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Sunday, April 14th, 2002
6:17 pm - eulogy for the thoughts incomplete and inconsistant.
fragmentation. cut along not so clean lines and re-cemented, like an attempt to affix the cracked shell of an egg with just the right amount of energy. to reseal the bonds. but these are chipped from different eggs at different times. the embryo saved is not the same that was threatened originally and no one will take this one home. not even to peal off his skin and raise his body temperature to 450 degrees and pull back his back muscles with greasy fingers to plunge portions of him in their fat mouths. not even for that, will he be rescued. so he will instead die here. as we have died many times before, the murder weapon being sand, and Sleep being red-handed. grab the chalk (mark my words.) outline his disformed contours. those who stumble upon this crime scene will think only that children had scrawled playfully these lines. they will here see something beautiful and innocent where only you&i will know there was once such violence. and so we commit these thoughts to the earth. ashes and all that. may this Fragmentation rest in (one) piece.
ONE: last night

i am missing pieces of my skin. my best guess is that they came
unhinged under guitar strings when the tips fell pick-less.
the cutical is cracked with dry blood. the soft pink meaty endoderm
senses everything as cold. i gave handshakes and hugs all night
anyways. even with a missing limb, we had fun. my knees and back
saw more of the floor than my feet. four on the floor times three.
plus paul. and how many singing "remember youre in love"?

yes, at/with times like these, i am in love.

thank you for letting us play. thank you for letting me borrow your
guitar cabinet. thank you for sticking around late. thank you for
singing along. thank you for picking up the mic stands. thank you
for picking up danny. thank you for fixing my strap. thank you for
all your support.

TWO: about three weeks ago.

im ready for summer: this afternoon i took a nap on north campus
in the grass. it was so fresh and thick. more comfortable than my
bed. i should have been reading. or studying spanish. or going to
lit class. but those were all periphreal to my focus today: sunshine.
everything was so beautiful. so wizard-of-oz'ed. vivid color coming
from the black and white and grey dreariness this past week.
i want cuteinathens. fingers thru short hair. sitting in the grass
every day at lunch time. picnicking when i have the afternoon off from
work. a daycare? "i want to swim with children. i want hair like water."
finding home at the radio station. making long walks into late nights
and early mornings. midnight swimming with my friends. i want that.

i want to make songs by the Secret Stars into diaries.

editors note: done and done.

THREE: sometime two weeks ago.

back back back that ass up. from the post office. from the tate center.
from the big dead little bitty baby billboards. wake and walk and talk
and take. give.
i saw Matt Weekly on north campus. lying in the grass like he was born
there. like he was always supposed to be a part of the scenery. with,
who i assumed was, his girlfriend. lovely girl. matt deserves it. i was
on my way to wuxtry to find this 48th issue of cometbus that i had been
hearing about. only five minutes before, i had run into diana, holding
the rumored issue. and only the night before i had received an email
from a girl in california asking me if i would bootleg her a copy of
fortyfour. crazy.

so i stopped and talked and matt+one. handshake, handshake. and on my
way. the gods were on my side for once. several issues of 48, as well
as back issues of fortyseven. two for four dollars and twentyfour cents.
dropped one copy off with matt on my way back. i thought he would enjoy
it. & thats what its all about. sharing zines, and art, and music.
sharing in general.
i saw matt again, just now, now being several hours ago, at the tate
center. he was talking to the prolife people at tate. i jumped in only
to tell the "i'm-apposed-to-cruelty-against-animals-too woman" that
eating them is, indeed, an act of cruelty. i didnt jump in on the abortion
debate. im no longer sure how i feel about either side.

i do know that god didnt give us animals to eat.
"and thats a fact" (thanks judy grahn.)

so matt and i escaped. slumped our shoulders at the closed post office.
walked back out to the bus stop. handshake, handshake. and i was on my way
back to the radio station. to turn right back around and meet noah to
inspect our new place.
"mary, there is no hope for us ... we might as well lay down and die."
seven days ago my room was six burly guys in need of a shower. four on the
floor. minus one for the bed. and high fives for the road before ten AM.
late night laughter with dirty jokes from pennsylvania.
dirty dirty dirty.

FOUR: a few nights ago

saul williams "lalala" sounds much like Blackalicious' "sky came falling."
or the other way around...
Feral303: what color of eyes?
ThsBoysEmo: i was thinknig about this today. i dont really care, but blue
is nice. or are we talking about mine? oh no. im not sure
ThsBoysEmo: we were supposed to know this for bio lab today too
ThsBoysEmo: we are studying genes
Feral303: lol..you dont know your eye color?
ThsBoysEmo: and dominence
ThsBoysEmo: if i had to gues i would say they are sort of hazel
ThsBoysEmo: i think i wrote that somewhere
ThsBoysEmo: yeah, lets go with hazel
Feral303: your last entry
ThsBoysEmo: hells bells
Feral303: okie..hazel it be.
ThsBoysEmo: (my grandmothers name was hazel, and she said hells bells all the time)
ThsBoysEmo: (poetic to me)
ThsBoysEmo: i tangent so freely. let keep going
Feral303: ...thats (this is corny)..beautiful

good bye dear friend. i will rest flowers on your grave. and sing songs to remember you by.

current mood: sore

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Saturday, March 23rd, 2002
5:47 am - im feeling cute this morning. dont ruin that, goddammit.
"so much to say/ theres so much/ to say"

i am two sore feet supporting two hundred (plus) tired bones and two black holes called "hazel" now, where they used to be "just brown." i am two hours a victim of Sleep and now wide awake (why are we doing this?) i am hardly two meals in my gut, dropped like pebbles down my well. bottomless.

