UltraCrepidate

I’ve given up hope of finding an engineering job in Canada. It’s useless. Sigh… It’s useless. I’ve used up all my contact possibilities. They all told me that their company has a hiring freeze. The hundreds of resume I’ve sent out, got me about 6 replies of refusal… Not even a reply

Today, I met a man.
A man amongst men. A man whom I lookup to, because of that 5 minutes of our lives, when we crossed path.

The gray in his hair tells me that he’s around the age of 40. A well groomed man who brims with confidence. He has an aura around him, that tells of a man who once wielded great power. A man whose influence reaches hundreds… I know, because he influenced me.

He paces. Not slow, nor fast. But he paces with a speed that forces you to fall to his side and walk with him. His chin is high, even though he’s a head shorter than me. His chest is up, even though he has a pot belly from aging. His voice clear, even though his throat shakes from overuse. His tone: commanding, soothing and calming at the same time makes it hard to ignore…

His eyes, are forever closed. I fantasize about staring into his eyes. I want to know, what kind of eyes does a person like him has. But I will never find out. Such torture.

I have never been so bored. I’ve seriously run out of things to do…
Is this how the general public lives? Is this what the couch potatoes think about? Interesting… Now I can understand why they do the things they do.

Wow. I just wrote a whole essay. All about venting. Read it again and I thought “Man, this guy’s got a problem with the world”.

**Erase**
Click

Yes. The glamour of being dressed up in a fantasy like
ballgown, or a sexy seductive latin dress scantly
covering your most secret curves: dancing in the arms of
a hot sexy gemtlemen in a tailsuit in front of hundreds
of people on a wodden floor underneath massive
glittering chandeliers. This is what people sees. Little
did they know, the sweat, the blood, the pain and the
sacrifice that are hidden beneath the surface.

The upside about a dancesport competitor is that if you
are good and striving to be the best. You will never get
fat, nor become one of those anorexic thin girl. Most of
the serious dancer whom I know, have no fat, nor have
ever had fat on their body. Their skin are tightly
wrapped to their muscles. The body is a perfect balance
of muscle toned just right at every place. But… the
part you’ll never see, hidden. The feet of a dancer. Oh
god. Please don’t look, or get your nose anywhere close
to them. Believe me when I tell you that their feet have
experience every problem you can ever have with a
person’s feet.

On the inside. A dancer usually brims with confidence.
Chest high heads up, a perfect portrayal of power. It
comes as easy as dancing itself. The constant compliment
on you as a dancer wears down on your self-esteem
unconsciously. People start seeing you as a dancer and
you as a person seized to exist. People, talk to you
about dancing, discuss dancing with you and find out
what you plan on doing about dancing in the future. No
one ever ask about any other things about you. You
stopped being a person, but this doll that they put onto
a pedestal to worship. In their mind, there’s only one
thing you do, you dance.

The painting of the great champion of justice, slaying the demon god of hell, bathed in blood. A picture of justice triumph over evil. However, the pictured portrayed the champion bathed in the demon’s blood. A twisted evil as the backlash of hatred over hatred. Transforming whoever opposes it into itself, rebirthing evertime it is slain. I understand the meaning, but I do not understand how to face it. Is the solution within this portrait of horror? Or do I have to search elsewhere for my slavation?

I feel like going back on my decisions, taking back the promises I’ve made to myself. Thinking that if only I don’t think this way… But I did think about it that way. I do understand why I am having doubts and why I choosed what I will do in the future. Sometimes, I hate knowing myself so much. I cannot just merge with the moment and hate how fate plays with human lives. Hatred so deep that it can block out all the feelings. No. I know the truth, the why and how. I know what I must do. I know that it will be ok afterwards. That… I think. The knowledge of the fact that it will be ok afterwards, is what is hurting me. Life goes on, it is the cruelist thing. I want it to hurt so much that there’s nothing after. Yes… I don’t want to have anything after. I am happy now.

I ate Leah and obtained her username/pass. She taste like raspberry: A mix of sweet and sour that can only be appreciated if you enjoy the sweetness that is brought out by the sourness. Black on the outside, tasty in the inside.