Woooo. Haha, I'm back. you didn't really think I'd stop did you? No. of course not. How can I? This is the only place where I can write in sentence fragments and call it art! You won't catch me doing that in English. No siree. Siree. **giggle** So what can I say to prove that I'm not a total asshole? Hm... I know! I didn't write "Gigli." I can't be too bad now then can I? Be prepared for lots more stupidity speckled with the all too rare genius. It'll be fun. Trust me.

Y'know, you could fly if you wanted to.

Once upon a time, I listened to what I believe was a Matrix "combat" song. I was listening to it for approximately three minutes when I realized something I should have realized approximately nine years ago. For you see, throughout those years I have suffered the delusion that I am not a dancer. This is not to say that I was afraid of dancing or that I didn't think I was capable of it. I simply knew that I did not know how to dance. If someone taught me how, then fine. I would even be willing to try, sans instructions. Just because I have no stage fright. But I knew that I did not know how to dance. As Socrates once said, "True Wisdom only comes in knowing that you know nothing." Damn, but how true he was. I just realized, all that "play fighting" that I've been doing since before I can remember? That "play fighting" against imaginary enemies? That "play fighting" that has devolved, or as I now realize, evolved with less and less of a story line? That's dancing. It can be whatever I want it to be in my head, but it's dancing to anyone else. I don't really do it in front of anyone else, so I don't know if it's good dancing or not. And for you nay-sayers, the reason I haven't REALLY done it thus far is not because of stage-fright. I don't have any of that; look elsewhere. The reason I don't is because you can't name a single person that would like to watch another fight imaginary enemies, and until now, that's all I thought it was.

Sing like no one's listening... Dance like no one's watching...

I love someone who loves me back!!! After nine years of nothing, and then two failed attempts; I'm in love with someone who loves me back!!! Wow, I've been to almost every side of the sociological spectrum, haven't I? Rich Kid, Poor Kid, Popular Kid, Unpopular Kid, Beautiful Person, The Ugly One, Geek, Leader of a Clique, Participant in a Clique, Outsider, Insider, Socially Isolated, Socially Shunned, Hyperactive Kid, Depressed Goth, What's-His-Face, Teacher's Pet, Whipping Boy, The One Against The Grain, and Yet another Grain. I've been all of them. Some were fun, some were not, and some were hell. But now, I'm slipping into the slightly more mature society. I think I can confidently say that I have collected more sociological information than the next person. I believe that while I have plenty more to learn and that some of my knowledge is now invalid, I know some stuff that' s going to help. For instance, after all that I've been through, I know who my people are. Mine are those who laugh at the stupid things people will do to be accepted. Mine are those who have been labelled wrong by a lot of the masses(geeks, nerds, gays, lesbos, and the strange). Because that's who I am. I love people of the opposite gender, but I am easily singled out in plenty of other ways. I say I'm insane, but to be serious; I owe my very sanity to people who were accepted. Some of these people looked at me, saw my faults, and made a gimmick out of it. It is because of this "gimmick" that I can operate in normal society today. Because I am labelled "weird for the sake of weird" instead of "weird because God sneezed when he made the poor, twisted, little freak" that people can resist the urge to burn me at the stake. Somebody LOVES me now! Granted she's of the same variety as me, but that doesn't mean she could still love me without knowing that I'm not mentally ill. Maybe she could, but pure, simple logic says no... And perhaps the gimmick isn't completely wrong. All I know is that my time as yet another grain was short and hard to maintain. Right now, I'm in a community where to exclude someone is kind of redundant. I'm in a preppie school. We're all geeks and nerds here. I'm still significantly different though. My default has been the theater interest, but you can always find a family of that, no matter where you are. Ironically, what separates me here is one of the qualities that made me normal in my last community. Last time, we all made fun of each other, we all swore like sailors, and we all smacked each other around. I wasn't really good at it. However, what little skills I did have at such minor forms of abuse make me quite the bad-ass here. The world is a funny place. I must say I've enjoyed my time among all these humans. I wouldn't trade it for the world. Especially the whole love thing. Says he typing at his computer with paint covered hands, wearing a battered black sweater, black scratch-guard underneath, black jeans which are covered in paint; while listening to the new BareNaked Ladies album. That would be me.

I only know what I know and I don't know that too well.

