Taylor Swift

Watched my first concert today with Shanon and her friend. It could have been worse, but Taylor Swift wouldn't have been the first person that would come to mind when it comes to someone I'd like to see live. Though Nicki Minaj really did steal the night with "Super Bass." It was fun; I'm glad I went

One day, I'll be able to make myself happy... without the aid of material things, or other people. Just myself.

I long for that day.

Bucket List #2

Before I die, I want to fall in requited love.

Losing

I was going to say that this kind of stuff only happens once in a while, but then I realized I'd be lying. This probably happens every other day.

So.

Every other day, I'll fall into this random... random pit of depression. It's weird. Almost always it's about being gay. I guess recently, I've come to pin point one problem I have yet to overcome.

I let them win.

You know, the homophobes, the ones with pickets and loudspeakers-- those guys. One thing they say always gets to me. No, it's not faggot, or "you're going to hell." When someone puts homosexuals on the same level as pedophiles and zoophiles and necrophiles and the like, I can't think of a single reason as to why they're wrong.

Sure, you can say "children don't understand love" or "animals don't know what they're doing; it's purely for procreative purpose," but doesn't that undermine the whole "accepting love in all forms" motto gays have come to adopt? I mean, homosexual relationships are deviant, just as any relationship in NAMBLA. I... I can't help but agree with them-- the homophobes. I identify myself with pedophiles and zoophiles and... and I let them win.

I mean, isn't the point of their damnation to make us hate ourselves? To make us want to change? To let us know that we're depraved? To tell us that there's something wrong with us? To show us that our pride in such sick lifestyles is shameful?

Well, they've won. Because sometimes, or a lot of the time, I believe them. Heck, as I was writing that up there, I believed what I wrote.

I feel terrible about myself. I thought I was really coming around to the whole "self-acceptance" crap, but really, who am I kidding? I hate myself. But most importantly, I hate myself for letting them win.

Bucket list

I've been watching The Burried Life, a show about four guys going around doing things on their bucket list, whilst helping others with something on theirs. Every episode, they ask the same question: what do you want to do before you die?

I guess this is a place as good as any other to write this kind of stuff.

#67 Go through the process of obtaining meat (raise an animal, kill it, cook it)

Hypocrisy

Maybe once I can answer this, I'll hate myself a little less.

Out of all of the stupid homophobic insults, one that always gets to me is "then you condone bestiality and pedophilia too, right?" I never quite understood how to reply to that. I mean, isn't the LGBT community all about "accepting love in all forms" or something like that? Then how can we say that the two said examples are morally wrong? To be entirely honest, I can't even come up with one sound argument as to why necrophilia or zoophilia are in any way depraved. Arn't we being hypocrites? I mean, people who look down on NAMBLA are just as bad as homophobes, arn't they?

I can't help but identify myself with zoophiles, and pedophiles, and the like. I don't know... I guess some part of me still sees being gay as... as wrong...

On a side note, I never thought I'd write more than 100 posts on here. Welp.

Training Wheels

Embrace yourself for another typical teenager-y post.

I'm going into my senior year. This is my last summer vacation of high school. I guess I just need a moment to let that set in. For others, this is almost the end of their education. I'm... worried. Scared. As usual. But it's kind of like when you're waiting in line for a roller coaster, and with every day, the line moves forward, and I get closer. But I guess that's not a fair comparison. I don't really expect the rest of my life to burn bright and die fast; quite the opposite, actually. I kind of think my life is going to drag on... that it's going to be boring, and my current mentality towards it only confirms it. I'm... worried. Even after talking to Ferson, I still can't help but be so... so frightened.

I have one year of highschool left. Well, less than a year. Is the rest of my life going to be like this? Or will it all change in a year? What am I waiting for? What am I going to do?

I fear the day someone rips the safety from under my feet.

You probably think this post is about you.

-“You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon’s playing in the car-

Dad: What does “vain” mean?

Brother: It kinda means you care too much about your appearance and and you think you’re hot shit

Dad: So like Jojo [what my family calls me]

I really hate looking at cards. I know people say “hate is a strong word,” but I hate it. It reminds me that there are people out there who truly do feel this way about their mothers, and brothers, and sisters, and friends, and fathers. And every time I walk this section in a drugstore, I can’t help but feel bad that I have a general dislike for most people.

I guess you could say my dad and I were never really “close.” He’s always thought I was a selfish, vain, conceited ingrate, and he does little to hide it. He’s almost always angry at something or someone, mainly because he thinks they’re incompetent, and if he’s not, he’s apathetic about everything. A lot of the time, I feel like a failure in his eyes; then again, I don’t do very much to try to please him. I’ve given up on that to the point where I don’t even make conscientious choices to please him. I mean, I know he could be worse. He could just not be in my life; at least he’s physically here, right? He could be abusive; at least he doesn’t “discipline” me anymore. He could be an angry drunk; at least he only does weed. But idk. I don’t want to say I hate him, but it’s more than simply disliking him. Heck, I can’t remember having very much small talk with him, let alone one meaningful conversation.

I guess the a pretty good test of how much I care about his is if I would care if he were to die. He was hospitalized around 6 years ago, and what I gathered from others was that he was at death’s door. My mom told me that if he were to die, we would move to North Carolina. That’s all that really occupied my thoughts. I didn’t seem to care about whether or not he would die, but rather the consequences of his death. I almost grew angry at what he would do to my friends, extended family in Boston, my education. Almost. But I knew I shouldn’t have and wasn’t supposed to, so I wasn’t. I cared, kind of. Kind of. But not really.

So would I say it’s great being his son? No, not really.