i hate this journal. i love alcohol

hungover and fuzzy

on cloud nine last night, first night here a-ok
second and third might go as

don't think this is easy for me, leaving everyone behind. i've been not wanting to for a while, but half a year is much too long for me to be waiting in a place that can never offer true solace

for all the people arguing against me (can't blame you) -

with every day the passes here, i invariably find ways to hate myself and hate who i am, simply because i am reminded of the one circumstance that felt right for me, and how because of my looks and attitude and stature i was abandoned. and despite what anyone says, i'm sick of letting people say that's not how it was, but it was, and why the fuck would i want to stay around a group of lousy people who don't give a fuck how i'm doing?

and it's not that i'm saying this about everyone. my friends are my family, they know that. but it's finally time for everyone to know that i'm dreadfully unhappy right now. i'll type all this outrageous bullshit and when it comes time to forget the actual memories i've been pining over, i'll break down sobbing - and, not to shine light on unhappy events, but i'll end up buying presents or buying lunches or accepting the fact that i don't exist except when people want me to, and so,

i'm done

i'll probably be staying one more week, or until i get my passport. this week is going to be busy, filled with goods being sold, and halloween being here. i think i'm going to go do an open mic with ellery on halloween, and that'll probably be my last one here in the bay, so yeah. oh, and i should probably go see kady on sunday like we had arranged. but other than that, let's make plans, people who know that i'd love to see them

oh, and since i know you read this and i am very drunk and have a personal vendetta against all you stand for,

aaron wagner, fuck off and die

edit:
i can't believe i actually got to say that once before i left. i felt really nice afterwards, and god i really meant it. i'm getting my stuff back tomorrow, and hopefully the sun will be all smiles tomorrow. i'm looking forward to the sizzling bacon and the warm kiss breakfast, and you know what? for the first time in a long time, i'm looking forward to tomorrow

---
oh, and go ahead and prove me wrong. i'll be doing the same. hopefully a duel, in the future. broadswords if you'd like

and so i'm going to admit that i was an asshole and lied about things i shouldn't have. i had it coming, these lonely days, but hopefully my spirit tailors can help mend my tattered boatskins

someone said they would trade my life straight up but it is impossible because i am the way i am and they are the way they are.

but let me just provide the reasons for me leaving

- i am very tired of the mundane processes here. i can't lie, i'm not doing a goddamn thing here. i'm unmotivated by the circumstance and unmotivated by the people. sick of crying my life away, burnt out on a person who is so far from truth (my face is coming off, unhinged whiskers, dawdling whispers) whatsh smc

- flirted with girls who love nothing more than to fill me with emptiness. i really was hoping for more, but i always brought up the past and sort of killed each situation. i'm sick of the california crowd, ready for the snowblown tsunamis (helen keller motivation, sarah silverman bronze tongue)

- the last six months have been blurry, much too blurry, so whenever i pick up cards that dasha wrote from me i don't remember why they don't mean anything anymore. but they don't, so i finally decided to throw everything away. i feel like i keep teasing myself, every thursday lunch being trapped into a friendship where there are double standards and not real emotion

- all my friends seem as miserable as i am

- i haven't been doing hard drugs, but the fact that i want to makes me realize something is wrong

-even my old dreams seem stupid. ill call teresa and want to hang up immediately. i'll call dasha and want to throw a cake in her goddamn face. i'll call up blaise and schedule something and then realize he's still a morose piece of misfit bullshit like always, and i can't really talk to him until i'm better myself. still very sick, very sick, coughing and throwing up everywhere, blood sonic burger blood tots blood blasts blood burritos blood limeade,
callin up hopes

god the weather ahs been darkly sickly dead
black pitch black

not waiting anymore, taking action (FINALLY!) and it feels good to say that. also i have to repair my car tomorrow which i hate doing, but i have to do it anyway. i'm thinking of telling a few people to absolutely fuck off, i mean really, just to fuck the fuck off
h
hey
so ill do it here while intoxicated okay


no,

forget that. i love everyone here, all my friends, it's pretty obvious that i'm scared to leave, but with every passing day i get more lonely, and i'm scared that if i stay here too long my dreams will have no answer
i'm done with being mundane and done with having people convince me this is what i'm supposed to be doing. this isn't want i'm supposed to be doing at all. i was supposed to be in canada by now, that's why i broke up with that goddamn idiot, but my fucking homecountry hasn't even mailed me my passport yet, it's been six goddamn weeks and i'm still being refined to my own country thanks america thanks, thank you i like to be jailed and then fucked

i went to the castro the other night and sucked dick for coke, this is what my life is like now, every day, rogue wow scouts level 99 cyberfucking whirlwind sithlords have more hp points than pikagod
by far

the table tennis club has arrived, please greet them, bow, serve them some milk, and take a taxicab back to the apartment. 35 NT is how much it costs, but if you don't have your id, it is fine with management, drink heartily
with vigor

if this is what i'm like when i'm sober, god i don't know

ready to throw away the cards, pictures, numbers of yesterday

wanted to get drunk
didn't


and you know

i think i'm ready to take the plunge into hard drugs. lots of cocaine and heroin and speed could fill up my system, acid
poorly structured molecules setting the sun
false sentiment