i am fully recovered... no, never even bothered, and for the first time i am saying to myself "i dont have time for a girlfriend." i have the music director possition at the radio station, school, my band, recording, cd sleeves and packaging to design and make, work, houses to hunt, trips to plan and pay for, et al. im a busy body.

but goddammit, she's pretty.
the names have been changed to protect thee.

i've lost track of my days now. i dont know if it was last night or the night before. i dont know if i remembered my dream this morning, or last. but either way, sometime this week (yes? yes, i am certain it was this week, at least) i had a dream i was moving in for the season. and an echo from freshman year of college showed up at my doorstep. an echo i knew for three years, crushed on for four, and acted upon only when it was obvious she intended to stay the night. the week (yes?) whatever. (and "how 'bout those cleveland indians?")

back to the dream: she shows up, offers me a place to stay. she was familiar. bright blue eyes. small teeth. tip of tongue pressed to the gap, like always, when her smile cracked.

she was so easy to hold. just hard to hold on to.

i am the jealous type

statistics tell me something like one out of six. so i wont call her anymore.
speaking of which, in both cases, neither of which i will clarify for you, i saw him today. the one with the snub. i gave him only one word. hey stephen, how are you. working.

"chump," you hear a voice spit in the cap'n jazz cd. its in there. puddlesplashers. its for real. its for you. fucker.
T-minus eight hours to lift off.

eight hours til the green light on my trip out to marietta. yes, friends and neighbors, i will be in your neck of the woods. for several hours, for 12-strings, for high fives. 49531, one can only hope, but "the ripped ones never collide," so i should keep that investment nestled. unspoken. and let it fizzle out elsewhere, away from the prying eyes.

math is everywhere. forget the M words. lets speak in silent letters.

the hunt for the magic eeeee.
homework has been a much neglected item on my agenda this week. procrastination is five bullets in a six-shooter chamber. my shoe is all velcro and second hand smoke.

youre shooting yourself in the foot doub fuck

oh christ. i cant even spell "dumb fuck."
i remember silent letters in kindergarden. the letter K. i was the only one that knew. Ms green (was it green with an e on the end?) was impressed. and it was just this evening that i saw Mrs Hall at work. a first grade teacher that worked with my mom at the same school. i wanted to tell her how ashamed i had been that time dylan and i stole candy from her jar after school. prepared the speech. the casual way to bring it up when she came to my register. how to NOT be awkward. but i said nothing. rang up her husband's belt. fifteen-nintynine. twentyfive percent off. check. can i see your license. thanks. i'll tell her you said hello. have a good night.

they were reeses pieces. the little peanut butter cups. dylan took probably five. it was his idea. i came along for the ride. and took one. maybe two. and had to apologize in the morning, because dylan's mom asked him where the candy came from. she worked in the class room right next to Mrs Halls. his mom was my first grade teacher. and my middle brother's. now my youngest brother is in first grade. he has someone else. he had to read me a story last night. and i had to write a note saying he read it:

if danny seems a little worn out today its because he had a long night. this evening he was playing in the backyard and was captured by the spanish armada. in exchange for three barrels of salted meat, he was traded to pirates (the peg-leg, patch-eyed kind, not the baseball team.) he made his way across the atlantic-- swabbing the deck and whatnot-- finally siezing his chance to escape by jumping ship in a brittish port. crawling ashore, danny applied to work at a leather-tanning factory to pay his way back to america. however, danny saved his employer from choking to death on a Raisenette and his boss offered to fly him back to the states personally. arriving in new york, where his boss had to meet his leather-tanning associates-- danny got a job selling newspapers. a strong work ethic earned him a promotion to a bike route, where it was soon discovered that he had one heck of an arm. danny traded in pitching newspapers for pitching baseballs. Immediately, he was picked up by the Mets and later traded to the Pirates, of all teams (the baseball team, not the peg-leg, patch eyed kind.) danny pitched a shut-out final inning against the Dodgers in the world series which launched him into stardom. Paramount pictures backed his first movie (after much success doing sports drink commercials) but it was a flop. somewhat drifting into obscurity, he was the star of a poorly written sitcom, but he was beat out for the timeslot by (one of the two dozen) Wayans Brothers on the WB network. for a short period of time, danny did voice overs for Disney's pirates (of the carribean, not the baseball team or the peg-leg kid.) eventually, though, danny returned home a humble and modest six year old. in fact, he even took time out of his busy schedule last night to read me "baby rattlesnake." danny is very modest now, so dont be surprised if he pretends to know nothing of this story or refuses to sign autographs.

dont you already feel sorry for my kids? i cant wait! ive been taking notes from cliff huxtable and steve keaton. i want to be a fun dad. i want to make babies.

wherefore art thou Elise Keaton? Claire Huxtable?
ridiculous, i am, shamelessly ridiculous.

"yes i am talking to you, and yes i know, this is shameless"
and slingshot back to me. to her, rather. not her, but the other her. "thee" her. were we really so innocent? i never thought so, but im beginning to believe it.
once upon a time i was talking about marietta: my friends, you live there. let me know if you want to do something. im not meeting bryan ducey until three. picking up nathan at the airport at five. eating at soul V around 7? any and all are welcome.
right now im going to buy tofu and make more BBQ tofu sandwiches. nothing better than grocery shopping at 4:46 in the morning.
-------(fifteen minutes, tops)----
im back, just like that. lickitty-split. from the kroger i used to work at. fred at penneys knows cliff harris, the manager of that kroger, the man that yelled at me for asking a guy if he wanted help out with his groceries, prompting my swift resignation. oh how i tangent with the greatest of ease! anywho, fred and i talked about cliff, running a tight ship at publix, where fred also works, poor customer service at kroger. this that and the other thing. good times with fred. i havent palled around with him like that in the longest time.

