Inappropriate

The Five Things I Learned at College

2009-08-23T14:05:00.002-04:00

The Five Things I Learned at College (And Hope I Remember Moving Forward)

5. You Shape and are Shaped by those around you... by more than you think

My first days at college were spent as part of some now defunct leadership program. I'm of the strict philosophy that leadership can't be taught, that we're born with it or not, and can only enhance or detract from our natural ability to a small degree. I gave it a shot anyway, and I was very interested to see what happened with a bunch of so-called leaders with no established cliques were all mixed together with people only a few years older than them on average. The result? Friendships that formed in the first week of college virtually defined the destinies of the younger student: it was easy to tell the future frat boys, student government kids, and so on. And it was easy to watch the perceptions of the older students change as they became more confident of their status as a leader and changed their actions accordingly.

4. You Don't Need to Know What You Want to Be, but you can't sit around trying to figure it out

I dabbled in a lot of things at college. I got involved heavily in student activities, the college TV station, the film club, but that doesn't say anything about other things I nearly got involved in. While I'm still not exactly sure what I want to "be", I had a lot of fun meeting new people, learning new skills and learning about myself. I realized the best way to find out what I wanted to do was process of elimination - try it for a while and if you don't like it, move on. And so often I'd see people afraid to get involved and try something out (so often because they were shy) or wait for people to reach out for them. A little initiative goes a long way. I can only hope moving forward I continue this, and don't get too afraid to let go of what's comfortable when the time comes to try something new.

3. There's Always Time to Sleep... Later

Underfed, tired, overworked, and probably a little too stressed is how I spent my college (so-called) career. If I could do it again I would probably relax a little bit more, but I felt like I needed to make up time after high school and see what I really could achieve if I set excuses aside. And if you graduate when the economy is in the tank, you'll have plenty of time to relax looking for jobs when it's all over. Besides, if you're not exhausted when you get home, what's the point of vacation?

2. Enjoy the Unconventional

My favorite college memories are the very strange things I can allude to, whether it be the time I stumped Danny Glover in front of 1,500 people (at a student activities convention), got a long-winded voicemail from Dennis Haskns (Mr. Belding), wandered around an academic building without my shoes on only to see a few friends at 3 AM on a Saturday, or found ways on top of buildings with one of my best friends... enough said. The only way to make those memories are to take risks. Risks are awesome. Sometimes they even result in an upgrade to senior housing your second semester.

1. All Good Things Must Come to an End

As much as it pains me that September is rolling around and I'm not going back, I understand that like everything, college must end. I've long been of the belief that if you did everything right, you'd be ready to graduate at the end of four years, and while my heart may get a little heavy thinking about all the weekend TV shoots I'm missing and making 16mm films on weekend mornings in October, I believe that life can only be lived moving forward... so always be moving forward and carry the memories with you as you move onto your new adventures. After all, there's still life after college... right?

A Song

2009-08-16T23:21:00.004-04:00

Here are the lyrics to a song I'm working on for my forthcoming EP, "Myles: A Man, A Monster, A Musician?" More to come.

"You're a Nerd"

You're a nerd, you like Star Wars stuff and girls will never like you.
You're a nerd, you'll never be friends with the baseball kids,
They're strong and athletic and you are small and scrawny.

Don't you know that you'll never be cool?
You study hard, you'll go to a good college someday.
But you're a nerd,
And you'll never be popular.

You're a nerd, you're not good at sports and your dad isn't proud of you.
You're a nerd, even your teachers think you're lame,
You answer too many questions and discourage your classmates.

Don't you know that you'll never be cool?
You study hard, you'll go to a good college someday.
But you're a nerd,
And you'll never be populaaar...

Remember that time you tried to talk to that attractive girl and she shot you down?
What'd she say?

That you're a nerd, you're not good looking or confident, and she'd never have sex with you.
You're a nerd, but someday when you're upper middle class from your great engineering job,
Maybe she'll have sex with you.

Suddenly, Now!

2009-08-12T23:42:00.005-04:00

So, Myles (of "Myles", Inappropriate fame) shot me an IM awhile ago with the following:

lame myles: i updated: http://inappropriate.blogspot.com/

I kind of just slowly frowned. I remember using this blog as an ultra-melodramatic outlet in '04 and '05, but didn't really think it still existed, kind of like all my old Angelfire pages (please don't try and find them).

So, because I was embarrassed, I went and deleted every post that had any real emotion or was oversaturated with cheap/cliche/lame/high-school literary technique. Sorry. I left a few, simple blogs that chronicled what my activities were like during those times, and though they too weren't the greatest of times, I can remember being fairly happy at the times of writing, so rereading them doesn't really get me down. (and they don't seem like insignificant cries for help)

I know, I've overthought this. Maybe I should have left the old diary entries; maybe that would put this post in a fuller context...However, some of the topics were very personal - I wrote about my mother, my few romantic exploits (one of which still stands!), and so it's really not just for my own sake. That, and a big chunk of it was in a style that was just way too embarassing...I've managed to shed a lot of concerns for how other people think, but again, this blog has been for a tighter network of people.

Also, I used to hate rereading anything I wrote, even if it was only the day after, but five years? That's insane. I don't consider myself a writer (in fact this is the most writing I've done in a very long time), but that has to be some kind of torture for anybody remotely artistic. "Here, look at this bullshit you did before you really figured yourself out! Does that sting or what?" Maybe this paragraph is a big "fuck you" to Myles.

So anyway, on with the NOW! stuff. To try and avoid my tangential thought process, I will do this in a list:

What's Changed?

My hair is a lot longer now. Some time in maybe, '06, I decided to let my hair grow out. I didn't feel like short hair really suited me any more. For 13 months, I didn't have any of it cut; there were then several trims done. I still wasn't really happy with its condition, but it gave off a more persona-accurate look: weird, chaotic, unkempt, etc. With my daily method of brushing back away from the hairline, then letting it dry naturally, my thick near-ultra Jewish locks ran near straight down my face, then curled heavily from my chin to near my shoulders. It was a triangle. Much more recently, I went to a new salon, gave a better description of what I wanted, and now I'm no longer so geometrically simple.
Another hobby of mine that blossomed was that of video gaming. I won't write much about this (Jesus, I already wrote enough about my damn hair), but I know more history, collect more, play more types, and even practice certain games. Sad, I know...but such a wonderful escape. (More on "escape" later.) I'm very interested in how gaming's legitimacy and legacy are turning it into what the general public might one day view as a serious art form.
I went to a University - Temple, indeed. I won't bore you with those details, because they're probably not a whole lot different from other rocky experiences. Let's see - 4 years (dropped out for a semester, and took almost every summer session) and still no degree. (And no personal reel). I do think learning has transpired - the academic/film kind, because I mean I would hope that I learn something with every new experience. There are new friends, new ridiculous stories.
I'm now looking for a full-time job to accrue some money and personal structure in order to finish school. I'm determined to finish where I started, and so it fits that I've been in Philadelphia this whole time.
Not much else. The personality...I don't think I can really communicate that through a blog; this is why I like the movies, or better yet - in-person conversation.

What Hasn't Changed

I'm still with Jackie. We're on, what, four and a half years? I guess we do some things right.
My mom is still bananas. We're on good terms...this week.
I'm still crippled by responsibility and the fear of failure, which has finally been pinned down as Panic Disorder with Agoraphobia - to break it down simply, fear of fear itself, and the subsequent avoidance/escape of any situation related. Now, I've always been trying to "finally figure it all out," but while knowing the problem is the first step, I feel as though step two is much, much harder...and still forthcoming.
I don't drink or do drugs, or at least, not the kind that aren't discussed, researched, prescribed, and properly taken by myself.
My green Dodge Caravan is still tickin', and I like weird music. (Expanded, more tolerant etc, but this is the wrong half for that.)

Anyway, I'm going to cut this off here because, well, I don't have a damned conclusion and I gotta help a friend move his stuff.

Enjoy, those who will read.

THE BEACH IS BACH

2009-08-12T19:14:00.006-04:00

Let's let's let's start this shit again. It's almost exactly four years to the day since we've written in this thing, during which time we uh... went to college.

SO WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

Honestly, I came across this site again by googling my name, which I do A LOT. Trust me, for a professional journalist (which I am now, if you haven't been following my life for the past four years and have been expectantly waiting for this blog to update) this is completely normal. TRUST ME.

Reading over our old posts, I get the impression that high school was a tremendously boring time for me. I hope my life is not as boring now, but I think it is! I think it is!

Let's talk about real shit. I have a job as a journalist in Mercer County, which is a strange, strange part of New Jersey. But it's a great job. Today I spent the morning chasing butterflies on a nature preserve in Hopewell. You sat in a fucking office. JOURNALISM

It's weird how people, and by people, I mean me, and... well, other people manage to find their passion in college. In just four years, you can find out what you would love to do for life. Or not. OR YEAH

???

Anyway,,, I'm going to go to a bar because I drink alcohol! I didn't do that in high school. I didn't do a lot of shit in high school! (snorts cocaine off the keyboard (just kidding keyboards are dirty (just kidding I don't snort cocaine)))

Hopefully I've gotten better at this since high school. All you other fuckers write a post. Don't think I don't want to know, because I want to know. TELL ME

P.S.

If you guys write, I promise to make my next post less fucked.

OR DO I

On Montreal

2005-08-06T12:01:00.000-04:00

Munich* is better than Montreal in every way that matters, except food. I have never eaten more in my life. Picture New York but smaller covered in grafiti and with a more visible homeless population. Now take that image, make it slightly less harsh, and fill it with about half French-speaking caucasians and half French-speaking asians. They also have electronic parking meters. Preeetty nifty.

*I use Munich as a basis for comparison because it's among the finest cities I have had the pleasure of being in.

So...

2005-07-13T02:11:00.000-04:00

So I'm not dead. But it is the summer and theoretically, I have much more free time on my hands to read, write, make web pages, frolic in the sun, etc. However, job demands and other things in life (such as the proper maintenence of a girlfriend [don't be mad please I mean that in a joking way {wow this is a lot of nesting}]) means a reduction in the actual amount of free time for pursuing such wonderful things. But I still feel like I'm wasting my time.

THAT'S WHY I'M QUITTING MY JOB IN AUGUST. HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA

My Sweet Lord

2005-06-26T13:39:00.000-04:00

Today it is 90 degrees out. HOT damn. It's Sunday, so I have church to go to. Due to the heat, my father, in a demonstration of the gargantuan amounts of wisdom one acquires after fifty years, opted to park in the shade. Every decision has its advantages and disadvantages, and the one obvious advantage to my father's decision to park in the shade was that the car would remain cool during the one hour we would be away from it, preventing us, the passengers, from burning alive within it upon returning. However, there was one disadvantage, and it stemmed from the location of the parking spot chosen. The spot is a relatively large distance from the church, and it increased the amount of time spent walking out in the sun a proportionate amount. Fortunately, our church is quite well air conditioned, and as I walked in, I said, perhaps a little too loudly to my brother, that air conditioning is god's greatest gift. My screen name should be hilarious myles.

