PureVolume

Must type something.

I've been working on various projects, involving both manual labor and intelligence (and, sometimes, even combinations of both). I am wiped out.
So, we shall type random thoughts into this thing that no one will ever read. Perhaps even in a letter-type format.
Yes, this is pathetic.
No, I don't care.

Dear reader,
How on earth did you find this? Were you flipping through random pages and found me on some band's list? Why are you so interested in one called "Nonimus" that you would read something written by this person?
You scare me, you know that? Random reader on the web... seer of my thoughts. Knowing my every whim. Well, not my every whim. I'm a whimsical person (believe it). It would take a while to type all my thoughts.
So, sorry, but you don't get the whole tour today. Or ever. *Maniacal laughter*
This is fun. Alright, reader, here we go. Into the depths.
We'll start with a light issue. Love. Knight-in-shining-armor, couldn't-live-without-you, kissy-mushy-awww love. This is classified as a light issue merely because I don't have to deal with it yet. Too young and stupid. I suppose to some it means a lot. Well, yeah, of course it does. Why wouldn't it? One of the greatest gifts from our Creator, it'd be a shame to not hold any importance.
But this right here, this is ridiculous. I'm speaking with girls who are barely teenagers, haven't really even started into puberty, and have already had a minimum of three boyfriends. Why? What's the point? Who gives a rip if you have a boyfriend when you're 13? You're not going to marry him. You're not going to bear his children (short of unfortunate occurences). He may think he loves you, and you may think you love him, but niether you nor he have a clue as to what real love is. You just like being kissed and told how pretty you are. And it doesn't hurt that he's sooooo cuuuute (or is it hott now? I can't keep up).
And that's the big punchline, isn't it? The point to this joke we call an existance. A good feeling. That's why the drugs, that's why the booze, the sex, and the meaningless screaming on our pathetic little soapboxes. We want the good feeling. We want the good feeling. But why aren't we already feeling good? Well, that's obvious enough. We all have our little secret. The one (or two, or three...) thing(s) that we hide from all who could help. The one thing that we almost wish someone would discover, just to be rid of it. Just to be helped. But we're far too vain and prideful to ask for help, even when we're weak and crying in our pit of darkness and disguise. Even if you don't have a weakening secret (I suppose it's unreasonable to float such a generalization), there's something. There's always something. Abusive relatives, poor confidence, being depressed in general (no shame in that- just that it's something that brings you down), someone killed your dog, cut you off on the highway, etc.
Is it reasonable, then, to state that the reason we want the good feeling is so we can ignore or overwhelm the bad? Perhaps that's the only logical end to the means.
What if the truth was known? Do you suppose that if it wasn't so cleverly hidden and perverted, more people would be happy, fulfilled? Does it, then, make it the duty of those who know the truth to share it with those seeking the good stuff? To show them what this life is really about?
...
I'm not saying that relationships of that classification under the age of... I dunno... the age of intelligence is "a horrendous sin," just that it's pointless. Meaningless. It's meaningless, a chase after the wind.
Wow, that went deeper than expected. You're getting to see a side of this introvert that most don't realize is there. Rebellious, against-the-flow, whatsoever-you-make-of-it. Perhaps more would see it if I spoke more when around people. Eh. My opinion is better voiced in ink. I'm useless in spoken conversation, so I don't say much. I guess it comes off as sounding intelligent. That's weird, because it scares me to speak. Seriously, I'm nervous as... -insert strange dixie analogy here- when I speak, even to my friends.
Okay, then. I've made a confession, how about you? You say something that no one else knows about yourself.
One sided conversation like this is terrible. You know why? There is no way to gauge how you are reacting to all of this. I can't see your eyes or face, or hear your breath or heartbeat, so that's no way to tell. I seriously doubt I'll be getting any comments on this, because I seriously doubt that anyone will ever read this. In that case, the confession meant nothing. Sure, it's out there on the web, ripe for the picking, but it won't be picked. It'll just sit there, stale and old. Like a time capsule. Hmm... It'll be cool to read to old stuff I've written someday. When I'm older, wiser, and have some real-world experience under my belt. Bet I'll laugh.
...
Uh... yeah. Sooooo... recent events.
Just found out that there'll be a band over at FBC for three days in a row. I listened to thier music, and it's pretty good, so I'll probably go. Wonder why it'll be three days. Mebbe a revival, or something.
Tropical Storm Alberto started to affect us yesterday, and we've been getting rain all day. Oddly enough, it's not raining now. Better make a dash for the mail. Or a swim. How bad is it...?
Anyway, he'll be making landfall tomorrow, and there's a chance that he'll be a hurricane then. The reason he's affecting us now, when he's so far away, is that Alberto's strength is on his right side. It's all lumped over there. So, when he turns to the north-east, we'll still be getting it. Here's hoping that the roads are safe for passage on Wednesday. Can't miss another violin lesson this month.
...
Gotta go practice some more, I'm rested now.
So, dear reader, to conclude.
What compelled you to read that whole thing?! Good gosh, you must be bored enough to play go fish with nail clippings by now!
Ahem.
Have a good life, etc.

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