SECTION 9

Thursday, October 2, 2003 4:50 AM

So?  You like the over-haul?  Jake mentioned over poker that thegreenroom was taking much too long to load, and i admit that it was getting a little unweildy, at half a meg.  So, i cut it up a bit, into sections, i used a fair amount of reasoning as to where to seperate the greenroom. And, yes, there is a gap from 7-11-03 to 9-9-03.  That was during a period when awbvious.com wasn't running, and sadly, neither was the greenroom.  During the transition into my new luxuory accomodations, my computer was disconnected.  and it was almost waldenesque--but i could only stand it for two months, before the world required i get back online.

eh, my heads a bit muddled right now.  maybe i need a decongestant.

im quitting cigarettes (again).  I'll let you know.

And i'm looking for a job (again).  Ditto.

And i don't have a chick--but i'm over it--i'm getting the money first.

Oh, and as always, i'm green.  Mmm.  yumm... how should i enjoy it next?  Oh well, upload time.

Thursday, October 2, 2003 4:59 AM

Tuesday, October 7, 2003 12:03 PM

YO!  back in effect, cause the effect won't wreck the sect of the lecturous, lecturer, bet you were, about to leave, but i grab your slieve, you will hear what i have to say, for i say what i see.

dang, i shouldn't have slammed jake's site.  Because he then he took it to this site.  And of course, i looked over my content.  And i had to agree, shit, this is a crappy site.

i need to weed out the worthless parts, and ... shit, i don't know. that's a lot to do...  i'd rather create than stop and see what to destroy.  He's right though, the songs on here, in general, they suck.  The video, embarassing.  The writing.  Well.  I mean, how could that be any bad?

But i'll confess, not everything is interesting...  Well, let me actually disagree right there.  before i post something, i got to be able to read it.  and i won't read anything not interesting, at least somewhat, of course, to myself.  I go back and read anything no matter how old, but i won't watch the video or listen to my own songs.

Should i just resign myself to the role of writer already?

The Isley Brothers right now are telling me "it's your thing."  Just what happens to be playing right now.

Ugg.  Got a lot of shit to do...  a lot of shit to do... 

The green room.  What is this?  am i wasting my time as i write?  sigh, wretched am i, so is existance.  i'm getting old.  i haven't made the artistic progress i wanted to by now.  i haven't made the movies and songs that i wanted to, that's going to require me to work with other people.  And i know it...  Writing is the only thing in which i seem to be progressing ...  oh, but i only started music and video 2 and half years ago, something like that, less for video....  Am I, in fact, impatient?

Indeed I am, but only because i know the talent of the young.  Not only is there the fact that there is that identification factor when you, yourself, as a viewer, are young.  But there's the fact that young is raw, all that creativity that will be proven down the line is already there, just un-refined.  I mean, too much to even harvest sometimes, but you can see it sometimes, in the young engenues (however the fuck that is spelled) of screen and song.

Fuck it.  Why is it that so few are found at the right time?  I suppose its because of the difficulty of breaking in.  Just because there's sooooo many people out there.  I could probably spot an engenue, so could any good artist/enteretainer.

Tuesday, October 7, 2003 12:30 PM

Here i must stop.  For i come up with such a good idea, i must pitch it to a company...  I can write it up, printed it, and mail it to three places in the next few hours, what the fuck, eh?

Tuesday, October 7, 2003 12:33 PM

Friday, October 10, 2003 1:21 PM

Anyway, I'll make this brief, because i have a lot to do.  lot to do.  i feel a bit white rabbitish.  Oh dear, the time, the time, look at the time!  I'm late, i'm late, for...  Something.  Everything.  alright, but as of late, its a portfolio, you heard me, so i got to, you know, work on it.  anyway, fuck, i need to do that.

oh yeah, that's not why i started writing.  damn, out of red bull already.  shit that shits good, but i got mate, so fuck it.

oh right.  i have to tell you what's up.  anyway, the server was down because jake--who i'm a little mad at right now, and is still mad at me, probably--upgraded it to bigger, faster, better.  And ip-changes are slow, with some services, and it changed twice, so... you know.  anyway, the site was down, not too unusual.  I've got to do that fuckng portfolio thing, so i'll talk toya'lls laters.  toya'lls.  interesting.

anyway, my mate will be whistling soon, so i must depart, and upload and, yeah.  well, at least the background is right, for now, speed is of the essence, of course, for time is money is well, you know, what keeps the background right.

Friday, October 10, 2003 1:36 PM

Sunday, October 12, 2003 5:13 PM

kjsigh, i never have energy.  i'm drinking redbulls, spent some money wisely on them.  taking my stimulates, not stimulants.

have i mentioned lately how much i hate being me?  i'm sure i have.  Sucky mind of mine, sure, it performs well, on occassion, but much too tempermental.

i could use a fuck session with someone soon.  i got a datish thing on wed, but i already spent my last dime on red-bulls--if i had brought my nickles with me, i wouldn't have to sheepishly ask the bag-girl.  yeah, i'm getting sick of being poor, i think maybe i should stay home and work on my portfolio some more.

But i have green for once, and i haven't gone ni a few weeks, and i should, fuck, i know i should... but i'm sooooo lazy.  i got many hours, i like to come in late.  if i want to get laid i know i need to go where the liquor is, but i hate that.

It is so horrible to be honest to each other?  Why can't we say?  hey, i know we don't know each other, but let's get to the point.  I'm free and your attractive, and i think we should have sex.  And maybe, after while, we'll get to know each other.

Porn doesn't really prepare you for the real world.  In porn, chicks just drop their drawers and say stick it in me.  In real life, chicks expect to exchange names and shit first.  God, i wish i didn't have to wrestle with this issue right now--what?  no, not that issue, the issue of leaving, going out, being--shudder--social.

Social...  What a waste that is.  Show me the most social person alive, and, ironically, i probably don't know him.  Show me the most anti-social, and i might--well not yet, but he could very well be a famous author.  Well, he will be, after he dies--if someone finds the scrawls he leaves in his attic.

I just want to stay home and smoke, and write and create and have artistic fun all night long.  This is selfish though, as no one wants my art.  Even i don't.  i just like making it.

Its hard when you're as descriminating a critic as I.  I'm so critical, I wouldn't want to waste my time reading words like these or see visions like those...  Did i say visions?  i meant paintings.  I'm too good of a critic, i know my shit is shit.  ASSUMING I wasn't "myself."   I wouldn't listen to my songs, i'd want to listen to the gap band or the isley brothers--not me.  i'd want to see and study van gogh, picasso, not my own crap.  And this?  Why do i care about this guy?  Shakespeare, Joyce, Dickenson around me, and I want to read his crap?

Hmm...  If i do something useful like working on my portfolio, specifically for a job, I could do some things he might be impressed with--I could really use that job...  And having money will a) make me more confident, and less self-critical, which is good when you're overly-self-critical, as i always am, b) let me go out to stuff like i was planning and not have to worry about the fact i have no money, and c) uh... money will get me bitches.

Fucking a, as soon as i get that better job, before even the paycheck, oh they'll get the vapors, and it will drip from my pores, too slick.  Girls would drip for me, fucking a, i'd walk a good three inches taller.  I'd be buying drinks for girls like nothing, i'd be dressed my best, and eventually, i'd be getting it so easily, i won't need to buy drinks even.  i'll ...

whatever.  whatever.  i've gone crazy.... sorry... what's the plan?.. oh yeah, that's right.  i'm supposed to... right.  right.  okay, anyway, i'll be back, fucking green-eyed monster that I am.

Sunday, October 12, 2003 5:38 PM

Monday, October 13, 2003 1:33 PM

sucky thing, computers, in some ways, sucky in that, i would'nt trade it in, like my brain, way.

Gheto boyz, my minds playing tricks on me, yeah it is.

Friday, October 17, 2003 10:26 PM

You know what this means, don't you?  The grey background?

It means less typos, and less errors, and less levity, and less interest, and more melancholy, and more depression, and more boredom...

I'm not feeling too chipper, that's true...  Why?  Cause I aint got no WEEEEEEEEE...  Well, you know.

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.  I feel like shit.  And I don't get any shit done when I'm "sober."  "Sober" isn't the word though--would you call someone who usually took antidepressants "sober" if they were to stop?  No, of course not.  Call someone "sober" if they were to not drink a double expresso shot in the morning?  No, of course not.  So sober isn't the word, because it suggests being able to do thing you couldn't "intoxicated."  And intoxicated suggests incapacitated.  while the reverse is true.

What did I do today?  Well, the first few hours were kindof productive, looked for a job.  But the remaining were spent watching television.

Television.  Television because I couldn't make any vision of my own.  Bored out of my skull and unable to entertain myself, so bored though, that I needed entertainment, anything, to keep myself from ...  Well, going crazy, with boredom.  Bored bored bored.

Fuck, its not even withdrawl.  I feel perfectly fine.  There's not even any cravings.  I wish I could say that about the cigs.  Fucking A, i just wish I had some RIGHT NOW.  I could smoke and feel alright, and I could draw, or sing, or write, and ...

Well, of course, i can write without.  I can write half capacitated, incapacitated, decapacitated, whatever.  I could write.

What a waste...  I hate writing sober... jesus.  What to write about?  Maybe I should try to take my mind off being submerged in fucking sobriety, and the fucking stupid world that normally exists.  Yes, I want my "rose" colored glasses.  My green colored glasses rather.  Everything looks better in green.  Now...  now all I can do is waste time.

Watch television, play video games, anything to avoid life--and is this because I'm avoiding my cravings?  No, because this is how everyone is, and why they never achieve--or rather--create anything...  I don't know.  I know i don't need it to create.  Just to want to.  Otherwise, why bother?  Why not atrophy on a couch and watch another episode of matlock or whatever the fuck.  What a waste of my life, my time.  And i couldn't really enjoy it.  god.

I suppose you think this is sad?  The fact that I can't enjoy life without it.  Well, fucking a, i never could before, and i can't now.  Why...  Why ..  I know why I can't have any, cause for green you need green, and i'm poor, oh so poor...  I chose my cat's health over my enjoyment...  But it was only 10 bucks for catfood, and damn, if that cat isn't the cheapest form of enjoyment I have available.  Cheaper than weed.  And DEFINITELY cheaper than women.

God damn, the angst in me is really driving me crazy.  And doing I have this angst when I don't have it, no.  Do i need it.  No.  Do i want it...  Desperately so.  Its soooo freakin cheap compared to....  Fuck.

And no one understands.  Look, we all got what we want.  or get, rather.  Fuck.  I ..  fuck.  I don't even want to be awake, I sleep for over 12 hours every day, now that I've got none.  Why?  Cause what is there to get out of bed for?  Hmm?  Fuck.  I should take my fucking zoloft already.  fUCK.  ADI KHCO ICARP.K/RBEOAKGXFP.'I/FOPG D,IGY,4DF/GIX'5437G9FY=CXH=

i JUST AC4 BAE9LGFPD  I just don't know what to do anymore.  I don't want to feel this way, and I like feeling the other way, and so far, it really hasn't interfered, if anything, it has made things easier in some ways...  otherways... not.

Fuck. 

Why won't someone just give me money, already?  Don't I deserve it?  Am I not a good enough artist, to deserve a little patronage?

I hate the grey background. I realyl reala rkha ukrha, kbur kdarcbarkda r.khdeabjrca.ulbea krq

I really do.  I get frustrated so much easier, so quickly.  so ... fucking a.  if only...  I hate this.  i want to kill or die or just non-seriously maim.  myself.  No one understands this.  No one.

Why am I doing this to myself?  Partly, to be "responsible."  FUCKING A, i hate that. being responsible.  but its necessary.  until people realize you're a fucking genius and they'll do all the responsible shit for you, and just let you create...  if only...  i don't think its going to happen.

What, you don't ask?  Well, i'll tell you, since you obviously don't care.

I wanted to be successful.  i mean really successful, hollywood, television, all that shit.  And years ago.  I already feel too old.  I was talented then.  And yet...  nothing.  Instead, my life continued like everyone elses.  Why?  Cause no one cares.  no one cares.  no one cares.  no one cares.  no one  no one  no one.  no one.

I want to be successful by the time I'm 25.  ha.  like that will happen.  no one cares.  no one.  no one at all.  my life means absolutely nothing to anything to anyone or anything or fuck.

This is my brain.

This is my brain off drugs.

Depressed and angry and thrown into inaction...

Okay, now its making a little sense...  Yes... its finally making sense...  A momment of clarity.  My god, i think it finally makes sense...

You see.  I was reading an article in discover or sci am, one or the other.  said something about --and I'm paraphrasing-- "people have misconceptions about depresssion/anxiety.  they think its a passive thing.  it is no such thing.  while the body is stuck in neutral the brain is revving itself into a frenzy.  Its extremely disquieting."

So it is.  My brain.  What a disgusting organ.  It can never shut itself off.  always thinking that thing.  and never in any directional way.  NOOOO.  that's what I need green for.  it just goes in circles.  just like that fucking mouse.

