Sunday, February 29, 2004

I've decided that I fucking hate people talking about me, and about this journal. It's starting to happen way too much without me knowing. I'm going to take this damn thing down. Fuck off.

Monday, February 23, 2004

The things Monte Vista students carried were largely determined by necessity. Their necessity however, was determined by outward appearance. Among the necessities or near-necessities, were lipstick, cell phones, eyeliners, weapons, chewing gum, cigarettes, car keys, jewelry, credit cards, slim fast, a strong social personality, a depressed smile, and some vodka secretly hidden in a plastic water bottle. Together, these items weighed between five and ten pounds on the social scale, neatly stuffed in a Jansport backpack or Louie Baton purse. John Jenkins, who played football, carried his letterman jacket and a strong ego. Rob Bredenbach, whose life was music, carried a CD player, a chain necklace, and his happiness from the concert the night before. Ethan Stone, who was scared of the drug dealers that enslaved him, carried an army knife that his father gave him. By necessity, because they did not want to be labeled as outcasts, because they wanted to be okay, they all wore the latest fashions and trends in their own right. A t-shirt would be fashionable in some groups, and not in others. They all had the standard changing personality. Very few carried the tears from the night before, although the scars on their wrists still remained. Until she drank too much and was taken to the Emergency Room, Shirley Lawson carried seven water bottles filled with Greygoose, which for her, was a necessity. Adam King, the local bookworm, carried collectible cards and a forty two-sided die. Sarah Connor carried her diary, which she hoped to publish. Michael Love, who wanted to impress strangers, carried a Svengali deck of cards. And after being beaten until he screamed and begged for them to stop, Ethan Stone carried a .44 Desert Eagle, to stop feeling powerless. Necessity dictated. Because the students were such shallow minds, it was necessary to have a personality that would draw attention from others. If one couldn’t produce a working personality, they depended on looks. Lipstick, mascara, Clearasil, Neutrogena, and eyeliner. Because every student understood loneliness, each felt the need for a companion. However, those who could not find one found alternatives. For example, Ethan Stone, who was depressed, took ecstasy, which made him feel light-hearted and alive, but sent his body into convulsions, and put him in a coma like state. When he woke up, he found the pistol Phil had sold him, and shot himself in the head.

Tuesday, February 17, 2004

Oh God, I've fallen behind on my life.

Let's not start from the beginning today. We had to write a letter for English which was nice, because I haven't written a letter in so long, and it was a nice break from the normal weekly essay. That and the fact that I really wanted to write to her. But as I was writing the letter, I decided I wouldn't send it to her, so I just wrote "Dear you," so I could think of someone to give it to when Mr. Rice gives it back. I think it's wonderful that he's putting a grade on normal conversation. A letter is a gift this man says. You aren't obligated to reply, but of course, you should when you feel like it. I'll show it to you before I give it away. I promise.

Anyway, I was sitting there before class started, and this girl Kelly who always seems to give me the eye tapped me on the shoulder and said hello. "Hey, George... for your letter, were you friendly or did you get personal?" I did get a little personal about my prom date and things like that, but I told her, "No, it was pretty friendly," and I smiled and turned back around. The next question she asked me really knocked me out. "Hey George, you're straightedge right?". I used to be, until I started smoking cigarettes with that damn Grace, and until I got drunk that one night in a hotel room. But right now I am. I stopped smoking cigarettes last Thursday, because I realized that one day I'm going to die, and right now, I want to have all the time I can possibly keep. Unless someone wants to shoot me one day, then I'll probably start smoking. "Yeah, I'm straightedge." I was about to laugh, but she had this look on her face that kept me from doing so. "Caffeine too?" I laughed." No, haha, that's too hardcore for me." It was very random, but you could definitely tell she wanted to ask me this for a long time. I always see her in the library at lunch. I'm always in there because I hate people. That and because I like to pass out in front of a telescreen hooked up to other people. I got this idea from my grandmother, as she always tells me to turn off my television, and I have no idea what she's talking about. I hate computers, by the way. I hope the next industrial revolution has something to do with art, because I'm getting pretty sick of this electronic garbage.