today i also talked to dawn at work. shes the new girl. twentyeight. one daughter. on her second marriage according to alina, via word of mouth from leslie, but she didnt mention a first husband today, so im not sure thats true. alina seems to misinterpret certain things. like english, for instance. anywho, dawn calls fred "ferd." its funny. we talked about the hideous shirts and ties we are now selling (take a look for yourself... the hunt club shirts and ties at penneys... they are godawful... bright bright colors... look like they are made out of sherbert ice cream.) we also have these blue pants. not normal blue pants. no. bright blue. BRIGHT blue. i dont even know where this shade of blue comes from. it must have only recently been discovered. regardless of its origin,its not a shade you want on your body. or in your house. or in sight, in general.

dawn and i also laughed about the clothes we used to wear. music we used to listen to. jobs we used to have. movies we used to love. family. friends. it was a good conversation. i love my co-workers. we have fun.
by the way, word of advice from dawn: never piss off folks at fast food restuarants. every rumor youve heard about spitting in food, or rubbing a burger on the ground, or wiping a bun across the bottom of a shoe... its all true.
only this week did i finally figure out what Endora is. and lo'-and-behold, my brother lost that split seven inch on clear purple vinyl. im not happy about it.
i want to write more, but im exhausted and still cooking BBQ tofu. why am i doing this at nearly six in the morning?
"i think im going to close the store a few minutes early and watch the sunset." good for you mister adler. make alex p keaton stop what he's doing and watch the sunset with you. it would be good for him.

"eeeee," by the way, was secret code for matt nokleby and me. oh how i miss him. and those drives: the minivan drives of shame, thru every turn possible in lawrenceville, just to drive. to talk.

a question posed to my mother, at the age of three:
"mommy, does i miss you mean i love you?"
undoubtedly, the answer was yes.

i miss you, matt.

9.6 25.15.21 3.1.14 25.15.21 1.18.5 20.15.15


current mood: drained

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Friday, March 8th, 2002
9:42 pm - im looking to be a part of two unwavering bands of light.
napping on a red couch in the station, listening to remixes of cambodian music done by some guy from macha. life is good.
"oh god" scream these eyes. sore. heavy. the only outlet for the cries of aching bones and muscles. ("strip away the flesh...") these eyes rooooolllll. up around and back down. meet the floor with no landing gear. and crash & burn, friends and neighbors. crash & burn.

still, they are tearing up with exhaustion. trying to expell the thick air of the dance party. the late night DJ shift. the dazed slap of the snooze button. one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen. fourteen times total. in seven minute intervals. needless to say, spanish class was vetoed today.

this afternoon, nina was in line next to me going into the dining hall. wonderful. not 10 hours earlier we had been dancing like we motherfuckin' meant it. claps. snaps. twirls.

who knew the promise ring could be dancing music?

back at the dining hall, today: jonathan hart touched my arm and said, "i made an extra wish for you on my birthday." i cocked my head to the side, looked at him funny, smiled a little, and continued talking to allison. i met her at the dance party last night. my radio folk!
phonecall: racquetball with buzz tonight? doubles with females? (buzz, youre a genius.) deal.
"by the way/ i always say your name."
lets recollect; jonathan, nina. (but first, being at the station, and available, i'll DJ til carrie shows up. what fun. overlap godspeedyoublackemperor's "the storm" with my interview en espanol con redencion nueve-once y fade into "la compleja dinamica de las relaciones humanas"... the song redencion911 was talking about in the interview. beautiful. i live for those moments.)

where was i? oh, lets recollect. make a recollection of hand in the air like we just dont care. collect the hips and dips of dance. the glistening lips. the thickett of shoulder-bounce shoulder-bounce clap. slide left slide right snap.


"what did the fish say when he ran into a cement wall?"
"i dont know, what?"
shes funny, and a good DJ. awesome on the dance floor.
"we were talking about you at the last exec meeting. everyone likes the way you DJ"
"really? awesome."
she calls the news anchor the news-dude. college radio at its finest, folks.
goddammit, carrie fucked up the transition. as the redencion nueve-once song was ending (in dying feedback) she should have started the next song. it would have been perfect. seamless. but no. she waited for the dead air. agh! im getting so picky about my transitions now. wheres break radio when you need it?
no one recognized me in my costume. i was dancing with friends and strangers for hours who had no clue. nate came up to me after we had been sweating to the beat for at least two hours. "i just now realized its you."

i was supposed to cover cara's shift from midnight to three. i came up to the station as glenn was wrapping up boiling point and starting midnight snack, stripped out of my costume and put on the jeans i had left on the floor hours earlier (tangent), preparing for a long haul. but jim (the old sports director) happened to be up there and covered the first two hours for me.
rock. so i went back and danced in my civilian attire for a little while longer.

katie: abby said "stephen came up to the radio station, stripped, put on a dress, and gave me a ride to the party; it was awesome."
me: haha, i'll have to do that more often.
last christmas i was scheduled to DJ from midnight until six. jim (then, the sports director) was supposed to DJ from six until noon. but around two or three i heard something in the lobby. jim was staggering around reaking of alcohol and sweat. later i found him in the news room staring blankly at the tv, eyes sunken, by wide and fixed on the screen. he didnt respond to my entrance. he found his resting place on the red couch (the same red couch i was napping on today), trashcan as a sercurity blanket. six am rolled around and i couldnt wake him up. to make a dumb story short, i DJed his shift until ten:thirty. i didnt bring it up when he offered to cover for me last night. it didnt seem that important. he was repaying me without knowing it. good for him.
back to this afternoon: we walked out of the dining hall, one fine meal and great conversation tucked under our belts. the sun was warm. sixtyeight.

