If some towns are hell and others are heaven, Paramus is purgatory. The town was named by the Lenni-Lenapi, who were the original inhabitants of the area. It means "land of many turkeys" or something to that effect. The name doesn't really apply anymore. However, I find that it is still just as relevant as it was before the Native Americans were driven off by the white man. Turkey is a rather dull meat to eat; it's dry, and it does little to recommend itself over chicken. Well, the only part that really applies is the dull part. If you're creative enough, you have permission to come up with an interpretation for the chicken.

In this town, without a car, you're nothing. Paramus isn't one of those towns with one main road where everyone knows everyone else. You need wheels to get where you want to go. That leaves people like me stranded. While the other fish are breathing oxygen, growing legs and walking, I'm stuck in the water. Luckily, there are kind people who let me leech off of them. Or merely tolerate me leaching off of them. It's pointless to speculate; what I want to say is that November is a long way away.

Another generation foolishly enters the fold of their fathers. The seasons continue to change, and our brothers continue to drop like leaves... Needless pain repeats itself, precious faith is broken. The victors continue to write the history, the powerful continue to misshape our world, and the truth continues on being obscured by the liars. And the darkness continues to encroach, and the sun continues to descend. We no longer can hold happiness over our heads, and we can no longer blind ourselves to the truth.

...we can. I can't. What is the best we can make ourselves?

Is this all the world... has to offer?

This is our 51st post. I missed 50. Oh well. Today, I happened to be walking home from Best Buy. It was a beautiful day, with sun, trees, flowers etc. I happened to be walking on the sidewalk, on the right side of the street at precisely 6 PM. As fate, luck, or god would have it, that is precisely the time the sprinklers on the yard I happened to be adjacent to were programmed to turn on. And turn on they did, spraying my crotch area with liquid fury. Luckily, no one was around to see this. It was actually a fortuitous thing, as it was becoming rather hot in that area. The rest of the walk was a continuation of my delusion that the world is probably not out to get me. Other than this freak occurrence, my day was rather bland. I think I needed a quiet Saturday like this anyway.

"You're going to have to face your worst fear," echoed her words as we approached the bridge. That massive, pristine bridge linked two shores, extending wide beyond its real counterpart; extending wide beyond human foresight. Everything was clear; everything seemed reflective in the crisp morning air. The sky soared was a soaring blue, and the towers ahead reflected in their super-realistic metallic luster. They rose from the horizon, two massive tributes to human will. I knew that they shouldn't be there, that they weren't there any more. My state of confusion was horrifically interrupted. The right of the two massive buildings burst into flames. It was the first impact. "Anything but this," he turned and faced me "please, not this." I can't deal with this sincerity. I don't... have any way to connect. This side of me is not within me. So I disconnect. I don't even attempt comfort. I stare. Everything is clear.

NJ Exploring

This weekend was damned good...

Friday, went to GSP with Mike/Igor/other people...was fun as shit there for some reason, even though usually it's full of people and empty of entertainment. Then, Powers and Igor slept at my house, as my brother left the next morning with his friend, to Ohio for a week. (Awesome, but I wonder what he thought of Powers sleeping next to us...) Saturday I went to work, which is where I realized, "Gee, this cold isn't fucking around," so I decided not to go to Bryan's birthday dinner, thinking I would just go home and rest.

How fucking wrong was I.

We call Allan, in hopes of going to Clinton Road, and we meet him at the PHS parking lot where Igor does a lot of backwards "snake" driving with Mike and me in the car, vs. Joe Galang, Allan, and PJ. We decided to go to this Essex "Abandoned Asylum." (Although I'm not sure if that's exactly where we were, I'll explain...) Surprisingly, we got Powers to join us, although after finally finding the parking lot for the hospital, she wouldn't come in. Somehow she reasoned out that staying in the dark car alone at 11, watching us disappear into illegal territory would be less scary than going with us. The stairs to the 3rd floor open door were scary enough; they were slanted, old, and rickety. Once inside, there wasn't much to see, and we were going to look at other buildings (See, I think we were just in a regular hospital building; the site and what we saw didn't match at all, but oh well.) but then decided to leave 'cause some of the buildings were still in operation, and the risk of getting seen was too high. (Guard dogs were kind of a turn-off to the whole thing, too.) After meeting Jess at the car again (in one piece ) we decided to go the famed "Gates of Hell." On the way back, we dropped her off 'cause she knew she wouldn't want to go, I guess, and I kind of wish I went with her, because...