ill talk to teresa and then just hate her for a mile
and then my vision will get blurry


so tomorrow is the day i go get all my stuff back and once i visit the pawn shop, who knows where i will go

but i know for one thing i'm sick of having people say you've been saying this over and over again, so as soon as i sell every goddamn thing i own here i am buying a plane ticket straight to somewhere no one's gonna find me. so fuck all of you (sorry courtney for not spending more time with you, i couldn't in my current state) and fuck all of me i'm ready to spring

and the 5:30 pitch black nights are not convincing me to stay at all

same with my best friend looking miserable, my other best friend who has no schedule for me, my third best friend who i keep saying i'll call but never do, my fourth best who seems to be as sick of as this place as i am, my next best friends being little guys who i will miss dearly but as long as they have a new father to take care of them i won't be sorely missed

"leaving takes more bravery"
than what
staying

brave brave

i'm going to say this once, because i really am angry about it, and i'm not going to apologize so please don't say anything in advance

i'm fucking sick of staying in a place where everyone shows no effort and isn't creating anything. i'm not saying i'm an anomaly, i am just aware that i hate it here. so, please take a step back and look at all of us, and wonder why i have to deal with stupid shit like nickels breaking my car stereo and boring fucking pot smoking couch sesions

and
the lack of singing in my ear makes me dream and pine over lost memories

(really though, i'm taking a vacation to new york in a couple of weeks to try to reclaim whatever feeling of happiness might be available to me)

i have never known what it is like to have an androgynous friend, who, most appropriately, will be dressed as aladdin sane this upcoming tuesday -

this girl, who we all thought was a lesbian for the past sixteen years, is really just an atypical girl who likes atypical boys.

and for the record i hated portland and everything that it stood for

what vivid dreams come about when all you have is your imagination
(lonely broken lies which include fucking the neighbors)

this is the best message anyone has sent me for years:

"From: Laura
Date: Oct 24 2006 11:30 PM
Subject:what the hell
Body:
we never talk anymore. all you can talk about on your stupid blog is stupid dasha and stupid teresa.

what the hell. teresa cost me $11. fuck that.

anyway, you'd better be prepared for my visit during winter break. and stop doing cocaine, what the fuck???

you're insane. the only time you've ever made sense was when you were here.

goodnight. "

teresa cost me $11 made me laugh pretty hard. yeah okay laura i'm visiting you soon, and yes i know i'm insane and i should stop doing coke but what in the hell

(and i'm rushing rushing rushing)

needless to say, im bitter and my mind needs to rest.

list of things to do before i go to canada:

get my goddamn passport for one - it has been like a month now and still my country won't let me outta here. and they won't even let me drink! i feel like i should write some 17th century garbage about how i have forsaken my country and how my country ahs forsaken me or something and have people read it in three hundred years thinking i was a big shot politician with a lot of say. anyway,

work out a bit more - i want to be toned and naked while dueling for reese's heart

buy a shield/armor/grappling hooks - speaking of dueling, it's legitimate. lions and swords and all of that for her love. and you know, if we actually did it, she would probably fawn over the winner (me) forever.

do a few more open mics - comedy sucks. my style is too improvisational for anything set in stone. i've recognized that and maybe i should just write a cartoon or a screenplay or something. speaking of which, i bought rosencrantz and gildenstern are dead and i should probably read that today

buy lots of snacks

punch dasha in the face and finally be happy that she's happy

make sure dom is okay before i go because it might be a long trip

save up them fucking cashbucks because I FEEL RIDICULOUS NEVER HAVING MONEY TO GO UP THERE

edit:
oh, and stop that goddamn coke habit of mine.

im going to take down the majority of this journal in a few days. it's finally time to create something new and worthwhile.

im sick of dropping names and mentioning people i don't know. fuck that part of my life. i'm going to stop hoping and start doing. for chrissakes why do i keep dragging myself to a lifestyle of mediocrity? i'm coming up soon dear. i need to. i'm sorry i don't pick up the phone when you call, i was sort of blind the last few days.

why do i endlessly talk about someone who is so far away

and i really do love pumpkin pie. if someone were to make me decide between a lifetime supply of pumpkin pie or a successful writing career i seriously wouldn't know what to do.

and if i make money in the future doing something wonderful with my pals, everyone is invited for pumpkin pie.