Anyway, as we left the church about an hour later, we were offered paper bags with different items written on the front. The items were for homeless shelters, which, as was told to the congregation by Father Mike, suffer the most in the summer, since there are no charity-inspiring holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter to boost their supplies. Of course I did not take one, since I am lazy and apathetic. But I needed a better reason for myself. So, on the ride home, I came up with this: the church tells me that there are poverty-stricken people out there who need my help. However, they also tell me that there is an invisible being responsible for my existence who will send me to hell for my sins, but that he also loves me. It is this second story that I, along with what is I am sure many others, have varying degrees of difficulty believing. Which brings me to the difficult question. How am I to believe one thing the church tells me and not the other? Wouldn't that be hypocritical on my part? So my options are either to believe everything the church tells me, which I don't, or to believe nothing.

iii

2005-05-18T22:35:00.000-04:00

In less than two hours, Star Wars comes out. I would be lying if I said I wasn't really excited about this; I kinda grew up on the films and the feeling of coolness never quite wore off. The special edition came out sometime during those years in middle school when I started to like some of the stuff I do now. I think the stuff that lasted from middle school is arguably the best, since it survived me growing up and changing however a kid is supposed to change, to still be cool enough for me to drool over four or five years later. I don't own one of those plastic toy lightsabers and swing it around in my house, but sometimes I imagine I do and swing whatever similarly shaped object on hand around while imitating the hum only a lightsaber makes. Hopefully this will stop after I see the movie. But wait, I have a real sword in my house not 10 feet to my left, aptly placed on top of my TV. I have a deadly weapon; what makes me any less cool then the Jedi? Well that's just what I like about Star Wars: the Jedi are not simply an army of lightsaber-totoing robe-wearing mystical force-using warriors. There is a whole code and mythology to what they do, a little like the samurai, but with more X-Wing-lifting than was even imagined possible in feudal Japan.

But now I have a question for those of you who are more Star Wars saavy than I am:
The Jedi are the good guys, and they act based on the light side of the Force, with reason. The Sith are the bad guys, and they act based on the light side of the Force, with passion. Is George Lucas arguing against George Orwell and whoever wrote Equilibrium? Is emotion bad in Star Wars? It would explain the bad acting (Zing!, Badump tss etc.). Maybe I haven't been watching carefully enough.

In any case, in response what I know all of you must be thinking, yes, it is cool to wear a hood in school and pretend you're a Jedi.

Not that I do that.

edittt

so yeah it was pretty awesome

OH GOD I HATE IT

2005-04-10T21:11:00.000-04:00

I'm just kidding I love it! Seniormania is over and we got the shit kicked out of us but listen: it was pretty fun, and none of us really gave a shit to begin with, at least not nearly as much as the other teams, who were fucking buckwild in the hallways beforehand, which was totally scary and annoying. Right now I'm at Chuck's and we've had a shitload of work to do, which is completely lame, since it is the fourth marking period of our senior year in high school and we are both in college already. Unfortunately, some teachers, who will remain unnamed because some people are squealers and bitches. Unglucklich, manche Lehrerinnen, wer immer Namlos sein wird denn Leute sind Squealers and Bitches. Oh god I am pretty fucked for my German AP Test. Actually, I doubt it will be that hard. I'm a smart kid and Frau is fairly adequately preparing us. She's been teaching a while; I'm sure by now she'll have picked up at least an idea of how to get kids ready for this test. After that though, I'll be done with my research paper for English and anything other hassles, so I'll be free to slack like my rights say I do. This year is flying away but I won't bitch until it's gone, I'll have a good time, and I'll say enjoy the moment like a fortune cookie or a lame kid in high school would. Oh man right now is good times.

Apogee: April Showers Bring May Flowers

2005-04-04T23:22:00.000-04:00

Driving home at lunch, amidst the changing winds of April, I passed through the future.

It was fall, and I was driving home, remembering the very moment I had just been part of. I was sitting alone, and I was spiraling out of control. It reminded me of my life in my senior year of high school. It was as if the present had been buried under a foot of ice for thousands of years, and had just been unearthed by some careless explorer.

We're explorers through time. And somehow, if you can destroy all memory of place and time for just a few moments, and replace them with something else, the world around you awaits to be rediscovered with a new view.

So I drove home alone, taking more time than usual.

The Return of Icarus

2005-03-15T21:43:00.000-05:00

It's funny how when you're up in the game, you'll always be up in the game. Especially so when you stop appreciating what it is you've got.

I went without my car for a week, and I realized how much I've come to rely on it as an extension of myself. For a week, I felt very much like a different person. And of course the same week you lose part of yourself, you're going to have girl troubles. That's the rule.

No car, no girl. No money, either, because there's no way to cash a paycheck if you can't get to the bank. No real need for money either, because you're only buying lunch when your friends take you out. Of course, if you need to go to the library or study with someone, you can't either, because you have no way to get there half the time. No way out. Every day you get home and you ask yourself that oh-so-cliche question "~~Dude~~ Dad where's my car?" And life is so passive as a passenger.

To assuage my troubles, I traveled into the city with Myles (fresh with a new girlfriend and car) and Vin (a pimp) to rediscover our past (as Myles and I seem to do from time to time, although this allusion is a diversion, and it's been said that irrelevant diversions are never included in effective writing). Public transportation is an even bigger let down. Especially public transportation that won't let you keep a connection with your girl for more than two minutes at a time, so you can't sort out your troubles. Somehow the art was not nearly as good as I remembered it being in 2004. Last year, there was a dog wearing a penis on his head. This year, we stood around contemplating perpetual motion for a solid three minutes.

I think I fucking cried that day.

There's something so poetic about a single tear.

...

But that's such a faggy thing to write.

And then the one week anniversary of helplessness comes around again.
When you're down in the game, you feel like you'll always be down in the game. Funny how that works.

..and then you wake up and it's been a week, and the door clips or something are still broken and you're feeling pretty hopeless. And your day is hopeless. ...at least, my day was hopeless until school ended, and she and I sat down and had a good solid discussion, and sorted out our problems. And I came home and my car was back in the driveway, freshly painted, as if nothing happened. So I came inside, took off my shoes, celebrated by playing my favorite song off a CD called "Loser Anthems" ("Flashdance II") for quite a bit.

Then I ate a TV dinner. Because a hot TV dinner can make you feel just so damn content and pleased that things are just the way they are.

when i leave, things die.

2005-03-06T22:00:00.000-05:00

look at me, being egotistical: i stopped posting, and the whole system collapsed.

i want to make cool references to all of the interesting things that i've donce since i stopped posting. unfortunately, not only do i not remember half of the things that i do, i don't really do anything interesting or worth remembering. maybe that's why i'm trying to carry my camera more; either to remember meaningless events, or to make them feel more meaningful.

begin.

the other day, i needed to say "i love you." not online or on the phone. it needed to be aloud, and directed at something real -- not a telephone receiver or a computer screen. nobody was home, and even if someone was i don't think i would have taken advantage of that fact. i went outside. it was cold. for a bit, i sat on the front stoop, and told passing cars that i loved them. icily, they simply passed by, without any acknowledgement that they had heard me. i moved to the back yard, liberating a lawn chair from my garage. i sat on my patio, watching the empty bird feeder and hoping for a bird to come along. the feeder has been empty for months now, and i guess the birds have moved on. i put the chair away when my face and my fingers were the same temperature. inside, i told an orange that i loved it. then i ate it.

end of my heavy-hearted work of staggering genius.

i want to be sarcastic and angsty about prom. but i can't be.

my senior year is ending and i don't know how to feel.

C.

A Boy Called Bagpipes

2005-01-09T01:38:00.000-05:00

So today I went to the Duck Pond to help disabled kids (Read: to earn nhs hours). In summary it was a good time, and i will remember it for a long time. That's not saying much; unfortunately i remember everything; it is my gift, it is my curse. At first I wondered about why it was important that i do anything at all; I thought this kid probably won't even remember my name in a week. And i still believe that, since i only mentioned it once, when i first met him. It was weird for me at first, i didn't know exactly what i was supposed to do. It was awkward, since i had the pre-conceived notion that i would at least be able to have a conversation with him. But i realized that this was not only a nine year old, but a mentally disabled one at that. i don't remember exactly when i first was able to connect with the kid, but it was probably when he started playing with that toy drum. He was immediately so intimate, holding my hand and dragging me from room to room. I had had no experience with the mentally disabled beforehand, and I was nervous before I went today. Maybe i got it easy because it was my first time volunteering so they gave me a cute kid on purpose. i don't know, i can't say what any of it means. i met an amazing kid today, in a room filled with them. i don't know if he remembers me now, but i won't ever forget how good it felt to make him laugh. i didn't time anything, but i swear that the walk back to the parking lot, the walk away, was hours longer than the walk there.

...the Devil's charming

2004-12-26T11:39:00.000-05:00

Now that the darkest day is over, we all take a little solace at the fact that we're that much closer to warmth again, and so far we've gotten off light. I've gotten off, to say the least, light. I look around and see that things are changing, and I wonder where the spring will find us. And in the mean time, I wonder - if we are lost in the middle of the woods, just what the woods have in store.

P T phone home

2004-12-22T23:29:00.000-05:00

only a few more days until christmas day, but in my world, it's been christmas for quite a few days now. with the winter concerts and holiday music, in its glorious cheesiness, the somewhat brighter smiles i see around here, the college now-freshmen coming back to visit, almost-here break...there's really nothing to kill my spirits. i've spoken to people who have helped me tremendously in giving me suggestions of how to increase my productivity and finding mistakes in my perspective of some things, as a result i have erased AIM from my computer.
if you love me, call me. [it takes so much more effort, ever realize that?]

if there was one thing i received this holiday season that was obvious but so unexpected, it would be the sibelius violin concerto sheet music. i've been wanting it for the longest time; i fell in love with the piece the moment i heard it. i put it as number one on my top-three-items wishlist, but i removed it from my profile after i realized the best choice was getting it myself. it was sheet music, for heaven's sake, violin SHEET MUSIC. no ordinary person would get it for me.

hence the extraordinary people in my life. when i received a gift bag from a close friend from college on the night of the winter concert, the last thing i expected was this. i doubt you have any idea why i am so elated over sheet music, a piece i wanted for christmas, and explicitly stated so on my public profile. i can't quite explain it myself either, but receiving this as a gift from this particular someone, whom i respected greatly as a person, but mostly in his love for music, meant more than a lot of things in my life as of now. going out and getting it for myself would provide a sort of comfort to me - that i now owned one of the items on my wishlist. but it was the person i got the gift from, that made me want to sit down with a violin and those sheets of paper, and never get up until i squeezed every note out, packed to the brim with all the passion and expression that sibelius and myself wanted and desired. it was sort of an encouragement, i suppose. i can't really make this sound amazingly profound; this is not something many people can relate to. but music for me is my life, and this sort of gift-giving is like giving me a renewed spirit for my love of violin. it makes me want to play that much better, as a dedication of sorts to the friend/brother who presented this to me as a christmas gift.

this blog didn't make much sense, i'm tired and weary after the concert. but there's this bubbling happiness in me since i received the music. this is one christmas gift i can and will never forget, the gift of love, the gift of love through music.

