Wish in one hand, Shit in the other, see which one fills up first. - Green Day

So the University of Chicago rejected me yesterday. Man I really hate my life now. I've never really been in a bigger hole (than the one i've been for the past five years) than i'm in now.

People will tell you to go back to high school. This is bullshit. Ignore them. If you really want to pursue your education, get a GED and go to a community college. You'll have to go to community college anyway after every college you apply to in the land rejects you anyway, just like me.

It's times like this I really don't feel like I have a soul. Soul. I'd know if I had something, right? I don't know where I put it, but I don't have one anymore. I'm just this sort of hollow shell that walks around and bitches about his life. A mobile object walking around giving programmed responses to when he hears things like "College" or "National Honor Society." Yeah, i'm pretty sure I don't have one.

Not that there was anything I could have done, and not that there is anything I can ever do. I did everything possible. I took all the AP Classes, I got all the fives I could, I joined all the service organizations I could, I studied hard for the SATs, I did it all, but when it came down to it, i'm always going to be marked as a useless failure for the rest of my life.

Is there another way I am suppose to feel? Be joyous my son, your academic hardships are over! Now that high school has come to its merciful end, you are free to live your life as a mechanised gear of society. Free from productive thought, you can act as a machine, turning the cogs of the well oiled capitalist machine that is America. Or, if you prefer, you can join the army, and take out your primitive peasant agressions on the primitive peasants of other lands.

The most frustrating thing is that i've finally come to the realization that i've never had any control over my life. Everything that has happened would have happened no matter what. I'm stuck on this train track that was taking me no where to begin with. There's no way off except to jump, hearing the oohs and ahhs of the passengers as they watch my head splatter on the jagged rocks below.

Oh, you didn't waste your time in high school, they say. You met us, didn't you? Didn't you learn something? As Meursault says in The Stranger, "I had done this and I hadn't done that." Nothing really matters. Yes, I met you, and in exchange I did not meet someone else. I learned this, and in exchange I did not learn that. It is ironic that I hate Meursault, because I become more like him every day. Soon, I may even be shooting Arabs on a beach in Iraq.

What has there been to my life but the agony of defeat? Nothing much really. You get things, you lose things. You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone. And I had handful of hope, a sprinkle of faith, and now I don't even have that. The meek shall not inherit the earth; life was made for the victors, and the victors children.

I am left to ponder. If I were to take revenge, who would I take it against? The rich, the smart, myself? Am I destined to lothe those who have all but want, to become part of the faceless mass outside of the nameless bastille, screaming for bread, screaming for food, the nourishment of the soul, or sans that, the hollow void inside myself?

More than anything now I want to escape destiny.
Update,
I burned myself with a cigarette. Marlboro red. Why do I smoke? For the same reason I burned myself with a cigarette. I want to feel pain. I want to cause myself physical pain, because it is better than the mental pain I cause myself. I stare at the white and black bubble of flesh and ash on my hand, and I wonder what it would be like to put it in other places. I like it. I realize, if I come to enjoy pain, would I not be happy? The carnival of self destruction, that is where I have arrived. I believe its time for a near death experience. Perhaps if pushed to the brink, I will realize things are not so bad, but... this is doubtful at best.

Should things not go quite as planned, I bid you all a fond adieu. Such is life, as they say, and so comes death, as I note. Yes, I may die. But I do not fear death, for tommorow a cockroach named Pablo will be born in South America, bearing a causal relation towards me. And when I dream, I cease to be, I am, I am, I'm not. But I never was never a butterfly dreaming I was a man, nor a man dreaming I was a butterfly. I was merely the dream that drempt of being.

I recognize that this is a foolhardy and silly thing to do, but the joy it strikes into my being, the pure, unadulterated, uncensored euphoria I feel at the idea of bringing myself to the brink of death and back is quite simply, too good to pass up.

I want to meet God and give him the finger. I want to cheat death. I want to broadcast my misery. I want a change. I want to crush the vicarious dreams of my false supporters. I want to live, but I only want to live as I choose, not as is dictated to me. With Oscar Wilde as my inspiration for doing so, I shall quiet the house of God.

Honestly, i'm not too worried about death. I'm going to hit myself with five sonata's, which have a half life of 4 hours each. This should give me about 20 hours of sleep, during which I plan to confront God. I'm going to ask him about the holocaust. I'm going to ask him what i'm doing here. I'm going to challenge him to redeem humanity.