I was in a play last week. It was quite awful to tell you the truth, but by the second night, I was just having fun on stage. I could hear my friend Blaise hollering from the crowd, and instantly I transformed into a comedian. It was very heartening. I started making all these jokes that only my friends would understand, but that was enough. I made several "That Thing You Do" references, and Black History Month jokes. Awful, I admit, but at the end of the night I was really smiling. The next day a few girls said that their parents really thought I was funny and that I should be on the Improv team, even though I already am. It knocked me out because the only people that were laughing at my jokes were my friends. Anyway, after the play, me, Blaise, Rob, and this girl who is absolutely in love with Blaise named Jenna, went out to eat at a diner. The best part of the night was that we stole a gigantic Elvis head cutout that was part of a play a few weeks before, named it Faice and took it to eat with us. The waiter got pretty frustrated, but it was hilarious anyway. We ended up taking it to the bathroom and took pictures of it on top of the toilet and looking at itself in the mirror. I seem to always have a nice time when I'm with Blaise. He just has this sort of charm that lightens the mood of any situation.

The other night I was at Quizno's, which is this place where you can get amazing sub sandwiches, and there was this Chinese lady that was working there. All I really wanted was a sandwich, but you could tell she wanted to have a conversation with me. She started asking all these questions about my family and things like that and she asked if I spoke Cantonese and I said no. She smiled anyway, and she asked if I liked Clam Chowder, which I of course said yes to. And she gave me two free bowls of clam chowder. I think it's a sort of Asian thing. People act like since we're Asian, it fucking makes us spiritually linked and that we need to be there for each other in the long run. In this hellhole of an America we live in. It all really kills me. That and the way she kept calling me sir, the way the Chinese women on street corners hollering "one dollar" and guilting you into buying a plastic umbrella.

I'm sorry for this.

I really wanted to ask this girl Trisha to prom on Friday. I don't know why, but out of all the people I know, I just wanted to go with her for some reason. Since she's Vice President of the Earth club (which kills me by the way) I was thinking I'd dress up as a globe with pieces of litter pinned to my costume with a sign that said "Recycle your love for me at prom" or SOMETHING clever like that. Anyway, on Friday (the day before Valentine's) I saw her in sixth period with a bouquet of Roses and a teddy bear. My heart didn't really sink, and I didn't really feel anything. I kind of saw it coming, but I'm sure she'll be happy with whoever she goes with. I feel like punching both him and me right now actually. I don't think I'm going to prom anymore. Not just because of this, since there were a couple other people I'd ask, but because I always hear girls in the hall talking about how "wasted" they're going to get and how "fucked up" the night is going to be. It's very disheartening. It was okay though because me and Trisha both exchanged looks and laughed at the corny jokes the substitute was telling us that period. And she laughed at how I laughed when the substitute said, "And the Jews didn't know what they were in for when people offered them a nice shower". God, I'm losing both my sense of grammar and my voice. My mouth tastes like chicken soup, but it's kind of unsettling because it's the phlegm in the back of my throat. I think I'm bleeding through my esophagus.

Here is where you can tell I've been drinking vodka for the past half an hour.

I got really angry at my sister for having to give her a ride. I was just tired. We are all fucking animals. When we’re tired, we’re cranky, when we’re hungry, we’re easily upset, when we’re angry get the fuck away from us. The doctor doesn’t’ look at his patient as an equal. Does he say, dear mister smith, my good companion. You have polio. I’ll be able to walk, while you mister smith cannot walk ever again. You and that fucking Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The man who brought us out of the great depression. The man who supposedly knew about Pearl Harbor. Whatever to save our economy. The man who valued his political career over his wife, who obviously became a lesbian because his husband couldn’t give her a good fuck. He was crippled Eleanor, it wasn’t his fault. At least kiss him like you mean it. They of course had children, but I doubt Eleanor had a wonderful time doing THAT.