"has your birthday wish for me come true yet?"
"not yet, but its close."
"you'll tell me if it happens?"

theres something about jonathan sometimes. the way he catches you off guard, in a good way. im not sure when we bridged that gap into "best friends" either. i think it was when he called us that in conversation. not that it matters. we're here now.

"give me a hug big guy. i'll see you later."

he's good people. im going to end on that note. it makes me happy.

current mood: but happy

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Monday, March 4th, 2002
12:16 am - best of luck to those of you who you enthrall.
vegan hot chocolate burned a hole in my gut the size of a four-by-six index card with a rambling note for alana. she wasnt happy about something. neither is megan. & its driving me crazy. IM SAD ABOUT IT. "i can fix this if you let me, i can fix this damn whole thing." neither were to be cheered up tonight. so i rode a running nose to the other side of the world. hopefully its not as cold there. the french, wee-wee!

todzy, we will fall in love here.
parts of last night; enscribed, engraved, postage stamp concreted, fade away (circa similar circumstances, 1997). parts of last night fade away. parts that start with M. that start with hugs and kisses in the form of x's and o's.

goodbye, Parts of Last Night:

...when my evening was, for all intents and
purposes, done. but that hasnt held me over.
for all intents and purposes: being done hasnt
held me over.
"i am over the counter productive culture"
tim kinsella
tim kinsella sang me home. i kareokeed the miles
in shades of "i'll do anything." dont ask about
people, because i'll tell you. and so on. "we're
growing in different directions... that happens,
at this age (for boys)... and its okay. for our

i hate answering machines. voice mail. all of it. i refuse to speak to them when those of you refuse to speak to me. i feel unwanted when i am Four rings at midnight and a message at the beep. when i have counted the seconds of Seventeen minutes of silence. Ninehundred and Fifty? Two thru Fifty, even. and always Eight. we're fucking frozen on Eight.

("his heart is frozen solid"/ that there is my little brother, sitting on the sofa, learning with ease, something it took me many angry years to find) something like that.

how old words circa similar-situations rise from the grave on nights like this! if only everything i said really lived on. i knew i shouldnt talk tonight. i knew i should have waited til tomorrow. and i feel the Missing setting in.

"best of luck to those of you who you enthrall."
if you let me
noah gave fitting hugs today. and i slept on a kid's couch.

laughed with sarah while babysitting the phone for noah. he was all up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, A, B, start. i needed to laugh. last night, by the way, i dropped my shirt in an Eleven PM puddle outside my car. & drove off. and stepped in Two Four AM puddles in a driveway. & thought about the time i broke my finger, that evening years ago, when i spent the night at his house.

i meant to ask him about that.
katie has written me something of a ray of sunshine without even knowing it. Hoo-fuckin-ray. no longer am i frozen on Eight and hating it. heighting it. hastening it. tasting it, its so fucking thick.

tear that fucking yellow tape. smear the chalkline around your body, Number Eight. you are alive.
and look what i have learned since katie broke Eight:
"dude. i need to cut my hair. it has been a month. i am starting to get the urge to just grab a pair of scissors and start snipping. but no. i will restrain mysel.f i won't do that. oh fuck."

i was just having this conversation with noah today.
tonight was too many references to a band ive never even listened to. lyrics i dont care about, only their code. their meaning to Somebody. i didnt want to go. i couldnt. wouldnt. goodbye to things that start with Movies. goddammit.

variables in x and o. 24 and 15 coded goodbyes. "endangered like the fuckin galapagos," as i wrote to alana this evening. she was studying art history. oh how i want in the art school. ex, oh, ex, oh (no). this week: reclaiming a birthday card (TwentyFour hours last summer) as part of my application. "look at this... im crazy... i belong here."
on palpatations: one two three oops four five six seven etc.

"my fingers slip through the end of a sleeve."
chris says we wear them out there.

eerhT owT: like backwards blood, finding itself in third grade, theres something to be said about perseverance. and like a contraction with "not":

our hearts beatn't.
"its always sad when great people arent quite as great around their friends," todzy at Nine-Seventeen. write it down. he's going to replace jesus. a man with a catch-phrase can do anything.

a man. a plan. a canal. panama.

Amelie! todzy, we will fall in love here. i have a Seven dollar stub to prove it.
and we were on top of that hill. the hill that
overlooked several of the fields. we tore off
down the steep side, full fucking speed, like we
were little engines that could. and did. and were.
just pouring over the crest with steam escaping
in childhood screams. and that stick. the one i
didnt really see. until i was on my face at the
foot of the hill. with only nine working fingers.

i couldnt close that fist for at least a week.
one finger, twisted to the left and stiff. so
much so that i couldnt even push it back into
place for a few days. counting with my palms
facing me meant Five was purple and black&blue
and green.

"days, weeks guage years."

current mood: disappointed

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Friday, March 1st, 2002
1:52 am - i really am a happy individual.
cold lungs. im dying, friends and neighbors. dying. in the meantime, i think im going to make spaghetti. so, yeah, whats was i saying? oh yeah, im dying.
my mind is anywhere but here right now. i cant get planet of the apes out of my head. not the new one. i never saw it. no, the old ones. noah and i were supposed to finish our marathon while he was housesitting. i loved those weekends. we ordered chinese food to our door. their door. the door. fuck. it was chinese food, who cares whose door it was. i have the third movie in my head. the final scenes. with the mother rushing around the ship trying to save her baby. maybe noah and i can finish the movies when he and i are living together. in our own place. with navid and todzy. we can order chinese food to our door. our door. who fucking cares what we eat, its our door.
next time. tell me. when. the novelty wears off.