(this means you, lonely reader)

the only thing i'm scared of when it comes to death is
not meeting enough people while i'm alive
and not sharing different loves and perspectives with all that are willing

because this summer, though i was wrecked up there, was the novel coming of age story. i met people i wanted to be around and i met people i didn't want to be around. and the people i didn't want to be around were nice enough, but they never would have known why i didn't like it there. and they wanted me to like it so bad, but i just didn't. it was so ridiculous up in portland! ha.

christmas party christmas glow christmas trees christmas lights christmas presents christmas cookies christmas santa christmas TIME

"he found her extremely intellectually interesting" - theodore dreiser

oh mr. dreiser. oh you. oh john for bringing that sentence up and calling it cacophonous. everything about john gardner's LIFE was cacophonous. the suits, the chainsmoking, the alcoholism, the unhappiness with the way the publishing world worked, i wish i could've met him anyway. he seemed so understanding of young people

and mitch hedberg too. whenever i think about the people i try to model my life after, i can't help but feel incredibly sad that they're all gone and i never got a chance to hang out with them. if only i could've had a drink with raymond carver or something. i don't think the beats would have liked me, but i still would've liked to bum around for awhile.

do writers and artists actually hang out these days? i mean in the non-pretentious way. it seems like the only thing worth doing is to just swim out to the arctic ocean and start building as many igloos as you can, because you really have no idea when someone will be in need for a home.

and think about how happy the penguins and eskimos will be when homes have been built for them already. a free salmon dinner, perhaps.

one thing that always put me at ease when comparing myself to such great writers:

no amount of good writing can withstand a good punch in the face

I need to let my mind rest. I feel like John Gardner would have written "good!" "nice!" "okay!" on entries I wrote a few months ago, but now, well, he'd probably throw cigarettes in my face and tell me to try again with a little more creativity. My style of writing doesn't evolve, it just changes.

The drugs are impacting my brain negatively (well, obviously). My vocabulary and mental alertness aren't what they used to be. I'm taking a long long vacation from the hard drugs, and I'm filling up my library with books I never got around to reading (though as a writer it's sort of embarrassing that I haven't).

i've been reading some of my archives from a couple years ago and i realized that as i grow older my comprehension of writing and the technical aspects of art have evolved, yet my writing remains like that of a turtle's. i used to be more serious, capital letters and proper punctuation, but now, well,

i don't really mind. i like these strange little phases that i go through. i like how dasha is back in my life again, because i really missed her. i like how i feel better than yesterday, and how when looking at the future, it is impossible for each day to not get brighter

her son


our son


my sun

i was a zombie headache today

issac asimov i love your hair


and this lovely lady here is gertrude stein. she has quite a stern look on her face as usual. actually she looks like isaac started taking pictures of her while he was completely naked and covered in bananas and she's just like isaac, again?

anyway the reason i bring these two people up is that they are two of the most famous self-proclaimed geniuses of their time. and they looked so ridiculous! but they never EVER doubted their own creativity and genius. and i love them for it. gertrude is actually really funny, have you ever read the autobiography of alice b. toklas? it's basically a long book about how great gertrude was. and when i read isaac's biography, he never stopped to doubt himself.

because to them
the rest of the world could either fuck off
or live together in peace and happiness

and it didn't even matter that isaacs hair was floppy or gertrudes hair was like a biscuit. they were loved and respected and they never seemed to get unhappy at all! writing was their stress outlet, but it was also their creative outlet, and god, how i want to be like that

there's nothing more satisfying than waking up and eating your friend's leftovers. chicken cordon bleu and mashed potatoes mmm!

"you always make me happy"
"aw. (i love you)"

"what are you doing?"
"oh nothing, i'm in the bathtub"
"jesus, you're in the bathtub and you called ME? god, i wish i wasn't busy fuck, this is like the perfect day ever."
"well um"
"i'll call you tomorrow"

"hey so i went to the store and i bought two things of triscuits today"

"you're gross, george"

yesterday dasha and i went to whole foods and we saw this lady who had a lot of makeup on and immediately dasha was like "so yeah, debbie, the parking lot lady, and conrad were at the store the other day" and i started laughing a little bit because debbie was this lady with a really painted up face and she asked why i was laughing and i told her it was cause i knew why she brought up debbie all of a sudden.

anyway, this entry will only make sense to me and her - i just don't like forgetting memories and connections like these.

(p.s. "IT IS A STUPID FUNERAL!"

i was just wondering if people wondered what was on their favorite authors' desks while they were writing epic works, and i don't know about them, but my desk is a goddamn mess.

thorough details-

1 bottle of each:
daily multi vitamins
st. john's wort
5-htp
melatonin
valerian root
super b complex
zinc
vitamin c
vitamin e
gingko biloba
advil
(explanation: too many hard drugs, and too much worry. the melatonin and valerian root is for my insomnia, which no doubt has been caused by the tragic event of gene siskel's death. the zinc is actually quite terrible. there's this site where you can enter these code numbers on the bottles and if you earn enough points you get coupons towards more vitamins. so, being pretty ridiculous myself, i went on an adventure throughout my whole household to see if there were any of these company's vitamins laying around, and sure enough i found some zinc. sometimes i wonder if hemingway or burroughs were this cheap. and i'm not even cheap! i spend copious amounts of money on steak and candy and cds yet i want to save on vitamins! and it still scares me to buy "discount" vitamins at the store. who WOULD want to buy them? i have this friend named matt who always tells me to get my vitamins online and i always make fun of him for being cheap even when it comes to nutrients that replenish your body. "buy in bulk!" he would say)


