on the bottle that didn’t really work well, so I was chewing tiny bits of spiciness in my coffee. No fun, no fun at all.
Originally I was just going to write one page per night, but now I am going to revise that into just a minimum, because I feel very loquacious right now. I am pretty doped up, you see. I take Percoset when the pain in my legs or head (or both) gets unbearable; though I am also guilty of taking it if I get very emotionally distraught and feel like avoiding the inevitable contemplation of suicide by getting a little dopey. Personally I think the benefits outweigh the costs, but I am sure there is a host of people who disagree with me; which probably would include myself were I not currently “under the influence.”
My nostril hair has been growing at an alarming rate recently, and we no longer have the barber’s scissors that we used to, so I’ve just been pushing it into my nose and hoping it doesn’t pop out in the middle of some awkward social function. It inevitably always does, though, which is all right. My appearance has never been anything of much merit anyway.
In any time of great stress, my face suffers this thing I have come to know as, “Massive Skin Death.” It means that the skin on my face both dries out horribly AND somehow grows a mess of pimples and blackheads. Which means that I can do one of two things. I can continue to fight the acne that has been my constant opponent since the tender age of nine, sacrificing ENTIRELY any kind of comfortable life I may have previously had until my body naturally fights things off or summer rolls around and my skin starts to turn all spicky again; OR I can NOT fight the zits, and leave my face to it’s own devices with the most minimal amount of washing until the natural oils can build up and repair it. The latter, of course, gives my arch-nemesis Acne another foothold from which to bombard me, but it also restores comfort to my life in a pretty speedy manner. That is to say, maybe 8 days.
This time, though, I have been trying something different. I have been cutting back my acne battle a bit, using the “pore-cleansing and emasculating” gel that I have every other day as opposed to daily, as well as postponing shaving until it is absolutely necessary and using a lot of hydrocortisone, which fixes EVERYTHING. It isn’t a quick process, though. It means I won’t have to wait until my natural spickiness comes out in the summer months, but it is going to take a couple of weeks for things to get back to normal.
And this is only the first step in the process I like to call, “John’s Cycle of Stress.”
Among the next 7 steps are (in no particular order) an increase in insomnia, oversleeping, lack of appetite, increase in appetite, increase in masturbation, hallucinations of talking hornets, and finally: temporary blindness (after shooting myself in the face with wasp-killer).
Har Har. In all honesty, though, I can feel myself beginning to slide into the spiraling and poorly built escalator that leads into the winter of my discontent. Or whatever.

Dante, huh? Gotta get me some of that.

This is when I begin to lose my train of thought, and my high. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, you know. “Shatter my brain.” Said the rice-a-roni silkworm.
There are things I write sometimes that don’t seem to make any sense, even to me. That line just now? That was one of them. All these people think all these things, and every one of them is wrong. It is a very large question then, it seems, what exactly is the truth? I think the truth, in a nutshell, is that no matter how much we think about it, and no matter how certain we are of what’s right, we will Never, in this life, know ANYTHING for real. That is the only truth I can really glean from my very short and shallow dive into the human experience. Don’t take my word for it, laws no. All I am saying is that there is too many conflicts on this earth for any person to have anything exactly right. By “things” I mean… philosophies, and… what not. Who knows, man? Fuck that, man, it’s all in your interpretation.
Alright. I guess this is the end of the journal for tonight, as I can no longer think of anything to write. That’s what I said I was going to do, though, right? Empty my brain. Even though it doesn’t make any sense. Pointless it may be, but I feel better.