During summer vacation, I didn't appreciate sleep. I would stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning and would sleep when I felt too tired to read any longer. I'd sleep until 11 or 12.

During school I don't actually get much less sleep (about 2 hours), but I'm forced to sleep during different times. I get up at seven, but my body still doesn't want to go to bed until at least midnight. It eventually gets accustomed, then the time change kills it all. Sleep becomes the most precious resource of all, but it seems so difficult to obtain.

I guess that lots of boys have power fantasies about being a big muscular super-hero. I thought about it ounce and realized that I would have killed my brother by now.

I wonder why "old" and "wise" are synonymous terms? Wise men have always been wise. Idiots will always be idiots. Time only makes old men.

On class picture day, students were allowed to get up and leave for pictures. When my time came I was a little apprehensive about getting up and leaving in the middle of the teacher's monologue, as years of schooling have taught me otherwise. When I did, I walked down the isle, straight past the teacher and out the door without a single pair of eyes trailing on me. I felt like I was invisible, and it seemed to be a very pleasant feeling.

I've always fancied myself a writer. I justify this by the fact that I feel no sense of accomplishment from school work of any kind, but if I've written something – some basic truth about myself or others – I've come a little closer to understanding the human condition. I feel I've accomplished something worthwhile.

I honestly respect no one. Why do I expect others to respect me?

In 200 years everybody on the planet will be dead. Everybody will be new.

I find it easy to map out people on myself. I am a microcosm for humanity as a whole. I think I resent being as predictable as every fucking idiot out there. The only blessing is that, being like them, I can see through myself just as easily. I've just turned 17, and the urge to find a female partner is overwhelming me. Luckily, I can step back and watch myself. I can keep my emotions in check while my thinking mind continues to roll along, oblivious to the little details.

The more tired you are, the harder it is to hold in all the shit that gets carried around.

Riding to school this morning, feeling very tired and pissed. My thoughts returned to some kids who gave me a hard time in grade 7. Some of them are and have been in classes with me since then. I thought that I had gotten over the trauma they caused me, but I haven't. My thoughts wandered to how it would feel to knock one down and step on his neck, possibly breaking it. Then my thoughts turned to baseball bats. Then guns and the murder of families. I sighed, letting a little anguish out. But not as much as is coming in.

There are certain emotions that I rarely feel. They are unconventional and are rarely written of, most likely due to their elusive nature. One is clean, cold hatred. I felt it more as a kid and rarely feel it now. I would yell, cry and scream while my head felt totally calm and at ease. My body would go crazy while my head was serene.

The other is so much harder to pin down. I just felt it for a split second about 10 minutes ago. I don't remember how it felt, but I remember feeling it before, also for a very short a time, a split second. I wonder – how many feelings are our minds capable of producing? How do we find these hidden feelings? How much of the human experience am I missing? Why do our minds lock up so much of our emotions?

I can't help but get the feeling that I know things other people don't.

I heard the lead singer of Marilyn Manson say something very intelligent today... The gist of it was that you can't love everything and everyone. You can love some things very deeply, but spreading it too far makes it lose any power it had. It loses all value. Same goes for hate.

Reading Peepshow, I know that I will never have a healthy relationship with a woman. I know myself, I know others, I know everything... and it isn't going to make a bit of difference.

When people I know well are angry, I become passive.
When they are happy, I become angry.

I think this is a safety precaution, so that if the two of us are the last people on earth, the good/evil balance will still exist.

There have to be bad times in order to define the good ones. I guess.

"You live with apes, man, it's hard to be clean."

-Marilyn Manson

My feelings for a girl in my spanish class only developed after I had a dream involving her. I'm not entirely unconvinced that my mind didn't just fabricate some feelings of desire so that I'd fornicate and keep the vermin going.

Every day I get lumped in with thousands of ugly people. Any one of them by themselves would be an angel. Put them together, and group mentality turns everyone ugly. I feel ugly when I'm with these people. I can't be happy. I can't cry. I'm not allowed to be myself. Conformity will be the downfall of the human race.

I'll only escape it when I'm dead.

True love must only occur in the very small minded.

[These are from a piece that I decided not to include, but I think these two excerpts are noteworthy:]

...There wasn't an ounce of hope for humanity left in me. It was a good feeling, because it was so powerful and sure and right. It was wonderful to actually feel something so absolutely negative. It felt right. It felt like the truth.

...This is how I spend my whole fucking life, behind a bunch of fucking walls. I can't feel anything. Things can't bother me. I'm not ready to deal with the reality of how fucked up this world is. If I didn't have these walls, I'd kill myself. I just wish they weren't there so I could.

Each thought, each circle in this book strengthens my beliefs a little bit, and brings me a little closer to solving the whole puzzle. The last piece doesn't come until death. I've just gotta make sure I've got the rest when I get there.