1 bottle of water

a cup of very cold tea

a blue swirly sherlock pipe i use for smoking

this ty card dasha made for me a long time ago, where it's as if i were a beanie baby and there was this tag made for me, and well, um, yeah. (wow, it's probably just been sitting there without me even touching it for a while now)

my computer monitor and keyboard

best of christopher walken dvd

marlboro lights (i've started to hate these, but i don't know what i should replace them with. maybe i should just stop smoking altogether. what a comical turn of events!!)

flyswatter that's shaped like a hand. my mom used to hit me and my sister with these, which looking back on it, is pretty funny

bank statement saying i've overdrawn about a million times

game boy color

lotion (um)

this sick energy drink called red line that apparently maureen gets and drinks with alcohol so she's basically a queen bee buzzing all over the fucking place, and if you've seen this you know it to be true ( i just threw it away )

scattered coins dust and dayquil
-------------------------------

i forgot what the original point of this post was. maybe something to do with learning about the authors themselves along with reading their works. it's fascinating to do

confession:
i've been secretly pronouncing the word "solder" as "soldier" for maybe the past 8 years of my life. i realized that the correct pronounciation of the word was sodder a while ago, and realized that if i could pronounce it soldier for the rest of my life, maybe it would change.

but people are usually like what and ignore me and think to themselves "what a fucking idiot. this guy calls himself educated?"

i was looking for a good translation of the iliad on amazon, and found this amusing review:
--------------------------------------------------------------------
One out of Five stars
WORST BOOK EVER!, October 3, 2006
A Kid's Review
this book is definitely one of the most boring books i have ever read! it could not hold my attention for more than two minutes, and ordinarily i have a long attention span. it was a horrible book, and i hope i never have to read anything like it again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
and he's probably right. fuck going on imaginary adventures, let's start going on real ones!

"yeah my girlfriend's going to a funeral this weekend. do you want to, i don't know, get some coffee or something?"

for jake:
and so the robots would come from behind the hills of windemere and just

sorry i can't even finish. go to hell jake, you sick perverted fuck

it usually takes nights of complete incoherence and misery before i can feel better about certain situations.

and well, after a long chat with garbagegirl i feel a lot fucking better. so come see me perform soon why don cha

gonna write a story about a beautiful garbageman and his beautiful garbagegirl

too much personal information, i know. if i could find a way to make some of these private, i would, it's just very convenient and all, gen comp pepsi x andall that

and despite my perfect understanding of my own life and how i must cope with the broken feelings and relationships of my past, i still can never feel complacent. i'm stuck yearning better times and places that might not have even existed. it's just that these cards and broken memories really do seem so nice, and maybe i'm not overexaggerating when i say i miss those times

and the fact that i've actually lost a bunch of weight and started to feel good about my own looks and style, that i'm going to accomplish something artistic while still feeling very cool, well

that's something that makes me very happy and fulfilled. i mean i'm already doing open mics and stuff and that's something that garbageman and garbagegirl (oh i'm sorry dear) haven't..okay i have to stop because i'm laughing and these entries are just so silly

writers need to make more inappropriate writings that show how stupid they were in real life! fuck showing their best, i want everyone to know how demoralizing and stupid the beats were and how funny vonnegut sounds in real life

oh well fuck it. i would've been miserable if i had to stay here another few years anyway. and the fact that she's so different now, well, it's all just a nice memory for me to keep.

i think most of you really don't get why i visit her so often, because the only place i really talk about her is here, so i think i'll take the time to actually describe how our real relationship works.

she's one of my best friends for chrissakes. we'll call each other if one of us is upset or has problems or just wants to rant about life. we understand each other pretty deeply and have a rapport that nobody can ever take away from us. we have our own silly jokes that mean the world to each of us. i just get overdramatic sometimes cause god do you know how fucking pretty she is? i mean jesus! ha. well, it's just i get a little lonely sometimes and she's just so wonderful in person that it all gets a bit overwhelming. i'll never lose contact with her, and the biggest tragedy of all this is that i know what the future will hold for both of us, and unfortunately they don't intertwine.

but we can always slice up watermelons and play video games together. and in the future i'll invite her over to my apartment and we'll watch tv and eat hot dogs and not even talk about this stuff. we've kept the stuffed animals we've given each other over the years (though she has a really big grasp on most of the ones she's given ME >O) and i doubt we'll ever stop being close. this world is just too big to give up those that mean everything to you.

but sometimes i'll look at this binder of stuff i wrote during our two year relationship and i wonder what the hell i'm going to do with it. if i published my love for her wouldn't that seem just melodramatic and stupid? i don't want to be one of those sappy artists, ugh. van gogh was NOT that cool at all. i'm thinking of turning it into a silly sort of screenplay for children, where little bears dance and little bunnies sing. yeah, that'd make her happy in the long run.