You see, there was a mouse in that article.  The mouse supposedly got a shock, unless it pushed a lever.  Well when the lever doesn't work, it just goes around in circles, frantically trying to find a way to stop the shock.  When nothing works, then he just lays there...  Immobalized.  But the brain...  The brain still fucking functions, looking desperately within to find some kind of relief--running around on its neurons instead of its legs.  Its like i'm in some fucking horrible valley of spikes, and it hurts my feet, and i can't lie down, cause then it hurts all over, and i got to keep running to keep the spikes from pushing too hard or...

no that's a stupid analogy.

its more like being in a bog.  or a fog.  or a blog.

ha.  anyway......................................... fuck.

anyway, they say that weed is not something to use to treat anxiety/depression.  Weed is for glaucoma and chemo people, the physical pains of life--not the mental.  Well, listen.  I, like the mouse, am getting shocked.  I've been getting shocked as long as I know, and long before I started smoking.  I ran in circles, but that never worked.  I've never found a lever.  And that's not what weed is.  Weed is not the lever.  Weed is not to stop the shocks.  Weed is because even though my legs stop moving, I can't stop that brain.

And weed doesn't stop the brain.  No.  Its stops it from listening to those fucknig shocks though.  and it can still function fairly well even though.  I mean, like, if i drank, i'd maybe stop the shocks, but my brain would swiss-cheezify.  It coudn't function.

And weed...  weed is sooo great.  god.  You can't understand, you've never had the shocks, you've never had written journal entries for as long as you've been writing saying that you wish you were dead.  So SHUT THE FUCK UP, and let us fucking smoke already.

I mean, really, why the fuck is this shit illegal?  Perscription drugs aren't illegal, and they don't work nearly as well.  And shit that is legal, like fucking alcohol, cigs, that shit is bad for you.  That shit will kill you.  Hell.  Fucking hell.

I mean, really, will someone tell me why?  Frankly, i feel like we are in extremely unenlightened times on this subject. I feel like there's something seriously wrong with this country and a lot of the world.........  why in the hell is it illegal?  Because I love it?  is that wrong?

I just don't get it...  Its such a great thing.  it really is.  and i swear, it does more than that.  There's something it does to one's mind, and its not necessarily anything bad, not when you've got a mind like mine.  Sure, if your an idiot, or a layabout, or if your mind is already too slow, you don't need anything to slow it down.  you'll become the stereotypical stoner, the one who makes it bad for the rest of us.  the stoner who sits on his ass and does nothing.  i do things.  i do much more than...................................................................

And yet.

There's another part of me.  oh i realize.  the part that says: oh, how do you know?  think of how difficult things have been.  cause its true.  it does take away that running around.  but that running aronud, while mentally unhealthy, does give one the drive.  The drive to succeed.  The need to be responsible.  and all that shit.

i don't know.  very conflicted.  very conflicted am i.  i have this conversation with myself all the time.  and i get no where.  i thought i had an epiphany, but it escaped me.

ran in circles...  all i know is that I did shit today.  after the first few hours of looking for employment, i just sat myself on my chair and had tv distract me from the pain.  And tv is definitely worse than weed.  oh yes.  definitely.  Much more consuming.  You can definitely do a lot more with a joint in your mouth than with your eyes glued to a tv.  Fucking TV, i hate it, but its the only thing that is compelling enough to avoid the pain.

fuck i hate tv.

buuuuuut.  if i wasn't sober.  would i feel so... compelled to do something "responsible" now?  feel so mad at myself, at the expense of my happiness, but enough, fucknig a, to actually want to do something.  that fucking drive.  What a cost.  and i haven't even done anything about it.  No....  Drive shmive.  i'm still in neutral.  i accomplish more smoking.  i put myself on a task, and i finish it smoking.  but not now.  now.  i jsut want to kill the pain, and i don't know how.  and i know..  i know.  I KNOW, i'll never resort to drinking.  though i know that that kill the pain, as so can a lot of other things, all worse than weed.

God.  Why.  why why why...  whis is my mind this way?  why can't i succeed already...  i create and create and create, but i don't like to sell myself or it.  or anything or whatever.

fuck it.  i need a little levity.  any.  but none is available.  nothing... just this bleak darkness.  this fucknig bland grey.  Oh the grey is the perfect background.

For that is definitely how I feel.  And if i don't ever get to be green again...  Will the grey go away?

that is the question.  ultimately.  is there a situation without green that will be better than green or being without green mommentarily.  cause i know, as soon as i get a dime, i'll get a dime, and i need it, and its sooo fucking expensive for a fucking leaf.  a fucking plant.  i could grow it myself if only i lived in a situation where others allowed it...  only problem is i don't like a lot of stoners.  cause they're not like me.  neither are the sobers.

sobers and stoners and i don't belong to either.  cause sober i'm no good.  and stoned i'm good, and the stoners are not.  or they are.  and no one cares.

frankly.  i feel like i'm .

well, like i'm a minority.  a minority with bad history.  like african americans.  a bad, unfair history, and unfair judgements and lies and bullshit perpetrated against them, and you can't understand why.  Why is this the way it is?  I know there is nothing wrong with me, and i know how to be happy.  I also sympathize with gays.  Why are they told they can't be that way?  Why?  No one with any brain at all can see a way that homosexual activity could cause a person detriment to their health--unless it was caused by another fucking idiot who doesn't understand.

Gay, black, and a woman.  yes, that too.  i feel as though i am that too.  and, not, of course.

Interesting...  they are playing "woman to woman" on the classic r&b station...  I wonder if they are going to include the sobs.  i hate that version.  those sobs are so annoying.

oh i don't even know any more.  shit.  i've said all this before.  why say it again?  why do anything?  i just want to go back to sleep.  and why?  cause there's that pain.  and sleep makes it so i can't feel it.  oh i feel that pain.

god do i feel that pain.  i really do feel it.  its such a weird pain.  like someone took an egg beater, stuck it through the top of my skull, and started turning the handle.  then they start to stir it, the mass becomes liquid, and tougher to stir, like cookie dough... or something.

good, that version didn't have the sobs.  that's what i thought.  why is there even that sobbing version?  i don't even know.

stupid that's what that is...  and this?  just as stupid.  god i hate my... everything.where's my fucknig cat?  i need him.  i need him bad, i need to pet him, and curl up and sleep.  But noooooooo, i can't do that, cause the drive will make me feel guilty.  i must do work, even without my usual aid...  if only my mother would give me some money...  she already gave me soo much.  idon't want her money.  I want something though, i want someone to help me, i need help...

Monetary help.

all i need is money.  oh yes.  if i had money...  i could stay in my room, and smoke, and create music and art all day long, into the night....  Oh its so wonderful a thought, for once i am gettnig a small glimmer of a smile, with that thought.  if only i had that money...  to relax, to sit back, and relax, and write and feel good.  mmm, such a lovely fantasy... my brain stopped churning for a second there.  i close my mind and think of it.  the tube from my mouth from the hgv and the clear mind.  oh so clear.  like a bright summer's day.  with a beautiful breeze.  oh so lovely.

I don't know if women feel this way.  i don't know about that.  because unlike gays or blacks, they're completely different from I.  A gay brain or a black brain, that is the same as mine (okay, so gay brains aren't the same--but women's brains, those are completely different).  I can see their angst.  the blacks and gays.  But women...  where is it?  why are they so ...  i don't know.  i jsut think they are more complacent. though their situation doesn't seem...

ah, yes, of course.  because they're not a minority.  Of course.  They are half the world.  They don't have to worry about the majority saying they're acting wrong.  Men are louder.  But there's not more of them.  If the world was half gay, black, or smoker.  then it would be much different.  much different indeed.

that's why women aren't so .....

fuck it, this logic seems flawed, or something, or maybe its the fucking running around.  cause, yes, my brain has started to churn again.  The colors of my brain, and my life, they're getting mixed, and what color does that make?  Grey.

Yes grey is the right color.  For grey is how I feel.  and what a waste of time this was...  but i needed to write, and i feel better for it.  but i still feel that fucknig drive, so i must do something productive.  ...  but first, i want to see something.  i'm going to look at my grey entries.  see if they are really as annoynig and depressing and uninteresting as I think they are.  I need to look at the greys and the greens, maybe i'll see that grey is better.  Just like blacks supposedly should see why white is better, or gays should see why straight is better... right?

of course.  being a heroin addict sucks.  or an alcoholic.  neither of those are ...  i don't know anymore.  i just don't know.

Yep.  these grey entries suck.  They're not interesting, nor entertaining.  They're just depressing.  might as well end this one here.

And you know what?  I don't care, cause i can't answer that question yet, if i should be non-green until its not grey.  I just know one thing: Green is good.  and it definitely is not bad enough to not make it good.  And hopefully, someday, i can be proud of it.  I can some day say, like the people I admire who are gay or black, that I'm proud of what I am.  That I'm sure, that this is who i am, that I'm fine with it, and i don't think i need to change, that people are stupid, cause there's enough people out there who agree with me--that it is perfectly fine being who i am.  That the world is better for having me.  as i am.  a stoner.  i can do a lot for society that way, as far as entertainment.  Cause once that pain is gone, i can finally feel like celebrating life.  and if people have to do it by watching something i do on TV, why not.  But they're not gonig to feel like celebrating life listening to this.  I certainly don't feel like it.

Fuck... i'm just ...  i'm just...  fuck.  oh well, whatever.  i'll get green and i won't feel this way.  and then it will be okay...  hopefully...  fuck.  ignore me.  i'm just a whiner.  once i smoke, i will not be whining, i will be able to have fun, and love life again.  and yeah, yeah, whatever i should love life without it...  Fuck you.  Fuck you, if you think people shouldn't do what they want, cause it makes them happy, even though you don't understand it.

Fuck you, because everyday, more and more, you are learning that if it doesn't hurt you, you shouldn't stop us, for we are better for you, when we are happy.  i ...  dont' know.  i know if i did other things, i might hurt you, but i wont' hurt you this way.  If i drank, i'd be a jerk, like my father, and then my son would feel the pain.  The pain i have, the pain he has, but if i smoke, i'll never be a jerk.  i'm not a jerk, no question about that.  Sometimes... a little lapse on responsible, but barely...  I never say anything mean, i never want to hurt anyone.

my dad doesn't want to be the person he is, but he is who he is.  he picked his poison, and he's stuck with it.  i don't doubt a single bit that he'll die with a bottle in his proverbial hand...  please, i'm no fool, the show he does for mom, the fucking o'douls.  my ass.  they are probably regular beers put into the bottles, or they're spiked, something, i'm sure.  Just like his "water bottles" in his trunk...  i've mentioned that haven't i?  Water my ass.  Water doesn't smell like that.  Fucking a.

yep, taht pain is getting pretty freakin unbearable right now.  and all i can do is type.  type and type and type until i hopefully get so drowsy that i'll just... fall asleep.  sleep.  like tv.  useless consuming way to avoid the pain.  the drive isn't working...  not right now at least...  if i had something to smoke, maybe....  fuck, my mom still hasn't given me any more money...  god, i don't want to live.  i don't want to think.  and i don't want to be me.

yet, i know that i am me.  so i won't be killing myself, don't freak, read a few older entries and know this is certainly nothing new.  this is just me...  fucking a, and there's nothnig i can do about it.

if i had money..............  god........

i hate that word "money." Such a source of grief in my house.  such a horrible word that is.  i hate that word.  i hate that word so much.

No one understands, why even write about it?  no one understands.  they will just look at me like an idiot.  and i'm fine with that...  jesus........................ what do i do?  i don't know.

yeah, i can't just type forever.  hmmf, another form of excape.  But not one of enjoyment.  just a way to run with fingers instead of legs, or something.  i don't know.  don't care.  god.  i'm fucking grey.

Please ignore me.  i'm no one to listen to.  i dont' know even know why i'm still typing.  i want to delete this all.  but hell. its on the page already.  what the fuck, eh?  sorry.  i wish you didn't have to read this crap.  such crap...  god i hate

well, you know.

Saturday, October 18, 2003 0:00 AM

Sunday, October 26, 2003 2:28 PM

well you know what the green background means, don't you?

yeah you do...  mmmmmm feelin good.

okay... need to h to the eezo, g to the uzzo, v to the azzo.  had a few spliffities.  now i should pipen the rest of whats left.  i need to set up my contraption--er, the contraption.  whatever.  its still not put together.

things are good, and they're bad... its hard to describe...  but more like, i'd rather not...  but rest assured, i'll be back.  i'm guaranteed green for at least a few more days...  oh the elipses...

my posture stinks.oh well, fuck it.  whatever.  god.... i'm fucking ready to shoooooooooooooooot.  mysefl.  out of fun.  i'm like, still recognizing the crapiness of my situation--elaboration not yet needed.  but i know i can't do too much about it.  except give up something.

well, like i was going to give up the background--not after the investment i made the days before the catastrophy.  oh in due time.  point is, i've given up something.  something even harder, in some ways.  i really think it will be.  seeing as i resorted to it when i didn't have my green background.  Television.  And video games.  No more of either.  Can you believe it?

but i must.  until i get another job...  or a job... perhaps, no i don't want to go into it...  let's just say if i wasn't playing a video game, i wouldn't be in this perdicament.  And if i wasn't watching TV for like 5 hours a day, all my blessed Columbos and Law and Orders....  Maybe i'd have a better job already.  Well, let's just see how far i get with procrastination without these two great procrastinating-enablers.  Its all about consuming activity.

i can listen to music, i can smoke this pipe, and i can still do anything in the world.  But i can't do somethnig while watching television or playing a video game, can you?

