I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat

DEFINING MYSELF:

Im overanalytical and critical, however cant stand to be criticized. Never judgemental because judgement is easily proven wrong. I always try to see the good in people, but also see contradictory traits. Im sympathetic and compassionate.

I love excitment and take pleasure in stress and chaos, which is uncommon. I've never used the word love and meant it (aside from family), i believe it means something. So i guess i've never been in love. I surround myself with positive people and try to be as positive as possible in the worst of situations.

I love tragedies...i take comfort in falling apart completly like i have plenty of times, because i always learn from it after i dedicate time into fixing it...im amused by all the darker things in life...

Im very demanding and like getting what i want. I'll do anything to get what i want, and put so much effort into the whole concept. Im a realist. I refuse to change for anyone. I consider myself an athiest, religon is just an excuse for people who refuse to except the truth.

[All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry. ~Edgar Allan Poe~]

I never look down on advice and always appreciate it. I am probably one of the most trustworthy people you could ever meet. I make the best decisions for myself and others. Im openminded. I usually dont "fall" for anyone quickly, but when i do all logic seems to disappear.

"Be yourself. Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish"

Distorted Beyond My Eye’s Power of Correction

This blog refers to a dicussion i had in my American Lit. class last spring.

In the book i've just finished reading "The Great Gatsby" Gatsby dedicates the past 5 years of his life working to get with this girl. She didnt want a poor companion when they first met 5 years ago, but decided she would wait for him to get back from war to be together. She couldnt wait forever, and you wouldnt either. He is madly in love with her and knows that 5 years later she is married to a wealthy man and has every fucking thing shes ever wanted. Gatsby frauds his way into the wealthy society of the 1920s just to be with her, and he wont give up, he cant fucking give up he's put so much into them. He even buys a mansion directly across from her. This proves all he's invested in them. Its pure obsession. "He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion". But then again, that is understandable.

He finally, let me repeat finally meets with her and all he does is laugh, nervously, and almost pathetically. She cries.

"Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes."

He's accomplished his life goal and theres nothing left for him to live for, its so twisted, he has her now and everything he's worked his ass off for has been acheived. So what now?

Basically the only good thing about wanting something is wanting it, and working your ass off for it, but when you have it, it loses its value.

The only good thing about dreams is fucking dreaming them, but when they come true and you're accomplished what the fuck do you do now? Its over.

Gatsby accomplished his only dream and feels likes shit because its over, he has it, and its fucking over.

Think about it, its so true.... the guy or girl you're always wanting, the fucking car you've worked your ass off for, i dont know anything.

This applies to everything you want. And this is a realization i've come across and its insane and twisted because when its over, you just go after something else, its a fucking cycle.

"what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men."