(and i can't BELIEVE that he doesn't seem to have a bright future at all! i really hope to god he becomes a senator or something so she doesn't feel crazy in the future, dating a half garbageman half video game salesman)

and since t don't read this no mo:
i'm going to do something of artistic mention before i go up and visit her. because i promised i'd just run up and surprise her, like she'd just see me at the mall or something, and i at least want her to get excited a little bit. i mean it doesn't hurt to fall in love with the guy that made a million people happy, rather than the melodramatic guy that just writes about it. smiles and laughs people

audience:
GET A NEW TOPIC! JESUS!

me:
OKAY SHUTUP

god i was so dumb, you're a lucky guy if you're reading this. you know that? if i ever hear about you choosing a fucking BURRITO over her again i swear to god i'm going to shoot you

like the way she picks up her phone and it's me, she automatically assumes the attitude of "goddamn it when when will this GUY keep bothering me?"

i don't even know why i want to go see her tomorrow. any other sane person in the world would have dumped her in a trash can by now. can you believe while we were hanging out one day someone mistook me for her boyfriend and she disgustedly looked at me and said "um, he's SO not my boyfriend".

what kind of friend does that? jesus christ. and what kind of friend complains about it on his PUBLIC BLOGGER how pathetic!
----------------------------------------

okay, i don't really think these things, and these things are obviously exaggerated. i'm just bored and lonely at 4pm already and god i wish this headache would go away. i want to go see teresa but i can't really bring myself to save up the money. i actually don't even care about all that anymore, it's a broken and lost dream of mine. nobody seems to believe in it except me. i really do want to move out, but what then after that? if i got an apartment, i'd be TRAPPED here and though i would get the occasional visitations, most of my time will still be spent wondering "what the fucking hell is going on"

i've started to notice that she takes different parts of our relationship and has applied them to her new one. the little things, like little jokes we made up our cute nicknames, and it's making me wonder, if she not only emotionally and physically depends on him now, do i even exist if she has now applied our spirituality to him too? i'm probably go


ugh i just HATE the fact that she might be starting to give him credit for things I'VE done in my life, such as larry bear what the fuck


and FUCK elizabeth barrett browning! what did she know

(unknown):

a wild shaking of bodies, her distraught fingers needed assurance that the night would go on, k grabbed her and charmed her,



wait are you serious, you can't write shit like that, that's stupid. k is just the guy from the trial and the castle and like franzy boy you can't think of a name and k just sounded okay. do you think that if kafka knew all of his works were published that he would've beaten the hell out of his agent? probably not, he sounded feeble in his WRITER sort of way. i wouldn'tve gotten along with kafka, never, he reminds me of that quiet kid in the corner that just goes crazy after a while (myself), and

headaches, my mind is muddled and uncreative. i can't think of something interesting to write about, the music is just cluttering my brain, when that shuts off each entry becomes mundane and bland, i can't seem to
find something i'm truly interested in,
a
true subject

yeah well not in this lifetime. REALITY is so boring

oh and goddamn is kafka interesting when you're fucked up

finally, some excitement in my life!

-stand-up comedy over the next few days
-starting a film project about love (only its form where one is completely alone and this idea of love that seems to come up quite frequently when fucking is not there at all when crying by yourself in a basement)
-planning on moving out soon, by december 1st if i can handle it
-planning my surprise trip to the east coast and canada
-actually starting my first piece of ARTWORK, it sorta sucks still, but my mom is helping me with geometric nonsense and hopefully it'll be something to look at when i'm done
-threw drumset out the window

i mean how can i not wake up sometimes absolutely hating how things are, how other people perceive each other as physical sex-beasts, clawing through the jelly to throw it in her FACE!

i just get really tired of caring sometimes. WHO IS WAITING FOR ME OUT THERE i dont know

this headache and lack of responsibility...

despite what anyone says, i know for a fact that dominic put marielle in his phone as "mary" because us two guys love the name mary for some reason and we desperately want to know a mary in person that we genuinely call all the time

haha ha ha ha
what the fuck george

the only real thing i feel on a consistent basis from that previous entry is this:
"i'm just so tired of waiting for something that never seems to come."

okay bye morose postings time for fun postings!

i remember when teresa and i used to pretend we were different people online and would trick people into thinking we were fucking map salesmen. god how we laughed at the stupidest things

fuck the audience. i don't care right now

october winds are blowing by and it doesn't seem to phase me. the days seem to slowly peel away, every night i dream a vein bursts in my brain, taking me to a place of this nature:

where people won't make people promise stupid things like marriage eventually and friendships that are only there to symbolize happiness on the behalf of all parties involved when the idea of such a thing is so fuckin ridiculous

i really don't know. i'm tired of calling starfish late at night when she's trying to sleep. i know it really annoys her, because it annoys me, but she is the only one who is willing to talk anyway, despite her physical feelings at these ineffable moments of mine.

i just feel like i'm making excuses. i'm not happy here. i'm not happy visiting dasha once a week in berkeley, and i'm not happy never seeing blaise there. i'm not happy that dom and i didn't start that blog we said we would while on coke, and i'm not happy that my future looks messy and restricted. i don't want anything to tie me to this place anymore.