The reason those are so tempting is the fact that they are consuming activities.  The very thing that makes them so economically wasteful in time-money.  They consume you, they let you "escape" that blessed thing, that thing that every american needs, especially in times of depression.  During the great one, hollywood still was doing just fine.

can't think about your problems while you're blastinng away aliens.  Goddamn Halo.  What a horrible/great game.  My friend Guy and I both love playing Hazo--me especially.  Which is basically this.  If you like Halo, and you like weez, you'll like this game.

The best default stage for Halo multiplayer is Chill Out.  Period.  I mean, the longest day, or whatever, no... that was a movie.  what's that stage called?  one second.  Blood Gulch.  Yeah, that's it.

Shit, this is just making me want to play the game even more.

Fuck it, I don't need no stinking Halo.

Anyway, so, like i was saying.  uh... okay, now i need the h to the eezo.  as usual, can't find the stinking adapter piece.  Oh well, i'll foil it.  Anyway, you play Slayer on Chill Out, over and over, and between each round you hit the bong.  If you were creative, the loser does the most hits...  would that make him a loser?  i don't know...  anyway, i miss halo, and hazo.  ...

I was playing the Silent Cartographer level on Legendary, the Shafted area.  You can get into that game, and time will just slip away.  i picked up the shift without even averting my eyes from the screen.  an hour and a half later, i have no idea of the time, i get a cell call, i check the time, 2 minutes before the start of my shift.  Fuck.  already on super-double-probation for tardiness.  fuck.

So, i'm quitting.  if possible.  already on suspension.  such is life. whatnow whatnow... i know, since i cant play em, i'll write about them.  so, i'm going to continue my game design project, its hush hush in the works, you understand.  in otherwords, its not even ... whatever, enough writing, got to do some writing.  later.  and whatever that means.

Sunday, October 26, 2003 4:33 PM

Friday, October 31, 2003 3:55 AM

Sigh, the last bowl.  the mythic last bowl.  the legendary last bowl.  the mommentous, bittersweet last bowl.  i'm hecheeveeing it.  make it last as long as possible.

crap got a lot to still do, stuff i coud easily smoke through.  well, at least, if i keep up this tv/video game hold-out, i'll be really hard-pressed for distractions.  and distraction is my only real worry when it comes to finishing a task.

fuck.  i can't believe i lost my job.

everyone already knows, i've had a few days to accept it.  ooooh, wait, the bowl is activating... nice.

a woman needs love, doodoodoooodo. 

Now some stevie, also nice...  my favorite music listening situation is musicchoice's classic r&b station.  at first, i was kinda unsure about segregated oldies.  But now, its the way to go, black music is so much better.

good ole stevie.

besides, someones to hit me up for kicking them down when they were dry and i was fine.  just wednesday.  now i gots to wait till next...  well, fuck that, say that and the super secret internal police will plan a giant sting operation costing hundreds of thousands of dollars, so they can catch me in a fine-worthy crime.  Right...  Well, anyway, been good so far, want to stay that way.  with the ole law, that is.  cause i make it a rule, never exchange for money.  Those people who do, well, they pay the risk for the profits, they're only as successful as they can hope to be, the more success the more risk, the glass ceiling is covered in bars.  the world you must belong to, well its worse than just a freeway speeder.  but what i did, thats part of the slope, you see.  cause i helped out a brother in need, i've been in that place so many times before, and i'll get back exactly what i gave, no more no less.  No profit in any way for either party.  simply a matter of convenience when authorities make the reasonable inconvenient.  Still, point is...

sigh, the last bowl...  the legendary bowl, the bowl supreme.  the alhpha and omega.  for in becoming the last it becomes the first; the first and only last.  4:10... natch...  i don't know... will i make it?  will i care...  will i wont i such is my dance.

i've been nose to the grindstone on this damn picture retouching.  3 days, at least, have i spent.  but i need it for my portfolio, or something.  a possible job, i could get, if i do this, if i finish it... sigh, such a painstaking job of moving pixels, one by one.  Cause the only way you can do it.  All those tools mean shit.  Its all cut and paste in the end.  2 from here.  3 from below.  one from the top right.  layer them...  yeah, now i got the one pixel i need.  Lets work on  the next one of 10,000.  Oh excuse me, i just did the math.  Over a million.  A million fucking pixels.  and i'm sifting through the sand.  Oh... but its the only way to get the good results, i can do anything those other punks do...  but i made myself such a challenge.

see i took a picture of something really beyond any retention of value.  and i'm trying to rebuild the monstrosity.  i'm trying to make it look decent, looking new would take years...  or a week.  i'm realizing how little i actually know, though...  i should perhaps invest in some research.  but i still haven't a job...  so ...

no weezie.. for the holliday, for the weekend, for the open mics.  sigh.  because i was such a nice guy.  such a nice guy cause i forget how fat i packed my travelin' sack.  and its dark and i'm like, "take what's left.  just make sure you get me back all of that."  "wow, you're such a nice guy...!"  "Huh?"  "too late!"  fuuck.  well, whatever, i'll survive.  just a few days until (or NOT, maybe next month... in lisbon...) i see him and he gets me back.  nothing more, nothing less, but damn, i doubt it'd be the same quality.  but who knows, some people can find it.  man, this sucks, why is this so illicit.

You'd think...  Well, fuck it.  so sad, people can't keep from gatewaying, they're ruining it for the rest of us.  luckily, a lot of us grow up from hippies to working-force contributors to society.  they never gateway.  unfortunately, might be drinknig a bit to ruin our odds.  cause they're able to keep from the really bad, but go over the deep end on the legal side.  and so many people fall victim to jee, this isn't so bad, i can do it once, and i'll be strong... whatever.  if they smoked, maybe they'd learn a bit about their own falibility, and frailty.  if they dance with a white horse, that's not cool with me.  one dance they say...  be a philosopher, they say.  but the just onces aren't so easy for the average...

oh fuck it.

you know... i really do have a bunch of shit to do...  and though this high is righteous.  oh so righteous.  man, i need to celebrate it.

celebrate it, you understand?  ihaven't written fiction so long, i'm a bit rusty.  but i'm righteous (of course i'm hearing the song "if loving you is wrong")

oh shit, now its papa was a rolling stone.  i performed that recently.  at the thing, where i met the person, and stuff happened. to be specific.  i gave a good performance, did a bit of harmonica, key of G.  i should really re-record that song.  i should do a lot of recording.  but not now.  not until i make money, make stability.  make money, fuck hoes, you know...  well, its jsut that's what i'm aiming for, except not hoes.  just fucking.  i'm aiming for that in the future, but i'm taking a longer/perhaps road than the illicit, expensive, or illegal ways to get a chick to... well, the alliteration should speak for itself.  i use the money, i use the money cause it says stability and status.  stability, hey i can dig your need for that.  status, well... if it means a little ass, and no consequences, i won't mind the girls falling for the status, as long as i get a piece of ...  Well, the alliteration speaks for itself.

Oh yeah, fiction... what time is it?

Friday, October 31, 2003 4:31 AM

cool, okay, let's switch it on 'em.

A man walks into an establishment.  There he sees another man, who is in charge of running said establishment.  This proprietor, a man of about 40, with greyish hair, and handlebar mustache, and black-rimmed glasses, and a carnation, and a leather vest, and a pinstripe (baby-blue) button down shirt.  And a gator belt.  And flamenco shoes. Or they were fancy shoes, at least, thought the man.

The bartender didn't appreciate him leaning over the bar like that to look at his shoes.

This man in this establishment, took a seat upon a throne, looked across the room, saw he was alone, and it suited him fine.  You know Joe.

The bartender paid him no mind.  He forgot to speak the words aloud.

"You know Joe."

"What's up, Rummy?" says the bartender.

"What can I say?  My parents were cruel, naming me Rumsfield.  You know, me and that other fella, we got it tough.  But at his isn't his first name... you know?"

"Right, right, rummy, my man," says the bartender, who was an african-american, age 32, slick black hair, and a worn-denim shirt.

"Anyway, no booze."

"No booze?"

What am I deaf?  Wait...  that's not right.  He's not deaf, wait, he is deaf... wait, no that's what i was thinking...

"Whadday'all have Rummy?  What you feeling like?"  the bartender asked jovially.

"Absinthe was interesting, and cianide was pleasant, antifreeze proved to please.  all in small amounts, dropped into a bottle of rum!"  But that wasn't important right then.  not to the man, not to the man who professed to run this establishment.  but what would this establishment be without the man, not the man who professes, well, both men profess the same.  "Who can say who is necessary?"

The bartender didn't understand any of it, didn't care to, but he cared for his friend, apparently.  "What is it you want?"

"Geo Number 7-dash-fourteen!"

The bartender stops drying his glass.

Or whatever cliche thing he was doing.  That man who runs the establishment, ha, what a man.  But a friend, yes.  What a friend, he is.  He is.  His leather jacket, so well pressed.  Wait, no jacket.  can't be pressed.  I was not impressed.  Alright, there we go!  The man bring out the glowing irridescent green liquid of viscous visciousness.  It was viler than bile.  It was bubbling over in its vial.  Vile.  Yes, viler than bile, wilder too.

"Rummy is this what you want?"  The bartender found nothing interesting in the whole event.  "On the tab?"

"Of course!"  He took a sip.  A tiny sip, just a little sip.  There was no one around, that he was thankful for.  Peace, peace of mind, but to his delight, he wasn't alone.  Just after his sip, he saw the others materialize.  They'd zap in from outer space it seemed, but they were there the whole time.  Just dematerialized.  One sip of their green vials, and they come out.  One woman on the stool beside him, people in the tables all around.  The woman still had a green halo around her from being recently transported/transmuted/whathaveyou.

"Hm?  Oh, long island, can't you tell?" the woman was being pleasant enough.  The man was wary, though.  Or shy, she couldn't tell.

Long Island, what an interesting coctail of geo number 7-dash-fourteen, subsection seven-B, i believe.  The man said to the effect.  The woman, agreed, to the effect.  Once the green glow wore off, he got a good look at her.  Nice scales, a bit furry though under a wing.  And i think a fin-job.

"No, they're real.  People ask me all the time, really, i don't mind.  I'd be darned curious myself.  I say just get it off your mind, you know?"

He was dubious.  He wasn't going to press it though.  Pressed...  A pressing reminder...  "Proprietor!  I request number 7-dash-fourteen, subsection seven-B, no wait!  subsection fourteen-colon-twelve-colon-ninety six."  She was impressed, he knew how to order a geo number 7-dash-fourteen.  And he always caught someone tryin to skim on the dash.

"Why am I so physically drawn to you?  What must go through that mind of yours?  I wish you'd let me in, but i'll just sit in silence with you, looking into your eyes..."  She blushed.

The woman was clearly intoxicated.  He requested the handlebar-mustached man to check her drink.  Just as he thought, it wasn't subsection seven-B.  But a seven-A... :83:39:32.  To be precise.  So one could see how a mistake could easily be made.  The effects on this female might be irreversable though.  She might not be prepared for the effects.  One can't expect a man of such establishment ownership/runnage, to make such a mistake.  Well, the man, he checked the vial first, and it was satisfactory, so he let her have it.

"Thanks...  You know, i usually don't let guys pay, they sometimes think it means they're owed something, you know?  But i don't mind being with you.  I wouldn't even mind it if you asked me to repay the kindness, you know?"

Clearly, the effects had made themselves evident in her speech pattern and subject matter.  He knew too well, that she was not thinking clearly.  Clearly, thinking, but not clearly.  He had clarity, oh crystaline clarity.  but crystals have cuts and ...  Well, anyway, facets.  This poor girl, he thought, "here, you're not even realizing what's wrong with you, have some R-J-six four nine.  It works for me."  He reaches into his pocket where he's got his RJ649.

"Woah! I'm not watching!" The bartender quickly turns his head, shielding his eyes with his hand.  He looks for a television, turns it on.

What a device, poor thing, he's addicted to it, must have to work this establishment to fund his habit.  He doesn't know about the physiomorphic effects of the neutrinos being excreted by that machine.  He knew too well, too well indeed.  Well, he gives her some RJ649, and then looks at her, she looks better, to him, at least.  He's tired with her though, he puts his hand on her shoulder, she looks up at him...  "Now then...

...you still want to fuck?"

"No."  That's better.

"That's better," he says.  "So...  you want to fuck?"  Yes.

"Yes."

See?  I told you.  Wait...