Long December

2004-12-17T18:40:00.000-05:00

My oh my, one year of blogging has gone by, 115 or so posts behind us like white stripes on the highway. How quickly the road changes, and even the clouds are left behind. The destination is covered by a different set, though one equal in its mystery and ambiguity. One's surroundings are never permanent on a serious journey, and the only sources of familiarity are the other cars going the same way, and the people in the car with you.

Today reminded me of last year. I had no car, and consequently I stayed in for lunch and was driven home by Allison. College will be a strange experience for me, but naturally I hope it will be a good, though perhaps not necessarily a safe one. Alcohol is not something I've had much experience with, and it is not something I look forward to having many experiences with either. New friends will not be made and then lost in the next morning's hangover. I should not look so far ahead so soon; I have plenty to worry about now. The coming break, though I believe it is shortened in comparison to last year's will regardless be a welcome respite from school. I will likely have a lit log to do during it, but I will have an abundance of time. I am somewhat dismayed that it is not even officially winter yet, and that there are three more cold months ahead. Like all things, I must take them and whatever they have in store as they come.

Happy Anniversary

2004-12-13T21:44:00.000-05:00

What once began as a simple endeavor to (1) make people feel bad about their lonely xangas (which has obvious been completed and is being maintained) and to (2) “scratch that, there is no point,” has grown into an international effort to combat the hordes of aliens attacking Earth and attempting to infiltrate the governments of the world at the highest levels in an ultimate attempt to subjugate the human race into mutated beings existing as nothing more than free labor and a healthy part of their balanced diets. We have learned to use their own technology against them, and, by infiltrating their own installations here on Earth which take refuge in the nations of compromised governments that have removed funding from the project and capturing their leaders, we have discovered that ultimate victory will take us on the offensive, to Mars. Within the walls of an ancient structure in the Cydonia region, buried in ancient tombs which have been forgotton long before the dawn of man, an ancient alien evil stirs, controlling all that which bears down upon us.

Happy one year to us here at Inappropriate, with a capital ‘I’.

Same Old Lang Syne

2004-12-11T14:03:00.000-05:00

Here I am again writing another tiring blog during another tiring December in what has been another tiring year. Winter is sad with saxaphone music playing and Christmas lights shining from behind falling snow. You have to drive slowly because the road is slick and icy, creating an environment very condusive for reminiscence. This summer was the best I've ever had for many reasons, and now it seems so far away. I always catch myself imagining what things would be like if they were completely different; this is a waste of time, and I don't have much time to waste.

I'm intersted in exactly how a caterpillar looks as it metamorphs into a butterfly. It is probably a disgusting thing for a human to watch and for the caterpillar to undergo.

Sympathy is a strange emotion, because we want to get rid of it as soon as possible. Love, hate, and anger are all normal to harbor for long periods of time. Sympathy we try to get rid of by comforting whomever we feel sorry for until there appears to be nothing to feel sorry for. If wood is rough, we sand the flaws away until it is smooth. If someone smiles at you as they pass, then all must be right in their world right? Appearances are everything right? The wood is smooth; it will carry that weight.

chain of events

2004-11-28T11:29:00.000-05:00

got yelled by the mother by what i think is finally a decent reason.

i got up from bed, sat in bed for a good half hour, staring at the porcelain owl on my bookshelf. it had the oddest eyes, i realized this morning. they were this deep, deep green, but when i blinked and looked again, it seemed a dull black. but then it would turn to this dark turquoise shade... and i swear there was no change in reflection upon anything in my room. maybe it's my mind.

i went downstairs, groggy but decently awake, and rummaged around the fridge and shelves. i finally decided on orange juice. i took the Tropicana with Extra Vitamin C (it's good for colds) and set it down on the table. i took a nearby glass, and set it down next to it. i was trying to see if the glass was exactly half the size of the height of the orange juice container, and found that it was about 2/5. a bit disappointed, but i didn't really care that much. i think. i began to tilt the container over, and watched the orange juice flow from the opening. it came in uneven intervals, sometimes a bit more came through the opening because of the ebb and flow of the contents within. it wasn't until i covered 2/3 of the dinner table with orange liquid, and the container was empty, although my glass was quite full, did i realize, "Oh dear." it was a sticky mess to clean up. and i got yelled at for a good reason. i think my mother was half amused. but why would she be? maybe it's my mind.

trudging back upstairs, now smelling stickily sweet of oranges, i stepped into the shower. i came back out in thirty seconds, realized i was fully clothed and now semi-drenched, and went back in. i just sat on the bottom of the tub, and let the water wash over me. it was an odd feeling, having hot water run over you, letting it soak through your clothes. my sister finds me this time, and kindly points out that i 1. forgot to lock the door, 2. forgot to slide close the shower doors and 3. forgot to take off my socks. she said socks.

all this parallels my life. constant change of the owl's eyes when there is no outside force acting upon it...my emotions. the spilling of juice...my workload. forgetting to take off my clothes when showering...priceless.

maybe it's my mind.

maps

2004-11-22T17:26:00.000-05:00

the last time i did this things were different. the last time i did this things things were exactly the same. the last time i did this i was different. sometimes i fight vader in the swamp and when i cut his head off and see who is under the mask i am not suprised at all. sometimes he cuts my head off. he always does in fact. if it was snowing and we were on the beach and we were happy i would make a movie about it. if they made a movie like that i would watch it. they make whatever movies they want to watch though. i remember when i was a guitarist and i played my fans' favorite songs and they cheered and i was smiling. once when i was on a bus i was next to a pretty girl and i wanted to talk to her and i never did. it was a strange day i think in february and i was bleeding. we went to see art in the city with the wind blowing and the waves crashing against the pier. it was a cold day and there was a ukulele but nobody knew how to play and everybody tried to play but i liked it anyway and so i bought one of my own. i want to buy a better one. i dislike the winter; it's awfully cold. of course it is cold, but there are other reasons, like the sun not being out and my soul sagging. sometimes i listen to sad music too much and i turn pathetic. somtimes i turn pathetic and i listen to sad music too much. i listen to sad music too much, so i'm pathetic. i'm pathetic, so i listen to sad music too much.

My Mamma Told Me I Could Be Whatever I Wanted When I Grow Up, But I never Really Listened to Her Advice Anyway

2004-11-20T13:06:00.000-05:00

Baby I sold off my soul
So that my buoyant body would rise up
From the grave you’ve dug out for me
To rise like the sun
and face you in the morning
But like the moon I descend in silence
ready to drown you in the darkness
That you first bit me in
When you drained me dry

Dear, you drained me dry
And now I stalk the night
Seeking the blood of the innocent
Using the fangs I cursed in my dying breath
To bite a new hundred thousand
And indoctrinate them into a world of pain

Tonight it’s you I bite
To drain you of my blood dry
And with every ounce I avenge
I become one ounce more poisoned still

This is the story of a boy who triumphed over the devil
By becoming him

the conservatory

2004-11-12T18:20:00.000-05:00

i went to jersey city college today for a strings symposium, where people worked with us on perfecting our audition pieces for regions and allstate orchestra. after the tutorials, the winners of some string competition performed for us, the students and teachers who attended the seminar, as well as a few judges who would pick the grand prize winner (there is no real 'grand prize' unless you choose to count the title). of the four people who performed, we only saw two, because the bus had come to take us back to phs. i only needed to see the first girl perform, to have her performance trigger some questions in me.

the first person who played was a ten-year-old asian girl. she performed on violin a concerto by saint-saens, which is a piece difficult in maturity. the first few chords she played stunned the audience; here was a tiny little girl who could play better than most of the people sitting in that room. we have a tendency of labeling a musician 'more' of a prodigy as the years go lower. had she been twice her age, the general reaction would have been a "whoo." she was almost flawless in mechanics, hitting the higher registers with speed and accuracy. however, she didn't stun me, like she did everyone else, it seems. not trying to sound all disdainful of her skills and whatnot, but maybe it's because i was once like that...again, not trying to brag...that makes me look at her performance twice and criticize. the piece she was performing was not suited for her at all. music is more than notes and rhythms and dynamics, it's the soul you put into the piece. saint-saens was mature, in his thirties when he wrote that particular concerto, unlike mozart, for example, who did most of his in his early teens. the difference could be discerned easily; mozart's pieces are bright and predictable, saint-saens is difficult..to understand. even more difficult to interpret with one's own signature. at the age of ten, few are truly mature enough in musical interpretation to pull off a piece like that. she did not capture the soul of the piece; everything was too mechanical, likely under strict direction from her private teacher and forceful practice set by her parents. in her i saw me when i was young, and it was not all too pleasing. but then again, i did mozart concertos at the age of ten. then again, it was written by mozart when he was in his teens.

watching her and sleep-thinking on the bus ride home back me think twice about myself at age sixteen. that maybe the stuff i do for myself is stuff i'm not ready to undertake. that maybe i want to grow up faster than nature intended.

Fighting the Man on a Daily Basis

2004-11-08T21:58:00.000-05:00

So I got a bass, and I think I'm actually sticking to it this time, since I've given my sister my original black guitar. The bass is fun, because it's more like a woman than the guitar... you can slap it.

But in all seriousness, I think I'm just more in tune with the bass, it's deeper, bigger, and... has four strings.

The pink pills are for your sanity
We're buried in the earth because we can't beat gravity
You are still here and so made to figure
You are an important part of the computer

So I might try and pick up something on bass for the coffeehouse, but I don't know if I can learn anything fast enough or well enough in time, so I might just wait for the GSA one whenever that rolls around; hopefully by then I'll be ready.

Oh, and I forgot to mention the reason I haven't posted lately is because I'm becoming Darth Vader.

panda

2004-10-27T20:12:00.000-04:00

Behold, I have more ruminations about my life, in a clear, easy to read form, if anyone happens to be interested. I am surprised I have the time for this. I really shouldn't; I have a lit log due on Friday, but I am choosing not to start until tomorrow. My application to Cornell is now entirely in the hands of others, and like many things I am unsure about whether I prefer it that way.

I am embarrassed to say this, but I would like to take note, before the feeling goes away, that I am at this time generally happy. And I believe that I should feel this way. I have the best friends a man could ask for, and when I think about who I am now, I can't say I'm displeased. There is nothing particularly wrong in my life other than the wound on my elbow and the bruise on my lower back. As Jet Black would tell me, it was probably a result of my running too far ahead of the game. Luckily I came away with my left arm only wounded.

It is a strange time for me, and I have taken up prayer again. Something about the past few weeks or so has pushed me back towards my faith, and I believe that it is a change for the better. Recently I've felt like a kid before Christmas, wanting to do as much good as possible as quickly as possible. I probably haven't done much at all, but that is the sentiment that has been in my mind as of late.