and i hate going to her stupid little co-op and seeing all our guys huddled in her bed, secretly knowing they are for show, that if i were to just drive off a goddamn building she would feel so fucking responsible and you know what? i want her to. this is the first time i don't feel bad for blaming her for the misery i feel much too often. because im sick of being called up once in a while for support, but whenever the favor needs to be returned it never is. i just get soft murmurs and don't call me right nows and all i can think of is the girl who used to wrap herself in my blanket and just smile and smile and smile and then look at the polaroid we took of her and yell god im so ugly! and i wouldn't know what the hell to say because it was so opposite of what i was feeling and i guess whenever she left i would tuck it away in that album i kept and i must be such a goddamn melodramatic idiot for keeping that thing.

but i'm living the life of a writer. drugged up and alone and i guess i couldn't have avoided that. i'm just so tired of waiting for something that never seems to come.

so, please, don't ask me to stay here anymore okay? when i say i want to finally leave, let me. i don't care about your guilt anymore

i read some entries that kafka wrote while he was writing the trial and goddamn did he suffer a lot. no wonder he drank and didn't want anyone to look at his work. he hated himself

bipolarity syndrome:
the result of one author reaching his arm into the work of another author, endlessly wrist wrestling with the paper, an epic battle of wits and intelligence and emotional manifestations, until finally, one voice can be heard.

it is through this process that writers can grow by listening to other writers.

i still wonder sometimes you know. about everything and what if and what should have

it is when life starts to pick up, when things get exciting, where one's unbridled creativity and optimism will lead them to a life of such lovely fulfillment, where it stops becoming what you do for people and what people do for you, where that idea doesn't even exist anymore because it doesn't need to. people'll just start doing things for each other time, because it is the right thing to do. [note: i really believe with all my heart that this will happen, where i will grab up the hands of all those that i love and just live fearlessly, telling stories and jokes and just singing all the while, what a lovely day at the fair we'll have!]

and then the government will call this all communism and throw us in the grand canyon, making us take off our clothes in mid-air while singing stars and stripes forever.

what a country we live in. and here's a picture of the guy that wrote that crazy little song:

look at his mustache. he must've been a fantastic kisser. i would like to have known.

wayne would have the silliest stories and ideas about life, and he would just ramble on about them all the time. like for instance one time we were just sitting around in the apartment watching this movie franz had made, and out of nowhere wayne just blurted out, "ALL THOSE MOTHER FUCKERS IN THE PENAL COLONY ARE GOING TO BE ABSORBED BY ROBOTS AND YOU KNOW WHAT? ONE DAY THEY'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" and both me and franz just sort of stared at him cock-eyed for a little bit and franz got a little upset and said "das isn't vat the movie is about, herr WAYNE!" and after that wayne just slumped in his chair a little bit moping. he really gets excited when he starts talking about his crazy fantasies and whenever one of us brings him down like that he really becomes a mopester.

i mean there was one time when jack was living with us and we were all playing football and both jack and wayne are really buff guys and jack just tackled the shit out of him this one play and the next day wayne was just crying the entire day saying something about how him and the fearless freaks were gonna "kick that idiot kerouac's face in" the next time they played. i remember jack tried to console him and all wayne did was push him in the face with his palm and yell, "ON THE ROAD WOULD'VE BEEN SO MUCH BETTER WITH ROBOTS! I KNOW YOU KNOW THAT ROBOTS EXIST, WHY DIDN'T YOU FEEL LIKE PUTTING THEM IN YOUR STUPID LITTLE STORY? NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOU ANYWAY, IF THEY KNEW THEY REAL YOU, NOBODY WOULD EVEN LIKE YOU JACK!"

and with that, jack kerouac was out of our lives forever. franz really misses him sometimes because he made the BEST absinthe, and we had the craziest parties whenever he was around, but i guess it was all in best interest for wayne. and he was right you know. on the road would have been so much cooler with robots.
--------------------------------------------------
(continue'd later, with different people, with different jokes, with different side effects)

i've been knocked out for pretty much the past 24 hours. the only real person i saw yesterday was dom, who came over for the couple hours that i was awake. i was supposed to call jackie at noon, fuck. she probably saw that coming.

i'm going up to davis next weekend to visit a few people, and probably going to make a couple trips over to berkeley during the week to see dasha and blaise. little do people know, dasha's house has a soy milk MACHINE that literally gives you (silk!) soy milk whenever you please. it is very very convenient.

im done with it completely. god fucking damn it

wait who the fuck thought i was bisexual? im such a liar. i lie about everything.

a story:

jake started to do coke in grade eleven. ever since then, he's been endlessly borrowing and stealing from me, and i'm getting pretty tired of it. jake's my best friend and all, i just get so sick of having to look at him every day, wired up hopped up with no emotion in his eyes.

here's the twist:

i like to have sex with jake daily. it's true

willing to trade:
one copy of belle and sebastian the life pursuit vinyl lp

for

you

edit:
and i believe that teresa and i do rely on each other, not in a physical companion sort of way, but more as a way to relieve tension in our messy little minds. finally i can sort of see where she was going with all those fancy words, and maybe i can actually live life with some sort of complacency in the fact that

all my friends,
all the people that i love,
are perfect complements to what i figure to already be a perfect sort of life,
my OWN!

because in its imperfection i gain strength and wisdom and pain, and in times of hardship, it is impossible not to grow. my spirit hasn't been crushed, and it seems to be emerging SOON!