The big bang: My reasoning that the less of a family relationship one has, the less of a loving relationship one has, the more desire to the more want to the more NEED to make love. To find love through one and only way. Emotional of course, but mostly physical. It’s the girls who only praise daddy when he buys them a car and spites him at all other times that beg to be fucked by the high school football jock. Beg. Just like Grace. Fucked up family? Lost her virginity when she was fourteen to a sleazy teenager filled with angst.

This is why right after a relationship we try to rebound with another relationship. So that we can fill the void of having no one there to hold. No one there to talk to. So we can stop being alone for a brief period of time. Of course this doesn’t work for a long time as the other person begins to realize they’re just being used for this one purpose; as a healing factor for one side, everything being unilateral.

To end this, I will enclose a letter I sent to Teresa a few days ago.

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Teresa- I wrote this while I was stoned.

George Ha

Dear Trina,

Due to the overwhelming number of books being sold in the past three weeks (500+), I've decided to buy about 400 books in bulk for my book signing tour coming up in July 2004.

Dan talked to me the other day about the tour, and he gave me a few destinations which he wanted me to discuss with you. Right now the book signing will be west coast only, which means fans of the book living elsewhere will have to wait. I was told that this was due to the fact that the book has not been out long enough for an official count of the number of books sold in each of the prime locations and through large businesses (Barnes and Nobles, Amazon, Borders, Walden, etc.). However, I’m very excited about the first stop to Borders in Phoenix, AZ on July 15th. A friend of mine has contacted the manager of that particular location and it is official.

However, one question remains. Will this book tour go international, and if so, how long will it take us to do? I’m sure there will be fans of the book in the Canadian provinces, especially in the Manitoba (Winnipeg) area, where I have set up street teams to help promote the book. Teresa Braun, a close friend of mine, will be in charge of this.

On a side note, my friends the Get Up Kids will help promote the book as part of their tour, by selling the book as official merchandise. Ha. It really took me a while to convince them, and since the lead singer and I grew up together (high school + neighbor) he finally succumbed. Hopefully this will be a wonderful engagement, and I am looking forward to my future career with MTV books.

Sincerely,

-George Ha

I'm sure that coupled with Faice has led you to believe there is something seriously the fuck wrong. Oh by the way, my book really IS out, so go buy it. Maybe I'll go on a real book signing this summer or the next. Honestly, I don't give a damn. I'm just trying to finish the book I'm writing now. I'm only 32 pages into it, which is kind of depressing, but then again, I've been so busy with everything. You know. The whole... Faice... thing. Anyway, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Mars Volta are going on tour, which means Dan Heisse and Trina Lee will be around. Oh god, you really hate Erin, don't you?

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P.S. Erin is a girl that both me and Teresa dislike because she enjoys being a complete phony. Ha. Straightedge.

cya.

-george

Wednesday, February 11, 2004

http://www.1stbooks.com/cgi-bin/1st?partner~1st|type~6|Data1~21293

*this is not an official post, it is just a news update*

My book is finally out. I know several of you have been looking forward to this for quite a while. The publisher has told me that if I sell one thousand copies within the first year, they will arrange a book signing tour nationwide. This will also increase chances of a hardcover version of the second book.

I know one thousand seems like a lot, but it really isn't. If I'm telling a hundred people (prolly the amount of people will be reading this over the next couple days), and they each tell about five people, and those five people each tell two people, I'll be good. I'm just kidding, but all I'm saying is that if the word keeps being spread, there's an infinite possibility out there.

As for a synopsis of the book, I'll just let you know it's really a piece of shit. I wrote it from my sixteenth birthday to about six months there after. It really isn't as good as my current writing style, but the first book is just a test to see how popular my next book will be.

