Justified Murder

Staring down that hole again.
Hands are on my back again.
Survival is my only friend.
Terrified of what may come.
Remember I will always love you,
as I claw your fucking throat away.
But it will end no other way.
It can end no other way.

Maynard James Keenan’s fans are a frustrated lot, prone to aggression and hammering scaff pipes. Why? Because everything they say, everything they want to say, has been said in a better way. Anything they want to undertake to vent or to share their emotions with, has been done and been at. So what is there left to do but to copy-paste? From a man who governs individualism like no other. Such a terrible shame of personality, I know. But everyone needs someone to look up to. My lot any I just happened to have found a greater mind to relate to, and be overshadowed by. So, in your face.
It’s funny how you experience music in such a more refined way when the lyrics fit your current mindset, too. At least, that’s how I feel it. I could scream along if I had anything of a singing voice and well, wasn’t strolling through town.


I went and bought myself an mp3 player, because I am so happy about my state-of-the-art CD player that I don’t want to break it while using it. Make sense? Either way, it’s been a blissful source of ear bleeds and resulting dizziness. And no, not even in any proverbial sense. It does get frustrating at times, I hope I’m not mistaken and actually growing a tumor or something. I’m too young to be a cynic.

To the point. To quote my soul mate BenX, "Shut out the noise. With… other noise. More… enjoyable noise." When finding yourself in a crowd with different behavior, it’s easy to get frustrated, keeping yourself from rolling your eyes everywhere you look. For instance, when caught in the middle of Gent’s biggest student party while all you wanted to do is get some food. The simple act of shutting off your hearing and immersing yourself in the sounds you enjoy right down to the emotional level, can calm you down and help you see things clearer.

For instance, the couple that came in. His friends were there and he couldn’t stop belittling her in front of them, to the point where she started hitting him. They laughed and he mocked her some more, grabbing her and groping anything within reach. And she loved it, protesting with a broad grin. It lead to the inevitable question that every single man has posed himself: "Why this asshole? I could-" and so on. But at that moment free of frustration, the answer came easily. I couldn’t help but recognize this douchebag’s behavior as my own, as little as a few months ago. It’s quite simple: when an ego is fed, it grows. We get as cocky as we are allowed to get.

So why this idiot, and not you? It’s easy: because this idiot isn’t you, which allows him to behave that way. Why do the nice guys stay single, and do these arrogant bastards get the girls? The main difference is that they have a girl, really. I was that guy, making an idiot of himself in front of others, not even that long ago. It’s the lack of opportunity to do such, that humbles you. And from there, you’re on your own.


I have a roommate. In the American sense of the word, so that would make it a housemate. A friend got kicked out of his house and asked if he could stay for a month or so while looking for a place to live. He’s a nice enough fellow and he likes to cook, so hey why not. Welcome to the Refuge.

Ahh, the good old days of coming home wondering what you’re going to find. An empty place allowing you to do whatever the fuck you feel like, or a heap of stoned out hippies playing didgeridoo on reggae tunes on YouTube. "Hey that sounded pretty good."

Good timing, I would say. I was getting a little tired of being on my own, and this gives me the opportunity to step out of the occasional rut to focus on someone else’s problem. Some call it parasitism, I call it a symbiosis. So what if I’m feeling better through someone else’s problems? It’s not like I wished them here.


So. In between work gradually slowing down after 4 months without a single resting day, and a rather hectic personal life, I’m… fine. Would you mind if I were? I actually do feel guilty about it, it seems to me I’m recovering a little too quickly. Not that it doesn’t still hurt, don’t get me wrong. But I’m slowly getting the feeling that I’m ready to move on. Which I intend to, as well. I decided I’m going to get me a driver’s licence, which would mean I can start as a crew chief at Roadrunner. More on that later, perhaps.

Additionally, I got a nice wake-up call the other day. No, I don’t want to elaborate. Not for the sake of acting mysterious, but simply because it’s just… nothing real. Yet. We’ll see how it turns out.
Either way! It gave me a taste of responsibility for more than my own whims. It scared the living hell out of me, but at the same time served as sound motivation to actually get up and do something with my life. Sure, avoiding chores and a ‘fuck em’ mentality has gotten me this far, but it’s as good as it gets. From here on, I will have to adapt. I already have in some ways, but I’m not even close to the lowest of standards of most "hard-working" citizens. No, I am no material for society, and hopefully never will be. But that doesn’t mean I can’t participate.

In practice, that would mean getting that driver’s licence, and a decent job. From there, I might be able to specialize when I feel like it, to change to something with better pay and survivable working hours. But let’s not go there yet. One small step at the time. School didn’t teach me how, and neither did my parents. Hell- the only reason I’m still here is probably boot camp.

Where do we go from here? I don’t know. But forward. As usual, I’m scared like a bitch. There’s very little to fall back on and no-one is going to hold my hand, like most people my age had in the past.


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