(mhmmm yum munch yum munch yum - pow

selfishness, as follows:

my testament-
looking at my friends, and their dependencies on one another, complete and whole, without misrepresentation or miscommunication, actual feelings of want and need and hopelessness without their significant other, i have come to the conclusion that i am finally at peace.

because i realized one thing in my brief time with dasha. i can't possibly have another human being rely on me totally and completely for their own happiness. of course, there are times when i spout nonsense about wanting that in someone else, and if you were to read a lot of my writing in my most depressed states you would probably call me a liar, that i absolutely need some soulmate or companion or so on, and that's true to an extent, but i feel my need is of more than one, a group of souls linked through a common energy, a life force known as GOD.

and as GOD rises up in all of us, this natural subversive energy, we will all be happy together.



(cute, huh)

test

i really miss laura sometimes. lots of jokes that go unnoticed in speech nowadays

i told her i'd stop with the hard drugs. it's difficult to not be blinded right now by that crazy marina sunshine but god how i desperately need to stoppppppp.

i'm actually just sick right now, and this cough really hurts me sometimes. i hate how i only get sick once or twice a year because each time i do my mind really does a twist on me. and it hurts to talk! and i can't think or make up interesting stories or anything! i'm a failed writer, goddddaaaaaammmmmnnnn

actually, i really want to paint another jellyfish, with all of my friends' faces on them. i fucking

an improved story (i don't even know what it is yet since i haven't begun to write!):

jake and i used to walk home through the blizzard every day when school was out. we didn't mind much; our mothers had given us very comfy sweaters and earmuffs and hats with flaps. these were our real life treasures and needless to say, we never forgot to wear anything. it was just so cold!

so one day after school, through the blizzard and everything, we decided to walk out to paul's hamburger shop and get some food. paul wasn't there that day, he had to take his son to the chiropractor or something, but his wife emily was. i remember jake saying something about how he liked brunettes and how emily was the perfect type of brunette, the kind that drank and kissed but never told anyone about it. i told him that type of talk was ridiculous, and that the fact he even said something like that in real life made me question his existence.

so emily was there and she said, "what'll you boys have" and i said, "i'd love a hot chocolate, em. hey can you get out the darts i think i wanna play a little," and jake said something like, "i'd love to eat you out and then shave your head when i'm done," and emily sort of stared at him cockeyed and i stared at him cockeyed and all of a sudden a heaping mass of swat teams rushed into the joint and started to beat him to death for sexual harasssment.

actually what he really said was this: "hey em, i'll have like two strawberry milkshakes and a double jalepeno burger."

emily's reply to this was, "jake, why do you always get strawberry milkshakes? it's like ten below zero outside."

jake would point to his sweater and his earmuffs and his hat with the flaps, and sometimes when he'd do this and i was around i would do it too, as to emphasize the point that we were already very very warm. emily would smile and say something about paul never wanting to spend money on a comfy sweater, and we would just stand and stare flabbergasted. "what a terrible thing!" we would exclaim, and she would give us our darts and our burgers and not say anything the rest of the night. i think jake thought of her while masturbating, which is very creepy both to say and to think about, but i just think you should know what kind of character jake really is. he's a sick fuck.

but enough about jake and emily and paul's stupid hamburger shack. this story is about the girl i met in the blizzard and that's what i want to talk about.

she was made of ice and she stabbed me right in the heart with a popsicle. mother fucking snow bitch

well it didn't really happen like that, but sometimes i think it did. her name was marina, and as ridiculous as it may seem, i thought the name was pretty. it's weird to think that russian women named marina (the middle aged kind) would be pretty in their youth, but it is certainly true. she was beautiful. she was quiet and pale and liked to play the saxophone. she hated the snow, and would always tell me that she did when i used to walk her home sometimes, and she even devised a plan where all the snow in the world would just disappear, and she would live out the rest of her days in complete sunshine.

"but i like the snow," i would say. "you can make snowmen, and hot chocolate really tastes delicious after a long walk in the snow. don't you like snowball fights or anything? have you ever made a snow angel?"

"I FUCKING HATE SNOW ANGELS!" she would yell

"well, don't you think ice skating is romantic? we could do it to your favorite song."

"I WANT VODKA! VODKA IS HOME COUNTRY NUTRIENT! I WANT IT NOW! PLEASE PLEASE"

it was at this point i decided marina was really crazy, but i was head over heels in love with her so i couldn't see past myself. we went to this shop called "exotic birds" and when the parrots would mimic something she said, she would grab them by the throat and throw them against the window. then she would mutter something about yeltsin and run in circles. women are crazy, i decided.

i don't know where i am in this story.

and i would never use the word delighted, but teresa said that she would probably be delighted if she were to see me randomly in every day life, and that feeling of spontaneity is one i want to chase forever

oh god, i talked to teresa on the phone last night and she said she hadn't read my journal in a while, and god is she going to be mad when she sees that entry about her and the angel. oh well, i secretly am delighted by her angry laughter

i'm too curious about things to be considered sane

how does life train you for disgusting vile perverse things in life? can't they just be forgotten

my mother is teaching me how to illustrate life and i'm really taking a liking to it. there's this jellyfish i drew in 6th grade that she kept, and it really is a nice jellyfish i have to admit.

