Friday, November 10, 2006

Leviathan Felled, Watching the Race

I wonder if everyone comes to a point in life where self hate is the only screaming voice inside. I think I have reached this depth.

When I was small.
I did receive glimmers and shades of limelight, enough to satisfy most children. Yet I never gained the notoriety that I desired. I was motivated to excel merely for recognition, and when I came to a higher wall I would quit and focus on another locus of my personality.

I grew up.
I made mistakes over and over. Years of attempts to mold myself into the person I wanted to be resulted in the gift of fakery. I was an expert at positioning myself, I could act accordingly to receive any title I desired. Then I began to realize I did not know who I was. I learned to accept failure so well that I lost fear of it, and came to the realization that there were many paths that I was just not meant for.

I changed.
I started to act the same more and more around all groups, as people became more accepting and less secular around me. I began to excessively overcompensate through extreme arrogance. The knowledge I had assimilated in my quest to be a certain person led me to look down on all those that were without similar knowledge. With an almost Aryan attitude I harboured disdain for those choosing diverging methodology. I reached an epoch in the Army, when I realized how my condescension made me so loathed. I without a doubt did not care.

Now so morose.
I hate the people I associate with, and I hate myself. I want to just leave but I know I cannot. My personality will not let me fail here. I hate how I act around others, a spectacle who makes sure he is seen and heard. An introvert who self promotes to such an intoxicating level, that he eclipses extroverts.

I want the gift of silence, I want to start over.

Increasingly I feel I would rather just watch the race instead of running. I almost would rather just not watch at all because I am losing interest.

Wednesday, November 8, 2006

Great Words

Blood and destruction shall be so in use
And dreadful objects so familiar
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war;
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

Tuesday, November 7, 2006

What Class might you be?

"Bench Press Standards

According to Strength and Speed (Dale Harder, © 2000 Education Plus, available through, a man who weighs 181 pounds is World class if he can bench 435, National class at 420, College star at 330, College letter at 275, and HS star at 215."

Crazy man. I got 325 in high school and I haven't done much benching since. I would like to get back into it.

Nothing Like it

Sometimes in Life you just want to enjoy the finer things. Like Stuffed Camel.