I've really become adverse to "ideas." Well, the ones you need to believe in anyways. I like that one line from "Dogma," where he says something along the lines of, "The biggest mistake man ever made about religion was believing in it. Once you're willing to lose your life for it, you've lost all freedom of mind." I think it's right. If religion is something you believe in, it shouldn't be such a pain in the neck to change. It's not like no belief has ever changed. We don't think the world is flat anymore. The masses no longer fear Zeus' wrath. I think it's the specifics of it. If you keep your beliefs suitably general then you'll be fine. I believe in many things but when someone asks me what I believe in I simply say, "A higher power." Nothing more. Because that is the only thing I believe in continuosly. And this way of thinking doesn't just apply to religion. Try love. Y'know that song? "Call Me, Call Me." I still listen to it. And it would still be wonderful if the world went POOF! and I was together with Megan or Jessica. But I'm not obsessing over it anymore. I'm not depressed over the futility. I listen to that song and I just feel the happiness of that POOF! It doesn't really need to happen that way. I could hook up with any girl, it doesn't even need to be by way of POOF! But what that song holds for me now, is that feeling, that ideal of love. Not neccesarily a specific instance, just the ideal. And that way, it doesn't hurt.

Speak for yourself, I plan to live forever.

I wear gothic clothes. They are a very large part of my personality. They are the armor to my very persona. Maybe that's a bad thing. I don't think it is. I've wrapped myself up to keep out the hurt, but I can still let people in. And I do. Here's why I don't wear "happier clothing." The Robert who wore happy clothing was a nice kid. I'm not saying I'm not nice, but he was nicer. He was a good kid. Wasn't too abusive of his friends. He wasn't completely separate from me. Of course he's not, I grew from his ashes(Phoenix reference intentional, they're cool). One day, this child was evicted from his home in Cupertino. He was forced to move to Fremont. From Fremont, he endured a year of social abandonment. For you see, it is a long commute from Fremont to Cupertino. And it is too far for friends to casually come over one afternoon. Or vice versa. This wasn't incredibly horrible, but the pain was there. Like a very small dagger, just piercing the top few layers of skin. After that year, the child couldn't subject himself to such tortures again, And nobody asked him to. He decided that if his friends truly loved him, they would keep in touch. Only one did. I love her dearly. So it was that the child went to a local school. A school by the name of Parkmont Elementary. The child was a nice child. He would make new friends. He didn't. Socially outcast. Labeled anti-social. He was a smart kid, though. He learned to mimic everyone else. I won't say he BEGAN making fun of people. That would be stupid. Everyone has made fun of someone. But what he DID begin was viciously making fun of people. This earned him many enemies and no friends. But enemies are a form of social interaction, so it seemed to be better than it was before. After a year of this, the child was different. It wasn't anything clear, it wasn't anything specific. Not yet, anyways. The child moved back down to the south bay. At last! To be reunited with his friends! False hope. Another year of mocking. This time, the child had training. He picked up on local traits much quicker. Soon, he could make just about anyone feel bad. That summer, the child worked as a crewman. He had to wear all black. This is where it started. Black jeans, and Sahara Club sweatshirt. Which are still among my favorite articles of clothing. He came back to the same school the next year. The closest things he'd had to friends had graduated the previous year, because they were all older than him. But he made new enemies/friends. The line between the two continued to get fuzzier and fuzzier. There wasn't a single day in those two years, that the child went to sleep without any bruises. Somewhere in those four years, this child died. I'm here now. I came to Harker, expecting the same kind of stuff I was used to. Instead, I made REAL friends. This surprised me more than a little. I still wear my gothic clothes, though. I probably will for a very long time. I won't say forever. I once said I would never wear jeans. I once said I would be six forever. I've learned that forever is a very long word. I will wear more normal clothes again, someday. But for now, I still have a lot of pain. And I'm not ready to let go of my armor. I can let people in, but I'd rather not let everyone in. It will be a long time before I'm ready again. Even once I am, that child will still be dead. He is never coming back. And I realize I just now warned against using words like "never" and "forever." But death is an irreversible change. I'm not trying to say my life sucks. My life is a very good one. If I wanted to prove my life sucked, I would've mentioned the word "suicide." But certain people suspect my claim to be false. And I will not tell them what to think. That's not my place. I only know what I know, and I can't force that knowledge on others. But I'm not saying my life sucks. I have suffered relatively little. Relatively. But I have not lived the lives mine is being compared to, so the little that I have suffered has been a trauma to me. I'm also not saying that I'll never be as good a person as I was then. I could be a saint, someday. I don't know the future. I'm not trying to tell you how this is going to end. I'm going to tell you how it is. I'm going to finish this email, and then I'm going to show everyone what they might not want to see. I'm going to show them me. The gothic me, the me that wears all black. The me that still loves some part of me, and will not subject himself to discomfort, just to fit in. Where we go from there, is my choice, and the choice of those around me(Matrix reference intentional, it's a cool movie).

Love, Peace, and Understanding,

Yoshi