The orange BALL and the orange SOCKETS in the WALL

I knew that we were no longer anything when I picked up the phone and couldn't recognize his voice. Who is this, I asked. "Your father."

"Behind Las Vegas" - by George Ha (a work in progress)

I was sitting in the lobby when they brought him out. His face was bruised, his ears emaciated, patches of hair were missing. I wondered what they had done to him. I wondered if they had beat him until he cried, I wondered if they had cut him up or bruised him where I couldn't see, I wondered if they had stole his manhood away from him. With all that wonder, the hatred turned into sorrow.

I probably don't have a favorite pixies song maybe the shirt I bought on the street with PIXIES on it will tell me or at least hint at it or maybe the middle aged children adults PEOPLE could get singing lessons and stop trying to sing "debaser" so damn offtone.

I couldn't believe the way the Indian man at the counter sold me that printer ink. The way he kept asking if I was out of ink ARE YOU OUT OF INK YOU OUT OF INK as if I were a college student who desperately needed ink to print out my term paper. And the way I went back to her house to fetch her science project for her because she forgot because I love her because all I wanted was to see her fucking smile and the hap hap happiness that I saw in her eyes and how her cheeks were fluffier than usual.

Night

I wondered if people look at each other with words instead of feelings or emotions instead of actions, and how different the world would be if one day we all stopped the nonsense and expressed ourselves to others the way we truly wanted. I was with Dasha tonight on one of the most perfect walks of my life, talking about everything brilliant and worthy of time. One could only sit and wonder how much of an effect she had on me. Was I brilliant because I was truly brilliant in my own mind, or was it because of the presence of someone so special and unique and perfect? And were my ramblings about the fifth dimension and parallel universes and how I was in love with her in more than two places at once coming out of my heart or where they coming out of my mind? A crazy person would say out of the heart, and of course, the lunatic is always the one who is respected.

One of the fundamental principles of philosophy is that without the body the mind cannot exist. We live in a world where the mind can only exist inside a physical nature. There is also, however, the possibility that our minds are making all of this up, and really we are living in two worlds, one real and one preposterous (we don’t know this) and in all reality none of this really matters because what really mattered to me tonight was looking into Dasha’s eyes and kissing her and knowing she was there and I was there and that for one wonderful peaceful quiet night we were a whole. We existed together on the dirty cement lying there looking at the stars and feeling like perfect human beings.

And that is one thing I cannot replicate.

The other night I had a dream in which I was acting in a play. I don't remember the play all that well, except that I was the only one who didn't know my lines and everyone was yelling at me that I wasn't creative or talented or unique and that when it all came down to it, I was full of shit. When I woke up, I looked at "On the Road" for a while and realized I needed to read a hell of a lot more than I have been recently. I think after reading Malamud's "A Summer Reading", my goal will be 50 books by the end of this school year.

I've also come to the realization that if I want to be successful in life, I need to create something so unique and so wonderfully brilliant that I would be the first to bring it into life. I realized that my writing and my acting and my photography have all been rather stale - a teenage boy of fourteen probably replicated all of my work just this afternoon - and that I, the artist, would have to create something unfathomable. Also, after laying there in by bed with a girl that I am most in love with, I've decided that I need to dedicate my life to people who are suffering rather than people who are obese consumer piles of garbage.

P.S. My father has been gambling a lot recently. I would never have known, except my sister was crying because he stole her savings and pawned two of her watches in order to finance his awful habit. My grandmother came to me this morning after losing two hundred dollars to the bastard. So as of today, I've lost respect for him completely, and I doubt I'll ever be playing poker again in my lifetime.


Also, what killed Jack will probably most certainly absolutely fucking kill me.

Yesterday, a girl named Christine asked me for my autograph. She was carrying my book for some reason, and was very excited to see me in the hall. Dasha seemed annoyed that I was getting attention from a total stranger, when all we both really wanted was for me to walk her to class without being pestered to death by a crazy fan who really doesn't give a shit about your writing but wants to say that they know you when you become famous one day.

I have also noticed that Dasha is a superb writer and that she will be famous one day for something brilliant she will create. I believe this with all my heart.

On a side note, my mother shut down our restaurant for a day because she was extremely stressed. No one I know has a harder life than her, and no one I know is so undeserving of such. My father pulled my millionaire grandfather into this, hoping he would set her straight (our family being Chinese, and this is how Chinese people operate), but I doubt she'll come home. I called her and told her to have a good time. My next novel will probably be based on how tough her life has been for the past twenty years.

And good riddance.

i guess i was cute when i fell asleep cuddling her while playing video games on that warm evening where he woke me up with those eye drops and i was still sleeping because i knew how much she loved me.

i guess i was cute when she said we were cute together, me and him, with him waking me up with eyedrops and then driving himself home and me falling asleep on her lap cause i loved her. maybe.

HEY I NEED SOME FUCKING EXCITEMENT EVERYONE! ALL I REMEMBER IS GETTING WOKEN UP BY THOSE DAMN EYE DROPS THANKS TO BLAISE! AND SLEEPING BECAUSE I WAS COMFORTABLE WITH DASHA! THIS BOOK IS GOING NOWHERE! I HATE DAN HEISSE MY AUTHOR HOUSE REPRESENTATIVE! FUCK!

For online readers:

My publishers are making me take down my archives because they are planning on publishing what I have up til now and beyond in a few months when the manuscript gets larger. The front page will still exist, and I will be updating regularly from now on, so don't worry.

Thanks for your patience (I promise I'll update soon),
-George

I've decided to get my fucking life together. Reading, Writing, Acting, Photos, Drums, Guitar, Macy Gray, What the BLEEP, well fuck that Target parking lot, oh for chrissakes.

ON THE ROAD!

i'm really tired. fuck ya'll

School fucking sucks. I dropped drama. Yeah. I'm also failing my AP Literature class already. I miss when summer was summer.