generic diary

you know it's bad when you can make a comment so cryptically morbid, you make a taxi driver shut up. those guys would talk about a ****ing fly swatter if you gave them the chance.
another night in coppers ends in disappointment, apathy and a sore throat. i feel worst about the sore throat. it may (but probably wont) stop me going out tomorrow.
my mates whom i identified with have created their own solutions (problems) to their problems.
- brian is an alcoholic. <am i going to be the one who has to throw myself on the grenade, as per usual, and try to help him? i would if i could even help myself. memory: being 10 years old standing up to the two bullies feasting on some poor kid with a speech impediment; brow-beating them into standing down. this memory confirms my belief that i was more mature then than i am now.> he has now suffered a broken nose, jaw and hand as well as innumerable black eyes to his self-destructive cause.
- how do i even know dan anymore? common interests and proximity only go so far at this age. we're so different sometimes i can barely relate to him. he has his own agenda. his own mission: score. it doesnt really matter what.
- rojac and finbar. they have what i want, or at least what i idealize. will 'the girl' solve your problems? probably not. for at least one of the two of them, i can say definitely not. learning from them is moot knowing one is destined to fail miserably, and yet my jealousy of them almost consumes me.
- everyone has their own issues. their own way of dealing with them.
i lack the ability to make myself vulnerable. this causes me to appear aloof and disinterested. women can't see through this and i dont blame them.

norman mailer once wrote: "there is little sexual about suicide. it is a lonely landscape with the pale light of a dream and something is calling to you, a voice on the wind" and he is right.

im not looking for responses to this. this is just looking for some sort of documentation.