MTV has become interested in this journal. Fuck you guys. I'm going to sell out like Chbosky.

I'm smoking, by the way.

Tuesday, February 03, 2004

Looking into her eyes, I realized something very strange. She looked as me although I had hurt her, but no words were coming out of her mouth. At that moment I was shocked to see a tear trickle down her cheek. We were animals, nothing more.

There are times when I write entries or respond to the general audience to analyze public opinion. There are very few people in this world who are both a frequent reader of my journal and a good friend of mine. The reason is really simple. I act much differently in public than I do in private. You're probably thinking, "What a bitch, he's just saying that he likes to cry a lot." Sometimes I wish it were that simple. I don't really know how to describe it any other way except that seriously, I'm a very fucked up person. Most everything I do has a reason behind it, something I can learn out of the experience. Say I'll start eye-ing a certain girl in class. Over time, she'll begin to notice me and either look back in disgust or return the favor. Of course I have no interest in this girl, I just want to learn how she will react. As the days go by, I'll develop a relationship with her, even intimate. Drink some Greygoose here. Eventually I'll break it off with her, playing it off as though none of it matters. I am the storyteller, I'm not part of the story. I live it, I create it, and I rape emotions other than my own. The fact of the matter is, I fucked her, and there was really nothing she could do about it.

We are animals. As much as you don't want to hear it, we are classified as such. We need air to breathe, and we need to feed off of other organisms to live. We leech off other people, and we leech off of their emotions. We desperately try to protect those that we love. It's human nature. We live and talk and shoot the bull and what happens? We go home, tired, wanting something more. Of course this is impossible, as there is nothing more to human life than negligence. Nobody knows each other deeply because whether you want to hear it or not, we are constantly changing. To say that one has a fixed personality is absurd. We change based on our environment. We cry because something has gone wrong. We get angry because someone said something bad about a friend. It isn't really a direct hatred towards the person in general, it's more like trying to comfort the person they hurt. I recorded this of course, in that goddamn black journal of mine.

The reason I write is simple. It's not to whine or complain about my own life, it's to show others that I know what the hell they're talking about. I don't care what you think about me, or my life, that's not why I write. I just want people to understand they're not alone, and that they shouldn't go through the shithole of life by themselves. I'm not going to take you out to a ball game or have a picnic with you or anything, but it's not like that would help. All I can do, is help you understand with my words. Do you finally get why I do this? If you don't, it's all right, I don't mind.

Why are we depressed? It's not because we're well nourished or because we have some fancy toys and a nice house. It's because our minds are distraught. We struggle with people and problems and fucking EMOTIONS that we just can't deal with sometimes. Our minds are controlling us. Of course one can be seriously depressed because they are malnourished or physically abused. However it is not the physical concrete action that disturbs us, it's our mental stress capacity about to explode. Why do people want relationships? Because they are lonely, and they feel if they have someone to hold or to be intimate with, some of that stress will alleviate from their souls.

I'm happy someone challenged my motives, whether they be younger than me or not. However, I'm kind of unhappy I wrote this because now I won't be able to have as much fun.

(Not included in my rough draft... you know, the one I'll be *publishing* in about seven or so months, but if anyone wants to chat, Aim: IndieGumby)

cya.

-george

Monday, February 02, 2004

Nothing has really changed the past few years. My vocabulary has expanded and my hair has grown six inches. My taste in music has evolved into something I'm not embarrassed of anymore. My taste in clothing and my appearance have started to matter. I still look at the girl with the pretty blue eyes at school, and I still am reminded of her. I smoke cigarettes now, but I suppose that was inevitable. Smoking runs in my family. I can hear my father coughing from the kitchen. I brush my teeth like a maniac. I take several showers. When I wash my hair, I'm concerned that my hair is falling out. I buy hair loss products. My looks are making me feel important. I really screwed up my grades last semester, and I'm trying as hard as I can to bring them back up this semester. College is becoming important again. I obtained my driver's license when I turned sixteen. I watched an R-rated movie when I turned seventeen. I will purchase cigarettes and commit suicide inside of a strip club when I turn eighteen. I wear bracelets to make myself look unique. I say things to get a girl's attention, even though I don't really mean them. She's very cute. I think the girl in my Chemistry class is very cute. She's always laughing. I do sit-ups and try to quit smoking to impress her.