what it's all about really, is taking little joys in life and pointing them out with someone you love. i admire this so much in the people that i love, for they are constantly being attacked by the ferociousness of the world, boundless dreamers endlessly wondering why they are the way they are. and it's okay, it's so understandable to feel this way sometimes, and i know it's hard to feel like it's okay, but it is. the important thing is getting right back in that truck and to keep driving into the sun. and we can get pie on the way there, your favorite kind, apple or cherry or strawberry, i don't know, YOU choose. and choose mine too okay?

i like the type of people that really like whipped cream, and would jump at the chance to eat up all the whipped cream on everyone's coffee if only people would just offer. i'm not like this personally, but they are so sweet in that way.

i've mentioned this before, but i'll mention it again as it is one of my favorite memories:

taking ecstasy and that night at dom's house jackie and marielle just sat on his bed drawing and listening to belle and sebastian and all dom said was "i'm perfectly okay with this"

and i was too! why wouldn't anyone be

i think the silliest thing dasha told me about our friend keshwad is that when they were hanging out and listening to belle and sebastian, "get me away from here i'm dying" came on and keshwad said that it was "their song".

that always made me laugh in some crazy way. because i understood, but it was still so so silly

and for what its worth, this image pretty much solidifies why i have such faith in people.



courtney, who is magical in her expression, chose to make life SPIN!

(set to the tune of such great heights, a cover by iron and wine)

and now, as our box house open its doors to the rest of the world, let me take the time to remind you of why exactly it is that we have moved here, and why exactly it is that we want the rest of the world to join us.

in our simple little box, we only live by one rule. it is silly but essential to our new way of living, and please, don't point fingers or toes or noses our way unless you are ready to have fingers and toes and noses coming back like vines, twisting and gripping your vessels until you are ready to comply. our rule goes like this:

"please do not talk loudly as the stuffies are sleeping. they are so young, such tiny little bunnies and moocows and koala bears. and they are ready to go out into the world, to make certain little boys and girls happy, comforting them as they drift into an unknown sleep."

for they need to grow, and see the world just like you and i do. for in each little stuffy there is a genuine heart which cannot be corrupted like so many human hearts. it is in this way that we envy them, but it is in this way we are different.

and let us explore endlessly, for that is what we were meant to do! to laugh and drink out of our little tea cups, to nap in the afternoon, and play in the evening. let's climb those ominous mountaintops together and forget all about what's below. for if we keep looking up without EVER having to feel the need to look down there, we will finally be at peace. and when we get all the way up there and we won't know what to do, we will grab our favorite stuffy and hug them, because they will understand this crazy sort of love-type feeling that we feel up here. a cloud will be playing the piano softly, and though he doesn't have a tip jar, you can always kiss him on his soft spot, for of course, he is all soft spot.

and when did we forget such simplicity? along the way or before it happened?

so i have a few goals right now, i just wrote them down, well that's a lie, unlike all writers, i never actually write anything down, that's besides the point, life goals, here we go

-save up money to go to the east coast, and then up to canada
-use the rest of that money to move out
-have an amazing christmas party at my house
-build on every relationship i can (including you three girls that i always seem to be ignoring, and i love you three very much, so )
-work on these huge muscles of mine, as i know how much starfish would love to grab these arms and just chuck them into an ocean because of their ferociousness god such PASSION
-make as many people smile as i can

and ialways talk like this
but
something changed
when i looked at these cds she made for me so many years ago

and on the phone with her just now

i just need to pop up! popup out of nowhere, but sure and confident, in everyone's lives everywhere up there up here fireworks pop pop pop
0ds-f-----

i dont know what im doing. this is all messy and incoherent and fucked up
way fucked up

ill pick up the phone and just start crying when i hear her voice and i hate it i dont know why ,and its so unexplainable but i still do it and i hate it so much i hate her and i hate everything about this situation and as much as i dont like to admit it SHES THE REASON WHY I NEED TO GO

so i can finally forget because she has and theres no reason to keep looking at these shitty photo albusm and shitty heart shaped cards and shitty memories

im just so lonely and one dimensional and CUT OFF

ONCE IN MANY BLUE MOONS THERE WAS A BOY NAMED TERESA

HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO

i just thought of something silly. you never really know what a writer is actually doing at the time of each writing. for instance, i just got out of the shower, and well,

okay, but in all seriousness, would you take a writer's work just as seriously if you knew he was completely naked at the time of each writing?

(wasn't serious at all)

sometimes i get in that mood where i truly just don't give a shit about ANYTHING!

-this usually occurs after thinking about the interweb of life,
gracefully stops when i realize the preciousness of those hands

i have to admit, i really was thinking about abandoning everything here and moving on.

but i suppose people have convinced me otherwise. can't leave until we're all moving forward!

i've been recovering the past few days - being sick is awful

but a life of sobriety is rearing its head out the window constantly smacking the faces of people i admired in my childhood