That concludes your peek into my life. You must now find some other distraction until someone else posts.

speak of the devil

2004-10-23T04:06:00.000-04:00

a total ramble. at freaking four am.

everything's been related either directly or indirectly to stress; flu season has taken its toll and that's a direct outcome of anxiety and worrying. of course, lack of sleep is not too beneficial either, so i can't say its all school and people...although that's my reasoning behind the odd logic said above...that doesn't make sense.

school's not that bad. or maybe that's just because my bar has gone down from freshman year. whatever it is, it's bothering me that i'm relaxed, too relaxed, with everything, in comparison to two years prior. or even last year. i now lack direct incentive and productivity. a day almost feels wasted if i did not accomplish something academically or musically productive. back to the morals instilled in me in third grade.

social complications. won't go there. they exist and multiply like bacteria on roadkill in london.

i need to re-instill in myself the value of a dollar. i used to be so good at this game; giving everything i earned from lessons straight to my father, who would put it in the bank. and i'd get so happy, knowing i was getting closer and closer to the violin i'd been longing to get for years. but now, instead of limiting myself on 10 dollars a week, i would spend money on totally useless things. i didn't need them, i just wanted them. and that sort of freedom has got to stop, before the parents find out. and the chains are tightened.

i was so much more strong-willed back then. the old days. naïveté never looked so desirable.

It Ain't Over 'til It's Over

2004-10-15T13:31:00.000-04:00

Damn. Staying home is boring. I don't know how the other kids put up with this. I have absolutely nothing to do. I'm home because my eye is all swollen and weird looking. Or, at least it was this morning, but it looks pretty okay now. I wonder how that happened. I hope my weekend isn't like this; hopefully waking up a lot later tomorrow will pass the time. Wait, didn't I write a blog about doing this exact thing a few weeks ago? Is that what I'm doing? Writing about my paint drying? I never realized. I think I understand the plight of those with no lives. Because I've deceived you all (I hope). I, Myles Ma, have no life. At least for today. Is it too obvious that I am writing this only to pass the time? What do I care, anyway? I am writing this only to pass the time. This is much easier in school, where I at least feel that I am making progress with every bell. I only have to wish my life away in one hour increments. Here at home it takes much more endurance. There is no bell to reward my patience. I'm getting hungry. I would have had lunch by this time. I think Vin wanted me to buy him lunch today. And Menachem was expecting me at the library. I wonder if these people notice that I am gone. I suppose they have to. I don't know if that raises my self-esteem or not. I wonder if I've written enough. I already have the scrollbar on the side. Once I have that I usually stop, but I'm still pretty bored. Fuck it.

Mourning

2004-10-14T07:07:00.000-04:00

Alarm at 6:40 AM: I rolled over and awoke to stare out my window, greeted by a thousand still and silent, vacant and empty faces and hands pressed against every window in my house. The sun has not yet come up on today, and now the winter waits, not far now.

Thank You

2004-10-13T20:55:00.000-04:00

There is no point in reading this because there is nothing I have to say that will interest or amuse anyone.

WHY!!!

"If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious." ~ Albert Camus

hour hand

2004-10-09T10:05:00.000-04:00

individuals are fully capable of earning distinguished awards, of doing good deeds that they believe themselves capable of, or genius of, whichever; pat yourself on the back, you helped that old lady cross the street, you are a good samaritan!

but it's pathetic, that this is high school, pathway to college, pathway to adulthood, that we as individuals are still ignorant of our influence over a random passerby.

a snicker never hurt, especially when the receiving end has his head buried in a book; and seems totally unaware of your presence. he sees the blurry shape of the words. a giggle never killed, she's too busy on the phone, smiling and laughing away. the depressed mother needs her daily cheer-up. point and laugh, the boy with shoes 3-sizes-too-big has his sneakers slapping the ground with every step, but he's trying to be funny; he's aware and smiling. the clearance section finally had Nikes. a smile and chuckle with your friend would pass unnoticed; the girl with the kmart tag on her shirt has got her headphones on. the batteries died years ago.

with every second ticking by, hour hand still moves, if you watch ever so closely.

Genital Hairstyling

2004-10-07T22:38:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to use the title. That's all.

Magneto has AIDS

2004-10-04T21:37:00.000-04:00

So I just wrote four pages for sociology. Yea, and Weaver doesn't even teach it anymore, he needs a new knee.

Gentlemen: We can rebuild him. [cut to fast-forward animation of Weaver running] Better than he was before. [pan down to Weaver in a dentist chair, eyes closed, in a perfectly white room]
Better. [as pan completes]
Stronger. [Weaver begins breathing]
Faster. [As the music swells, Weaver eerily opens his eyes]

So now Mr. Natielo, of sixth grade fame, is teaching it. Dude, this is great.
And ebay owes me some swords, dammit. Justice must be served...!

no rain

2004-10-04T18:48:00.000-04:00

For some reason, as of late, I've been catching myself in good moods. And pointing it out just makes me happier. There is very little that has changed in two weeks. I am amazed at people who blog every day. I wish that I knew more people whose lives were filled every day with events worth sharing with the whole world, or that my own life could be filled with but a fraction of the adventure and excitement these daily bloggers must live in.

October 4, 2004
I painted my wall today. It's drying at a constant rate, as determined both by the amount of paint I put on the wall, and the chemical properties of the paint itself. The paint is white, and combined with the ample lighting I have provided for this particular room, my bedroom, it is especially bright, much brighter than, for example, my closet. I am hoping that the fumes produced as a result of the wet paint that I recently applied to my walls will not be intolerably strong. In that scenario, I would be forced to spend the night on my couch, which, due to its location in a room separate from the bedroom where I applied the paint, would be free from any unpleasant odors created by the aforementioned paint. I must go now because the urine that has accumulated in my bladder is in need of release via my somewhat narrow urethra, but I will make every attempt to be back on as soon as I have taken care of that need by disposing of the urine in my toilet. Wait, wait never mind.

I can barely contain my envy.

revenge crucial

2004-10-02T16:14:00.000-04:00

my little sister is such a dear. i reopen a box of kellog's after a much-needed nap in a groggy state, and tilt the box. out which pops a 5-inch praying mantis. into my bowl of milk.

Kellogs: A Great Way to Start Your Day!
Part of this Complete Breakfast.

Inappropriate 101

2004-10-01T23:50:00.000-04:00

::narrated by a friendly old man::
Back in 2003, one young man set out with the idea of getting a small workshop of people together, with just two simple things in mind. Charles Ackerman wanted to make people feel bad about their lonely xangas, and avert boredom. he has done this and so much more- Charles Ackerman had inadvertently created a close-nit family.

And now, in October 2004, his dream continues on in the eyes of everyone who reads this, even those people who typed up "inappropriate" and expected pornography. Congratulations, you found it.

And now, his undead army of hungry vampire zombies continue on in hiding, waiting... travelling on into the future to ensure the salvation of the human race from the twisted robot plot to destroy this last beacon of light in the infinite universal night, right here on the planet Trump...

I got me a Whore Head

2004-09-26T19:17:00.000-04:00

I drink too much caffeine free coke, want to see too many zombie movies, and listen to too much Matthew Good.

The end result?

Jesus, I'll miss these days.

stone soup

2004-09-24T21:28:00.000-04:00

the strongest of breezes can’t be felt here. my brain is muuuuuuuush.

this week hasn’t even been a roller coaster. even the steepest of those have some sort of slope. mine, however, was a beautiful undefined DROP. i don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, switching out of my current class into some perhapshell i might not be able to handle. one month after class starts. “but I wont slack offfffffffffffffffffffffffpff, like last year.” the news was brilliant a few days prior, I was joyous more so because i convinced steadfast Nicholson rather than for the actual 'victory.' but the blunt of it has hit me hard today. i still don’t know my potential. it’s the pride that shoots me down, yet keeps me alive.

i wouldn’t know potential if it cha-cha-ed naked in front of me.

i hate being human. we’re morons when it comes to death and dying. "don't leave me here, i need you, i can't exist without you, if you go, you might make me sad!" meanwhile, they're hooked to unrecognizable machines, placebos to you, who think they're thankful to be alive and living normally. the smiles you see aren't expressions of happiness, relief. they're of regret for knowing you.

i get feverish from stress. wtf.

our world balances out disgustingly. you have the unfortunate cleft-lipped babies, whose caretakers can’t afford the correction, the wealthy public, who feel pity for the big, sad eyes of those unfortunate souls TIME displays on special thick advertising paper, which is equivalent to a good 7 pages of magazine paper, and the advertisers for help, who leave blanks for $25 min, up to $500. of course, any donation is necessary, so a lonnnnnnnnnnng space is left for “your donation is appreciated. thank you.”

$______________________________________

"your ignorance is appreciated. thank you."

Nocturne

2004-09-21T19:10:00.000-04:00

Interesting, all of this is. Different from summer, most definetely. Boredom replaced by: Interesting, all of this is. I admit, I am enjoying these new faces, these new voices, these new places. New situations are what make life interesting and perhaps even worth living. The question posed is central to all of philosophy, and its answer lies within all of us. Let me work it, put my thing down, flip it, and reverse it. Repeated, backwards, twice. I haven't listened to that in a long time. Interesting (take note, this is the third time I have used this word), how after a while even that which you once enjoyed grows tiring to the senses. Boredom could make one live forever (Catch-22?). I hope, at least for the time I spend writing this, that I don't live forever. You will recieve a telegram, maybe many years from now, maybe tomorrow, that will read: "MYLES PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY." I'm not sure I'm quite ready for that. After all, I have been told that these may be the best years of my life. I certainly wouldn't want to waste them dead, especially without getting my license. In a different world, a young boy sitting on an endless beach with an endless orange sea knows that he made the right choice. I hope he enjoys the many long hours of procreation ahead of him.

buthehadaids!

Life Between the Lines

2004-09-14T15:31:00.000-04:00

Between the lines we wait in, beneath the asphalt marked by them, behind the things we say, there lies freedom.

School is tiring, but worth-while. Work is fulfilling, but even more exhausting. My life has changed in many ways. A new job, new classes, new people; a new way of living?

I've always begrudgingly liked autumn. The fall. Things close up shop and wait for the new beginning; but the fall remains important. The paths we take, the ways we fall, indicate where we will stand up again.

So I honor the passing of every leaf like a hero, and walk amongst them casting a shadow, and a quick glance towards the future.

in me you trust

2004-09-13T01:48:00.000-04:00

A long-distance phone call changed my day. week. life. Too shocked to move, too stunned to comprehend, I couldn’t think rationally. I don’t think anything’s ever been as traumatizing an experience as this, yet the tone of what I’m saying doesn’t sound that bad. well, it was hell in such a dose, I couldn’t be angry. not enough time to work up any of that before the tears came.

even now, as I write, they keep flowing. I’ve sat and stared out my window for an eternity, trying to understand just what happened. it seems so unreal; one minute he was walking in the park, the next, the wailing and flashing red lights of his escort to the hospital upset the tiny town, half a world away.

