guns4jesus2004

im not dead. ive been away from DA for a long time though. i have much art sitting and waiting for me to get the confidence/camera to photograph and submit. so maybe someday ill be back. i dunno. miss me?

so i just got a huge pile of bone to use for carving projects. now accepting requests/commissions for jewelry, weapons, knicknacks and what-have-you carved from your choice of moose or cow bone! supplies of cow are limited, act now! and i just got a head kit for my dreml so i can do engraving and intricate work hopefully

on another note, hopefully my inheritance money will be coming sometime in the next month or two. once i have it, and know how much i have to work with, i will most likely post a journal detailing my plans for it, haha.

been feeling mostly balanced for a little while, just putting this up because i was sick of my emo-ass journal staring me in the face every time i logged in. happy holidays. even though most of you hate them.

i just went back through every one of my old journals. they're all unhappy. even the ones that sound happy...they werent happy. i was not happy. i was never happy. what the fuck is the problem here? what happened to being normal, living full normal lives that feel like they have a purpose? What....happened? I cant take this much longer. i really cant. i feel like Smith at the end of the third matrix movie. he's angry and ranting at Neo because all he understands is purpose...so he doesnt understand why neo is fighting him. all i understand is purpose...so i dont understand why i exist. i cant reproduce. i cant live by the rules of society. i cant be productive, helpful, or significant in any way. so why? what am i doing here? what is my purpose? what sick nuances of fate and existence and life made me who i am, and what the fuck was the plan? i just dont understand. i've never understood, and i continue to not understand, and i really really cant take not understanding any more. i'm sick and tired of feeling sorry for myself and i'm even more sick and tired of feeling guilty because i feel sorry for myself. i just want purpose. that's it. a reason. a point. a fucking niche to fit in and perform SOME ROLE that impacts SOMETHING, ANYTHING. that's all i want. just..something. i cant take this. i cant.

so i had this dream last night. i had it the night before too, but not in its entirety. i dreamt that this unwholesomely ancient old man had sent me and my friends to a rotten old house in the middle of trackless expanse of overgrown farmland. he sent us to die. there was a giant demon spider there that he had summoned up (did i mention that this old man was a sort of demon cultist?) and he wanted us to kill it. but he didnt think we could. my dad gave us pistols. i was rifling through the old man's stuff (which was full of insane pornography) and slowly figuring out the whole cultist thing...and i heard my friends screaming. i went into the biggest room and they were all being wrapped up by an 8-foot-long, white, mutant spider beast. i jumped on top of it and stuffed a bucket over its head to keep it from biting anyone, and my friend threw a blanket over its spinnerets. Then my other friend brought me a gun, and i took the bucket off its head and shot it until the clip was empty.
me, my father, and my sister returned to the old man's house. he wasn't there. we went through his shit and found out the whole story. the old man worshipped an insane, H.P. Lovecraft sort of demon-god, inimical to all human life. The old man killed and ate people in its name, and in return, the demon granted him unnatural long life and vigor. We went to his little murder-shack in the woods and decided to run. but he came up there as we were getting ready to leave and invited us back to his house. so we went. then he explained to us why he killed and ate people. he looked so happy as he explained how much he loved the demon and how killing and eating people filled him with joy. then he let us go. but my dad wanted to go back to his murder shack to steal his ladder. he caught us there again and was filled with rage. we tried to drive off but he was fast. he could almost catch up to us on foot. we outran him, then he caught up, then we outran him again. then we pushed him off a bridge down into a river and he still got up and made it back up to us. i was pleading with my dad to go but he stopped for some reason. then, the old man was at my window of the truck my dad was driving. he had a long knife and was trying to stab me with it, but my dad was holding him back and wouldn't let him. finally i took a knife i had stolen from the house with the spider and stabbed him maybe 6 times in the chest. he suddenly looked happy. he reached a hand down to his chest and put his own blood on his fingers. then he reached out and put some of it on my face. he said "now it's in you too." i told him i wouldnt tell anyone about him. he smiled and said something to the effect that as he killed and ate people, so would his god kill and eat him, and the cycle would be complete. he said something about feeling like the lamb, and how it was like being born again. then he walked off, staggering. i'm pretty sure he died from his wounds. but i could be wrong. we drove away. then i woke up.

thoughts?