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an endless season of silence

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Wednesday, September 17th, 2003
1:26 am - Bye Bye
So that's it kids, I'm ghost, no more mister Dustin in the big city that mickey built, I'm off like a serority girls underwear on a Saturday night, x's and o's to all, especially you babe. Maybe I'll see some of you when I visit, if not I guess I'll see you in hell.. In the mean time I'll keep this journal up and running so I can get the 411 on all you kids and your crazy exploits.

End transmission.

(5 scars | pick the wound)

Thursday, August 21st, 2003
3:40 am
So it is said that the world began with a big bang. A massive, cataclysmic expansion of material that in time created the vast cosmos that we now reside in. It is hard for me to conceive the concept of immortality. Days begin and end , lovers and the lives of those we love come and go. And in time humanity will reach it’s end, just like many other species that evolved only to become extinct. And after we are gone the sun will consume the earth and there will be nothing left of our legacy. So what tangible thing is there that is said to be immortal. Even our universe is accelerating into oblivion. Voids in space that lie between solar systems and stars called dark energy are pushing everything outward and away from each other at an increasing speed, and consuming the cosmos. Eventually these voids will be all that is left, leaving nothing. Einstein himself once conceived this theory but was to appalled by the idea of an in eternal universe to continue his studies. So based on what we know everything will come to an end. I guess that’s where faith comes in. But that’s not something you pick up at k-mart. Should it matter that our lives are just a blink in an ending reality? Is this a good reason to just say fuck it, It’s all going to end anyway. Well I guess that depends on your perspective. As of late mine has been a little blurred by pessimism but I’m hoping for a little spark of optimism to make the days seem more worth wile. If you have a little extra to spare, send it my way, I could use it.

(4 scars | pick the wound)

Monday, July 28th, 2003
11:09 pm - A failed device.
How fortunate I would be if I where more like a computer. If this were a possibility I would be sure to come equipped with the recycling bin function. To possess the ability to take all unwanted thoughts and emotions, drag them to an icon, and empty them into oblivion, would be a most useful device. Secondly , I would also enjoy the aptitude to reboot my system, ridding myself of all corrupted files and rendering myself capable of starting from scratch, allowing optimism to process without flaw. And third, the ability to upgrade with ease, add new programs to replace the obsolete applications that do little more than take up space within a system that demands more functional attributes. But I’m not a computer, and even a computer will crash in time. So here I sit on the dusty discount shelf hoping that in some manner the world still has a use for me.

(pick the wound)

Saturday, June 14th, 2003
5:08 pm
Three days into my attempt at not smoking. Doing good as far as not having any cigarettes, doing damn horrible as far as not wanting any cigarettes. If you used to smoke, and where successful in quiting, and have any little tricks that might help, please comment.
p.s. God dammit I want a F'ing cigarette!

(11 scars | pick the wound)

Thursday, June 5th, 2003
3:23 am
I made my journal all fancy. Go check it out, tell me what you think.

(2 scars | pick the wound)

Monday, June 2nd, 2003
2:25 pm - Yesterday
Yesterday afternoon I spent my sunday like I used to spend my sundays, soup and salad at crispers, a little window shopping, and then a free movie at Regal, compliments of the Enzians negligence on updating the employee list for free movies. The only thing that made this sunday different was the empty seat next to me the whole time.

I spent yesterday evening like I used to spend my nights off. Sitting on the couch watching bad horror movies with Dan, until I got a call from work informing me that one of my bosses attacked an employee and some how my other boss was going to jail. Some things never change, and other things hint the end of a world I thought I new so well.

(8 scars | pick the wound)

Friday, May 30th, 2003
2:55 am
The joy of transition. Not knowing what the next step is feels like standing on a trap door rite as it falls through beneath your feet. That unexpected decent into uncertainty. A fork in the road, both routs equipped with yield signs with no view of on-coming traffic. Indecision at it's apex. Where to go? What to do? No coin to flip, because both sides appear to be the same in different ways. The end starts at the beginning. Tracing shadows, altering reflections, un dreaming to re-dream a waking nowhere. The horoscope written by a dyslexic amputee with disassociation syndrome. where's the map. What are the directions. I'm lost sir.

(7 scars | pick the wound)

Wednesday, May 14th, 2003
2:40 pm
The nights get darker but the moonlight doesn't fade.
The days are blinding but the sunlight hasn't changed.
The air gets thicker and my heartbeat changes pace.
My eyes see back-wards as my memories erase.
I see someone else behind this paper face.
who are you?

(pick the wound)

2:33 pm - Today.
Today was a lot like yesterday, a waste of calender space. all these blank little boxes, titled with the same seven names, monday, tuesday, wednesday ect. consecutively repeating in the same order till the end of time. Tomorrow will be a lot like today a blank box, a blank day.

(6 scars | pick the wound)

3:15 am
There is a room at the top of the stairs, I'm afraid to go in it and I don't know why. You can see the window of the room from the outside but you still can't quite see in. Sometimes I think I see light coming from beneath the door, some times I think I hear a voice... maybe two voices, I know their speaking of me when they talk but they don't say my name. They call me by a different name but I know it's me that they speak of. The house has changed a lot since I've been here but the room stays the same. The room at the top of the stairs. I'm afraid to go in it but I don't know why.