"Insulting, degrading, or otherwise offensive notes
are strictly forbidden" huh, who knew.
picking up the pieces, yes.
i meant me. haha
this is a note i never left you.

dialog between two geometric shapes.
"im trying to figure things out"
"yeah. i just cant tell whats going on anymore"
"it looks fine to me"
"i guess thats what i needed to hear"
overdue after march first, library fees shall ensue, ontop of my parking fines, and i shall surely never register for class. overdue:

i want nothing left of me for you, ho death
except some fertilizer
for the next batch of us
who do not hold hands with you
who do not enbrace you
who try not to work for you
or sacrifice themselves or trust
or believe you, ho ignorant
death, how do you know
we happened to you?
wherever our meat hangs on our own bones
for our own use
your pot is so empty
death, ho death
you chall be poor

judy grahn (exerpt from a woman is talking to death)

water's boiling.
i like knowing where im standing. i remember being very young, at the beach. plastic shovel and pail. little dark blue or green bathing suit. one of those things from that decade. the short ones. with the V split on either side. who were we to judge? we have pictures of me and my dad, in the apartment from that life, backs to the camera, turning our upper torsos around and pointing to the LEE label on our jeans. mimicking the commercial at the time.

yes, that was a good time to be alive. and on the beach. a good time to be on the beach. again, plastic shovel and pail. soaked bathing suit with the V. bright blond mop. four, five, or six year old ribs barely restrained by soft skin and not-so-much baby fat. i imagine myself being so optimistic back then! with the sand shifting under my feet. tide comes in, tide goes out. the sand sloshing between my toes. im sure i stood there, motionless, for several minutes. inspecting this phenomenon.

i turned around and discovered that i had migrated twenty feet from my parents. it might as well have been a mile. i was scared and ran back, because i like knowing where i stand.
spaghetti's done.
that year, that trip to the beach, my dad took me out way past the undertoe. the water seems more shallow out there. like only a foot deep. i remember being amazed. and then seeing the waves. big ass motherfuckers. ten feet tall. tsunamis. thats how i remember them anyways. and i would get all excited as they approached. probably nearly peed in my bathing suit. (peeed?) and dad would pick me up, under my arms, just as they were upon us and the water would catch only my feet. and i would laugh and laugh.

i know he's still trying to do that for me. he seemed really upset when i told him i wouldnt be coming back this summer. but i have to take care of things myself. its time for me to enter the lowest income bracket and sink or swim.
"you never know what floats your boat until youre sunk."
good words from todzy at dinner last night.
im spaghetti sauce-less. fuck.
the water is fucking fickle like that. never letting you know where you stand. i think the word one geometric shape used was "flakey." "i'll have to keep that in mind." and with that in mind, i backtrack. the span of time rather than a distance. oh, but there is a distance, dont be mistaken. somewhere in the late hours, wrapped in yellow tape. chalklines drawn around the hands of a clock. frozen in three AM positions. where did the coded goodbyes go? i miss them. and.

final words from one geometric shape to another:
thanks for keeping my chin up.
i dont like the new converge, by the way. and my spaghetti wasnt so great either.
there may be rounds everywhere. scattered shells: bullets and bodies. emptied. the firey stuff blasted out of them with a hammer. activated by a trigger. activated by a finger. activated by an electrical impulse. neurons. there may be those, everywhere. casualities. but i never used names as ammunition against you. at least i can say that much.
i really am a happy individual. you just have to get to know me.
postscript: is that so much to ask?

current mood: sick

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Tuesday, February 26th, 2002
12:53 am - give me fair warning; i dont want to be kicked in the stomach when im not looking.
"we're just two kids who happen know eachothers friends too well.
and we both leave early from the shows on friday night."

--the secret stars andy and the girls

last night i was far too two AM tired to do this.

Sleep played hard to get this week(end). brown eyes turn to black-and-blue-bagged eyes. they marched across Bataan with such luggage. & somewhere between Bataan and reaching across snooze buttons, they dropped to their knees, prodded on with the butt of a rifle, and prayed for release.

instead they got a fucking biology test.
hey golgotha do your friends still do their great ike and tina karaoke? --tim kinsella

karaoke night. an all-sorts-of-craziness-night. warm greatings ("youre well liked") and lots of names belonging to faces to too-new-people. friendly and foam-lipped. water: not a drop to drink. and so on. songs encrypted in a foreign country twang, as to keep their message a secret (like i know anything about that) so i watched the basketball game. technical foul on the texas coach. caught watching by megan. technical foul on the boy. scolded and returned to karaoke. returned to two hands and ten fingers. plus two hands and ten fingers. four hands and twenty fingers, and a three-two-one kiss when no one was looking. & tickling matches bringing backs to wooden seats. we are the champions. (would the real embarrassed guy please stand up: im fucking innocent.)

cold house afterwords. yearbooks. "im on ten." anxious for exits, but no post-party plans turn into early goodnights. warm house afterwords and sleep around four or five.

