I've just prooved that the matrix for sure doesn't exist.
You know when you reach for a covered drink and expect it to be water, but you taste Sprite?
If the Matrix was indeed real, you'd taste water even if it was Sprite.
Why?
It's your own mind that turns the Matrix from a program to 'reality'. If you didn't second guess the fact that you were about to take a sip of water, that's what you would have gotten if the Matrix were real.
Instead, you get an unpleasant surprize, and the assurance that you actually exist in the fullest form.
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I have found perfection, and it is in the words and melodies of a certain Coheed and Cambria album that came out today. I can't say much to it's genius because words fail me. I feel like a new emotion is being fulled out of my heart, swelling like the chest of a bullfrog. I don't ever want it to end.
Ironically, the album is titled "No World For Tomorrow".
I highly reccomend you go get it.
I haven't watched the DVD it comes with, but I can't imagine what it will feel like. Their last DVD gave me the shakes so badly that my teeth tingled for hours. I can'te xplain why they impact me to such a degree, but I just know that they make me want to create. Paint. Write. Draw. Anything.
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I've always dressed differently than others around me. I love bright colors, heavy fabrics, asymetrical layers, all the fun stuff. I also love sequins and "cosby sweaters." Stripes, dots, checkers, it's all good. I don't bother with matching very often, unless I feel like it. That's what I do.
I dress how I FEEL.
Not how I think others want me to.
This has brought me untold amounts of happiness and freedom, along with sadness and brief moments of feeling alone and unwanted.
Today, for example, I was walking up to the entrance of the local Target, minding my own fucking business, when a car full of cold-hearted individuals feel the need to roll down the windows and yell,
"You look GROSS!"
I stopped walking and took a deep breath. This was the millionth time that has happened, and it still hurts. I looked down at myself. I was wearing some of my favorite items of clothing. Brown pirate boots, black and white striped tights, a cream-colored pencil skirt, and tie-dye tank top covered by a Coheed and Cambria shirt.
Honestly, I felt amazing, and I felt like I looked fantastic.
Why then, would anyone feel like I would benefit from a drive-by insult?
What have I done to them?
What have I done to ANYONE, for that matter, that justifies my feeling like a peice of trash?
I work extremely ahrd at my job, go home, and spend a good portion of my money taking care of my family and animals.
Do they think I deserve this?
Or, do they simply see me as a shell; no feelings, no thoughts, no life. Just some stranger to pose as a verbal punching bag?
Anyone can tell you not to let it get to you, but after years and years of being called ugly, gross, and (my personal favorite) a 'dumpster queen', you start to let it in.
The lack of empathy people have sickens me.
What sickens me even more is that for a few seconds after their words hit me like a very familiar bag of bricks, I hope that someone makes them hurt like I do.

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I had a dream last night that a nuclear bomb went off behind my house, and I survived it. It was eerily realistic in that all the components of a regular explosion were there: the blinding light, the absence of sound (followed by a strange, hollow roaring), and the last thing I was looking at was burned into my dream-retinas. Then everything went black. I don't know how much time went by in darkness in the dream, but when my dreamy self opened my eyes and came back consciousness, my sister was standing next to me in the backyard, exactly where I was when the bomb went off, and told me that I had been standing there for two weeks. All I said after she told me that was.
"Wow, really?"
Then she and my dad walked through the destroyed suburbs to find a hospital to see if I had any complications. Once we got there, none of the doctors would even look at me.


WHAT THE HELL IS MY BRAIN TRYING TO TELL ME?

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