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I long for a time when riding my bike made me feel free unlike the chore it has become these days. |
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My phone is kinda old (old, in that it's going on 3 years now and yeah, technology) and it's developed this quirk where it doesn't charge properly. I've kinda gotta wiggle the input in until it reaches some sort of zen perfect state and then very kindly leave it be. The only problem is slight jostle will cause it to stop charging, so when I leave it to charge I invariably get a call or a text about something, usually unimportant, and the vibration will loosen it from its peaceful sleep. Well, why don't I turn it off? Because then I can't tell it's charging. Soooo, why don't you set it to silent? I would, but whenever it's charging the ringer goes back to default and when it stops charging it'll goes back to whatever I had it set at. I try and turn the ringer off it moves something around it switches back and blahblah, you get the picture. My phone for the past month or two hasn't had a full charge and it keeps crapping out on me. I keep feeling I should get a new one and toss my old one away. That's how my life feels right now. |
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"And then... well, do you know what it's like?" It's a ripe melon, sick and sticky sweet with flys and bees alike... Oh, my skull is about to burst with insects. |
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My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult is playing this month. I want to go see them but then I'm like ugh, they're old and probably suck, and also I'm old and stuff and I probably suck (I'm too lazy to speak properly, I'm getting all lazy, SoCal GenX). But the last couple times I saw them play they were pretty awesome. The first time was uhh, I think we drove down to Orange County? Anyway it was to see KD's brother play with his band "Cum" but there was an umlaut and it was pronounce "Kh-oom". Was it Cum or was that the name of his other band? Whatever, we ended up missing them play but we got tickets anyway and noticed they were opening for Thrill Kill Kult - holy shit! Then we were like, Oh shit dude you opened for Thrill Kill Kult and he was like yeah, I dunno who those guys are. The second time was when they opened for Ministry and it was pretty fucking awesome. I love Ministry but I was way more into Thrill Kill Kult. So yeah, Ministry was really good except after they performed they were trying to get everyone to vote and register and shit. I kinda rolled my eyes and my friend Pieter was going, Oh my god they said they're anarchists and they're trying to get people to vote what a bunch of hypocrites ugh I hate hypocrites what a bunch of faggots. He said it just like that, without any punctuation. You don't have a whole lot of bother for punctuation when you're all fucked up on Jack. |
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No caffeine, energy drinks, cigarettes and I've stopped picking up a bottle whenever I get overly anxious or nervous. Steady as she goes... it's rough but I'm not broken, just a little cracked in places. Which isn't out of the ordinary. |
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The sensation is as someone has pulled on my shirt from behind. A light tug to stop me, to catch my attention so that they can say whatever was on their mind before I walked off. Though, I turn around and there's no one there, just the cat. The clouds, the sun and my cat. |
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In the next couple months I plan to start really pushing myself. No big deal to you, right? Just another bag of dicks telling everyone he's going to do something. He's going to make something of his life this time. No really, he's going to push himself. This time, oh yeah, he's going to be great. Truth be told you hear that out of every cocksucking asswipe. You hear it out of everyone who thinks they are or that they'll be the ones who will be somebody. You hear that they're just better than everyone else... I can't say I am or that I ever will be someone, but this... This, what I do now, day to day, is garbage. I can't keep doing this. Most could be satisfied with what I'm doing - in fact I've had others tell me exactly that - but I'm unhappy. Sad, lonely, and unhappy. And it only gets worse, every day it just gets worse... and worse... and worse... everyday, when I stop and think, I just feel so sad and alone. The only thing I can think of now is to push myself, and damn the consequences. |