I won’t get bitter about the doctors, or the fact that they still can’t pinpoint the exact cause of this. I don’t care about what the hell they diagnose; if it’s not positive, screw it. i don’t care for anything else but his health.

I was never much of a phone person. phones were just a way to get sounds across. but even with the static-y connection and the soft volume that accompanied calling overseas, I couldn’t hold myself any longer. I cried, long and hard, as he told me to respect and love my parents. I cried, bitter and anguished, as he told me to pursue my studies and make him proud. I cried, cried my heart out until I felt him aching in his voice at the sound of mine, as he told me to never give up my love for music, because his love was hearing me play.

I stayed in my room, staring out the window until darkness crept upon this side of the world, and I could no longer distinguish the leaves on the trees. I didn’t know what to think, still don’t know what I’m thinking. my heart is weeping, and it is not only of sadness, but of a bitterness, a longing to see him, a longing that now rests in pain. I have no power over anything over there, but i know that he won’t leave me.

Why? Because I haven’t proved myself yet. he has to stay longer, to watch me win my battles, stand my ground, and succeed in my studies. he has to stay longer, to see me win violin competitions, which will undoubtedly brighten up his wrinkled face. he has to see me get into college, and feel proud because the first grandchild he held made it to the real world. he simply can’t leave, and he knows it too.

I love you, grandfather. I always have, always will. Just watch, this won’t be your time, I won’t allow it – you must still see me prove my worth to you.

places for breathing

2004-09-12T21:55:00.000-04:00

so it begins. i have stopped caring. i have stopped freaking out over assignments. i have stopped briging things home when i'm supposed to. i have, however, begun to leave everything until the last possible minute. i have also begun running on three hours of sleep, and drinking chai in the mornings to wake up. i have started losing important things, and my dresser is returning to it's normal state of 'file cabinet.' even though i have a file cabinet.

school is back.

in an attempt to upgrade me 'from emo to awesome,' grace has my computer chock full of her cds. muchly appreciated, since i love all of it. the magnetic fields = godlike. one bad thing, tho. my computer has so much shit on it now, it's slow as all hell. so, i don't know what to do. i listen to all of the songs, and chose the ones that i love the least [which is very tough], and delete them. crappy.

my eyes burn. i don't think that's healthy at all. i'm almost out of visine, which can't be a good thing. it feels like i've been crying for days. which i haven't. because i've been having awesome days lately. aside from today in which: my christmas lights broke, i awoke against my will at 8.45, i got yelled at a few times, i realized that i left my paycheck at work, i have to write a depressing paper about a guy i don't like too much, i could'nt go out because of said paper, and i feel like i wasted my weekend. that and i keep throwing up. faaaantastic.

pierce my lebret - 1.if i use a hoop, it can go over my lip. 2.i can shoot people with liquid out of the hole when i feel so inclined. 3.i like it.
don't pierce my lebret - 1.i'm a wuss 2.swelling 3. infection
verdict???

i wish i had an evil twin,
C.

Road to the West

2004-09-09T16:06:00.000-04:00

School is bad. At this point, alrady I cannot wait for summer, or at least a break. When I first walked in through the parking lot and I saw my peers I
I realized I could do without seeing all these people. We are sent to school partly so that we can learn what is socially acceptable and how to interact with other people. We've learned that already, and if we haven't, we never will.
English makes me nervous. I can't help while I am sitting in class but to feel that I don't belong. My friends reassure me, but unfortunately, I can't weight their opinions more than Barky's. "I'm worried about your writing, but I do like you." Thanks a trillion. No one has ever had a problem with my writing before last year I think. And Mr. Adams never told me that I didn't belong in honors. Then again,
Anyway, I'll try and tough it out. It would be so easy to drop. To get a fresh start, to leave behind all my experiences. I am running low on pride. Already, I find myself looking at the clock, the same in every classroom, wishing the hours of my life away one by one.

=D

and so we start to fall.

2004-09-08T16:55:00.000-04:00

new year, fresh slate, time to start off a year with a power-kick to the balls - same cliche stuff you hear from guantez in her confidence-'boosting' speeches. i've got two years left to run in this hellhole and i'll never look back. phs as an academic institution isn't as bad as all of us make it sound, daresay, i like education, i like learning, i just don't like how we learn. and the people with whom you learn with. but then, you can't ever find an academic crowd you'll never get sick of, nor can you opt to hit the books by your own will; we just don't work like that. there's no happy medium, i believe.

aristotle:learning::ants:sugar

you don't need it, but you want it.

The End, Boys of Summer, California Dreaming, Empty Cans.

2004-09-01T20:33:00.000-04:00

Scientists, after many years of rigorous testing, have recently discovered that high school students in their senior year suffer from extreme levels of nostalgia which increase as the year continues. Such students are often quoted as saying such things as "Oh my god, this is our last first day." These students are advised to start stamp collections or something. Debbie Skywalker, Luke's lesser known sister, actually suffered from this same condition of increased nostalgia, and she was actually killed in her X-Wing during the explosion that destroyed the Death Star, as she floated around it thinking what a great old battle station it had been. Unlike her, Luke moved onto bigger and better battle stations. A handy tool for parents and teachers to have during what can be a difficult year is a crowbar. These lifesavers can be used to pry students from anything they may suddenly develop feelings for during the year. A tip to buyers; Dutch Guard sells excellent Titanium Crowbars for 40 dollars, a superb deal considering the high quality of the product. Due to their titanium composition, Dutch Guard crowbars are 40% lighter than steel, but 15 times stronger than aluminum. This crowbar is also non-magnetized and will never rust or degrade in any way. To purchase this fine product, check out Dutch Guard's convenient and easy to use website at www.DutchGuard.com.

The First of the Lasts

2004-08-30T14:45:00.000-04:00

Shadows

Because, as he said, this may never happen again. This could be the last. We don't know where we will be in one year, and not in the usual sense. This is with a sense of finality- Wildwood 2004 marks the first definitive event that we can lay to rest and say honestly (and, not in any negative sense) that it may never happen again.

Maybe I should blog happy, because too frequently I post unhappily. I think that this first tremor warrants it, because soon our whole world will crumble before us.

But actually, that's not wholly an unhappy thing. Some people look forwards to ends when they don't like where they are, and some people dislike them because of where they are. Very few look to just enjoy and make the most of whatever they have (and who they are) and can both respect the need for ends, and still look forwards to the beginnings that await them.

Stream of Consciousness.

2004-08-29T19:46:00.000-04:00

Once I'm gone I'm never coming back.
Once I'm gone I'm never coming back.
Once I'm gone I'm never coming back.
Once I'm gone I'm never coming back.
Once I'm gone I'm never coming back.
Once I'm gone I'm never coming back.
Once I'm gone I'm never coming back.
Once I'm gone I'm never coming back.

A Comfortable Penitentiary

2004-08-27T19:46:00.000-04:00

She sits, head propped against the wall, staring blankly at the screen. Thoughts unrelated to what she sees in front of her runs through her head, the monster of sleep-deprivation helping her case none whatsoever. She wonders, aloud at times, why she can’t have what everyone else has. Rather, she does, but it’s restricted from her access, minus approval from the guardians after countless times of nagging, achieved not through understanding of her need, but after unbearable annoyance. She supposedly abuses her privileges; privileges to her, common and everyday to everyone else. She can’t focus, her own monitor is collecting dust from two floors up, and, for all she cares, Jefferson could go play under Sally Hemings’s apron again.

I can’t wait for school to start, so that she might have some freedom back.

blue

2004-08-21T21:39:00.000-04:00

Shit, that's a crappy title. Oh well. Not every headline in the New York Times is a gem. Although, this is hardly the New York Times. We do have a shitload more people writing (2). Whether this is good or bad remains to be seen. Or maybe some of the faceless people reading this have already formed their opinions. Mike told me I sound like I have a tendency to sound suicidal or depressed when I write. That's all, I'm just letting everyone know.

hahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I like... jazz. I haven't done anything productive in the past week. It's been a fun week, so far. I saw a lot of people and I did a lot of things, at least for me. I need to finish some stuff up this week I guess. I'm not going to say it, but you're all thinking it. My advice: stop. It rained today. Rain is nice. It makes everything deliciously gloomy, and I like that. Shit I did it again. Fuck. If I was a rapper, I'd spit onto the crowd. But only if I was there to rap. If there was a crowd and I was given the opportunity to spit, but was not at that point a rapper or the crowd was not gathered to see me rap, I wouldn't spit on them. I think I'm funny. But... I am.

ohhohohohohoh smiley with a tongue sticking out to succcccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Swept my hair up, hitched my skirt, and ran like a Galapagos.

2004-08-20T21:56:00.000-04:00

Cross country, had my first practice today in the gorgeous sunshine with humidity high enough to kill anyone. I suck, considering I haven’t done much over the summer; exercise was limited to walking to the bus stop for summer classes. Coach feels what I think is pity for me; I’m the genius who enters junior year, late by 5 practices, and has no confidence in running whatsoever. It's a sport that doesn’t involve much skill, I believe…you run, and just make sure you don’t get hit by a car, as far as coordination goes. It’s the endurance, however, that tests a true runner.

The only true confidence I’ve ever had in life was violin, starting from an age when humility wasn’t an issue. After spending more than half of my current life on it, and almost all my childhood on practicing, there was nothing to be shy about. I had my rankings, had my good share of pride in the instrument, a greater deal of expectations from the teachers and peers; some random kid running by me asked me, “You’re that violin girl, aren’t you?”

Hah. No name anymore, just “violin girl.”

if i told you i loved you, would you write me a song?

2004-08-19T02:46:00.000-04:00

I have never been very good at keeping things alive. Goldfish: they're hearty... they can take anything. Apparently not. Cacti: they don't need to be watered all too often... even a memory-challenged person like you can keep that alive. False. These examples, among others, have given me reason to believe that I may wind up killing Amaranth. I don't know how, but who can tell with these things? Amaranth. Born, before Chicas. Died, when Chicas came. Cause of death, Chicas. Inscription, Never Saw It Coming.

This summer has been crappy-ish. It's been mostly work, and I haven't spent time with half of the people I wanted to. The time I did spend with some people was too short. I need a vacation from this summer. I need a vacation from the calendar. From time. From Earth, and people. Sometimes I wish I could be invisible. Then I could sit and watch people without interruption. I could draw them without them being self conscious. I could write about them without having them hover over my shoulder, analyzing every syllable I write.

I wish I was the girl in the photograph I love so much. She looks so happy, her sweater looks comfy, I like her lip, and I want a good portrait like that of me.

Also, sometimes I wish people didn't care about my feelings as much as they say they do.

don't let me be misunderstood,
C.

null essence of words

2004-08-19T02:28:00.000-04:00

I suppose if it hadn’t been for them, I would’ve never become the way I am now. I can’t express the written language. Everything seems so much easier with symbols, with shapes, with concepts. You simply cannot express thoughts with 26 letters; let’s mix and match a billion ways for the sake of communicating.