Is this sounding familiar?

I tried to cry last night, but it seems as though I've become emotionless. Passive. Apathetic towards nearly every aspect of my life. I tried to cry, and for a few seconds my eyes watered, but my body fell asleep before anything more could happen. I thought of the most depressing things in my life. Teresa telling me that she didn't love me anymore and that she questioned if she even did at all, like she only stuck around because she felt obligated to. Past crushes I've had that ended up with me in heartache, me in my bed crying, me punching bruises into my body. Times when old friends made me feel worthless and that I didn't belong. The loneliness that I feel nearly every day. The times I look at my life and realize I'm doing absolutely nothing. The way I'm becoming more and more like the part of my father I absolutely hate. My grandfather dying when I was ten years old - the man who raised me. Not wanting to ask her to Prom because I know what she's going to say and how my relationship with her will be after that. Never wanting to take a chance like that again. And again, Teresa telling me she didn't love me. I didn't cry though. My eyes got wet, but I didn't cry. I felt pain for a few seconds, but then it went away.

I don't know why I tried to make myself cry. Maybe part of me wants to go back to the worthless, depressed person that I was. Maybe I miss those days, because those were the days that I knew what and who I was. Now I have no idea. Maybe it's because I actually was used to being depressed. I became accustomed to it. Maybe it's because I actually had hopes and dreams of the future. Now I don't know what I want. Does that make any sense? Wanting to go back to something that I've hated for so long? I don't know. I don't know who I even am anymore. I am just a slave of society, buying shit I don't need so that the American economy will stay strong and a rich man's stock portfolio will go up a fraction of a point. Sometimes I wish the stock market would just crash. Then everyone would be screwed, including those goddamn day traders. I'm getting off topic here. The point is that, as people, we need destruction and a problematic environment to evolve. To better ourselves.

Shift tones here.

I turned seventeen about a week ago. I didn't really tell anyone, since my birthday has never been that big of a deal to me, and whenever I get depressed about it, I go into the bathroom, look myself in the mirror, spash my face with cold water, and tell myself that everything is okay and that it doesn't really matter. My father called me on my way home and he started singing happy birthday in an exceedingly vivacious fashion. Of course I kind of ignored him and asked what he wanted. He said that he just wanted to wish me a happy birthday, and then proceeded to hand the phone to my mother. I don't really know what happened next, except that my parents were working that night, and we never really celebrated my birthday. A few days ago my mother asked me if I was mad at my father. I replied, "No, why would I be?" And she said, "Well, he said he tried to wish you a happy birthday and you just ignored him." I felt kind of sad when she told me that, and I felt sorry for my father since I really do treat him badly sometimes. I've always had this sort of grudge against him for the most part of my life. He used to gamble and hit my mom and stuff like that. I don't really want to talk about it actually. Not now, anyway. But really, he is a good father. I just don't like him sometimes. I remember standing there naked in the bathroom, about to take a shower. I was about ten or so, and I had just gotten done playing with my sister outside. I think we were playing with a hose or something. I don't really remember what happened except that I had laid the towel inside so my sister could sit on it and dry off, but something got wet. My dad yelled at me to open the door and I stood there naked. And I cried. And he slapped me across the face and he yelled and he left. And I think an hour or so later he asked me for some money so he could go gamble. Fuck, I don't want to be talking about this.

I just need a cigarette and some strawberry ice cream. Teresa, we're almost eighteen.

cya.

-george