Friday, October 31, 2003 5:15 AM

Saturday, November 1, 2003 7:33 PM

The moral, obviously, is that when worlds collide someone's getting it on.  Fucking drunks.  i like the guy though, i really wish, for him, that it really was geo number whatever.  it could be, who knows?

anyway, is the background correct?  of course.  Listening to 2pac, love that shit.  cause rap rocks, cause where else can you hear bootsy with 2pac?  sample the best and get the best, i wish i wasn't afraid to sample, otherwise i know all the right soul/funk/r&b songs.

dre has good taste in r&b.  half the fun of rap is finding the hidden soul song.  ain't nothing but a gangsta/house party.  But it really just makes me want to hear soul.

anyway, i got to work on my portfolio thing, you know move some pixels.  anyway, couldn't go through the holiday dry, and of course i got good bros, ones i feel for, and they help me out, fuck yeah.  But i'm soooo broke now.  i couldn't get a redbull if i wanted.  so its mate today, and more pixel moving.  should be done by monday, i've set that date, then we'll see if i get that job...  and then! oh, glorious, never again a worry.

Saturday, November 1, 2003 7:40 PM

Sunday, November 2, 2003 10:58 PM

okay so now its the last bowl.  and i feel like writing, again, no surprise there.  but fiction was fun.  i want to do a little of that, till my high climaxes, and then i'll watch columbo.  my only transgression, well, after the 2/3 simpson's i watched tonight.  one transgression leads to more, but i've been waiting to watch this episode for about 2 weeks now, its the one where mrs. columbo supposedly dies...  i'm such a columboholic.

okay, so fiction.  how about something romantic?  Since i dreamed i got some oral satisfaction, last night, not from anyone i know.  can't even remember the context.  well, that's not romantic at all.  but it is man/woman shit, and that's all the same basket.

One of my favorite writing subjects is the meeting.  Boy meets girl, they hit it off.  Since it never happens to me, never like i fantasize.  Perhaps a good one would be where fate really fucked with two people.  always getting them together, but never letting them meet.  Ah, fuck it, i think its better to just start writing.  and how is it done, you ask?

Simple.  A first sentence, preferably one that sets up the coming words.  Like...

An empty cafe.

Then...  You need to have something happen, unless its like a still-life vignette, and that's no fun.  damn, this hgv, i'm already feelin it, and i need to write sometihng.  Okay, action.

In walks a reporter.

Now, so as not to be mundane, i'll describe him, with some wit, if possible.

Well, it is clear to see he was a reporter.  He had a brown hat, with a card sticking out saying "Press."  And a notebook and a pencil in hand.

"That's the most uninspired hollloween costume I've ever seen.  What's the problem, couldn't find a cheap old-fashioned flash-bulb camera at the first pawn shop you tried?" The woman was dressed in all red.  She was one of those girls who are dressed all in red...

"You're one of those girls who dress all in red...  First.  Where did you come from?"

"The shadows, a wiff of smoke."

"Yes from your characteristic long-nosed cigarette holder thing."

"Well, don't you have a writerly way with words?"  She took a puff from her cigarette, expelled slowly, letting the smoke glide through the air in a genteel way.

"And your all covered in rhinestones, sparklees, whatyamacall, sequence!

"Yes!"  She laughs.  She then feels sorry for losing her composure, but she quickly regains it.

"I like your costume...  Well, even though its cliche, its all about how you wear it, you know?"  He walks across the cafe, reaches over the counter and ...  And...  He stops, looks puzzled and straightens up.

"What were you looking for?" she asks.  She is again bemused.

"Huh?  Oh, you know, whatever you'd expect to be available to only two people in a cafe, with no one else in sight.  Why, I can just reach behind the counter and get myself a...  But i realized there was nothing for me to get, as I was not planning larceny but a gesture of arrogance.  I was thinking maybe a toothpick, that would be manly."

"And fair, as it would fulfill your oral fixation."

"But I forgot my true addictive impulse."  He walks to her.  "May I bother you for a cigarette?"  She smiles and gives it from her black pleather purse--because even ladies in red need black.  He puts his notepad/pencil into his left hand, takes the cigarette with his right.  She lights it for him.

"Thanks," he says, "I of course have my own lighter, but no cigarettes, what does this potentially say about me?  But, of course, I wasn't concealing that fact, I just had only one hand free."

"If anything you were drawing attention to that fact."  She puts her lighter back into her black purse.  The color of the lighter was green, but that should be of little importance.

"Thanks, well, anyway, might as well mention that if you wanna smoke, i of course have a pipe in my pocket, and packing beside it.  But enough of that, cigarettes are more than enough for delightful conversation."

She smiles.  There is a longish pause, the young man is at a lost for more words.  "What to say," is very evidentally written on his face as if it were written on his notepad.  "Shall I change topics, then?" she says.

"Sure," he says.

"Let's dance..." she says.

"Sounds great!  Let's go ... where?"

"Here."

"Alright by me...  Where's the music?"   She goes to remote, turns on the tv, which has digital cable, goes to the music choice station, "Smooth R&B."  They begin to dance.

Then of course, his stupid friend Joe, dressed as a pimp, busts through the door.  "Yo!  Cabs here, we gotta go!"  He's drunk, of course, his girlfriend's drunk, the rest of them are drunk or krunked, and he knows that he is probably krunked, to use the vernacular of his crowd.  Nonetheless, he turns to Joe, starts toward him, stops in midstep, turns to her, mouths "one sec" and points to the effect.  He speeds over to explain his situation.

"Listen Joe, go without me, i'll figure out some way.  Don't worry about me.  You ever have those chance encounters that seems so good that if you dare to doubt it, it would seem..."  He turns back to look on her, to be sure she was still there.

But she wasn't.

Sunday, November 2, 2003 11:41 PM

Tuesday, November 4, 2003 10:27 AM

Yay!  A grey background!  Woohoo!  Sarcasm abounds!

I feel like shit, it is taking every ounce of ... mmm, ounce...  anyway, its taking every ounce of personal fortitude to keep from crawling back into bed right now.

With no tv, no video games, sleep is my ownly recluse.  i sure wish i could just go to sleep.  ...

And wake up...  To no money, no food, i ate the last of my ralph's pizzas... okay, i got one more...  jesus.  No money, no food, no greenery.  I could starve and have greenery and still survive.  But no greenery.

Only grey.  grey clouds, grey mind, grey future, grey everything.  i can't bring myself to leave the house, its hard enough to keep alive.  and i'm supposed to find a job?  fuck.  and i'm almost out of anti-depressants...  When that happens, fuck... i don't know what will happen.

i really really really feel like i can't go on right now.  things are tough.  too tough.  i can't make it...  i reallly want to crawl into bed and hope i have more strength tomorrow.  i didn't really get that much sleep, anyway... yaaaawn.

fuck.  what a waste of human body tissue i am.  what a waste of air, waste of time, waste of everything.

i wish i could really go into it, but people get scared, waaa waaa, just because i'm a little more depressed than they're ready for.  Well, i'll predicate it with this promise, i won't kill myself.  But now that I've put that disclaimer...  Goddamn, do i want to kill myself.

Why?  So i can have someone else, like me, read something like this, and say, there goes a soul so quickly, a writerly genius (let's face it) so quickly snatched from the public's grasp.  Is it really arrogance to call myself a great writer when i also think no one will ever know it, and that greatness is useless without some accomplishment, and I know i'll never accomplish it....  i feel like such utter shit, i really want to go back to bed, i want to sleep, until its too late to live...  what i wouldn't give to just shuffle off this mortal coil...

or to have it wound a little less tight.

you coud call me on the phone, right now, and i'd be pleasant, like trees and gumdrops and summer rain, and all that lovely shit.  I could be very convincing, that i am indeed, a normal person.  But its all a lie.  Any kind of happiness i experience seems more like a momment of avoidance from life.  i've sent soo many emails, for what?

Me and my grey backgrounds...  I suppose i could muster up a little bit of care, but i don't really feel like it.  i'm not even looking as i'm typing, shows how little i care...  i dont' have any care, to care you must have hope... and hope i have none.

"Oh, woe is me...  Tragedy befalls my house like so much rain on a Spanish plain.  To die, would be too easy.  Suffering is my only way of life, and suffer i must.  Cry for me, all you souls of any care, for i have no care, and no tears, and i need your remorse, on the hour after my death.  I don't want to hear it before then, I want to hear the wails and lamentations of women on my grave, bereaving family, friends who shake their heads in disbelief, though they should have known it was coming..."

And why?  Why does our pathetic hero have such worries?  Is his true love gone?  Nay, for he has no true love, but his cat, who is happy and beside him, even when poor (hence, a true love indeed).  Has he lost his friends or his family, no...  they are still with him as well, even though they detest as much as he his own economic situation.  No...  The only reason I am so sad, besides of course, the natural chemical imbalance of my faulty brain, is money.

Money.

That mean, lean green.  Oh, its not green, an insult to green to call it green.  It is instead that horrible greenish color that money has.  money that bitch goddess.  Money that useless useful thing.  Money money money.  I can't beg for a dollar, cause a dollar is never enough.  Can't work every day, cause the job is just taken away.  Can't survive off nothing for long, because then, what is there to survive for?

My head hurts, i have a headache, and i don't have any fortitude.  i'd rather sleep.   so much rather sleep.  i want to lie in bed, and rest there, my mind, to rest.  my body, to rest.  My soul...  Hmm...  i wonder what would be the easiest, most painless way for me to kill myself right now.  Wit hwhat i have available.  I could cut myself, and watch the blood drip away, but what if i change my mind?  i don't want the option.  I could just take every pill i have in sight, and hope i don't wake up, though i probably would, and feel incredibly sick.

And if i didn't succeed in any of my endeavors, to snuff myself, then i'd have to wake to even more problems than i currently have.  Fuck it.  let's take a nap.  just until 2, then i will go see about that delivery position at that one resturaunt.  Why can't it be easier.  "Hi, i need a job."  "Cool, come in tomorrow."  No.  its never that easy.

i can't take rejection when i feel like this.

Sigh...  But responsibility, that evil bastard, that son of a bitch, that... oooh, it makes me so mad just thinking of him.  Responsibility.  I hate responsibility.  But i obviously listen to it.  I can't fuck over my friends.  I mean, i'll pay them back in the end, I always cover my debts.  But i'd rather not leave them to hope...

Oh wait, that's why i can't kill myself, i owe JB money.  After I pay him back, then maybe...  No, because then i'll have money, and not want to kill myself.  So...  I guess i'm just stuck living.

Goddamn responsibility, only reason i don't fall into bed and turn off my alarm and pull up my sheets, till my friends kick me onto the lawn and i drive home and fall asleep in my bed there.  No.  I can't do that.  I must get a job.  Yet it feels so difficult.  Alright, i'll take a quickish nap, cause reallly, i didn't get much sleep last night at all.  if i could afford a red bull, maybe... naw, fuck it, a quick nap, no longer than till 2, at the very least i can find out about this delivery job, and once i'm on my feet and on the street, perhaps i'll have more fortitude to look for a job.  3 hours of sleep.  after all, i've been emailing for the last 3 hours.  i can afford myself that much.

its pretty much all i can afford.

Oh, and that pixel "job" of mine?  In hopes of gettnig a job?  Fucking fell through.  I know, I know, eggs in one basket, but without a basket, i'm useless.  I feel all, well, worthless and without direction.  You know, the whole mouse analogy, with no lever, and just pain, i just feel like laying down and praying its over.  Once i have a job, i'll be much better...  Perhaps...

Fuck.

Anyway, i'll be up again, and i'll ... fuck.  whatever.  who cares.  not me.  fuck it.  nite.

or whatever.

Tuesday, November 4, 2003 11:01 AM

I mean, lets face it, the only reason i got the other job was through my sister.  How am i supposed to get a job without that kind of ...  Fuck it.  i gotta get some sleep.  or something.  fuck.

Tuesday, November 4, 2003 11:02 AM

don't worry, responsibility, that s-o-b, will keep me from oversleeping, fucking a, i hate that bitch.

Tuesday, November 4, 2003 11:02 AM

Wednesday, November 5, 2003 1:01 PM

Well, I'm doing slightly better today than i was yesterday.  partly because i think i might have gotten that delivery job.  Which will pay much better indeed.  Further the guy said he needed lots of hours. which is good by me.

Fuuck, i wonder why this app is acting so slow. fuck it.  i hate thta, because its like a word behin me.  So 'm typoing like i don't care or i'm high. arther, i don't care, thus i'm either depressed or high. and i'm neither.now i'm off to see if'm a barista. fuck that. but i need something to fall back on, won't know about this delivery job until friday. Interview went well though, and ithink that's all that matters, that and the fact i think i was one of the firsts.

i sure hope i get this fucking job, lord knows i need it.

alright, now i gotta decide whether i have aenough time to shower, god knows i'm sik of this fucking lag.  Okay, now that's  strange, but its interresting, i change the views and suddenly its no more lag, now i konw.  well, shit, they should tell you this shit.  Okay, anyway, dare i shower?  Hmm...  i'm so bad at time management.  partly because i wonder if i should do somethnig for like half an hour and then finally decide to, only to be late for whatever i need to be on time for.  and i can't be late anymore.

sure, its fun being late.  means more time for you, less time wasted waiting around for others--instead they wait for you... heh.  but that's no way to get by in the world, i've learned.  okay, okay.  so it works with school, cause they don't have to wait for you, they don't need you to start class, so i was fine back then, but now, shit, people care.  Which means i can't fuck up anymore.  no more fuck ups.

you know what sucks?  i don't know if i want to go into it.  may just make me... well, it may just take a while.  Should i shower, should i shower...  himm..  okay, 20 min to get there.  which means, i got 30 min.  can i take a 15 min shower?  i don't know, i'm very slow when it comes to showers, cause, you know, i like to take my time.  i don't ever brush my teeth except in the shower...  but showering later, is meaningless, seeing as this is what i really need to shower for...  sigh.  okay, i'll fucking rush it.  15 to shower, 15 to dress, 20 to get there.  hmm.  i need to be there at 2 and its now...  well, as soon as i hit the date button, i need to get out ...  so, arive... fuck it, later.