"dont look like this is torture." really, i had fun.
somewhere, somehow, somewhen. a creek creeped into my chest. crept into my chest with a cough. exercises itself in the big breaths. chest crushes. creeks. coughs. catapillar-crinkles in the middle, across my bed. crush. creek. cough.

chrysalis in black and grey sheets. red and orange wings tucked inside. lungs,

blooming in red and orange. i shall surely bleed to death if this is not fixed.
im sorry i dont sign with the 24-15 code everytime. sometimes i think i should. i think about comp tapes and valentines day projects i killed. smothered in black and grey sheets. i think about Low songs &. i think about and.

and the boy and girl behind me in biology, at five in the afternoon, make me think. about the wheres and the whats. the whos are settled, the whys i think are given. whens are the hard parts. the hows do the dirty work.

but twentyeight divided by three is a surge of urgancy. a need to be safety. to be base.
the vineyard: go fuck yourself.

fridays show was a pile of shit. fuckers gave us half an hour to play; not only neglected to tell us that, but didnt tell us when our time was "running." all in all, we got to play TWO songs. TWO. i made a FOUR AND A HALF HOUR round trip to play two songs. so did danny, and oh... danny, poor danny, broke his guitar. stepped on the chord, jerked the body in the air, and ripped a hole right through it. and the vineyard fuckers still made us stop after our second song because we spent so much time trying to get another guitar and tuning it. of course the other two bands got to play upwards of 45 to 60 minutes. whatever. personally, i never want to play there again, but the rest of the band seems to want to give it another shot. i warned them i wouldnt be nice if we did play there again.

consequently, they said i couldnt talk into the mic between songs if we went back.
lunch with nina:
i bit my tongue. what the fuck? am i five? you'd think i had been chewing food for long enough to know how to do it.

oh how i enjoy those times with her and our posse. some of the best hours of my day are spent in the dining hall, being all giggles-to-the-ground and banana-cell-phone-conversations and crushed-on-french-spies-that-can-cook. such great fun. and how we relate on that radio station level! the best times.
jason's been hanging out with a new one. to replace the blahsmoka. its in code. forget the fuck away from me and just take it for what it is. i didnt invent it anyways.


two weeks. same person. lots of time. and daniel says shes a tease for not being interested in jason. how is that fair? why is that required of her? its like telling her shes not allowed to have a male friend. the put-out-or-get-out mentality. reinforces that feeling of never being safe. reminds me of the politically incorrect episode last friday. one of those judd characters. and what is patriarchal. and how another woman could tell her it was okay... beyond me.

judy grahn, you are changing things even when you dont know it.
the way the hair frames. your face. drink H2O breath O2.
if basement shows at 369 finely street house were anything like the first punk shows, then it had every right in the world to carry on. last thursday was hands to the ceiling holding myself up, brown hands from dusty wooden boards. bracing the kitchen floor above and bracing the dance floor below. fourty plus kids and twenty, dancing like they really meant it when they said "unity." not basing it on looks or lifestyle, but fucking friendship. give me that anyday.

somewhere in the cloud of eighty plus pumping fists, my glasses went flying. four eyes divided into two. lost in a sea of eighty plus stomping feet. caught on the fishhook fingers of daniel. before they even touched the floor.

smile: returned. glasses: returned.
these eyes. Bataan eyes. four eyes. dimming forget-you eyes with the butt of a rifle in between their shoulders. these eyes march no further. Sleep will have to put a bullet through them right here and now.

"the bowler, the bower, you fucking coward."
my life as a comp tape: because she tells me im musically challenged.
you&i 143
mars volta corelli theme
children of bodom touch like angel of death
david axelrod youre so vain
against me impact
usurp synapse truth about pyecraft
my first step toward failure screaming in silence
princess superstar you get mad at napster
handsome boy modelling school the projects
nathaniel merriweather to catch a thief
portrait once an englishman
q and not u hooray for humans
twelve hour turn clothesline
children of bodom towards dead end
david axelrod a little girl lost
you&i memory loss
usurp synapse robocop as a fragrance
low over the ocean (re-remix dance 91)
secret stars back in the car
low i started a joke
death cab for cutie cover of "wait" by the secret stars
secret stars melt

current mood: sleepy

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Wednesday, February 20th, 2002
2:24 am - even petey-wheatstraw must have wondered, what ever happens after
"oh, its tragically december tonight. so lets stay in. i'll go get dinner. anything to eat some time." such a pretty line. warms my heart with pictures of bryan and his, back then, way back when. it was sweet sometimes, really, in that one room. when i could imagine it being warm & loving. seriously.

"wrestlin' in pajamas so big on you" was one i never got to write. a comp tape sort of thing, as it were. and now i feel like im back there. in a comparible situation-- a situation. i dont like calling it that. its more comfortable than that. its not a doctor or dentist office's waiting room chair. its not a waiting room chair. its a lets-sit-and-stare-at-eachother thing. a couch.

yes. a couch...
i remember. summer. and that too, that couch back then, became a situation. or at least i call it that now. i never felt that way, really. rarely had reluctance as a quality then. and still dont put it on my resum�.

so i shall resume
(as i may). so i shouldnt call it that.
i try to picture your esoftagus. my first grade teacher, you might know her son, we were best friends all through elementry school, she told us it takes eight seconds in all. all those. yeah.

& hey, theres something to soft slow arcs and feeling good. gradual White cupped in Blue & thought. it put me to rest. not sleep, but to rest.
words from nina on rockstar boys with condesending shit to say.

tweenina: and i got addicted to his stupid flattery
tweenina: the good ones never shower u with flattery
tweenina: only the ones that see u as an extension of their egos

nina secretly loves this. me writing about her. not the condesending shit.
dialog with one, where i make two.

1: were you really mad at me the other night?
2: i was in a really bad mood and had a shit load of work to do, and i was cool as soon as we left, but yeah, i was ready to slit your fucking throat.
about something different:
"[you are] over the counter productive culture."
speaking of nina, somewhere back there, she and i had a great time today. i saw her on the bus after class and we wined and dined with jonathan, plus. always good times. i didnt realize how much i missed nina. she was the one who really got me into the station, gave me the confidence to waltz in there like i owned the fucking place, because i could say "fuck you, im friends with nina." petty, i know. but i felt good. comfortable. at ease enough to camp out in the exec office for a few nights when the dorms closed for holidays. shes graduating soon. i think our re-kindled friendship is going to make goodbye harder than i would have thought three or four weeks ago.
my reflex snaps at the idea & i avert my eyes. but shutting them in, my eyes that is, gives it a screen to project upon. and i should want to whip my head back, out of a pool of cold water, spray erupting from my choke for breath, press my forehead to skylines, hard as i can. wide eyed to white sky. to sun light. to burn the picture out of my retina.

it just makes me shudder, when you get up to put those down.
pictures! thanks kari.
im going to stop before i make this any worse. my death waits in a double bed.

