Friday, January 06, 2006

Stretched Limitations

There's so much on my mind, so much I want to say, but I'm hesitant to do so. The burden my words will carry is something I don't wish upon anyone, and yet I find myself growing more frustrated and less concerned with hurting feelings as the minutes pass.
After all, why should I continue to internalize my already stretched limitations when to me, it seems I am nothing more than an afterthought? Should I carry the burden of surpressing the overwrought emotions of others in exchange for my silence and suffering? I think not. Yet I don't have the heart to hurt anyone... that is, unless of course, that anyone is myself.
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I'm greedy. Selfish, really. I can't think past the immediate, yet all I do is consider others before I consider myself. Is there some invisible halfway point that everyone else can see but me? If so, can someone please guide me through the wintery maze of hedges until we reach this imaginary place, because I'm starting to feel Jack to her Wendy, with nothing more than a locked bathroom door between us, an axe in my hand, and the timeless catch phrase racing through my mind: "Here's Johnny!"
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I've just come back from having seen the new Eli Roth film, "Hostel," and if you are intending on seeing it, don't take young(er) children with you. Without saying much, I don't generally grimace at movies like this. Seeing horrific things take place is commonplace in some of the flicks I like, but "Hostel"... "Hostel" takes on a whole different realm in movie making if you ask me. And Lion's Gate Films, bless their twisted hearts, keep stretching the boundaries of film making so as not to be gratuitous, rather to be realistic and honest in their psychotic version of stylized cinema.
Bottom line about "Hostel:" It's one insanely voyueristic glimpse into the possibility surrounding snuff films and the like. If you were ever curious about unimagineable sadistic endeavors, then this film is for you.
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And lastly, my daughter had a small production school play this morning and I couldn't of been any prouder of her efforts. She remembered her lines and approached the whole situation like a professional actress. Now that I think about it, it was a bit humorous, in a cute "That's my daughter's play" kind of way.
But the parents... ugh! The parents! My nerves never seem to settle when I get around them. I feel uncomfortable, I begin to sweat, I count the clock. I want out. This time, however, I didn't watch the clock. I did want out, but that was because I'm still dicking around with this cold/virus/thing and I feel like gacking every two minutes. The parents, nonetheless... well, let's just say I wish some of these sit and stare until caught staring "adults" would just fucking talk to me. Then they would learn that I don't bite unless asked to, I don't rub ink off onto everything, I don't do or sell drugs, I don't chase little girls in playgrounds or offer candy to little boys, I don't party, and I don't covet thy neighbor's wife - again, unless asked to. I am just like each one of those fuckers, except I don't stare at them for NOT having tattoos and ear piercings. That's it. That's all.


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