Wednesday, November 5, 2003 1:12 PM

Friday, November 7, 2003 4:06 AM

Day o umba day o don't you look any further...

such a good song.  whoops, lost my font color, ah, fuck it.  anyway...  so, things are better.  i wanted to use the green to signify as such.  but green doesn't mean "happy"--i don't have a color for it.  No less than grey means sad--grey just means grey, and green, well, green.  But i am happy, despite the grey.  it was getting a bit...  close to despair, let's say.  But i got that delivery job.

Soon, i'll have the mean green, and then i'll have the green-green.  and then!  Well, a lot of things.  Oh, i'll have enough mean green, i think, to pay for more things, like living--something i've yet to do.  I'm looking forward to living.  Very much.

Much more than I was ever looking forward to the release of death--as i was only looking for release from pain.  And this has accomplished the job, very well, with just the scent of money.  Soon.  Very soon, hopefully, i'll be more than smelling it.  And!

Hopefully i'll be getting laid soon.  I've denied myself tv and video games these last few weeks, but even longer now, i've denied myself of women.  Perhaps its wrong of me to think of them as the most expensive of acceptable addictions (more expensive than many unacceptable ones, as well).  But i think the song is fairly right on: TCB or TYA.  You know what i mean.

Take care of business, or turn yourself around.  And boy am i sick of turning myself around...  Perhaps i'll write a song to the effect...  Perhaps i'll enjoy my slumper, unencumbered, by the weight of my own problems.  I ...  Well, there are still a few things, like today, i felt so nauseous i threw up, i think it had something to do with what i ate--maybe my stomach isn't used to eating food.  But it doesn't worry me at all.  I'm almost out of SSRI's, but it doesn't worry me at all.  I'll soon have the one medication i care most for...  Well, soon, i may be able to get something i Should care more for, but haven't yet got to cherish and enjoy, thus, haven't cared for.  Couldn't risk caring for it.

That's right.  Vulgar word placed here.  For: oh the sweet joys of loving a woman.  God.  I can't wait.  I finally have... well, i'll soon have, money, and thus time, and thus, i can't wait.  Sight.  Well, that was going to be sigh.  But sight is better.  For it is in sight, and i have sight.  And soon.  Unless it slips from grasp, and there is no way--NO WAY--i'm going to let it, i'll have the future, the happiness, the fulfillment, i've been meaning to secure.  And yes, through monetary means--those who think it can't buy happiness--well, its not that they know don't know where to shop--more like, they don't realize it can sure help alleviate misery.  Especially when one's main problems are related to money.  And i'm nearly positive mine are.  True, after a certain ammount, perhaps money doesn't buy happiness, and that ammount is personally subjective.  For a starving third-world child, perhaps the little i have is more than enough.  Perhaps the amount i'm looking forward to receive isn't enough for the rich motherfuckers who survive by exploiting the starving third-world children.  But it's defintely the right ammount, i believe, for me.  That retail job...

Well, it really sucked.  I'm glad to be free of it--not glad to be thrust into such a position, but glad to be free of it.  That money, well, it was just a taste.  i hate tastes withuot satisfaction.  That's like if i had a single nug, the size of a pea--i'd rather throw it out, than smoke it, practically--though ideally i'd save it till i could add to it and truly enjoy it.  But a taste, a taste is a waste, a wetted apetite with no satiation.  Fuck that!  Fuck that retail job!  Fuck that, since i probably will make much more, very soon, too, i hope...  Oh such is bliss.  I'm not tasting, i'm smelling right now.  I'm enjoying the bouquet of potential.  Oh, and it is a sweet aroma indeed.  And soon, soon, i will be able to gorge myself.  And happiness...  elusive sonofabitch that it is...  Oh that will indeed be mine.  Fuck the serotonin levels and all that bunk.  Fulfillment is greater pill than any i could hope for.  Hell, the mean green, even though green-green is associated, is definitely something i could use more.  But only because the former is more versatile.  Clothing, shelter, food, all the necessities i've been skimping on...  AND and women.  Oh, day o umba day o na jam bay um bay o...  o o o oooo.  Don't look any further, further...

Ah, i will sleep well tonight.  Very well, indeed.

Friday, November 7, 2003 4:39 AM

Saturday, November 8, 2003 3:49 AM

Things are interesting, indeed.

and no your eyes do not deceive

what you see is what you must believe

what you need is what you must bereave

and things may be as how you see

or they may not, be it up to me

I'd make them so and shall it be

on paranoia you all feed

and your eyes do not deceive

if my word is what you heed

there'd be no fear there'd be no need

for jealousy, hate or greed

and freedom regardless of race or creed

now you can drink your coffee i'll drink my tea

so its up to you or its up to me

with the edge of my hand i chop down a tree

i'll do anything, for you, baby

aint no might aint no may be

cause lately you drive me crazy

and great weed's got me feelin hazy

i'm gonna leave with his lady

don't you believe me say, hey

and introduce me to your, say, wait

hold on with your stroll, i say fate

has brought us two, this same place

a stranger, me and you, paradise waits

oh its up to you, say grace

but don't give up a meal, to save face

don't go overboard to save waist

but i must confess my first taste

is to a girl with big brain weight

you tell me that's all fine and that's great

let's sip some more wine and we'll mate

things are going fine at this rate

that girl of his will be mine, just wait

you know i've had this feeling as of late

you know its not something you can debate

you feelin it too, you feel that same way

like i'm feelin you, you feel the same way

like i'm lovin you, you love the same way

get more blush in your cheek than with amway

once you get a taste for the heat, you cant stay away

getting burn's just too fun, you say, anyway

let's leave these bitches to moan and player-hate

let's do something natural, let's do what's innate

i know you aint worried, naw, you aint afraid

aint one to get on your knees just to pray

one to stand up and take what's coming your way

cause this passage of love don't go oneway

walk with me down streets of concrete and clay

we only deny when we stop to delay

you know what they say, girl, you know what they say

the better the job, the better the pay

and i work so hard, don't care to get paid

get yours, a few times or more, or i'm ashamed

get on the floor, open your drawers, cause this is a raid

dance like you want, dance like you need, to get laid

dance while its hot, dance while i say, oh bay-baye

baby, baby, i need your lovin, i need your, wait

hold up on your stroll, take your time or it'll take a toll

lets see how you move, lets see you rock, now see your roll

see how i move, your out of control, you tilt and fold

but i take a hold, now i make a move, not too bold

but i tell you this guy's girl will be mine and sold

lets dance on the floor, all night or more,

won't run out of time nor for the door

i like it soft as well as hardcore

i've seen your moves lets see some more

never be a chore, never be a bore

we could do it for a thousand nights or more

your guy wants to snore, i want you on the floor

okay, wait, hold up your stroll, my god, i'm so forgetful

all this weed and charm had me forget the one i adore

you have me feelin like calling you a flirtatious, hold

up on your stroll, i'm only kidding, you got me sold

the girl was mine, this is a tale that never gets old

i told you, she's gonna be mine

i told you, your gonna be mine

i told you, girl, you look so fine

i sold you, now you're mine all mine

i told you, your gonna be mine

repeat to fade (I told you, you're gonna be mine)

Saturday, November 8, 2003 4:50 AM

Tuesday, November 11, 2003 7:55 PM

God, i'm bored.  Lord almighty, am i bored.

So bored.

So amazingly bored.

Not depressed.  Just bored.  Can't be depressed, nothing to be depressed about.  Perhaps if i was, i wouldn't be so freakin bored.

But i'm certainly not green, so i'm certainly bored.  And when i'm this bored, i turn to my usual waster of time.  Stupid idiot box and its idiot cousin, the video game.  But i don't have cable into my room, a tv, but no cable, so its kinda silly sitting on my desk as it is, but i'm sooooo bored...  and if i had the cable into my room, i'd be watching it right now, but the tv is being occupied (the tv in the living room) of course, i could go into jake's room and watch that tv, but that's just silly.  So... Well, maybe, there could be something on...  no, that's stupid.

i really hate tv, but if its not for it, i don't know what i'd do.  i really think i'll do something drastic someday, not out of depression, but just sheer boredom.  bored boring boredom.

So... i write.  i write cause i'm bored, but just to pass the time, till i can do that stupid consuming act of watching or playing a stupid game, which is again, just watching while pushing buttons.  neither activity is very good for me, such a waste of my time.  if only i had some ...  yeh, if i had that, i'd be fucking set right now.  i'd be feelin all kinds of creative.  I'd write a song, play a song, write a story, something, anything.  anything would be better than what i've been doing, stupid video games and television...  what wastes of time they are.

i gave them up, and i missed them, i did.  but i did get much more done.  much more indeed.  sigh.  now if only i had my motivator.  but i don't--que sera.

lord, i'm tired, i could just go back to sleep.  sleep, what another waste of time.  sleep, tv, or video games, whatelse is there?  nothing, without my motivator.

Ironic, isn't it?  for so many others, green is a de-motivator.  But for me, it is a motivator.  i'm not completely sure why, but it is.  i thought it was a rationalizing thing, like if i do something while i smoke, i won't be wasting it, or letting it waste my life away, as it does everyone else's.  But it can't just be that.  There really is something about it that makes me feel creative.  I really wish i understood it all.  its no doubt some kind of brain chemistry thing.  like the neo-cortex gets more neurotransmitters going from the hypothalmus, something like that.  but there's nothing, to my knowledge, on the subject.  and i don't know where i'd find such an article, certainly not one of my science mags, certainly not in any smoker mag.  so, i guess it will just be a mystery.

god, i'm so freakin bored right now.  i don't really feel like writing about anything else but how freakin bored i am.  sigh.  i'm so bored, i think i'm gonig to do laundry.  god, that really is bored.  and after i get tit started... then what?  i guess i could read.  that's not so bad, supposedly.  At least that's what they all say.  but its a consuming event.  and you know how i feel about those.  still, reading can't be bad, or else, i'd feel guilty for writing.  heh.  i don't know, don't care.  too bored to care.  caring isn't much relief from boredom.  not consuming enough.  and i need a consuming event.  soooo tired.  i'll probably end up gonig to sleep early tonight.  why stay up?  what for?

hmm.  maybe i am depresed and just don't know it.  I've ran out of ssri's.  Its been about 3 days.  and i can feel it.  it makes me tired.  so tired.  i slept for 14 hours last night.  would have slept longer but i set my alarm just so i could call and find out when i'm working next.  Work.  there's a good thing to do.  But i'm too tired.  too bored.  too everything.  if only i had my motivator...

i entertain easily, sometimes.  like i went to get bleach, you know for that whole laundry thing, which i'm soooooo looking forward to...  well, i got to slide around on the slick floors of the supermarket, pushing around the cart, using its inertia to pull me.  i wore my slipper-socks, cause, well, i just didn't fucking care.

i don't know, maybe i'm depressed.  i'm just not...  in any understandable way.  cause i'm not unhappy.  i can't be unhappy, things are going to well for me.  Not SUPER well, after all, but well enough, for sure.  A lot better than they were.  i could probably use something to f--well, i shouldn't be vulgar.  but i could use somethnig soft and feminine.  oh well. such is life.  my life at least.  i feel like i aint got nothin better to do, i'd even listen to some chick yammer on if only for a possibility of some lovin.

you know, i don't even miss the lovin.  i mean, the vulgar lovin.  i miss the non-vulgar lovin.  The huggin, and the kissin, the touchin, the snugglin.  The sleeping-in-the-same-bed lovin.  The, looking-into-each-other's-eyes lovin.  That stuff.  i talked to my psych, you know, to get my ssri's, i sure hope they come in the mail soon.  i miss going to see the psych, but i'm getting a second job, maybe, with a company known for their health benefits and whatnot.  But it's not a "company" job, just because i work for a company--its a job to be a coffee-jockey.  But again, benefits.  I could then get to see my psych more often, which is something i'm looking forward to.  Because, as i was about to say, she helped me remember something i forgot i was missing.  Well, that doesn't sound good at first, but its strange, whenever she reaffirms anything that bothers me, i feel validated in the bothering.  And i said that it wasn't *really* bothering me, as its so typical, but it does bother me.  And that is: my lack of social interaction with the feminine kind.  I could really use some of that.  I could really use that.

Fucking eh.  which is like "fucking A" but not as strong.  Fucking eh.  Oh well, such is life, such is my life, such is the life i've resigned myself to, whether i need to or not, whether i should or not.  I had some interesting dreams last night.  Such a non-sequitor, usually i bother to use another paragraph for such things, but i jsut don't care.  I don't care so much so, i msut be depressed, but i'm determined, though i'm a bit "melancholy" not to get "down"--for i can't afford it.  Not now that things are getting better.  Yes, this is purely a chemical thing, cause my future doesn't look bad, i'm just running a little low on serotonin gas, is all.  But i must survive nonetheless.  And i know i can, for my future doesn't look too bad, as i said.