You ever stare at a gun pointed at you?…this fear beyond all fears, when you know what is bound to happen and what will happen when the trigger is pulled? Forget the gun, let’s put you in a nice tank with piranhas swimming around you. One second to express the terrible beauty your eyes will never behold again, another second to watch in breathtaking fear as you’re torn apart. We’re confined in our imaginations; physically contained in a safe room where chances of meeting any scaly ocean-dweller, much less a man-eating one, is soundly none. So how can anything be expressed? And with words? You don’t see it, feel it, sense it, hear it…you READ it.

Just like how I never really liked writing to express. To me, you just can’t. It’s about being there and feeling it. Maybe it’s the musician in me? What are notes to me, but black ink on a processed tree? Abstract as all hell, but think about it.

This could become addictive.

intro

2004-08-19T01:05:00.000-04:00

"take some risks," you said. well, I've never taken a risk in my fucking life. it's not something I do. I'm not prudish or scared, but maybe I'm too fucking pragmatic for my own good. too reserved, too...well. that was a lie. I have never taken an uncalculated risk. don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. guess we'll see.

so here goes nothing. (look there it goes! run, maybe you'll catch it. wonder if catching nothing would be like the odyssey. "look mom, I've caught nothing." who's on first totally ripped off the odyssey, man. whole kit and kaboodle.)

An Ode to Burial

2004-08-18T02:00:00.000-04:00

What does it mean to be loved?
I wish I didn't know, at times like these.

It's a lot to be hit with, when people carry heavy hearts. These are certainly heavy times, so I can't resent them. Life and death and love and loss, the epic things that happen every day in not-so-epic surroundings, weave the stories of our lives. Maybe your volume will end early, maybe your volume will weigh too much for you alone to bear. Maybe if it's too much to be borne, you can be born again, somewhere new.

Death and ends make us cry, but we forget about the new beginnings that lie below, or perhaps, are just, as everything, solely a matter of perspective. You're looking down at me, man, but I'm looking up at you. And like a runaway nuclear core, let your heavy heart burn with a passion right through your chest, and join me here in the earth.

2004-08-17T23:24:00.000-04:00

Well, I was going to write something long and boring, but I'll sum it up. Given the hype, today wasn't all that eventful, but I ended up seeing a shitload of people I hadn't had a chance to, and that was pretty cool. I'm going for a high word/information ratio, in order to make this as efficient as possible. blablablablabla fuck.

Rebirth

2004-08-07T02:45:00.000-04:00

I guess everything has changed. Time to recognize the ends and the beginnings, time to shut it all down and know I can only start it up, and that it can in fact only be started up one more time, and just one more time.

If everyone's a casualty
Then take your time there ain't no trouble
The weather's fine and we're feeling crazy
There's always drinks and dancing in the rubble
I'm spinning
and you're spinning
The world's spinning
and we're laughing
And I'm charming
The devil's charming
And we're ruined but we're still building
And I'm selling and you're counting
The world's stopping but we keep going
And we're ruthless and we're cunning
And I'm heir to it all

And I come back and it's cold.

2004-08-05T17:18:00.000-04:00

A way to pass the time, a time to pass the way today on my younger sister's birthday. Can't go out, I'd feel guilty, I'd be guilty of going out. I need to stay in. At least I thinkyes I do. Ever read a book? I'll die without ever having understood it. Why that title? No one named; There's Bloom and Dedalus but no...
Last night, late night, Conan O'Brien, Myles Ma. Arrogance at its highest point, assisted by brouhahangered me. Recalling problems, hiding in my summerscreen, SPF nothing; end metaphor. Sounds of pipes filled with poisonous flowers burned by plumbers called by prankcallers. No, he's not here right now. Take us too seriously. This is a joke to write, of writing; my thoughts, my thinks, my kinks in the machine. I've given up trying to fix it I guess. I'll just use it as it is I guess. I love the 80's that was?ornot?ithinkitwas. This is not serious, it's only passing the time, like the first sentence says when I read it, and sometimes when I don't read it. No, only when I read it, because Einstein quantumly told me 'twas true. Finished with English, in a final way, now I German do must. Now I'm at the bottom, and the bottom is the end, and the end is accompanied by this:.

Death

2004-07-27T00:16:00.000-04:00

If lonliness is death, if hell is other people, than I call the former home and the latter, on my list of concerns, the least of these. I wander around in my own strange state, floating on water; reading in the shade; sitting in front of the TV with an old and loved Nintendo controller in my hand. That is the only control I desire to have. And here, I suppose I have my future to look into. I'm not dead, but I'm as close as peacefully possible.

So long, and good night.

2004-07-24T22:24:00.000-04:00

Matt Taylor's initials: M.T. M.T. Empty. Like my summer. Don't get me wrong, it's been a hell of a lot better than school, that word we all hate and fear, but it goes by too quickly. I guess it'll slow down when I go on vacation. Boredom can only be avoided by having new experiences. If I were a wiser man I'd make these experiences for myself rather than waiting around for something to happen. However, I'm not. This is weird. The font is different or something, and everything is bigger. If I played in an orchestra I'd make weird faces while I played just so I would be noticed. I wouldn't be just a face in the crowd; I'd be a weird face in the crowd. I wouldn't go as far as to play differently though, or dress differently. Imagine an orchestra wearing all black bowties with one man wearing a red necktie. I think the destiny of the human race is that we all eventually become exactly the same as one another. But it doesn't matter what I think anyway.

"The dreams in which I'm dying..."

2004-07-23T23:45:00.000-04:00

For the second time, I've dreamt of my own death. This dream brought no desire for understanding; it elicited no emotion; it was complacent in its fate.

I felt my body skid across the surface of a reservoir pool too fast and out of control. The strangest part of the dream was that I remember shutting my eyes and almost reliving my experience of falling down a double black diamond- the feeling of being trapped within a ragdoll ripping across a malleable surface too fast to do anything... and too fast to care. And then I remember sinking down, down, deeper into the darkness, not caring to open my eyes, not caring to let anyone know to help me. Not caring about air or death.

A kind of dark peace.

And if that's not the symbolism spelled out there, damn. What a cleanly perforated, punched out, and prepared stream of consciousness.

Geography: Reloaded

2004-07-16T01:55:00.000-04:00

Starter Arm (1:46:50 AM): you know what's really cool
nodachi E D G E (1:46:58 AM): not at all
Starter Arm (1:46:59 AM): you could reverse eurasia and africa
Starter Arm (1:47:06 AM): with north and south america on the map
Starter Arm (1:47:10 AM): and it wouldn't make a difference
Starter Arm (1:47:19 AM): because n/s america is always on the left
Starter Arm (1:47:23 AM): we could change that, make it on the right
Starter Arm (1:47:26 AM): and i think that's awesome
nodachi E D G E (1:47:38 AM): i... don't know what to say

Sorry, I left out Australia. That's just because Australia sucks.

2004-07-10T22:19:00.000-04:00

Today I went to the beach. It was fun. I really like going to the beach, and today was extra good because it was my first time there this summer. In fact it was my first time doing swimming of any sort this summer. It was a pain in the ass because I was unaware that I would have to wake up at 8:30, and I ended up getting to sleep at around four the night... befour. Teehee. Other than that though, this week has been completely and utterly boring. Everybody's either gone on vacation or got a job. However, this week's seemingly endless amount of free time resulted in some good. I managed to get work done on my summer assignments. Wait. Hang on. This just in, that's not that cool. We have breaking news: no one gives a shit about this. More of this story at four in the morning.

Ocean Beach Goulash

2004-07-09T20:49:00.000-04:00

So I killed God the other day. I stepped out the door, and wham, next thing I know, God's dead. Blood is oozing down the trees, statues of Christ are crying, the world just seems to be going to shit faster than usual. So I get in my car, the '95 Ninety-Eight, car of confused time, and race back down to 2000 Street and ask the man in charge why the world didn't go thermonuclear then. He just gave one of those smiles that tells me maybe he knows, or maybe he just wants to die smiling. Or maybe, being of no help, perhaps he'd just like to smile in the face of death.

So I'm racing back up to Zero Four, the year of the whore, and get nailed doing 669,600,000 MPH in a 25 MPH Zone, instantly earning me more points on my license than you'd need in an arcade to buy a home theater system with 9.2 surround sound and a 41' plasma screen. Interrupted by a 711 call, the writing of my summons was cut short and reduced to a mere week's worth of driving mentally handicapped children around Orlando. Unintimidated by the giant wank that is Florida, yet in no rush to arrive (or earn another ticket), I flew down on a nice Learjet piloted by a French man with a Norwegian accent. The in flight movie was "The Matrix: Reloaded", an inadequate sequel trapped and lost between beginning and conclusion, lost somewhere in the same liminality as the airplane - which is the perfect metaphor for the situation.

And as I fly overhead, over my town, over my house, over my car, I see myself walking out the door, and see the confusion in my face as no blood oozes down from above. And God, hurtling around the Earth, more confused than ever, contemplates how he had not quite yet, died, because it was the past, and the certainty of his own death, that had brought him there to live.

2004-07-05T12:54:00.000-04:00

Not much to be said. The end was a deus ex machina. This is liminality. I've taken up video games again, and when I consider the fact, I'm trapped somewhere between the Sigh/Depressed and Childhood/Playfullness continuums, respectively. I guess when I come back from my next week's worth of adventures, I should do something creative (and/or begin my summer assignment, instead of just reading for pleasure [shockthatihavetime]) or at least something.

I was planning on posting about the german trip, but decided against it. To lay out the adventure in its entirety is impossible- like trying to explain the third to last chapter in a book without the questioner having read anything. There's too many little things to tie in together, "too many pieces of the puzzle for you to solve." We spent a week on Gilligan's Island with C3P0 and the most badass french bus driver the world has ever seen.

And I nearly reduced the contents of the bus to a pile of bodies on the side of the road.

However, the ultimate outcome was our mass arrival to the fact that I am, in fact, the best germany of all time.

Ask anyone who was there.

1 PM. Time to go get lunch, then prepare for my next adventure, and perhaps find some vegetables.

[I've also been contemplating doing a blog or something just for the adventures I have with my car... I'll have to flirt with the idea a bit more... let's see.]

2004-07-02T22:09:00.001-04:00

New York - James Joyce on your ass

My aunt and uncle from California arrived today. He's never seen New York. It's only 20 minutes away. I decide to go. We take the Sienna that we just leased today. New car smell. Olfactory - of or relating to one's sense of smell. We park in a lot. Tickets are cheap. Money can't buy love. We pass an apartment building. I live here. Dreams of cockroaches and going to heaven; sharing a bunkbed with my brother. I'm wearing flip flops. Jay-Z tells me when I'm in the mood I rock the S-Dot Tennis Shoes, at the interlude I rock the Gucci Flip Flops... It should be okay. We walk for a long while, and ride the bus for a long while. TARGET NASDAQ BMW. I close my eyes on the bus.

