ray iii
prism
RS3
triad@darkscape.net
and http://triad.darkscape.net (finally)
i apologize for the amount of channels, but i refuse to compromise.
there's simply no point in lossy optimization anymore.
inspiration sources:
grey skies
the shivering, cold, wet feeling of a rainy day
unwanted childhood memories
happy thought #457
my backyard
stereoman
and my family
respects and salutations:
#trax friends
real life friends: garrett, rob, travis, mike, marc, jeff, et al
alliance friends: ryan, jake, chris, chris, carl, josh
i hope this lives up to expectations.
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i guess i took it out on everybody. i wasn't even aware of what i had
done to people. my life is akin to a sinewave of ever-changing amplitude
and frequency--although i never know when they hit or how hard they hit,
drifts of depression and happiness follow one another; and that is my
only absolute.
it's a cold world in which i live. it has its moments, like any; but few
people have spent the only eighteen years as yet of their lives hating
themselves so strongly. this self-hatred, this ugly self-inflicted wound
in me has no definite root or cause.
i often blamed my father. he is, to this day, someone that i cannot
relate to; someone who tries much too hard to control every aspect of me,
fearing that someday, somehow, i will no longer be his little boy. this
element of control may be a natural trait among parents in dealing with
their children, but i sincerely doubt that other parents are so forceful
or so opinionated--because i disagree with what he believes, i am an
idiot; and not any idiot: a fucking idiot.
i only started to realize recently that he's been this way for years. i
knew of his controlling nature, certainly, as i was subject to it daily.
however, i never realized that i felt so poorly about myself because he
gave me every reason to do so. i argue against many of his points and,
thus, i am, in his terms, a fucking idiot.
some of my best friends are fucking idiots as well. they don't believe
what he believes--so i join my friends in his personal hell, forever
damned by his implied perfection.
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it is around this time that i realized that i'm bound only by verbal
chains; that the damage he has done, while significant, can't be worsened
at any point down the road now. the worst he can do is yell at me... and
i've stopped listening.
it's morning now. i look out at the blue-grey haze that is my sky, and i
realize that the warmth of the interior is what makes this day different
from any other. i tend to the fire inside. i let it burn. i let it
rage on, unrestrained.
i'm thankful for the distance that has grown between my father and i on a
physical plane. although not as far from him as i'd like, i am still
a few hundred miles away; i would deem that sufficient. i can be a
fucking idiot without living under his constant scrutiny at least...
i'm not going back to college for a while. i am a working-class nobody
and i'm probably cursed to remain one--but i have no desire to live the
student life, and i've yet to find a subject that fascinates me enough to
return to academia. this infuriates him.
he could pay my way through as i live at home, working to pay my share,
doing my part around the house to keep him happy. i would be as
miserable as i have been in years past; he paces from one end of the
house to the other, looking for faults or disagreements in both people
and objects.
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he is never happy. he is simply the most miserable person i've ever
known, and he's done his part to rub it off onto me. i'm always trying
to fight it, though, and i never give up the fight. that was his
mistake.
it's not my fault he lived a rotten childhood. why did i have to?
granted, i didn't face much loss or hardship when compared to the tragic
lives of ill-fated people, but i was cursed with near-constant
unhappiness. the best memories of my childhood are ones in which he was
thousands of miles away--in korea, in spain, wherever the air force took
him. during those trips, i would meet with grandparents.
i have no grandparents now. they've all died. however, i remember
distinctly the smell of their houses--both sides of the family. i still
abhor my father's side of the family in this respect...
my grandfather utterstrom's house was very white, very ornate. it felt
so pure and grand that i felt as though it were my own cathedral--being
one of no organized faith, i have very unusual alignments between places
and spiritually-significant feelings.
i still visit that house in my dreams. it was heart-wrenching to visit
it in its bare and empty state, devoid of the life and spiritual energy
it once had. however, in my dreams, empty as it may be, it still feels
warm and decent.
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my grandfather sefton's house was putrid and odiferous. the stench of
rotting organic material lingered in the air and intertwined with stray
dust. the piles of garbage and useless papers were all-too-similar to my
father's own. both are bitter men; misers with abrasive attitudes and
dark minds.
i sometimes wish i were not born a sefton. i feel as though the name has
been thoroughly dishonored by such people and those that make up the
sefton family today fail to understand me. i am, essentially, the ugly
duckling.
i have faith that such a parallel will hold true to the end--that this
ugly duckling won't remain such. time will tell, of course; and i'm here
to the end.
effective one month from now, i'll be living with utterstroms, completely
separated from the sefton clan. it can only get better from here.
in essence, i wanted to apologize to those of my friends whom i have
given the wrong impression to. i don't hate any of you. i don't hold
grudges. i love you guys and i don't want you to ever think that i
retain any degree of malcontent or hatred in my heart.
i feel that, if anything, this is a part of me i can finally leave
behind. leaving it all behind... something i've romanticized in my mind
for years and i can finally realize it...
/r
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