shroom

I only just joined, but I feel like ranting, Boy howdy, do I love a good, hard rant.

I love the way a rant gets your juices flowing. The whole tide of emotion building in your body as you get more heated and worked up. The way a face flushes and twitches with barely containable excitment and emotion. When you can rant with someone and get so personal and deep that you both come out of it changed, with a deeper understanding of yourself and the other. I love the little climax at the end when there's a moment of silence, letting the energy in the air speak volumes as the tension fades.

Fuck I love to rant.

Todays rant, lovies, will be about frustration.

It makes me wonder how a single word like that can sum up my current state of being.

I am frustrated.

See, I have three dreams in life.

One is to meet a nice, twisted freak of a girl who shares my outlook on life.
Two is to write a book. I don't care if it gets published, I don't care if its as intellectually bankrupt as The Da Vinci code. I just want to do it.
Three is to own my own deli. Kekeke.. I loves me a Deli.

Now, to my frustrated rant. Lately it seems like cosmic forces are working against me for some unknown reason. So the frustration sets in, blanketing all portents of my life. Frustrated that I don't have the money to do what I want. Frustrated that I don't have a job to get the money. Frustrated that I was rejected from countless employment oppurtunities for not having the experience they need. Honestly, how much fucking life experience do you need make a sandwich or serve a piece of cake? If only I was a nubile young uni student, as they seem to have exactly the right experience it takes to work in a coffee shop.

Writers block is truly crippling. Frustratingly so. Imagine swimming through an ocean of ideas. (Yellow submarine flashbacks.. nice) Each cresting wave of an idea carrying you further toward that island of recognition and- Fuck the oceanographic metaphors. I'm stuck and I feel like I have a wall in front of me and it fills me with impotent rage.

Speaking of impotency, I wonder why it is I seem to have the luck of some sort of unliving suck beast when it comes to women? I mean, I'm a nice guy, I'm polite, friendly.. I don't drop roofies in drinks. Yet.. the stories I could tell. Betrayed by best friends, the internet, disappearing girlfriends.

I'll sum up the portion of my last date that sort of killed the night.

Her: So whats that book you have with you?
Me: Its a coffee table book. Its got alot of my favorite artists in it. Bottecelli, Bosch, Salvadore Dali, Leonardo.
Her: Leonardo.. Like the turtle?
Me: *chuckle* Good one.
Her: ...what? Not the turtle?
Me: No... the inventor, painter, sculptist, engineer Leonardo.
Her: ..I don't know him.

I honestly had no idea how to respond to this.

Maybe I'm just bitching. I'm frustrated afterall.

I don't know if anyone will ever read this, but.. it feels good putting frustration to words.