On the way back to Igor's house, I took our little 'shortcut' through the parking lot of the exterminator's/realtor's lot, forcing Joe to go in front of us. After letting me pass him, we waited at Igor's house to find the way to the Gates. Joe called it quits, and took PJ with him, and Allan hopped in our van with mike driving, and we were off, looking in Clifton for the Gates, which were behind the "Black Prince Distillery." However, Allan found out he needed to be home, and so we dropped him off too. And then there were three...Mike Igor and I saw the Distillery and figured it would be easy as shit to find the GoH. In the thunderstorm. Don't get me wrong, it would have been great atmosphere, but I realized later a sunny day is the best time to find these types of places first. So on foot we twist and turn around the property in the rain looking for this shit for about a fucking hour, as our clothes get soaked and my voice gets worse and worse. After asking natives, they said it wasn't worth going, and that Clinton Road is better (although I have heard mixed things.) We bail out, and I go home, to sleep.

Today, I watched Finding Nemo with Igor and Lauren, then went to Jess' to get DayQuil (thank you!) and Pseudophedrine. Igor and I later decided to really find the Gates, and to our surprise we did; was right next to where we walked, in fact. The whole tunnel system was pretty fucking cool looking, although mostly flooded. We have pictures and will return another day.

Well well, another week has passed us by. Say goodbye to it, because you'll never see it again. This week came with an AP Test, the return of Banks (or the departure of Chae), a Horn sighting, a Weng(s) sighting, and general merriment. I'd rate it on a scale of one to ten, but that would be attaching another number to my already pretty meaningless life. All I'll say is that it was a pretty good week, and you can attach whatever number you want to that.

I really like this warm weather. The coolest part is how the sunlight shoots through the trees. It creates some cool shadows.

Warning notices: Blow me, Hluchan. On second thought, take out your dentures first. Yeah. That's nice.

Durriving.

So tonight and last night, I drove Jocelyn and James Binsfeld Esq. home from B&N. Naturally, being as nervous as I was alone, I was a bit anxious having to drive with people in my car depending on me. However, wasn't too bad...the Focus handles a bit better but I'm getting used to the Minivan now and the highway is easy as shit. It still is kind of weird for me, you know, having people leave the car on that side, and saying "Thanks, Marc..." For so long it's been the other way around. Driving alone is OK; I like it just because nobody can comment/look at my driving skill, except for other motorists, and I'm already a dick to them anyway. Summing it up, I think I'm over the driving fear crap. Not really over parents being annoying in the car, though.

School isn't going to be so bad this marking period, I think. I may have fucked us over a bit on this Psychology II shit, but it's showing Christine and I what Sylva really cares about...Probably gonna drop AP off my next year. (edit: chuck says he's down for it, so i'm staying.)

I'm alone friday night to sunday afternoon. gonna be a fun weekend, i say. minivan + garage sales + sleepovers + bass playing + no parents = good.

Happy posts aren't as interesting to read, so, uh.

Guys, I have a terminal illness. Goodnight.