Joe Tex "Show Me"--show me a man that's got a good woman...  I want to be that man.  I want a *good* woman.  I want the kind that gives love as strongly as i can, for i got lots of love to give.  Lots indeed.  Wasting away.  Shared only with my cat.  Such is my life.  Such is my life.  perhaps i could harness my depression into a good song, i should record, but i'm too depressed to, so, catch-22.  oh well.  i suppose i should start that laundry.  After all, i went to the store, got that bleech, and seperated it all, already.  Sigh.

bored + lack of care + good potential future + no pills + no illicit drugs + no mind-distracting consumnig events = mild depression.  if it weren't for that good, potential future, i guarantee it wouldn't just be mild.  but i at least got that, so i'm not too bad.  I'll be okay.  No need to worry.  Sigh.  Might as well start on that fucking laundry.

Oh, here comes my cat, i'll get a good love fix--you know, of a methodone quality.  but hey, i take what i can, when its what i got.  oh, right, laundry.  sigh.  goddamn cat, don't you leave, i gotta go.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003 8:29 PM

Tuesday, November 11, 2003 10:04 PM

So.  Still being bored, i decided to try writing.  I was reading, as i mentioned earlier.  I read some fairy tales, and thought, bored that i am, i should try writing one.  But it didn't come out too well.  I think the boredness shows.  It was so pitiful a piece, i don't think i'll even save it as a seperate piece, and just paste it here for your perusal.  I'd just delete it, but then it would really be a waste.  Might as well force someone else to read it.

A modern fairy tale

There once was a man, a wise man, who had three daughters, all fair and kind.  Indeed, they were all very beautiful, having taken after their mother--genetics, being what it is.

The first daughter, who's name was Contriva, thought she knew what it took to get by in the world.  Money.  So when she became of age--legally, that is--she married right away, to a man of wealth.  But the man was cold and distant, having spent all his energy aquiring his wealth.  And soon, Contriva became cold and distant as well, having spent all her energy spending his wealth.  She lived comfortably the rest of her days, but they were dreary ones, so perhaps "lived" is not an appropriate word.

The second daughter, who's name was Whateva, thought she knew what it took to get by in the world.  Beauty.  So she married a man who tall, dark, and handsome.  But the man was far to vain and spent all the woman's dowry on beauty products for himself.  And when that was gone, and Whateva became too old, he got himself a younger model.  Whateva was too old and without a dowry, so she never found another beautiful man.  She died of an overdose of botox.

The third daughter, who's name was Tres, thought she knew what it took to get by in the world.  Love.  So she took her time, found a man who was neither rich nor handsome, but took nothing from her but time, and gave everything in the way of tenderness and patience.  They never became rich, and they never had beautiful children, but they had happy children and they lived happy lives.

Until they died.  Tres and her husband died of the plague, because the worst things always happen to the best people.  It was quite a shock to everyone, as the plague was thought to have disappeared some 500 years ago.  So the orphans went into foster care, but having been first raised by good people, they turned out pretty good, despite the system's well-known reputation in the matter.

The two children, a girl and a boy, seperated.  The boy, who's name is, Someth, and the girl, Ingorotha, lost touch, had their own children and so it went.  Their children had their own children, and so forth.  The end.

Moral:

Life goes on, so fuck it.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003 10:06 PM

Sunday, November 16, 2003 7:20 PM

Yes the color is correct.  and the brightness, as you expect

i just got done talking to stephen, as always an enjoyable experience, he hadn't been online lately.  i'm curious, we've been aiming for quite a while, i wonder if its sporadically...

Sunday, November 16, 2003 8:11 PM

i got detoured, and not even on that!  ugh, detours can be a problem occasionally.  hmm, some ginko.

  i need vipocetine though, good combo...  iwonder if i got any laying about...

well, it seems our conversations are sporadic indeed.

but they are a deal more interesting than most people's.  sigh, he talked me into watching that horrid trash "the oc."  and i must, as i promised him for being a good-sport on telling me about his personal situation, not something he cares to deal with, neither i, in general.  took a bit of coaxing, all he wanted to talk about was "the oc."

oooh, i got a kojak second parter i'm looking forward to, hopefully soon.

as it is, though, i should do my project.  sigh, another project, another hope for money thing... oh, but it is so boring.  ah!  i know. now that i have my inspiration on hand, i can work on the game thing.  yes, much more entertaining.  okay, so, as usual, better to do little than nothing.  so i'm off.

oh, but things, in general, are okay, i've no prescription drugs, but plenty of mid-grade and plenty of redbull, i can always get more, and yes, the game is definitely tickling my fancy. then, yeah yeah, i'll work on the other project.  i just take a bit to get the feet wet--then i'll go full-bore, much too late, but something will come of it.

and this is certainly not just a waste of my time.  so ta, for now, as i would say to stephen.

Sunday, November 16, 2003 8:27 PM

Monday, November 17, 2003 3:20 PM

I wonder if OJ Simpson ever listened to Orange Juice Jones' "walking in the rain."

Monday, November 17, 2003 3:21 PM

Friday, November 21, 2003 2:16 AM

So, I just got finished talking with Stephen.  We talked for about 2 hours, and frankly, that wears out the fingers a bit.  and the mind, as far as energy, that is.  However, there was only one thing we didn't talk about, since he couldn't care less about the subject.  (However, i did learn something interesting, some new study came out saying that a chance of a male being born homosexual increases 30 percent with having older brothers.  There's a possible correllation with androgen levels in the womb, that supposedly effects things...)

Anyway, we talked about non-hetero things, so I never got to describe my most exciting experience at work, to date.

You know why I became a delivery guy, or why i wanted to be one, right?  You've seen "Loverboy" a fine specimen in the cadre of Patrick Demsey's oeuvre.  Or whatever.  Its all about a pizza delivery boy who ends up romancing all the lonely, beautiful 30ish housewives who order "triple anchovies."

Well, I've been hoping for at least something promising if not promiscuos to occur on one of my routes.  I've only been doing it for two weeks now.  And already i got my first taste, unaware, i was quite unready to capitalize on it, but i will be better prepared next time.  Forewarning, its a bit of an anticlimatic end, but i'll recreate.

I'm a little wary though, not because anything portrays me in an improper light, i was more than proper.  but because i may dwell a bit on some details, but a writerly toungue doesn't suggest a wandering hand.  and i do intend to savor this momment, roll it aronud a bit first, then swallow.

Anyway, it was an order for an apartment house, but it looked like more just a fancy apartment.  I worked in a fairly upscale area, so i'm not surprised to be going to this location.  It was, of course, the last delivery of the night, i'm closing.

The only way this would have been better is if it was some kind of cash only delivery, right at closing, and it was ready so soon to close time, that i clocked out before, and pocketted the tip.  Not something i've done yet but somethnig i've seen other delivery guys do at the end of their shift.  i would only do it if it had be done so that they could close the register, no impropriety...  indeed my desire to keep this job overrides any other carnal impulses.

Indeed, that is perhaps kept my mind from being quicker, since i knew anything indescent woudl half to wait till after the clock... especially with the owner working there "hey owner, i need to fulfill a fantasy, i'll be back in, like, twenty, well more like an hour, or can't i just clock out in the morning...."  Yeah right.  So i realize now the only way is to get the pitch in while you're at the door.

Well, the fact is, that i never hit on customers, well i never hit on anyone, without at least a dozen meetings, me the freewheeling social butterfly that i am.

See, this i what i was telling stephen.  If there's somethnig you want to explore in writing, get it off your chest, if you can manage to get back to topic eventually.

That said.

I took an order for an apartment.  It was late, end of my shift, last order of the night.  I'm thinking, as i'm getting into resident parking (since there's plenty of other open unmarked spots, they can't possibly care), "okay, okay, 5555 whatever street, okay, 554, no wait apartment 555, right, okay, that's um... probably 5th floor... okay... coupon for two free drinks, okay, remember the diet cokes, okay..."  basically this is all i think about, desperate not to fuck up, needing this job so badly.

Two diet cokes.  Cause its important, i think.  Maybe not.

I get the orders, stack them on my left arm, take a diet coke put it in one front pant pocket, take the other, put it in the other front pant pocket.  Jean pants, by the way, and my deliver shirt, and a sweater underneath it (for warmth, and also so i'll never have to wash the damn thing, hehe--its been doing pretty good surviving ash and flour, looks better, with the printing all glossy, never been washed--doesn't smell, i check every time, and take it off immediately after work).  Frankly i don't care too much about what i'm wearing, but don't want to seem too ... detail-oriented when i talk about what she was wearing.

The order was for a woman's name, so i already had some slight expectation.  I walk up to the fifth floor, after first gonig to the wrong floor.  Of course here i need to explain i've changed some details to protect the innocent, or merely me.  She did not live on 5555 Whatever street Apt. 555.  So as it was, guessing the 5th floor wasn't so bad.

Actually, the people i met on the way into the building said (because i first said to them "hey, you guys know how to get to apartment 555") yeah you only go up one.  and it was p1.  so i assumed go to 1.  but they must have meant 1 from 1, cause as it was the floor number was the second numeral.

And so clearly, neither the first nor the second numeral must have been 5.

So, as its all fine if you eventually get back on topic.

But quickly, i didn't see any problem with asking these two people, and giving them her address, since they were a couple that clearly lived there... so they knew then that someone was getting a delivery order at some address they've already forgotten...  I'm more worried about accidentally commiting impropriety than actually thinking of commiting it, so my own concern is whether its not good for the person getting the order--you know, says that someone is obviously at home there, and that they like this kind of food, or whatever.  RIGHT, getting on topic.

I get to the "fifth" floor, i finally find the apartment, and i knock on the door.

She was probably 33 at most.  26 at youngest.  My best guess would be 28, or someone who looked damn good for their age.  She was clearly part irish, which i always dig.  Soft freckles about the face, slight tan, brunette, i'd say about 5'8".  And you know how i am about hair.  I'd say it was little longer than shoulder length when down, but she had it in an untidy bun, that was nonetheless appealing.  A nice deep mahoganny brown in the thickest areas, then medium-light auburn in general, with slight natural highlight around the bangs area, but i couldn't say if those were bangs or simply shorter strands that frame the face that didn't make it into the hasty bun.

She was slender, i'd guess, 135, maybe 140.  Maybe she was 29 when i come to think of it.  You could barely tell with what looked more like slight sun-wrinkles, which are far more appealing than age-wrinkles.  And i mean very slight.  In general, a very fresh complexion.  Nice hazel-brown eyes.  A light pinkish hue, not ruddiness, to the lips, that was attractive as well.  She was also smiling constantly, which always makes a person seem more attractive.  But of course, if it were just another pretty face i'd forget by now, indeed its not her face that keeps running through my mind (at will, you know, intentional recall).

Again she was slender, and dare i say, with slight tone.  Regardless, no unpleasant curves, and i for sure could realize as much.  Indeed the way she approached the door, i dare say she probably curled up in bed beside her two cats.  Which i will get to shortly perhaps.  Strange, i almost forgot, but she wore glasses also, i so dig glasses.  But perhaps its just because i think i could visual precisely the type of mahogany, medium-thickness, feminine, but not too contemporary, frames.  I think she had them, but whenever i saw her straight on, her smile had a way of overshadownig the frames, you know, a smile brings intimacy to a face, takes away any intermediary pieces of glass or metal.

So, further, i dare say she was reading in bed for she was clearly wearing some bed clothes.  Seems a bit like something you might get at victoria secret as "sensible sleep ware."  Sensible clearly doesn't mean unarousing.  It was a light lilac in color, a bit like silk, may have been silk-cotton, but high silk concentration.  It didn't have any patina, but it definitely had the drape and breeziness of silk.  The top was spaghetti straps, or straps of a half-inch at most.  They may have been made out of something more cottony.  They were atached to a piece that was cropped at waist, and covered slightly more than a halter, like 5 inches of fabric in the front part creating somewhat of a neckline, the fabric was of a more cottony blend, like the straps, and had a subdued embroidered flower design.  She was clearly a size small (ex-retail worker).  Maybe extra small.  If its victoria secret, or where i used to work, i'd say it was an xs, for top and bottom.  Luckily, the pottoms run long, as they often do on sleep ware, as she was a bit taller than average.  And anythnig that runs in xs/s/m/l doesn't have lengths like ankle or long.  This was clearly a pajama set.  The top of the bottoms was another 5 inches of cotton-silk hung low on the hips, and the same for fringe on the leg.  Otherwise that same thin, breezy, high-silk, light lilac fabric with no patina.

For shoes she had slippers.  Cotton, but nothing rediculously fuzzy.  I think a light brown in color.  i don't know, when i was at that eye-level it was to pet the cats and keep them from excaping from the house--and she had some cute cats, young, about a year each.  Ah, but, it was only when she reach down to pet the cats, just as i was getting up that I got the view i have ingrained.  No doubt the rush of adrenaline and whatnot signals it went through my hypothalmus and thus made the image one of the emotional-memmories that are easier to recall.  I could draw it i wanted, i see it so clearly.  They were lovely, and i was long without seeing any in three-dimension and without any intermediary cloth or whatnot.  But as she bent down to get the cat...  And mind you, before then, she was a bit demure openning the door, only poking her out.

