February 14, 2003 | 12:38 AM

I want to vent and I want to say things here. And I won't because of the utter futility in doing so, and because it only adds fuel to the fire, and because it won't do me any good. And because (sigh) it isn't good manners.

So instead I'm going to stare at this entry and think about all of the things I would like to say right now, and perhaps this page will be infused with the ghosts of those words. The energy I want out of my body, out of my head, and out of my history wil become absorbed beetween the lines of html, interpersed in the spaces between paragraphs.

I want it out out out OUT of me. I want to foget it. I want the seething smoking pit of burnt up delusions to stop stinking. I want to stop hating every moment of being polite and gracious. I want the hatred I feel to be replaced by absolutely nothing at all. I almost wish I was feeling the jealousy and lovelorness one would conventionally feel at such times, rather than feeling robbed of the last seven years of my life.

Remember Total Recall? I wanna go under that machine. I want my memories to be replaced. The past and the present do not add up. Except in a horribly scary way that completely negates everything that has happened to me from the age of 19 on.

And as nice as it is to talk with people who validate the fact that I am not irrational, it only stirs up the magnificent resentment I have and makes me rage at myself for what a fucking stupid fool I was, and how grossly I allowed myself to be treated.

God I wish I had a Delorean and some plutonium and Huey Lewis and the News on the stereo so I could go back back back and have avoided all of this silly shit.

Yeah, I have the Zen. But I've also got the hell fire. One doesn't cancel out the other.