We get off in Greenwich Village. I am the most poorly dressed man in New York. No dad is. I need a haircut. It doesn't look good long. It's too straight. This shirt is crappy. At least my flip flops look okay. We enter Chinatown. Nothing on the street is real. The underground economy is not included in the Gross Domestic Product. Drug deals and sales of used goods don't help our economy, at least on paper. It's a lot cleaner in Munich. No Chinatown in Munich. Too many people smoke there. New York is filthy. Cobblestone streets are a bitch to walk on. We go down steps into Hop Kee. This is the best Chinese restaurant I've ever eaten at.

I can barely walk. We go to the South Street Seaport. My uncle takes pictures. Smile. Cobblestone streets are a bitch to walk on. Water is so strange. Liminality, the space between. Water fills the gaps. We walk to Ground Zero. A scar is often worn proudly, a sign that you were hurt but survived. I got my first scar here when I was a kid, in a train station. New York has character. Terrorists would never attack Munich. The sun sets on a ruin. The scanner at the train station won't take our card. I got my first scar after my foot got caught under one of those rotating doors. A good Samaritan stops and helps a dying man on the side of the road. My mother thanks the man, probably a doctor.

I sit next to a black man blind in his left eye. My family sits further up so I get up to join them. His left eye is dull. How long did it take to grow his hair that long? Mr. Adams assigns us a homework assignment. The results of my implicit association test: You display a strong preference for white over black. The man sees me staring. He waves to me when he gets off the train. I'm going to write about you later. Times Square. ABC NBC BROADWAY. An invisible man passes gas on an unsuspecting crowd. No one will ever know him; no one will ever see him again. It's me. Quiet bus ride back to the parking lot. We play Zeppelin as we drive away. Hudson river to the left, a twinkling city and eventually riverside park to the right. My dad jogs in the past. Sparkling George Washington Bridge. Adopt a highway. Upper Level. Goodbye.

2004-06-30T13:03:00.000-04:00

Does the thought of having to go to Montclair or Rutgers depress anyone else besides myself? Or.. WILLIAM PATTERSON?! 'Cause if not, it should. I'm thinking of quitting school...perhaps climb the Michael's corporate ladder. "Are you or anyone you know planning a wedding? If so, Michael's can help you create a wedding as original as you!"

I'll take an order of chili fries(no onions) with that.

2004-06-26T21:53:00.000-04:00

A few questions from a troubled Chicas:

Why is everyone going to Germany? As of right now, four people I know are either there, or planning to go. I don't get it. Are they giving away free song pants or something? Even so, they'd have to be top-quality song pants to attract so many. Harumph.

Don't you love it when you stop thinking about college for ten minutes, and then a college sends you an application? Yeah. Me too.

Why must I look like someone? "You look like Daria." "Hey... are you supposed to be that girl from the Donnas?" "Wow. You look like you're from the 60s." "Holy shit! It's Winnie Cooper!" False. I look like none of them. So shut up.

Why does my brain always get mushy around 6:00 on Saturdays?

Would it helped if I stopped thinking?

I just noticed that the inside of my pants say "you are beautiful." That made me feel special for a little. Then I realized that my pants had to be looking at me to say that, and that their placement on my body would give them an itneresting view. They now reside in the laundry chute.

Why can't I be philisophical like everyone here?

2004-06-19T22:52:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow, I'm leaving on flight to Germany, for those of you who don't know. I don't think it will be any better or worse than the United States, though there will be minor differences, such as a completely different language. I anticipate that it will be fun as hell, and I'm pretty excited about it. All the things that one must worry about when one leaves on a plane to another country have, for the most part, knock on wood, been taken care of, leaving me to eagerly anticipate takeoff.

If I had it my way, we'd stop over in Hong Kong. The airport there is amazing. However, this is not the case, and we are on a direct flight. The flight will be six or seven hours, about the length of a flight to California. The good thing about flying internationally is that the big "safety speech" before takeoff is always given in both English and the language of the country you're flying in. That way I can pay close attention and take notes. That way, when the plane is on fire with no roof or control to speak of, I will be safe because I was properly instructed on the correct manner in which to use my seat belt. Praise Allah.

A Rejected Satire Essay

2004-06-15T22:11:00.000-04:00

Paramus High School is a veritable fortress. Surrounded by hills and fences, PHS is nestled at the base of Century Road. Inside, an advanced camera and observation system links its video into administration offices. The school’s dining room is constantly monitored by a devoted team of educators and administrators. The library, possibly the greatest source of knowledge in our school, is defended by yet another dedicated team of professionals and a fearsome theft detection and prevention system. Hall passes and identity cards are carried around at all times, ensuring the halls remain safe and terrorist free. The doors leading to inner courtyards have even been reversed just these last few months to ensure no would-be evildoer can escape into the school’s inner nature refuges. And Paramus High School’s strongest line of defense, our crack security force, instills fear into the heart of any enemy, any evildoer, that would decide to strike against our glorious alma mater.

Armed to the teeth, Paramus High’s glorious security team is as world renowned as the school itself. Constantly vigilant, our devoted defense team proves to be the strongest deterrent against any evildoing, foreign or domestic. I always feel a strong bout of ease and pride when, during my spacing out phase of Mr. Banks’ fifth period Analysis class, I hear the sound of security – a set of keys slowly jingling in step with a marshal’s pace – making its way down the hall. As he teeters side to side in his rounds down the hall, I can see the stars and stripes waving proudly behind him in my mind’s eye. However, the effectiveness of our team goes far, far beyond the visible means of recognition.

When asked for her thoughts on school security, senior Bailey Marcella replies, “What school security?” School security is that invisible. While doing a personal project, I brought my camcorder in to school, upon which some students inquired on legality; whether or not “you can do that in school.” “Of course it can be done in school,” as my typical response goes, “our very school does this to protect us!” Hidden among the lights and sporadic leaks in Paramus High’s ceilings, tiny black domes placed strategically around the premises are linked into the administrative offices – ensuring quick responses during any unforeseen situations – with hilarious side benefits. Lina Guantez, beloved administrator and popular morning announcement personality, is one administrator with access to such cameras. Sure, while terrorists moving within our school could be tracked and such rooms could become emergency intelligence centers, that occasional nose-picker standing alone in the commons at 4:15 can always bring a laugh to our esteemed protectors. The rowdy Tuesday-Night tutors are also kept in check.

While some may argue that school security needn’t reflect such a strong presence or, be present at all, many don’t realize that we live in a different world since the September 11th terror attacks. A new security presence is needed in these desperate times, one that may even have to infringe a bit on our civil rights. But for the small loss of privacy we lose to cameras and having to carry around passes to places we go, and the threat of a “Spartan Alert” always looming, PHS is safe and secure. Not to mention the chain link fences with barbed wire, and the turret posts on each side of the building. Or the land-mined laced baseball fields.

But on top of it all, it’s the members of the devoted Paramus High School Security Team who are always ready, strategically moving around the school – ready to block the path of any unauthorized adult, such as school bus drivers for field trips, or, God forbid, students without a pass, from wandering our sacred halls. No evildoer could even come close to their resource, cunning, and sheer mass.

2004-06-13T18:49:00.000-04:00

Another year has passed us by, and the summer approaches. I don't want summer. I need summer. Summer is my reminder that solitude is really quite nice. I need to not have to wake up on a cold morning with a group of freshman I neither know or like then go to school with a group of people, the majority of whom I either don't know or dislike. I need to have the option to dedicate entire days to me, and me alone. I need the knowledge that for the next two months, no one can judge me unless I want for them to. I need time to read any book I want. I need to be able to wear the same clothes for two or three or four days in a row without anyone saying anything. I need it to be so hot that I just walk around the house in my underwear. I need to look under the covers and get freaked out by the discovery that my underwear glows in the dark.

I need summer.

2004-06-10T20:51:00.000-04:00

Here's a little poem I wrote, yo, yo, check it out:

You've got me stayin' up late
Makin' it impossible for me to concentrate
And every night just before I fall asleep
I forget on my neighbor's daughter to peep

And I'm practically fallin' asleep drivin'
Don't know how in one piece I'm arrivin'
Trucks is honkin' and shit as I think of your face
But figure you'll just prob'ly spray me with mace

So here I lay my heart down and tell you how I feel
And I think from your punches I'll reeeeel

You have such cute little calfs
You make my dick piss butter laughs

2004-06-08T21:32:00.000-04:00

Creation is separation. Mr. Adams says a lot of interesting things, but that was one of my favorites. Creation is is the process of making something new by setting it apart from the things around it. It goes with conservation of matter. But that's implying that there were already "things" there to begin with. What created those? God separated light from dark, but where did they come from? Is the answer even important? Why are we so interested in the origin of things? The answer would have little impact on our lives. We would continue to live just as we do. It hardly matters what came before. Perhaps that's why humans have never figured out why exactly they are here. It's not important. We are here, and we should focus on what to do with that.

Mr. Jones, though he is a good man, is not the best history teacher I have ever had. He has his moments, and he has the right idea. But he is too idealistic in his methods. I'm sure that if he sticks around he'll get better. However, his philosophy class was among the best classes I have ever taken. It was his first year teaching, and we were his first philosophy class. He had never taught, and I had never before seriously considered some of the questions he asked. I left that class almost every morning thinking deep thoughts. This year I experience the same thing in Mr. Adams' class, another one of my favorites, and for that I am glad.

Philosophy remains among my favorites despite my having been one of only two sophomores in the class, the other having been Tai, who I consider an arrogant asshole. And not like Charles, who knows he's arrogant and seems, for some reason, like less of a snob because of it, or Marc, who despite his being an asshole is still a good man. He's a douschebag. It pains me that I must spend a year with him in AP English. I guess I just have to put up with it. Such is life.

2004-06-06T20:44:00.000-04:00

Although I haven't written in here for ages, I feel I owe it to Charles to write about our experience at prom.

Right. So, I guess I was a pretty crappy date since I only spoke to my date for five minutes(at max) the entire night.. my mistake. Hm. There's not much to write about. Not much to write about at all. For the most part, prom was pretty good. I saw Charles on the dance floor trying to blend in and that was kind of cute. I was actually really disappointed by the food that they served. Why the shit did they put cranberries in the salads...and around the steak...and with the ice cream? I just wasn't feeling it.
Prom weekend was a total mess................. rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain.
I need to go catch the season premiere of Degrassi(The New Generation)now. I love Canadia!

2004-05-30T00:50:00.000-04:00

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.

2004-05-24T20:59:00.000-04:00

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?

2004-05-22T18:18:00.000-04:00

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.

2004-05-21T00:31:00.000-04:00

"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.

2004-05-21T00:13:00.000-04:00

2004-05-16T21:35:00.000-04:00

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.

2004-05-16T17:35:00.000-04:00

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.

2004-05-13T23:11:00.000-04:00

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.

2004-05-10T22:56:00.000-04:00

2004-05-04T22:49:00.000-04:00

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.

2004-05-02T16:02:00.000-04:00

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.

2004-05-02T11:03:00.000-04:00

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...

2004-04-27T11:09:00.000-04:00

An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind, but the whole world so often turns a blind eye...

