When I was in fifth grade, I had a big green jacket. In itself, this isn't a remarkable thing. But for those who dare or care to remember, that jacket had more in itself than most. It was home to various things, many things, and any things that I could find. Most people didn't see any importance for this strange compulsion of mine, nor did I. I did it because I felt it should be done.

One day in the spring I discovered the reason for this compulsion. Our teacher told us that we were going to build some sort of invention from the things we just happened to have on our person... and, in rapture, I requested a trip to my locker in near hysteric justice.

Suffice it to say, we won that contest because we had more stuff in that big green jacket than all the other kids combined.



Today I looked in my big white trunk and reflected upon this as I saw its nonsensical contents:
-Megaphone
-SAT Prep Book
-Roll of Paper Towels
-Two Computer Monitors (Broken)
-"Wet Floor" Big Yellow Cone
-Empty Water Cooler Tank
-Aluminum Baseball Bat
-Flashlight
-Tire Wipes

This most certainly takes precedence over homework. Yesterday Chuck, Marc, and I went to Sam Ash so Chuck could get an electric guitar and I could buy a ukulele. Neither of us really know how to play our respective instruments. The Ukulele was only $20 though. I went home and spent an hour both learning how to tune it and actually tuning it. When I was done, I realized that I had nothing to play, and all of that tuning was for naught. I did the same thing today, and I don't really mind. I'm hoping Vinny or some other talent can teach me how to play, or I can just keep tuning it. I heard a lot of great ukulele performances n the Concert for George Harrison DVD, and those are what I'm aiming to play. I realize that I'm being optimistic, and that I may never learn to play. But I don't think it was stupid to buy it. It wasn't expensive, and if nothing else, it will be cool to have around. As for Chuck, I wish him the best of luck learning guitar.

I'll see you in my dreams.

I wrote an entire english paper on the Man trying to keep us down in under a half hour. Yet, I've been working on a simple self-analysis paper for psych for 2 days, and can't write it.

I love near-death expierances. Like driving home in a freak snow storm, and repeatedly spinning out. Repeatedly. Over and over again.

Tunak Tunak Tun. Greatest song ever, with the greatest video/ dance ever. Screw the Macarena, man. Two little hispanic guys, what do they know about dancing? One little indian guy knows buttloads more than they do. *does little dance* C'mon, how can you not love this? Find the video. Learn the dance. Love the turban.

Hluchan stopped me in class today. And asked me if she saw me smoking by the library yesterday. Because there was someone who looked just like me, and she was smoking. After I assured her that it wasn't me, and that I was actually shining my halo at the time, she smiled, relieved at the fact that I'm not a smoker. *clears throat* As the A+ student of AP Health, I feel obligated to remind you all of the dangers of smoking. But I'm not going to.

I own hippie Jesus sandals. But there's snow. That makes me sad.

This is a song I wrote...It's called Natalo is a Big Gay

Natalo, you silly man
You and your fucking security plan
That fat asshole on the student lot
Told you, fag, we were something we were not

You act like some crazy spy
Relaying back and forth to this guy
Which kids walk out to their cars
What for, is no business of ours.

You called us all in
Told us we were guilty of sin
Accused us of violating the rule
That we had went to lunch outside of school

"I don't know if you went out or not."
He asked us what lunch we had, on the spot
Chuck and I, we saw no harms
In telling him we had Chicken Parms.

"OK, I believe you. But I don't know if you did."
What the fuck does that mean, I'm no stupid kid.
Please make up your mind Lou, it's quite true
"You can even ask the French lunch lady too."

**

All right 5 minute effort.

Modern Art. What is art? Surely a Ukulele is art.

Thus today. The Armory Show. All the Adams crowd went down to New York, leaving the knave Koetzner* and monster Marlin** groups behind. There was glory galore, glory for all to be had. Much fun was to be had, especially the lateness of the bus which forced us to turn to our own means of entertainment (only so much modern art can be seen before life looks like a video game [or just as one big piece of modernist art]) to survive. Pantano's Ukulele came in handy, and hand in hand with self-delusion and self-distortion that turned us into singer/songwriters and street performers. One nod to all the people I saw there; two for people I've taken pictures of. Two and a half for Diana Fang for both pictures and her birthday. Three for Adams. A million for me for writing this.

