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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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         t     w     e     n     t     y     t     w     o


         a  year  has  past.  the longest of my spent life
         no doubt,  has  just   f    l    o    w    n   by
         me without a g o o d b y e, probably  because  it
         is   still   here  --  still  near  to  help  me.

         in one year i have learned so many things -- it's
         u n r e a l  to  think, in one past, i was merely
         twenty.  would i  have  imagined  it then, -- my
         conscious self -- which  dreams in  my life would
         unfold  themselves  post  sleep?  and  how  many?

         for the past six months i  have  been  free  from
         cubicle walls, working in the unfinished  dungeon
         of  my  basement -- by  myself, yet  for  myself.
         you see, this  has  always  been  my  dream.  not
         quite, yet what i have  seen  in  them -- yet six
         months,  in   t    i    m    e,  is still  early.

         off  hand  i  can't  say that i've done a lot, but
         when  i  think  about it, i've been through a lot.
         i have loved.  i have  loved  before, you see, but
         not like this.   for i have always poured love out
         over  w a l l s  so  high -- no love could get in.

         for the  first  time, i pulled someone up over the
         walls -- for the first time, i let someone l o v e
         me.  sure -- some have loved me  b  e  f  o  r  e,
         but  it  doesn't  take  long to learn your love is
         not wanted,  though effort  a p p r e c i a t e d.

         what have i learned from this?  love  h u r t s --
         as  much  as, if not more than, pushing  it  back.
         See, when you wall  out  everything, you're merely
         injured  by your  lack of what you imagine love to
         be, to feel like, coming in -- a feeling seemingly
         so  much  greater  than  the  feeling  going  out.

         yet  when  you  accept  love, there is a hell of a
         lot of shit that goes with it -- makes  me  wonder
         if  this  is  how  my  love  felt.  with  love, at
         times,    one    pays    the    price.  but  i  am
         s t r o n g e r  now.  and  having  t r u s t e d,
         i feel i am  more  able to trust m  y  s  e  l  f.

         i used  to  f e a r  the   m   word, appropriately
         abbreviated by  the  four  letter  word 'm i n e.'
         it's not  so  bad being someone's.  it's just that
         f o r e v e r bit i seem to mind.  the mind is bad
         at  times . . . or who am i to discredit my life's
         guide?  i  will  rephrase  that -- the  m i n d is
         difficult. just when the  inter-relational  strife
         builds  up,  a  few  choice  faces, along with the
         rest of  their  natural  selves, invade my dreams.


         in waking, i shortly  ponder  why  i  put  up with
         this begrudging entity curled next to yet far from
         me. to a c t on such dreams would be blissful, yet
         oh  so  temporary, ecstasy. once  reality hit, the
         ecstasy  would exit,  and in  that void i would at
         least hope to feel guilty- feel s o m e t h i n g.
         knowing  anything  feels better than the numbness.

         my song at nineteen -- rather  fitting, especially
         when  sung  by a thirty-year-old friend of mine --
         'hey n i n e t e e n,  no we can't dance tonight,'
         left me  fumbling  ever  so  ungracefully  towards
         ecstasy at twenty. by t w e n t y one, or near the
         end, i  should  say, it was just  no good  at all.

         and is no good.  and probably will never be. maybe
         by  twenty t h r e e  i'll loose my apathy.  oddly
         enough, it was when apathy hit -- when i let go of
         how i wanted my life to be -- that my dreams began
         to unfold before me.  to think i used to abhor the
         word, 'a p a t h y,' at  t h i r t e e n, ready to
         take on  much  more  than  the  world  around  me.

         it's  no  good.  i was never much a fan of depeche
         mode -- lyrics  where  nice, but  the  music  just
         didn't  move  me. now with my  acquired  grains of
         w i s d o m,  i  realize  it was never supposed to
         move  me, but      s t o p      every little thing
         that flows within me -- jolting me to a screeching
         halt -- with the first note,  rendering me intern-
         ally void, e m p t y,  for the  music  to pour the
         words, themselves, into me, filling me, forming me
         into a  substance  of  my  dreams, not them of me.

         once, and  only  once, did this  song  move  me --
         one night, my  inhibitions  long since drunk away,
         rendered my walls a form of  putty.  as everything
         within ceased on cue, external  warmth  molded the
         words forming  within  me.  and since, that  putty
         seems to have formed  s   t   o   n   e  memories.

         i have  learned  about myself, and yet learned  no
         shame.  i am known to regret  too  much,  to  hold
         onto too many things, yet  n o n e  i hold now are
         y o u n g -- and  hopefully  by twentythree,  none
         will remain.  i have learned to regard the g o o d
         and bad, with  not  indifference, but  acceptance.
         to  n o t  d w e l l  o n  t h e s e  t h i n g s.

         my  tension  is  loosening.  my neck and shoulders
         actually feel  f r e e,  unbound by the weight  of
         the  stresses  i  once  carried  with  me.  i  may
         be far from  stress-free,  but at least i can turn
         my  head, see  over  them -- b e y o n d the 'me.'

         there are  t h r e e  men  that i love -- only one
         that knows he is  o n e  of three, yet still stays
         with me.and possibly a fourth that thinks he knows
         where i am falling. though i have yet to create my
         own  stipulations  between the definitions of love
         and _in_love_, i can, with a  seed  of  certainty,
         say that by then,  the 'in' will  have  found  me.

         what concerns me is, then, will i have found it in
         only  three?  what is it that  holds  something so
         precious as love as  h o s t a g e  for one?  with
         the answer to this, will someone please  help  me?

         in my h e r m i t a g e, isolated from the rest of
         the working world out there, that endless hummm of
         white-noised cubicle culture is  replaced  by  the
         stchurching of sprinklers, the  meowing of mowers,
         the  chatter  and  laughter  of  children  singing
         through the trees to the  music  whistling  in the
         winds.  though seemingly isolated, i am  far  from
         the  a l o n e  that i felt, surrounded by so many
         people,  yet so few who chanced to get to know me.

         i have the freedom  to do what i want and when, to
         write in bed, well past ten.  to structure my day.
         to  w a l k  the dog.  to pet the cat.  to feel at
         home, in a  place  of   mine    own   -- something
         i    h a v e     n e v e r     q u i t e    h a d.

         in this past year, i have grown a lot.  have  read
         a  lot.  have  loved  and  laughed  to  my heart's
         content. did dare to crack a smile -- a toothy one
         at  that.  the   light  is  returning  to my  once
         blue eyes, to  dawn  the  dewey  green.  this past
         year, i believe i have found my 's e l f.'  in the
         next year, i plan to find confidence in it, in me.


                                                  yt 060898

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