Why is everyone so obsessed with dreaming? And what is it about dreaming that intrigues us anyway? Is it that our dreams are wrapped with endless impossible thoughts we wouldn't dare to think in our waking lives, or just the fact that we can never know what they are or why they occur?

"Follow your dreams." The most frequently spoken inspirational phrase in existence.

Dreams take us away from the usual monotonous droning of our lives into places we know can't exist. Even if it's to a dark forest where wood nymphs are mauled by the cubs of a hungry carnivore on the prowl, dreams are a welcomed escape. Your life is boring, so instead of fixing it straight away you sleep more so that you can get that escape; get away from the world without lifting a finger or making an effort.

But dreams come to an end. All dreams end eventually.

You spend a few hours or a few years wrapped in this magical fantasy world where everything can be perfect and your loved ones will live forever. Then reality comes back to get you and you're whisked away to wake in a cold sweat on your frayed and broken bed sheets in your run-down bottom floor apartment. You're left to face it all and your escape won’t be back until the day has messed up your life and disappeared again.

You'll lose your perfect job, the perfect lover will get away, your best friend will die and then you'll bury your own children. Then if you wake up you'll realize it wasn't just a nightmare but all the time you spent with them is all you'll ever have. You could dream that they're with you; holding your hand, keeping your secrets and lighting up your life. But that lasts a night. No more than a passing moment in the endless whirl of the colors and lights of modern society. A small patch of iron on the outer surface of a loaded time bomb that will some day blow up in your face and take you back to the depths of your subconscious existence.

But if dreams are so fleeting, why is everyone so obsessed with "following their dreams"? Why are they so intent on following all of the right and wrong paths when their perfect world won’t last forever anyway? Why are our hopes and aspirations even called dreams when most dreams are so dissatisfying and so absurd that no-one with a sane mind could make left or right of them in the first place? Dreaming is a figment of the imagination and yet lives are built and destroyed on top of the cloudy peaks and dusty surfaces of the other reality of insanity and seclusion, all to the knowledge of the poor soul who risks it all.

Nothing stays perfect forever. Flowers wilt, summer fades, snow melts and age never stands still. What’s the point of dreaming if your serene escape turns into a new horrific reality?

Whatever it is, I say it’s worthless.

I say dreams are over-rated.

The Confessions, As Labeled

Number one ;; I didn't go to work today like I told you. I went to the cliffs. And perhaps jumped. Thats why you thought I left wearing something different this morning. Because I did.
Numero Dos ;; Felan didn't go to Julia's. He came with me. And jumped with me. Faithful little bastard.

Numero Kolme ;; I FUCKING CARE. Don't think I don't. I care more than anything else in the entire world. I just... I can't deal with it. It's living proof that it's got a hold on me to. I can deny it until the day it kills me... but not you. It doesn't mean anything bastard, and I won't feel guilty. I know it wasn't me. I didn't do this to you so you have no right to be mad with me. I love you, you idiot, and even if it kills me to look you in the eyes, I'll alway love you.

Numero Quatre ;; It kills me that I can't do anything for you when you get like that. Really. It does. It drives me to the point of almost losing my temper. It's unfair that someone so nice has so much shit to deal with. It's completely unfair, and I want to hunt down the responsible party. For now I'll tell myself to breath, think about the innocent and tell myself that would do nothing.
Numar De Cinci ;; For once, I just want a clear head. I'm sorry if that it to much to ask for.
Numaire Kiirdein ;; I'm sick of "confessions" because these are turning into personal and unaddressed letters. But, there you go. A few things I had to get off my chest.

A peek Into Mr. Curran's Mind.

Honestly, with Wikipedia out there, why on earth would anybody read my blog? What here can fascinate a man beyond the means of, potentially limitless, on-line, encyclopedic, knowledge? I recently re-discovered my old blog from a few years back. It seems so ridiculous now.

And now I'm, quite literally, sitting in the dark, facing a bit of the universe, and wondering why I should have to be sitting in this particular direction? Who knows? Who cares? And what is the meaning of life?

{I envision a situation involving me meeting Life face to face and asking (as if it were a naughty child), "What is the meaning of this?" Quite jokingly, of course: You can't just walk around asking very busy people very silly questions.}

So, this brings us back to the question at hand - Who of you out there read my blog? I know of a few, but my blog counter turns up ridiculous numbers of hits in the multi-thousands that can't really be accounted for. Feel free to leave a comment.

One of these days I'm going to make some friends in The City to do things with.

My life has taken a bit of a tragic turn, and I'm settling a bit. I'm really not meant to settle, I think. It's uh... well, think of the children.

WHERE HAS ALL OF THE ABSURDITY GONE? where are the reckless good times, followed by the wrecked bad ones? What can we bond over if there is nothing left in the world?
What can we bond over if we are not left in the world. We box ourselves away, and create these shells that merely serve to facilitate the mode of existence that we've most recently become comfortable with. And the walls keep coming up.
And, experiences aren't so awe-inspiring anymore because they fit into our compartmentalized minds just as our psyche(s) directs them to.
Can someone please check the foundations? Why are they so solid? When did this happen, and why wasn't I told?