When you get too much sleep, you don't remember your dreams with unusual clarity, or particular vividness. Or, in my case, you don't remember them at all, until they place themselves into the events that unfold in your day's fate. You're talking with someone, and they mention something that sets you off, and you remember a vague feeling of horror beyond words. You're in a conversation and your focus changes to a glimmer of metal in someone's ear, and you remember the crunching you thought you heard, or you thought you heard in your head. Disturbing images rise slowly to the surface throughout your day, like buoyant pieces of flotsam and jetsam from a ship that has sunken hours before - sinking with the people you've made, onboard the world you've crafted in your mind's own wanderings. It's worst, of course, because this dream wasn't peaceful, it wasn't heartwarming. It comes back into focus like a long repressed memory, like it was you who died. And yet, the places I've seen were real, I see them every day. I've taken a path startlingly like any I could take any day. And I remember feelings of horror and vague guilt, and yet I was removed in my dream, because the horror of my own actions were too great for me to go on dreaming. Someone had died, and the pieces of them lay strewn across the Forest Avenue bare for all to see. I remember the warning words of my mother, about how horrible it must be, us driving by; that I should not look, because it was terrible. But you have to look. That's what you're thinking about... how bad it can be. And in a dream, what you think is what is real. What you think is what you face. I came to face, in making a turn, a faceless body with no legs, with blood strewn about, and hints of pieces around. These images struck me today, haunting me throughout my happenings. In conversation, in instruction, in relaxation. You can't quite focus when you can't quite face your horrors, and even when you're aware they're only in your head, it makes you cautious. It makes you vigilant. It makes you watch for signs that you are, worst of any possibility, correct in your fear- that somehow, you've seen the future and you are thus powerless to stop it.

I remember this like I would remember the real thing. Bits and pieces. Trauma. Nothing coherent – nothing coming back in order, nothing clean. It’s as if I had been hit, and somehow, I feel his decapitation as my own, and I feel his loss of legs as if my own had run from me to join him. I feel my blood run cold, cooling as if unprotected in vein and capillary, cooling on the spring asphalt. This is the death of a stranger I know as myself, seen from my own eyes and reflected over my own meditations.

Friday morning, at about eleven o'clock I woke up. My parents weren't going to be home all day, and I had nothing to do. I ate breakfast, and then sat down to watch Matchstick Men. I got about halfway through when Charles called. He was about five minutes away and offered to pick me up. I said what the hell, and accepted the invitation. We drove around aimlessly for a while, then headed north on 17. Acting on a whim, we got off on Mountain View Road. We found an affluent neighborhood nestled in the forest. We saw some neon green signs for a yard sale, and followed them to the house. There was nothing really of interest, except for a water cooler that, unfortunately, had already been sold. We remained only for a short while, then left. As luck would have it, we found another sign for another yard sale. We took the greater difficulty of finding this location as a sign that the rewards would also be greater. We were proven correct, as we found a pair of binoculars and a neck pillow. We also found a recliner valued at five dollars, but the owner of the house told us we could have it for free if we took it. Thus began the great struggle to fit the recliner in Charles' trunk. We were there for perhaps half an hour trying to find the best angle and position to put it in his trunk. After that, Charles realized he could not find his keys. After a frantic search, we found them on the driver's seat. After that he dropped me off at Mason's house where I had to work on a Jones project. Around 5:30 Marc and him came to get me and we met Jess and Igor at Charles' for cheeseburgers, courtesy of Mrs. Ackerman. When I got home, I was afflicted with insomnia and spent the night discussing and debaiting with Charles. The next day I woke up, took the Math IC, and did well. My parents decided to take me to visit Colgate University in Hamilton, NY. Unfortunately, the journey was longer than we planned for, and before we knew it, we had been driving three hours and still had not seen Colgate. So, we turned around. By the time we got home, the car was covered in several dozen flies, smeared all over the windshield and the bumper. I'm sure it's a very nice school, though.

Creepiest song in creation: The Gnome by Pink Floyd. I was listening to it really late last night, and I was paranoid for the rest of the night. So yeah, bug me if you want it.

I hate the SAT IIs. They are almost as evil as the aforementioned gnome. Actually, the only one that tried to kill me was literature. But it failed. As of yet.

I wonder... if I had a million dollars, would I sing about it? I definately wouldn't sing about buying you a house. 'Cause when I didn't actually do it, you'd be pretty angry at me. But then I could sic my guards on you and have you tried for "threatening my life." Pay off the jury... your defense lawyer... the judge... all of a sudden, evidence would be missing. Hmm. Wonder where it went? Most definately nowhere near the ultra secure safe in the dungeo... er... basement of my mansion. *rubs hands together evilly* No, nowhere near that old thing. Pay off the guards in prison... the warden... you'd find yourself in solitary. For a long. Long. Time.

If I had a million dollars...