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I had an idea last night. Sometime next week, after my friend leaves town, I think I'm going to start up a blog where I post every day for a year. It doesn't sound like a new idea, I'm sure people have done it and I'm sure people do it without trying or even knowing, but I'm interested in doing it as a personal experiment. I like the idea of forcing myself to get my thoughts and ideas out there everyday so that I'm inspired to create more. I'm looking to elevate the pace of my personal evolution and try to be a better and more creative person. Not that this blog will do all that, but it's a start and hopefully the first of many things to come. It's in the beginning stages (as in I was drunk and it was really late when I came up with this). I'm thinking of rules to impose, because I feel my brain functions better when I have rules to follow. I come up with more creative ways to work inside the confines and it keeps me honest to the work. It also adds a little discipline, I think, which is something I'm looking to reinforce in myself. So far the only things I've come up with are I have to write every day for a year, no matter what. Oh, and no twitter-style posts, like it's gotta be a couple paragraphs, at least. I've got some other ideas too, but I'm not sure if they're good ideas. Like, maybe it could be super honest and open or maybe all fiction. Maybe I should throw in a picture with every update. I know those aren't very good but I just came up with this last night, while drunk. I'm sure I'll come up with more as I give this idea some room to breathe. I think I also need to find the courage to do something really bold. When it comes to exposing myself to people I get really timid, but I need to get over that if I'm going to do the things with my life that I'd like to do. Bold sounds right. I need to do something bold, I think. Any thoughts, suggestions and ideas are welcome and encouraged. If you have something then let me hear it. |
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If only you could understand that this terrible thing is what sets me free. |
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The question and answer process of social interaction has always fascinated me. What we learn from someone by what questions they ask, and possibly how they ask them, is almost as much as they can learn from an answer. What is it we can learn from nanila and her questions? Hmm, possibly that she's been in England for far too long.( If only I had known what you already knew. ) It's a meme. So, leave a comment and I'll ask you five questions, which you may answer in a comment here or on your own journal. |
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Watching the rain from inside and it looks so lovely, clinging to the windowpane. |
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I'm trying to write a play, looks like it'll be a two act. I have the bones, a nice beginning and some material to fill it out. Then I come to the end and... and then... where's the end? How does this all come together? Fuck if I know, well maybe if I could find a thematic subject to tie it all together but... uh... Well, what's the point? But you know, not like that. I'm not asking what the point of everything is. That's tired shit to me now, right? I spun that around in my head for about half my life and it got me nothing but a few headaches and a lot of heartache (I mistakenly typed "hardache" at first, HA). Naw, I mean I can't seem to get at the underlying themes. What is it I'm trying to say? Where does this go? What's the point and why should this matter to anyone else but me? Who really wants to hear someone just prattle on about nothing. Maybe it shouldn't matter... but I feel as though it should. I'm even having a difficult time understanding what the point of me writing this post is and why it should matter. What's the point of me writing a journal entry if it doesn't have a point? What am I doing with this? What am I doing with all the pages and pages and pages of real journal crap I write? What's the point of all the fiction stuff I've been writing? What's the point in the script or this play or... anything. It's not like I can get them published or acknowledged, really. You see, they don't have ends. Not a single one has an ending. I can't look at a one and understand what it is I'm trying to do or say. I did at some point, didn't I? I always had a clear idea of where it was going even if where I was going changed along the way. And now... And now, it's like I just don't understand what it means. Is it trash or is it a treasure? Maybe somewhere between. Was it me that wrote all this? I don't even know who I was or possibly am anymore because I can't even begin to decipher any of it. Not a single thing. I'm just baffled. It's as if I'm having the most well-composed, undramatic identity crisis in history. I'm not distressed at all. Actually, I find this all to be very interesting. It's like, who is this person I am/was and what is it he keeps trying to say/have said? Very interesting, indeed. |
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My anger could once have brought tears to these heavens, but it is my sadness... it is my disappoint today that causes the skies to weep. |
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i should start with a calender. give some... meaning to the days, some sort of context to these skies which have been beaten as black and blue as my toes. but they all begin and end the same, always - a soft, white purity or a suicidal, melancholy downpour - so what would these names matter? how can you impose meaning on this shapeless mass... this cold that, at once, both numbs and stings me? this pain that comes from nothing. nothing... nothing to do but count the days. and i should start with a calender. |
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Some nights the stars seem so low that I could just reach out and touch them. |
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