Women don't always dress sexy to arouse men, often its just to arouse themselves, i believe.  Anyway, again, i didn't get the impression there were any males in the house.  The cats came running after her when she openned the door, like they were just recently on her bed, lying contently beside her.  The meal wasn't really large enough for two.................  Okay, actually, considering her size...  The large pasta was for her.  DAMN who was the main dish for?  Here i thought the two diet cokes were for her, as the coupon is for two drinks, and what man drinks Diet Coke anyway?  Honestly!  Well, hell, i still think she was alone.  Besides, cold salad won't go bad if you immediately refrigerate it.  Perhaps something to have later with her second diet coke..  Who can say.

And who can say, that even though she was getting more comfortable about me when i was playing with the cats, and petting them, and talking to her about them...  And she would move from behind the door, quickly, to being in plain view at all times, and laughing, and smiling, and telling me things about the cats...  Indeed, this might be because she found me so clearly non-threatening, after all, i am non-threatening.  I love cats, for gods sake.  Still, i can't help but wonder if not inentional, a sort of freudian flirting, i mean, if you're uncomfortable around a person, you hold your own person tightly, keeping such breezy clothing from offering so clearly a view...  What a view!

Again, there was nothing beneath that flimsy sleeping wear, and she had nice, symmetrical, well shaped, youthful, perky, in all ways, soft, well textured at least, very perfectly shaped, like Hiram's Greek Slave (she had a good rack), size B, B and a half, not that VS does half-sizes.  I'd say she could go either way, she could wear c, but in general a b.  No.  Just b.  But a healthy b.  And size matters less than quality, i've seen many in my day, if mostly second-hand.  These were quality.  This was better than any tip, but i'm still dumbfounded.

I take my receipt and leave, i even have to come back because in my stupor, i of course forget to get the stub.  (Not like "drooling stupor" more like, elated, embarassed, and feel a bit bad like i willed it to happen or something, so wanting to leave quickly and on good terms, stupor.)  So, i even had my wits about me when i knocked again for the stub.  I saw one of the cats already peering into the box of food.  I said somethnig stupid like "better watch out, he looks curious."  When i SHOULD have said.

"So is he going to help you finish that."

And if that doesn't illicit the important information.

"Maybe he'll wait to see how much of that you can finish by yourself."

Or at least, "hey my name," and "I usually work thursdays, you shouldn't mention that name i just gave you."

And ideally gotten around to "hey, i'll be off in about half an hour, here's my cell number, i'd like to see how much that cat finishes off."  Or somethin even more clever.

BUUUUUUT no.  I just wish her a good night, and walk a little dazed back to my car.  Once on my way back i remember, damn, I forgot the coupon for the cokes.  Luckliy the owner didn't noice or didn't care, its not like a really important coupon.  Only once i clock out and everything's all right do I start revelling in the bitter-sweet momment and another fucking missed opportunity, with a minor consollation prize.

Oh well, i don't plan on losing this job any time soon, and i'll be more prepared.  I will make my latent, post-adolescent Loverboy fantasies come true.  Hopefully, next thursday she'll call again, or another xs-vs (extra small victoria secret) will call, and i'll think of some non-creepy way to suggest that I'm a delivery boy that...

you know it...

delivers.

Friday, November 21, 2003 3:53 AM

Monday, November 24, 2003 6:56 AM

Lord i am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and i shall be healed.

(lights spliffs.)

aaaah

there is my holy communion.

sigh, feelin good very god, coo, goodwhatever.

what to do, what to do with my mind...

write a song.

simple enough

maybe it'll be put to music, right now, just some strange association lyrics:

morning opens the eyes

and desire closes them again

the hopes i despise

the feelings coming again

reach over to feel you

but you're not there

what is there for me to do?

give me love so fair

like your face

so nice so tender

i can see it

please return to sender

FUck it, i'd rather listen to music than create it, for now.

Donovan, that's some good shit.  the best i listen to sometimes in a day--well i listen to so much...

i'm jsut mad about fourteen.... actually 13... thats the floor, my evelator stuck everymore.

here's one i didn't recognize right off, but i know this song, good song, Mercy - Love.  I could see myself in a brown turtleneck singing and playing guitar with a cute ass girl next to me on tamborine. Really cute, she can sing, but obviously knows no instruments, plays the tamborine cause its all she can do but loves me so, wants to perform with me at an open mic, wants to be my side...  oh this song is putting me in such a lovely whistful mood, i must write a song.

that seems like good imagery to work off.

but i must do chords, i must close the door, and i must say goodbye to this concillary inspiration.

okay.  lets see

you know what, fuck it, i haven't done an orhysong is so long, and i'm so in the mood, let's see what happens.

Monday, November 24, 2003

Monday, November 24, 2003 8:09 AM

that didn't work, and by that i meant the recording how much time i wasted, i don't know, as the time stamp didn't work either. gr.

anyway, i got music to listen to, and some writing to do, other than this dribble.

Monday, November 24, 2003 8:11 AM

Friday, November 28, 2003 1:30 PM

Sigh, a bit greyish, but overall green.

i'm almost out of green, but i'll be alright

i'm out of cigarettes, but i'll be alright

in fact, i'm quitting cigs, and got me some patches, and i'll be alright

cause i finally, finally, finally got my meds

no thanks to that mail order fuck-up place, they fucked up at least three times, dropped my order each time, and ooh, it makes me mad.  and then i find out i'm not even saving any money like mother kept assuring me, and thus i waited for weeks! without meds, and for nothing, i went to my local b&m....

i don't even know when i'll get to buy 'nich again, lost almost all of my tips in poker, grumble grumble, but even if i have to go a few days, until i work again, i'll survive.  cause i have my pills.  zoloft and welbutrin.  finally.  finally!

i think i may be immagining the effects, or maybe my brains just anticipating the relief, but it feels its already kicking in, i took a pill, without water, before even signing to pay, cause i've been sooo, well, you can read the entries for yourself.

i got food though, and maybe not spending cash, maybe none of the lean-green, but i got my meds... already, i'm feeling a bit sedated...  perhaps i will actually sleep well for the first night in many many weeks.  oh.  people have no idea.  i used to live like this, the last few weeks have been like all the years, up until a few years ago.  Tough, struggling, going crazy for no reason, still surviving of course, but why?  why put myself through that?  i gained nothing by this period of pain.

anyway, i recorded since i was almost out, i'm saving enough to barely be more than a taste, by the hgv, only.  So only one more day, but i'll survive now.  i'll survive now.

yawn, i feel about drowsy.  when i wake up, i'll save all the songs, then save em again in proper format, and you can listen to my "one-man concert."  I just did basically all my songs from the first year of my musicianship.  i've only really been one for about 2 and half, maybe three years now...  time is getting a bit muddled, but not in any bad way.  Before i never had a problem with when i started something, since i never really did anything before to recollect.

anyway, aaaaah, so relaxed, so blissfully spent.  i've been forced... okay, maybe not forced, but resorting to nonetheless "taking care of myself" about twice a day, at least, during this period, that's how i got through freakin highschool.  i wouldn't be relaxed as i am now, unless i took care of myself, but thankfully zoloft does the trick quite nicely.  strange, but taking care of myself recently took as little 15 minutes, while i was off the meds, now it should probably take about an hour as usual--which is fine by me, and i'm sure would be fine by any woman, i'm sure they appreciate a 60 min man--of course, when ti comes to lasting with a woman, i can do as long as i need, 60 min would be more along the minimum time.

sigh, i'm like a good-hammer without a nail to hit.  What's the point?  oh well, i must have disposable income first, i'm getting closer to that point, but not quite there.  oh well, no worries.  literally, i'll be fine, i know will.

now.

Friday, November 28, 2003 1:44 PM

Sunday, November 30, 2003 4:03 PM

my god this shit takes so long.  so fucking a, god shit, argh!  i hate computers, i love/hate computers--fucking eh.  or maybe i just love/hate windows.  i don't know, but this is pissing me off--god damn processes and tasks and unrecognized hardware configuration errors and oh, it makes me so mad sometimes.

Granted, its better than the days of the dreaded-blue screen of fatal-exception error.  Or worse, computer freeze.  That never really happens anymore, it just gets inconvenient, but more convenient than it has been, and always more convenient than before them.

oh well, i guess i'll just have to burn the cd on jakes.

and i'm almost out of blood from this stone, or rather molecules of value from dust.  resinnating from the hgv.  Works good, but i've been using it for two days now, and it must be done.  Sigh, now i'll have to do without.  Such a pain transitioning.  From having to not having.  Not having isn't as bad as the transition.

jees, i've got it almost full going, but i'm gettnig some trickling... ah yep, its just burning now.  oh well, might as well smoke that.

and then what?  transition, not fun.  I'd like to do something fun while i still got some fun juice in me.  let's see...

well, i think i'll write another little ministory.  perhaps i should have one i can pick up on occassion when i'm in the green-room, though i don't think i'll be returning for a few days...

Story of a ... hmm.  something animate, or normally inanimate in an animate world.  Like, a...  Red Bull can.  there we go.  Arby, the red bull can.

So Arby is about 7 feet tall, but no hands nor legs, nor anything else but a can, and it floats through the air.  Talking to people, offering refreshment, on occassion.

Arby is hanging out back-stage at the R-Kelly concert.  He's got two probably-legal groupees under his would-be arms.  Instead they just hang on him, running their hands over Arby's silver area.  One of them gingerly tries to take her hand to play with his pop-top.

"No one fucks with my pop-top," says Arby.  The girls love the abusive language and continue to lavish affection.

R. Kelly comes by and says, "yo Arby, my man, i need some refreshment, so i can bust out some bad-ass, make you sweat, and toss-your-clothes off, smooth, silky r&b stylin."

Arby turns to a cooler, "well, if this was a life-or-death emergency, for you, i'd let you taste my nectar, which replenishes over time, however, my magic abilities create red-bulls in any cooler or properly-cool area--cause i don't dig red-bull unchilled, you dig?  So..."  He opens the cooler--telepathically--and inside is row after row of red bull.  "Go ahead everyone, no red-bull is as good as my nectar, but even these pale imitators will slake your thirst and need.  Biznatches."

While they all go off to the cooler, a beep-beep is heard, Arby is getting a message from HQ: "Agent Arby, we need you to come to the fortress of taurine, immediately."  Arby responds: "I'm on it chief.  ...  Bitch."  The chief laughs: "Oh Arby, were you not the one chance for survival for our little planet i'd twist that smart-ass pop-top right off."  Andy responds: "yeah, yeah, hater.  chill, i'll be there."

R. Kelly comes by Arby, "Arby, you're on fire!"  Arby responds, "so i've been told."  R. Kelly: "No literally, i mean there's smoke comin out of your top!"  Arby: "I knews what you means fool.  Take a whiff."  Arby leans over, R. Kelly gets a whiff.  "Alright!  You my dawg, lets break out the blunts!"

Arby turns toward the door, "I wish, but right now, i need to save the world again, you know the routine."

R. Kelly responds; "don't I."

...  As you might be able to guess, i'm out of red-bull, i'm going to have to go on a trip.  Fuck.  Where's Arby when you need him?

Sunday, November 30, 2003 4:25 PM

By the way, i'm just kidding he's not going to be a reoccuring character, that was just me fucking around making easy jokes for my own amusement.  Damn, this thing is almost gone, if not already... it worked so good though, i want to scrape everything... fuck...

oh, btw, i never tell you this enough.  I love you.  I do, I really do.  All the others...  Meant nothing.  Except the last one.  The last one gave better blow-jobs, sorry.  But I still love you.

haha, i'm just bullshitting, bullshitting in the wind.  oh, and check out the New section.

Sunday, November 30, 2003 4:28 PM

Sunday, November 30, 2003 11:39 PM

dood, talk about bullshit, it seems that the problem may be in the fact that all the .wav files i put up are 24-bit, and audio iso's are 9660, or some shit, and they only take 16-bit ...  fucking lame ass.  so i gotta convert all those songs now.  in the mean time, they'll play, but you might have the same problem burning them, as soon as they are fixed, i'll mention it in the new section.  fucking lame ass stupid computers, which i love/hate, thusly.

Sunday, November 30, 2003 11:41 PM

Wednesday, December 3, 2003 3:41 PM

This is the first time i think i've listened to Shotgun, and really thought about the lyrics.  Interesting.

How's this?

I think fonts really should be something besides arbitrary.  At first, i was just fucking around.  Thinking, what the fuck, why use black on white and whatever.

Well...  I realize now, that this is comparable to um.... What's his name, Griffith, on seeing the effect of tinting on a usual black and white frame and just thought, willy nilly, i'll make this frame pink, this scene will be pink, for no reason.  ...  No it can't be Griffith.  okay, easily solved, his damn, i'm out of ginko, i'll scavenge, i should get some vinpocetine red bull, and other brain lubricants for the indy five-hundred i want to do underwater that is the fun in which i get through writing.

