What do you make of this?

Behold, Latin.

After taking a few lessons on European Spanish I realized that I was barking up the wrong tree. I have now corrected my course. It seems to be going pretty well, but i get the impression our Latin American friends just chopped off a few letters from everything in the old Spanish.

Yeahhhhuck.
I ate too quickly. I was pretty hungry, and I guess i should have spent a little more time chewing. It has a noticeable effect. Le sigh. I have now had two people try and tell me that the reason I am sick is because I have not let the Lord into my heart. I really do not know how to deal with such people, as there is no reasoning with them. And they just do not give up. I do not care what you believe, any more than I care if a dog believes its master is the creator. I do not care. But they do. Like I am some sort of cancer that must be corrected lest i spread into their own minds. As if my lack of belief might some how make the world less whole, and their gods less real.

If only I could accept my life as a spiritual path, I would be well. Cured even. Surely it is not that my genetic code simply lacks the programming for the digestive enzymes responsible for digesting gluten. No no, it is a lack of god in my guts that has robbed me of my health, and if i could only see the light I could find my salvation. For god has never struck down any man of faith. Never left any soul in anguish unduly.

In the early 1900 it was believe among some of the intellectuals and philosophers that the religious life in America would not survive the fifties. They postulated that so much progress had been made in casting aside the old beliefs, and in proving the fallacies of the bible that no reasonable person could possibly believe in a omnipotent creator. Well we are hardly a reasonable lot.

I read an article recently on how it is now safer to be a homosexual in Texas than an atheist. Which is good for the homosexuals but rather troubling for we fatalists. Our fate, our reason. That we would deny a power over our lives, and doubt something after would be enough to be alienated us from our communities, and shunned by our own families. They had a good few horror stories in the article, and even as ardent as I am, I must admit I have smiled and played along in my time here. It is not polite to discus such things with people you have only just met, and when there seems to be a good half dozen of them rollicking along. Really? Rollicking is a word. Huh. I guess frolicking was too faggy.

Faggy is not a word. Urban dictionary disagrees. Seems it was used in the opening chapter of Catcher in the Rye. Oh Salinger, you were right. We do not deserve you. I wish i could concentrate long enough to write a book. Or do anything for that matter. Already midnight. What did you do friday? Oh I Stayed at home, ate some Mexican food, got sick and brushed up on my Spanish. Then I trolled around urban dictionary on my phone looking at words to make sure they were words. Because I never really had that great a grasp on English in the first place.

Or what is becoming of it.

What is it with baby boomers never answering a question? After not speaking to the land lady for a few weeks I sent her a text.
-When will you be here?
-I am actually painting my apartment.
-Sooooo march?
-Yup going to send invitations out to my close friends... we will celebrate march 17th i think it is a Saturday. Green day.

It is like they all have a conversation going on in their heads that they expect you to be in on. They understand what they are talking about, why is it confusing you? So I am left to assume she is going to be here a few days before the party she is planning, but I am assuming. Oh well. Old people be old.

And none of us seem to skilled at communicating. How often do you feel understood? How often is it, that you can speak and feel that the person who is listening to you understands what you are saying with out having to explain things over and over. My, is horrible with this, as he will insist to the point of yelling that he understands, often before you get to your point .Then if you ask him to explain the idea back to you, he will relinquish. Only to again insist he understands a moment later.

Not to say that no one understands. People who do are just rare, or perhaps it is just people who understand me are rare. Many people questioned my friendship with Tyler, but when we spoke, we communicated. It was effortless, even though we had vastly different world views, he understood. And i like to think I understood him as well. But you would have to ask him to be the judge of that. Things did fall apart at the end of it all. Like the clothing i wear. Holes grow in everywhere.

Doctor, doctor,
can you help me please,
all these pills and problems,
keep piling down on me.

I would like to go lay down and go to bed. I would like to sleep. But sitting upright, for whatever reason seems to take the pressure off, if only a little. I am still hungry, but do not dare to eat this late in the evening. I am out of hemp hearts, and peanut butter. So my morning smoothy is going to be a little short of meal replacement status. I am so tired of this. Like a prison there is no escape from. No date for dismissal. To sit and wait. To hope that tomorrow will not be as bad as today.

Hope. I hate hope. That it has become an ideal we aspire to is a testament to how weak our race has become. Hope, hope things get better. I do more than hope. Reading these meaningless journals, and search every corner of the internet for answers. Sustained on the dullest diet imaginable, having now cut soy and wheat. If it comes in a bag or a box, i do not eat it. No sugar, aside from berries and fruit. I take yoga classes to balance my mind and body, to steel my will against this nightmare of unending agony.

I have no hope. I have no need of it.
For there is no one to save me, no grace divine that will show me mercy.
I expect no quarter, for this fate, my fate, is of my own making.
It will be what I make of it.