"everyones quiet when the record ends."
all quotes consistantly ripped off of the tim kinsella album.

current mood: unaccomplished, but better now

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Monday, February 18th, 2002
11:44 pm - dance party quote of all time: his crotch is murder.
"growing up, and rain sort of remains on the branches of the tree that will someday rule the earth. and its good that there is rain. it clears the month... and it clears the streets of the silent audience. so that we can dance."
today was a long lost stillwell t-shirt, red, reclaimed and worn in. long slender walks. meals in good company. two out of three classes. strategically placed naps. some good news. and lots of reading.

today was getting used to being normal again, now that brooks has gone home and my superhuman stature has been handed over again. he makes me feel invincible. somewhere, in ten rolls of film, in a shoebox, under my bed, i have pictures of us. having snuck into sanford stadium: last year, late at night, early fall. pictures of us with a sign that learned how to say "god is watching you" instead of just "snacks" and "peanuts" and "cokes," "large" and "small," and so on.

one and a half year old dialog:
"brooks, youre never going to get in there." i wasnt in the mood to play around. just as the words left my mouth, he tried the fourth lock, and it opened. "you're jesus. thats all there is to it. you're jesus." we sat in the bleachers. my first time ever. with eightyfive thousand empty seats surrounding us. talking about ex-girlfriends, or what we could scrounge up on the topic.

the second weekend we took bryan with us. snuck in. and almost got arrested. but we tip-toed out the gate and right behind the officer. i had to laugh like hell.
too embarrassed to ask, even out of earshot, we had to speak in code. abbreviations. the second and third figures in our alphabetapolothology system taking first priority in my mind. because (b/c) i had to know what i was getting into. anxiety and stomach acid retreated from my throat and gut, taking the weight with it.

thank you for knowing how to be a good friend.
"i can only hope to/ measure up to/ the friendship/ youve shown me"
this afternoon: 145 pages into the book i should have been reading for the last two weeks. 115 pages to go. t-minus 3 days & counting. we have a show friday. at the vienyard with tastes like (muthafuckin rebellion) and more than maybe. im looking forward to it. hopefully i will be well rested and ready to go. i miss my band. i feel like i havent seen them in forever. two weeks since our last show. friday, bubbles and flashlights are much appriciated.
fourty-two miles. fourty-five. something like that. something like last night and long drives. something like 2 hours hopelessly sprawling across gwinnettian territory before settling on a couch and a blank tv screen. circling lakes & eleven o'clock blackouts in parking lots. & so much talk til two. and a drive til three on three-sixteen spanning another fourty-two miles. fourty-five. something like that. eighty-eight and a half (fm) playing the role of the passenger.

college radio hip hop hook carrying me home:
"every second of/ every minute of/ every day of/ my life"
something like that.

something like small hands & "i can hear your heart beat."
i remember when... all i could say was, "i wish i had something to say."
i lay my head on a pillow. another on my head, lightly

there is a point, in my car, at which i find ninety and a half, and know i am home. and i know i can lay my body down, buried up to my neck in black sheets, and sleep. die a little bit. and what i leave behind is worth it, because i spent that time at home. MY home. i claimed that little piece for myself.

i pull the blankets up, just over my mouth, and breath.

"There is a period between each night and day when one dies for a few hours, neither dreaming nor thinking nor tossing nor hating nor loving, but dying for a little while because life progresses in just such a way."

may my mind be at ease
dragging us backwards:
i never heard anyone call you that before. initials i had never used to call your name. a reminder that there were years we collected apart. i remember, sometime, around the last time we had a class together, finding two trees that had grown from virtually the same spot in the ground. their trunks were melded together. but there was a spot in the middle where they had grown apart. their bodies split and created the eye of a needle. and like nothing had happened, they came togther again, melded into one tree, and stretched out branches like yawning fingertips. seriously. it was behind the pool in my neighborhood. someone cut it down that weekend. where those trees stood, i still have a memory of the branches of the tree that will someday rule the earth.
i want to be able to say more, but im keeping it for myself.
postscript: nothing-- nothing-- is more comforting than a blank tv screen & hands on your back.
quotes stolen at gunpoint from:
something from a you&i song, vonnegut, oneway, some song on the radio, cap'n jazz, mike kinsella, john okada's No-No Boy.

current mood: productive

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Friday, February 15th, 2002
4:08 am - stigmata in a stovepipe hat.
i am a valentine's day party animal:
dead in bed by 9pm, listening to my roommate and our friend gene going on about die hard and lethal weapon movies. seriously. three of the first, and four of the second. nuclear bombs, electro-magnets, figure skating. the soundtrack to my slumber. i joined in where i could. i do what i can.
i try.
seven hours. several dreams.

my brain was all over the place. my body was a chalk outline on black and grey sheets. cafeterias. catholic school bathrooms. my parents house and the Preditor. "would you be willing to go in his place?" cartoons playing football with human bodies. searching for even numbers.

megan told me she had read a book on dreams. about their meanings and how to interpret them. i remember my sophomore year of highschool listening to two females (student and teacher) talk about a similar book. spiders. something about spiders. maybe they were supposed to be sexual? i dont know.