2004-04-18T19:56:00.000-04:00

Myles is 16 years old. He is fairly small, fairly smart, and fairly asian. Myles can't understand why he can't bring himself to do his homework. He realizes that it is for his benefit, but cannot overcome the laziness within. It is indeed a tragedy. Myles's life, outside of that, has very little tragedy. It also has very little joy. While the paths of others have glorious sunshine and horrible storms, Myles has a slight chance of showers with a cloudburst or two here and there. Myles, as a result of his laziness, has an abundance of free time. He spends this time on the computer, playing solitaire between online chess matches while listening to music. Myles isn't that great at chess, but he enjoys it nonetheless. Myles makes his moves into a routine. He has developed an unwritten algorithm for the game. Most talented players beat him. Despite this, he never throws out the algorithm; rather, he merely tweaks it to make it more effective. Myles tries to make his life fit an algorithm, but his laziness, and the inherent unpredictability of life ruin it for Myles, much to his chagrin. Nevertheless, Myles continues ahead on his dull, straight path.

2004-04-17T23:13:00.000-04:00

If one has a fantastic dream that made one feel warm and special, yet one doesn't remember the dream, was there a dream?

The other day, I found myself at a park with Charles, Marc and Powers. I hadn't been to this park since I was about five, when I lived with my grandmother. My last memory of it was walking quickly past it accross the street with my mom and brother, because we did not want to incur the wrath of the wasps living in the sand there. Marc and I used the seesaw. Yet another memory: sitting on one with my brother. While high in the air, my brother, next to the ground, decides he's done playing.He gets off. My chin hits the metal. Dazed, but no blood. Did not use a seesaw until now.

Powers' house yesterday. I discovered I suck at spinning wars, I have no balance, I am addicted to vanilla chai and boys in girly pants, and [according to Marc] I like crappy music.

There was more, but I's sleepy.

2004-04-14T19:44:00.000-04:00

Fire/Foe?/Friend?

I wake up, and I recall that Chuck can't drive me, and so the only way in is Mom, and she hates being late...so I'm like fuck it, whatever...but the I think, this is stupid, it's an easy Day 1, why miss today, etc. So I take my shit and go into school. Period 2 of chemistry is nice, right when i burn my thumb and forefinger with a hot test tube (was sort of my fault, ok, it was my fault, but i didn't go to grab it or anything while it was on top of the burner) so the nurse helped me soothe/heal that shit, although I'm typing with a big stupid bandage on my thumb. At lunch I asked the Indian snack lady if I could exchange my half-drank iced-tea for 50 cents. She told me to go home and see if I could talk to my own mother like that. I swear, if you can't even think up a good comeback, learn English so you know what I'm asking. Stats was hilarious because I got a 20 on that quiz. A fucking 20. Mike got 30, we couldn't stop laughing.

Report Cards came today. Turns out I failed Spanish. I almost laughed it was so absurd that I let it get so bad. "Yeah, well, your mother failed at staying alive. ::spite, spite, spite::" (I'm horrible, I know.) I was thinking of how to hide the report card and at the same time not have to worry about them asking me where it is when they realize it's been too long for no card to have come...so I burn the motherfucker. However, when I was with Dr. Sperling (FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO MIGHT BE CURIOUS, I SEE A HEAD DOCTOR, WINK WINK) my Dad said he actually didn't mind not seeing the report card. (I have yet to tell my dad I burned it, but he probably knows.) Sperling and I talked, and after talking to him, I usually feel pretty confident. So with that new confidence, I promptly came home and played TyperShark. You listen to me. I'm great at that game. You could send real sharks at me, in real life, and provided a keyboard, I would type their asses to shit. I mean it.

I'm going to pick up bass soon, hopefully. Upright-string bass (from the school, maybe?), and if I can, an electric 4 string. A lot of variety in this stuff I didn't know about.

2004-04-11T23:13:00.000-04:00

My Metacognitive Self-Organizing Dream, April 10-11

It was a beautiful day, but there was not a soul to be seen. No birds, no bugs, just grass - a forest on the far side of the empty field on which I stood. I stood with two others, a girl about my age, and with a guy in his early 20s. Both Caucasian, both brown haired. We were running away from a building that felt like a school of some sort, somewhat resembling a building I went to middle school in. We three were walking away from the building – but the farther away from the building and the closer we got to the forest, the more we felt we shouldn’t be there, the less time we felt we had, the faster we ran. It became clear that I had to get to the forest, and we had to hide. We got somewhat far into the forest and hid under the herbage and foliage.
After beginning to feel calm, I felt the presence of soldiers, standing upright while we hid below. As I was beginning to plan my escape, several tanks came in silence, making tremendous noise only upon their detection. I immediately lost my feeling of connection to the female character (in other words, my mental “tabs” on here were lost and she was taken for dead, “out of sight, out of mind” or in this case “out of mind, out of sight”) and I saw the male I was traveling with get crushed by a tank. The last thing I saw was another tank crush my head and my life end (from an external perspective).

For some reason, instead of waking up in a cold sweat or feeling horror at my death, I lost visual focus (don’t remember seeing anything, just black and thinking) and wanted to understand. I wanted to understand why I felt like I shouldn’t be where I was, who the people with me were, what the military was doing, and what motivated our murderers. Going forward, I felt, was not the answer. I had to go back. I then started my dream from an earlier point in the plot, so that I could work forwards and understand everything about the circumstances surrounding my death.

I was in a spacecraft that had just landed, the main feature of which were two massive garage type doors similar to those that you would see on NASA’s Vehicle Assembly Building. Behind those doors was a massive garage that stretched far up. The room was huge, and from there, three of the people from the ship left to explore the area, two of them being the people that died with me. Another person stayed behind with me, a girl I believe, who was of no consequence or former knowledge of mine. After they had left and been gone a while, I went into the garage.
A giant creature, the only living creature besides people I had seen during the dream then began running from across the field in front of our ship. I ran into the main part of the ship (which was very tall and well light, generally white and light blue) and ran away along the wall that the inner door was on. The girl I was with presumably (I didn’t have mental tabs on her) was killed by the creature, but I managed to kill it by closing the metal door (the kind that closes when the top comes down and the bottom goes up, with metal interlocking teeth) from a switch down the hall. I decided to then join the people I was with. I radioed them, and they met me just outside the ship.
We walked across a hilly cemetery, which had many large dark green bushes. The day was still strikingly beautiful. There was a slight feeling of worry that we shouldn’t be on the planet. We crossed through the cemetery, which didn’t bear the emotional weight of death or the eeriness that accompanies it, but instead felt like it was very much like that open field I traveled through just before dying, like there was nowhere to hide.
Next I can remember, we were in (close to the edge of, I don’t remember entering it like I don’t remember entering the forest, but remember being in, but not being far into it, just as the forest. It strikes many parallels with the forest in that sense) a massively built up but destroyed city, with buildings that seemed to go up no shorter than 50 stories. The city was laid out in a grid, and it was a beautiful day, which made the fact that the paint on the buildings was all gone and everything was a worn cement color, with glass broken everywhere and the streets covered with debris. The oddest part, which became abundantly clear, was that there was no sign of life having resided in this city for decades, if not hundreds of years. There were no bugs, there were no plants, no signs of any life. Everything was mute in eerie stillness. From this point, somewhere in the city the fourth person in our party was silently, inexplicably, mentally un-“tabbed” and forgotten. The party had been reduced to three, and we had realized that some armed force has destroyed the city to protect some secret in the city, beyond the boundaries and inside the safety of a forest.
We were traveling back across the graveyard and back towards the spacecraft to leave the planet, and stop and duck in our tracks. I saw a small group of soldiers standing outside of our ship’s massive garage doors. Facing the cold realization that there was no escape, we then faced the realization that we were trapped somewhere we didn’t want to be. The way out, we reasoned, was through. We meant to hide in the woods, and then to try to make it through the woods to see what was hidden in the center that had cost us our lives.

I was back at the beginning of the dream. The overlap seemed exact for several moments. As we approached the forest, I began to question my doom, and wished to find a way to change it. Looking at the people I was running with, I decided that we should stay and fight, and not hide this second time around.

We took metal spears and punched them through the soldiers’ head and faces when they approached, as they circled us from all around. We killed soldier after silent soldier, until the girl I was fighting with was killed, and soon after the male. I stayed alive to finish off the final soldiers, and then came to the center of the forest where there was a clearing.

Up until this point in the dream, nobody I had seen resembled a person I know. In the clearing, as soldiers, I saw two girls and a guy sitting on a wooden log. It was dusk now, and becoming night. I moved forward and slashed the metal rod through the male’s head, and then through one of the top of one of the girl’s head. I realized then, that this was Christina Chicas, whom I had hung out with that day. I pulled the rod from the top of her head.
I felt guilty about doing this, and had hoped that she would not die. We began to talk, and I don’t remember what we said, but I sat down next to her and talked, thinking about how the wound must have been fatal. I sat with her and the other girl I know but can not remember on the log, surrounded by the bodies of soldiers and comrades in the darkening twilight, watching the moon rise. I was left alive, an enemy that was now a friend was left alive, and the one who had changed the silent enemy into a friend was left neither dead nor alive, but the walking dead, out in limbo, speaking.

2004-04-07T19:38:00.000-04:00

Well... somebody had to blog again. I refuse to let this die. This is a cool thing we have going. Let's see. It seems like ages. I usually can look at this thing to see what's been going on in my life, but we've all let it sit here. I started health. It seems like it will be a long boring two and a half months. Hluchan is a funny name. Hluchan has a funny voice. I realize that I have become very Zen, or aloof. These days, nothing really gets to me. My range of emotions is smaller than most people's. I don't think I've cried for any reason since middle school. I thought that was normal until recently. And no, I didn't cry when I found out. Maybe that's why I'm not good at making decisions or expressing my opinion. Because I have no opinion. Realizing this makes me question past statements and emotions. And what exactly is emotion anyway? Why were humans born with the ability to feel? What advantage has it given them? All this makes me think of Equilibrium. Was that really a "happy" ending? I probably seem all philisophical right now. Or maybe just stupid. And maybe insecure now.

SOMEBODY ELSE BLOG NOW

2004-03-24T19:28:00.000-05:00

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

2004-03-18T17:11:00.000-05:00

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.

2004-03-17T17:28:00.000-05:00

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.

2004-03-17T00:43:00.000-05:00

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.

2004-03-12T23:26:00.000-05:00

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.

2004-03-10T23:15:00.000-05:00

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."

2004-03-08T16:35:00.000-05:00

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

2004-03-07T00:06:00.000-05:00

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

2004-03-02T23:11:00.000-05:00

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

2004-03-02T22:20:00.000-05:00

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.

2004-02-25T22:44:00.000-05:00

Myles, that is exactly how I am - except way worse than however you fucked up.

In other news, a website everyone should read:

rotten.com's library (Here's the link for those of you that don't want to sneak past the icky homepage's images - basically just a nice compilation of things you never knew - or didn't want to know, told almost straight - with a bit of a sardonic tone.