Aterwards, Ma and I got de Vries and Powers and we all went down to a resturant with food I liked in a place I dislike with people I won't forget. Then I met the Source of Powers, which is always... re-source-ful.

Today was a good light day, like clouds. Or sunshine. But I hate the sun. Not sunlight, but the Sun.

*Not a bad man, really.
**He may know me a bit now, but I needed consonance.

As for today's batch of pictures? Pretty good actually.

a dream.

chuck is dead / flower store / naqoyqatsi (March 9/10 of 2004)

i had been away from my two friends, shankha and charles, for something like a few months, when i decided to return to chuck's house at night, in an attempt to scare/surprise them with my return. I hid in the bathroom and jumped out at what I thought was one of them, and it turned out to be Mrs. Ackerman. I asked her what room they were in, and she wouldn't really answer me, so I suggested rooms down the hall. She began to get very scared at my suggestions, and then she finally told me what had happened while I was gone - charles had been killed, at least him, if not both of them. I even saw the trashcan (!) where his body was - deformed, rotting, bloody, disgusting. It had been so long, I pulled his corpse out with my one hand and threw it into the tub where I started to clean it with a bottle of piss. (I had brought it back from wherever I had been.) Mrs. Ackerman was thankful for my job of cleaning him up. After I turned around, the body was gone, and as I tried to access it again, my mind turned into some kind of Internet Explorer-type deal. I saw a small photo of his bloody body in the tub and some kind of stupid photoshop titling around it, like someone had used this as a splash page for one of those sites that posts pictures of real death and violence. I couldn't get it to go where I wanted it; to the page where his body was cleaned from my work, but I gave up. I don't remember exactly what happened then, but I was with chuck in the city for something, and I fell through this weird secret entrance, holding a flower, into some weird store. When leaving, for some reason I asked the manager woman (in spanish at first) if I could have the flower. She turned into this huge bitch, telling me it was theirs (when she knew it wasn't) and wouldn't let me leave. Eventually I got the fuck out of there. Then, Chuck, his Dad, and I went to see Naqoyqatsi at some special showing. It's hard to describe the place we were at; it was outside of a few storefronts like ridgewood, with seating, but almost in front of my house, that had 2 garages on top of each other. I don't know where the fuck my brain gets this shit. Anyway, before it started, I ran in the lower level of the house-like place ( i guess they were running the showing) to ask about using the bathroom. The guy said I'd have to ask the guy upstairs, so I took this little elevator glass thingy up there, and asked him, but he said he needed "a, uh, token," pointing to some watches, where I gave him mine, telling him the word was collateral. I used the bathroom, I think, then came back, to take my watch back, and as I put it back on, I smirked, wondering if he noticed I had 2 watches on that day. (...) I exited through the top level's garage door, to realize I was too high up to jump down, so somehow I got back downstairs and we watched the movie. It turns out Godfrey Reggio made the movie like a drama about a family, and it was pretty damn good. I remember remarking to Charles that it looked like House of Sand and Fog from what I had seen at the Oscars. He was like "oh no, house of sand and fog sucked, it was way worse than this."

I have not a single coherent thought in my mind. It is currently in a far off place, in a far off time. I wish summer was here. I wish I was done with school. I wish I was done with life. I don't know if I mean that. I certainly wouldn't commit suicide. Great, that just makes me sound more suicidal. Well it doesn't matter. That just means people will read this who would have never noticed me in the hall before and try to convince me of something I'm already convinced of as if they know me. Well, now I've thoroughly accomplished making myself look suicidal. I think the worst part of suicide is people talking about you. Yeah, that's the absolute worst part. Looking through Charles' 104 pictures of me, I look like the last person who would ever think about this stuff. I'm smiling in every single picture. And I can't help but wonder what I'm smiling about. I swear, if anyone comes up to me and tells me not to kill myself I'm gonna kill myself.

stay strong myles
hahahahahahahaha

What has been taken from us shall be restored with our own hands.

My first step to becoming Adolf: rejection from Governor's School. Next step: applying to Dictator's School. Yay.

So since Saturday night, I've been meaning to post about

FRIGGIN' AWESOME WEEK

Kicked off by a car accident, various schedule conflictions, masses of classes, getting my car back sans-grille, driving around a lot, looking for and finding a resturant in Fort Lee twice, each on Sunday, and having chats with police officers.