(1 scar | pick the wound)

Friday, May 9th, 2003
4:08 am - What's a pillow?
Why do people like myself insist on staying up late to do nothing in particular. If I would just cash in my chips and go to sleep I might have a plasant dream, and then awaken from my slumber early and well rested with a whole day amongst the waking world to do as I please. But no, that would go against my dark a distant image that I prize so very much. If I did that I might accidentally get something done or perhaps meet some new people, but we cant have that now can we. I am convinced, good night.

current mood: awake

(7 scars | pick the wound)

Monday, May 5th, 2003
5:40 pm - ROOM FOR RENT
Yesterday my room-mate got fired from his job, and today he moved back to Ft. Myers to live with his mother. His name is Mike and he doesn't live here anymore. My name is Dustin and I need a new room-mate. Anybody need a place to live?

(7 scars | pick the wound)


So the battle is officially lost and that which contests happiness is the victor. Casualties weigh in at one hundred dead hopes and dreams and the only survivor is my memory.
Future strategy: have zero emotional assets eliminating the possibility for loss.

(2 scars | pick the wound)

Wednesday, February 26th, 2003
12:02 am - nothing is perfect
tonights events brought the fraze nothing is perfect to mind, and I discovered that it in fact has two meanings. The first: nothing is perfect in the familiar sense, that as humans, all that we encounter throughout our existence is in some way flawed, hence the fraze nothing is perfect. The second, witch I thought of in the course of my walk home from work is that the only thing that is perfect is nothing, because if nothing is present there is no room for flaw, so, nothing, is perfect. So, in the end, if there isn't a god and a heaven, witch I doubt there is, then in death all of our lives, or un-lives will be perfect. Food for thought. Farewell and goodnight.

(2 scars | pick the wound)

Tuesday, August 13th, 2002
10:12 pm
I need a new job A.S.A.P., Any suggestions? please reply.

(1 scar | pick the wound)

Monday, June 17th, 2002
12:48 am - Worst entrie ever.
The florida film festival bent me over and gave it to me hard. Nothing stirs maniacal envy like watching everyone have a grand time drinking beer and waching movies while your stuck behind the scenes busting your ass for ten days. But it's all over now, today was the last day and the Enzian is closed for four days. If you thought that meant I get to relax a little you shouldn't have been thinking. In five hours I get to wake up and start my new second job that I'm not to thrilled about. Cry me a river and drowned me in it. The new job is at an all natural grocery store and deli and the first hippie that crosses my path gets scalped and hung by his dreadlocks then kicked in his meat free belly. Going to the F.T.M. this weekend with Krystal, get to see the friends and family and all that good stuff. Should be a pretty good time. I hate livejournal. Goodnight.

(pick the wound)

Wednesday, June 5th, 2002
12:41 pm - You'll probably skip over this entry
Ever get so bord that when you finally find something to do with yourself, your some how to bored to do it. Well put your hands together folks, I'm updating livejournal. If someone where to ask we whats been going on I'd say 'nothing". Although a common response used to evade further conversation, for me it would be a valid statement. Nothing great is happening, nothing tragec... .. . . Nothing. I am opaque. I'm that guy broken down on the side of the highway that you see for a split second as your zooming by toward your destination, that you might have thought about helping if you didn't pass him so fast that the thought never had time to formulate in your mind. I'm that graveyard clerk at the convenient store thats been dieing for a customer to help break up the monotony of his ten hour shift. The one that removes the convenience with overextended conversation when all you wanted was a pack of fucking cigarettes. Sometimes while I'm at work I pray for a robbery, or for the car in front of me in traffic to collied with another, flipping it over and sending it into flames. I smoke more because finishing another cigarette reminds me that time has actually past. Well the worst part is that time is passing and i'm not doing anything. I have everything I need to have to make something happen. I'm not crippled, I can read, I'm farley educated, I have some talent when it comes to some things, and I have an incredibly beautiful girlfriend that loves me with all of her heart. So what the fuck is the issue. I'm the issue, I need to get my shit straight. I need to feel inspired again. I need to feel alive. I need to be alive. I need to live. I feel better now. Thank you and goodnight.

(2 scars | pick the wound)

Saturday, May 25th, 2002
12:46 am - goodbye.
There is a feeling you get when something is dying. Whether it be within you, around you, or between you and another. Gravity increases, everything seems still, you can feel you own skin moving and changing. We fear change, It can be relieving or un-easing. It's that feeling that makes my heart feel likes it's laying down upon my stomach as if it where a mattress. That feeling that makes the ground below me seem so far away, and the sky above so close and constricting. It feels as though whats passing in your life has taken rout through you, and is biding it's time, pulling peaces of you away slowly in it's exit leaving voids where some density of comfort once took refuge. Every inhaled breath is reluctant to enter for every exhale is a lost memento that expands into a memory and then thins into sorrow. Something is dying tonight and the last thing I want to say is goodbye.

current mood: worried

(1 scar | pick the wound)

Sunday, May 19th, 2002
7:04 pm - sorry just another quiz result, know real entries for now though.

Which British Band Are You?

(pick the wound)

Saturday, May 18th, 2002
3:44 pm - the vanity of discomposure
dressed for success counting pennies for cigarettes. I swim in my madness in my best pair of pants. I've drawn one thousand smiles on this paper face but on the backside there's words that I still can't erase. I count my steps backwards until I end at the beginning. I get hair cuts and bracelets to stare at the ceiling. In the end my excuse will be I wasted to much time, but my hair looked amazing as my happiness declined.

A mirror shows only the present, never a future.

current mood: vane

(pick the wound)

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