Anyway, the enthusiasm one can get out of an idea, may seem contrived, but at least is sincere, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of ...  Lillian Gish.  That's it.  Okay, hold on.

I'll be damned.  it is Griffith.  Anyway, i'll take advantage of the glucose thing, see, that's high in red bull, also.  it'll give me a little brain boost till i get off my lazy ass and start taking care of business around this place.  Anyway, anyway, whatever.  What What/ What? What was i talking about?...  Oh right.  Fonts, how they could be used less, arbitrarally.  Damn.  I need a recharge.  Anyway, i should come up with a full schema, as i have with the page.

A quirk trip to savons and it will all be good...  all be good.

Oh is that it then?  I'm sorry, i forgot to signoff, or whateverthefuck.  oooh, perhaps i should get some faulkner as i promised stephen, no that must wait, but mother said any paperback will be fine.

Weird life.  Did that come from somewhere else?

Okay, fuck this, i'm going crazy.  i gotta go to savons, i'll be back shourty, but then i really must clean my room.  You know, make it presentable.  its such a shambles.

mm, i could use a redbull.  Those damn GABA receptors, they're crynig for the high octane.

Wednesday, December 3, 2003 4:00 PM

Wednesday, December 3, 2003 4:19 PM

Okay, almost out the door.  got my patch on, i knew i was needing something.  i'm wearing 4 pairs of socks right now.  i usually sleep with that many, or the most insulation possible.  it seems all the heat in my body has found my lower extremities to be superconductors.

Wednesday, December 3, 2003 4:21 PM

Friday, December 5, 2003 6:04 PM

tis a chilling brilling december night.

ah, it is.  sigh, i really need to replace my teabag.  my yerba mate has been sitting for days, and its been quite pathetic lately.  Very bland, very bland indeed.

ah, i forgot my patch.  oh yes...  that hit the spot very nicely.

Mmmmm... nice warm nicotine.  i mean ovaltine.  I need some hot chocolate, after all, i've been eating mini marshmellows all day, why not in some hot chocolate...

Why not?  Because...

I I absolutely must finish cleaning my room.  It is quite attrocious.  Extremely so.  So badly so, i need to clean it, i must clean it. i can't make "hot chocolate" or anything else like that.  i must get down, and be fastitious.  I am creating a hermitage out of clutter.  Make them cross the alps to see me...

When the question is why.  Holy shit.  Try looking at this font, then the one above, then this, i swear to got my eyes either change focus or attenuate to read a different spectrum of light.  Its like either the pink or the blue must be in focus, the brain is a strange thing.

Ah, relief.  Okay, nice simple white.  Oh right.  What...  Clean my room, that's right, i must do that, for i, well for a number of reasons.  But suffiice it to say, the implications all lead back to my own necessities.  I don't know, but this is clearly procrastination of the most scriptulous kind.

aah, i make myself laugh.  okay, anyway, seriously people, i must clean, i've taken my pictures for posterity, and i'm ready for a spring cleaning, as usual, a season or two late.

Friday, December 5, 2003 6:17 PM

Saturday, December 6, 2003 2:35 AM

I... am of an interesting mindset right now.  i don't know what i ...  i don't know period.  Some people understand well how i live, indeed might see the value and the avoidance of worse vice...  And yet, to others, i have a difficulty conveying that fact...  To a person i respect, of differing views, its hard to explain my lifestyle.  I don't know, people i respect offer the same in return, so it may not be important there be understanding, mutual respect is more than enough....

anyway, this morning i woke up and was struck by a poem.  i worked it out in my head, and then when i had enough of it, i finally got out of bed and put it to "paper."  So, as it is the end of the night, as I feel much like... why not?   so, i was planning on putting it in my song directory, with the other poetry, but ... well, perhaps i will eventually, i don't know... just that mindset...

Regardless, here's the poem, in font hardtoread:

it makes me sad to masturbate
to think I have a dick so great
so thick and big, magnum girth
so quick to give a woman mirth
but alas, here I am, dick in hand
without a girl, who gives a damn?

or plain old black lettering, who cares?  not i.  anyway, my lack of caring suits me well, part of the lifestyle, part of why i write such poetry, and share it.  and as usual, the end note is the same as my end thought, including right now: who gives a damn?

not me, so i'll go to sleep, let my mindset settle into slumber, tomorrow i'll care even less.

Saturday, December 6, 2003 2:43 AM

Sunday, December 7, 2003 1:56 AM

More of the same, more of the same... lots to do, too much tried, doing at once.  this site... such disrepair.  I really should do something.  the music sections, they're over half a year old!  God...  well, i still have to finish cleaning this room....  god i don't want to clean this room...  so much to do... and i'll be working four days straight, so i can't do any more than i do tonight, and its already so late... etc. etc. tec. tec. etec.

he said until he bore himself.

I swear, the number of things I've started, they would scare you.  I guess they're all in limbo until someone says, yeah, i'll give you money to finish that.

So...  Hundreds of unfinished projects...  What kind of artist is that?  what kind of writer?  what kind of musician?  what kind of etc. tec. tec te ec

he bored himself.  again.

i'm again writing to nowhere, but this time i've got a slight possibility, but its still so unatainable it seems.  The amount of writing, unsurmountable.  in the time that is, attainable.  given time, no problem, but time.  such a bitch.

But if one is to achieve a better life for oneself, he/she must do what they can to achieve it.  And so, though this room does not get any cleaner, i do have more and more words, words until sun-up and past, no worries there.  but how many, how many, in how much time?  i can only type so fast, if nothing else.  i type as fast as i can, still, its not fast enough, faster faster... etc. et.c et.c

bored again.

Sunday, December 7, 2003 2:03 AM

Sunday, December 7, 2003 4:00 AM

things take so long some times...  damn server won't let me connect.  anyway...  scratches head, smack lips... takes sip of crystal geyser...

i was thinking, in the way i do, without won't or care.

i was thinknig, i wish i had a girl, who would make me a sandwich.

cause i wanted a sandwich

But I am also exteremely lazy

in this scenario, i seem to be about 4 years older

and have a girlfriend very attractive

i must be very succesful

She wears glasses though, nonetheless, black rims, similar to my own

but in this one, she's light brunette, in the next she's dark brunette

Anyway, i must learn about jung and colors, someday.

So, she takes a knife, stabs me through the heart... no, wait, i don't think it went that way.

yes, she got me the sandwich.

i thought about all the crap i eat, i eat candy, pretty much, anything that preserves well and requires absolutely no preparation outside of opening the package.  Sugar based is good, i just need something to sustain off, that and red bull.

If i was successful enough to have a girl get me a sandwich any time i wanted...  I'd get fat very quickly, unless i made a concerted effort not to.

But this is not my ideal, i realize, and so comes the second scenario

In this one, my darker-brunette lovely, in black rims, long hair, definitely, in a pony tail.  Anyway, she's at the keyboard, at her computer, about 8 feet away, maybe more, yeah, 16 feet, and she's got her own little set-up.  and she doesn't get me the sandwich, she says: "get it yourself, i'm writing."

Then we'd exchange verbal verification of mutual love, and i'd press some kind of button, or she would, or we would together, and a big wall would slide into place, giving us seperate spaces to write, and we'll pull it back to mate.  Or something.

But then if all she does is sit there and write, she does not bother me, is productive at the same time.  But there is that gratification of being arond someone you are comfortable with and love.

Look at this, no grammar, whatsoever, its just bullshit, just just shit...  yawn....  oh all those things i needed to do...  i need to do...  my room, tisn't clean.  tisn't clean a'tall.  not at all.  sigh...  yeah yeah, yawn....

he bores himself, and once the servers up, you.

btw, i don't wear black rims, i will in 4 years, and i wouldn't need the wall, is my final point, oh, and something else, i've forgotten.

Sunday, December 7, 2003 4:21 AM

Monday, December 8, 2003 2:17 PM

of course, my room is still a mess.

of course its not clean yet

give it time.

give me time, get off my back already, jees, nag, nag, nag.

ah... some vapors.

some lovely mist.

my excrement isnt' looking too healthy, kindof greyish, but i'll survive.  stomach hurts a bit, i must eat some real food soon.  i figure the powdered donuts of two days ago wasn't such a good idea for sustanance...

what a waste of words.

who cares about my excrement?

i don't.

i'm just typing.  waiting for inspiration.

and if it doesn't come, so be it, i wouldn't want to force it.

these vapors i definitely helping my stomach.

did you see that southpark last nigth?  about tobacco lobbyists...  They sure pointed out the formula... but did not avoid it.  it was a subpar episode.  so much moralizing for an "immoral" show.  He's got to stop hitting people over the head with his messages, at the very least, don't vocalize them directly.

I am happy at least to have monty python on icontrol, since they stopped showing smurfs... that was a stupid move by the network.

python is good shit, jake doesn't understand it, he thinks family guy is better... that's sad, but could be worse...  he could watch the oc....  anyway, this is really boring the shit out of me.  What about python?  i do enjoy that. 

and now, the middlesex boys choir will do Satre in german.

Python.  is good shit.

Let's just see what would be the hardest font to read, shall we?

Honestly, i've only so much time, this is really a waste of it.  i will do something writing-related, quasi-productive, etc.

i can't believe that sock isn't dry yet.

one sock, in a dryer.  endlessly rotating.

oh, this is very good, very hard to read.  i shall use this extensively, for an extremely inconsequential paragraph about nothing at all.  you know, just type, endlessly, onlessly, overlessly, constantly, no slowing, no need, can't see if i typo, so why worry?  and what is this paragraph going to be about...  Hmm.... well, seeing as i'm already half-way through it, and it hasn't been about anything, i think it's only proper...  unless i want to make this a really long paragraph, and i don't think i will, because its quite easy to copy and paste this text into a notepad, or probably it is quite legible if highlighted.  Thus, this is all pointless.

what should i write about... well, i have projects, i also have a website in extremely sad disrepair, and another project!  sigh, i should've finished this months ago, but i suppose there's no time like the present--except presently, i got more projects, oh lovely.  what to do... what to do...

really, three things, so i just must devote myself to one at a time, at any time, vary it up.

That deserves this font.

So, now what?  well, soon i'll be moving the shirt into the dryer and removing, the probably still damp sock...  i wonder if this is an extreme waste of energy.

and by energy, i mean electricity.

i was tempted to be double-meaning and obtuse.  but fuck it.

well, the shirt is a work shit.  but the sock.  the sock can go.  so, i will remove it, let it dry on its own accord.  The Soul Clan - That's How It Feels, what i'm listening to right now, okay, 4 projects...  4, 5... 5 projects.  6 projects in all, and they are...

[python reference]

Monday, December 8, 2003 2:38 PM

Friday, December 12, 2003 11:11 PM

i was reading over some old laundry. 

Friday, December 12, 2003 11:18 PM

heh, i said laundry when i was thinking greenroom entries.  I love the greenroom.  But i never read what i write, though I remember often when I write something, whether or not it was good.  Often I can tell something is good while i'm still writing it--and tell when something is mediocre.  Anyway i was skimming through thegreenroom, and saw a part of my eulogy for the unknown mold... now that was a good entry, june 11, 2003.

by the way, my excrement is looking much better.  And i'm making a lot of mean green, which is good, very good.  even though the work is hard, and long, but hey, that's how work should be.  once i get in the stride though, it shouldn't even be that hard, or seem that long.  i got a nice full schedule right now, i'm doing well in general, no more "there must be more money" whispers in my head. 

the money is finally coming, i want to give some to j.b. later.  i can finally start chipping away at my debt to him.  after all, i've prided myself in always settling my debts, interest included, when there was the need.  i always want to have more people owe me than i owe them.  anyway, what's my point?

i dunno, i guess, the point is, things are good.

Friday, December 12, 2003 11:29 PM

Friday, December 12, 2003 11:34 PM

hey you know, i gotta section this off already, its getting a bit big, and really, this is  a good time.  such a good note to leave on, i'm on the upswing, i'm on my meds, i got steady green of both, i'm two weeks off cigs, with only occassional momments of weakness.  plenty of redbull, cat's doing well, got him on advantage, my room! is clean--and a room is an extension of a person's mental well-being.  as it is, i got a cluttered corner, in which i sit, that still needs tacklement, and a few other corners as well, but as a whole...  Things are looking pretty good.

i'm pretty sure a girl is simply a short matter of time now, now that i have much more to offer, and i'm sure i'll get some self-confidence, i feel it slowly swelling, but i am still humble, for i know that i got this momment of peace and surplus from hard work and diligence.  So i must continue and thrive more and more.  Women will come in time, and they're certainly not necessary for my happiness, at least.  but i find they come in pairs, usually the women after the contentment.  i'm finally near that, i'm finally near peace.

perhaps the next section will be my new female interest.  Or about my living life in more exciting ways than before.  Or maybe i'll finally finish some of those projects--though, of course, that would probably mean less entries.  Or maybe, i'll find personal disaster, lose my job, find myself nearly on the street--then, of course, there would be a lot more entries.  Or maybe, maybe the next section will be something i won't expect.

Friday, December 12, 2003 11:45 PM