I am always at unease, lately. I dread stagnation. And, now I see what a profoundly deteriorating effect it has on the attitude. I think I'm just bored.

But how can I be bored amongst all of these clever social interactions? You never know which people are completely aware of cause-effect relationships, and how they can manipulate them. And, if you are aware of their awareness, you have to calculate it perpetually to stay one step ahead. It's interaction math, and the question is: When does it get to the point where you can't evaluate the worth of a word or action in your head anymore? When do you need a pen and paper? Is it worth it to be so neurotic? Not, I think, but it's always a good idea to have something to write with, just in case. (i.e. taking notes)

And, now I have work in the morning, which is really strange to me. And, the people I feel closest to don't necessarily reciprocate. And I'm cold because it's summer but the air-conditioner won't turn off. And timing is always an issue. And I'm bored with life at the moment, and prefer to re-read a book. And, I'm too clever to be blissful, but not quite clever enough to be satisfied with these assertions .

So, is the cat in the box dead or not?
(it doesn't work like that)

Gahh.

Gahhh. Blegh. Fuck.

Yeah, there's no better way to describe how I'm feeling.

The guilt. It's killing me. I haven't lived for a minute without some form of intoxication since that night. I haven't slept in four nights, haven't eaten a bite. The only good thing thats come of this is that I lost close to 7 pounds. I've been trying to do that for months. Apparently the meager food I've been eating and occasionally been throwing up has been too much to allow for weight loss.

Or maybe its the heroin. Probably is. Or maybe an advancement in the AIDs. I can't be sure. Either way, none of it has hurt my relationship with Sol. Though, the guilt keeps piling on when I add on the charade I've been keeping up with him. I haven't told him any of this because of what happened last time. And I can't lose him now. I can't afford to lose him because he's the only constant... the only one I can rely on.

And as much as I hate to admit it... I need the sex. I need it because it's the only thing I can trhow myself into that allows me to do exactly what I want to without holding back.



Ever since that night, the pack hasn't changed. I suppose its because I'm still new or something, but I expected everyone to at least be a little upset the night after. But nothing... they still run around my house and jump on sofas and all that. I don't know.

I do know this though: I will never be half the alpha as Eli. The fact that this is eating away at me slowly is a sure sign of that. I can't even eat fuckinh animals for christ's sake because I think it's inhumane. But, the circle of life goes round and around with the instincts of the pack... I just can't keep up.

I want so bad what Eli has now. To give in to instinct and live that way. I want to stop living with the pain that I hide from everyone. I want to be that kid again. I want to run around our land with my next door neighbor and hide on the other side of the shed and sneak kisses, never telling my parents.

I want to be the older brother to Jaimie that Sloan was to me. I want to tell her "it will be alright" and not be uncertain myself. But things are so fucked up that I can't control things anymore. I want nothing more than to escape this life. I would have so many years ago if I didn't promise her... if I didn't promise Jaimie that I would always be here for her.

I just can't do this anymore. Maybe I'll just stick to the heroin and live whatever void of an existence I have left in a blur. If the heroin doesn't kill me, the AIDs will eventually.

I await that day with arms wide open.



I just won't tell anyone that. Shh. It's our little secret.

Feeling So...

'Hey, Kid'

Yeah, that's your name. Don't take offense, it's a sign of affection. But, don't read into it: It only means I like you in a friendly way, unless indicated otherwise.

This weather is really getting me down. I hate the cold.

I don't like what's happening around me. Everybody has been giving me uneasy feelings. I don't like feeling like I don't know what's going on. And, here I am sitting out of the loop.

…I don't know what's going on!

I feel caged, almost. Probably something psychosomatic. Which makes sense, I'm not really thinking lovely thoughts at present. These feelings started today, or maybe it was yesterday. I'm still capable of happiness, but it's not the pervasive kind, it's more obtrusive.

I really feel alone.

Sure, I have Jaimie in the house and at work, and Sol in my bed, Julia always a phone call away, and the pack always at my back - but I feel so alone. Nothing lines up anymore.

Whats there to talk about anyways? My failing self control? My extreme disappointments to other people? My shortcomings? "How was work?" Who cares...

Mostly feeling... I guess thats the theme.

Old Tomato

The Crack. At this point, I find most effort is in vain. The rift grows, and I slide a bit more in both directions. The duality is becoming more pronounced everyday, with each side vying for dominance. The pressure is mounting, and I find myself either loving or hating. I find my mind either loving or hating the love or hate, circularly, perpetually. Does anyone know why the old tomato is?

Does anyone know what the old tomato is?

Circumventing the questions that arise, for fear of unearthing far nastier queries, I find myself avoiding mirrors.

I used to be much more intelligent, and much much more articulate. But there's "something vague that we're not seeing". I am really mourning the loss. I think I'm going to have to pull something together.

And, with that, I leave you tonight. Remember, be smart. Remember, you can always change it.