"i think thats bullshit."
today was one-out-of-two of my classes and hours at the radio station. noon to two. minus one, especially. four to six. plus one, excitedly. all about how to build a time machine and dance parties to the faint. "its a head nodding party." packaged in a little box. (you're miniature without arms, sizable for carry-on luggage)

i yo-yo'd home in red with nina, then chris. wined and dined with chris and nathan (minus w, plus h-2-tha-muthafuckin-izz0). saw the cute girl with short hair. and died in a single bed. happy v-day to me.
a sample of dream #1
being kissed on the back of the neck by a friend winning our tickling match, squirming to regain control. "everything's spider-webby." wrists shackled in fists, loosely noosed in a kiss. suffocating, gasping for breath and bed. somewhere in there, she pulled the wind out of me and we had to think things over together. happy v-day to me.

woke up, looked at nathan, went back to sleep.
frankenstein-ed my way out of bed at 4am. patchworked and divided by sleep. 81 minutes later, im starving and wide awake. (why are we doing this? wide awake, doing this) two and a half hours til the dininghall opens.
my mom called this evening. didnt recognize my voice on the phone when i picked up. talk was thin, famished, and passed over to my little brother before too long so i could tell him happy valentine's day. he had a party today, in his first grade class, and gave out valentines with pokemon and monsters inc and something else. saturday he is racing his pinewood derby car in scouts. too cute.
about the figure in dream #1: sometimes i wonder how she puts up with me. i've had too few kind words to share this year. a cold front and "fuck" to eveything she says. incompleted stares. somewhere in there, certain social skills are severely lacking on my part. saint valentine, retreat and come back home*.

incompleted stares: if you blew me a kiss in the dark i would pull out the supports and fold. roll across my knees, head to heals. slumped in bad posture would turn into slumped in bad form. i would kill the idea. like lincoln. like a dead fucking bird, feathers all crushed and promising disease.

[you] expected more from [me] than distant dodging eyes.

retreat and come back home.
"buses. public transportation. hand rails from above.

"it was all aesthetics versus practicality. public transportation was economically and ecologically efficient. and the notion 'tis nobler to surround oneself with one's fellow man filled his heart... sometimes. but there had been times, alone in his own automobile, that he had discovered things and the beautiful part was that there was no one there to share it. the moment was rarified. unique to his own experiences.

"one event stood out in his mind. at a stop sign in the old-fashioned downtown of his home. waiting to make a left turn onto the road that wrapped the BBQ-n-biscuits shack of a resturant. this was his rearing. his blood. it had been summer time, so surely his elbow was jutting out of an open window. and he happened to look up in time to see the most peculiar sight in his rear-view mirror: behind him, and down the small street, a yellow balloon half deflated, bouncing along the road perpendicular, as if it too were an automobile. perfectly normal. trying to blend in.

"it was fate, his silly friends might contend, if he ever shared that story. they would attribute it to some supreme being, search for meaning that wasnt there. but he was pretty sure nothing ever happened for a reason. if he was ever to allow himself to believe otherwise, he would have to face the fact that, in light of the evidence he had collected, god did not like him.

"he pressed his briefcase tighter to his lap and waist, then released his tension, and looked sadly, from his seat on the bus, at those using the hand rails from above."
i am a 6:31 hunger fit. time to put myself back to sleep. to death in a single bed, dressed in black and grey sheets. signed, your valentine.
postscript: in 12 hours i will be with my best friend, brooks, again. life is good (when you are a cheesy motherfucker).
"everything's spider-webby" from cornish in a turtle neck... this line just happened to play as i was typing.
"retreat and come back home" from i hate myself's To A Husband At War.
"why are we doing this? wide awake doing this?" and "i expected more from you than distant dodging eyes" from 12 hour turn. (dodging or darting? i cant recall)

current mood: awake

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Tuesday, February 12th, 2002
2:38 am - "can anybody tell me...why jesus never called on me to part the fucking sea?"
"you are a catapillar. so walk to the doorway and when you get out to the playground you can become a butterfly. and if i dont see you smiling and having fun im going to send you back inside."
Sleep found me at five:thirty this morning. an ambush. an assassination. a cold crack to the back of the head and three hours of restlessness ensued. when my alarm went off at eight:thirty, the barrel of Sleep's gun was still smoking.

i looked around myself and wiped the crust from the exit wounds.

slipped two limbs into three week old jeans, and left the scene of the crime. still bleeding with sleep. eyes rolling in my head, lids and lashes hanging lifelessly, blood and guts evidencing themselves in my blank stare.
"blood and guts," thats what i used to tell my 4th graders. "you are a catapillar. this line is a catapillar. and if you break the line or get too far ahead or too far behind, the catapillar is going to snap. and then you will just be blood and guts all over the hall. you dont want that, do you?"

i loved my 4th graders. so fresh and so clean, clean.
one class, a quiz, and an essay later, i was in bed again. from one:fifteen until six:oh-seven. six:oh-nine. something like that.

skipped dinner to go to my little brother's 1st grade musical.
her mom told me, "she thinks you're awesome."

i acted like i knew that already. ive had a crush on her daughter since the second grade. take that, god; i've known her longer than you. i wanted to stay and talk. to arrange the marriage. but i had to video tape my brother from the back of the cafeteria.
tonight, Sleep killed my roommate too.

"you ever get that feeling like you are going to be crazy by the time you are 30; not too sure why but sometimes it makes perfect sense; i guess i cant imagine ever actually having to feign adulthood, and like in every metaphorical novel, the one that can't evolve must be removed from the story (even if it is your own); i mean ever since i was a kid i have looked forward to growing up and not having to do the "kid" stuff anymore, i always thought it was trite; i think i was too serious as a child, and sometimes my parents were not serious enough; mabye i was trying to fill in where they fell behind; ehhh, dont get me wrong i love my parents, it is just sometimes i was in situations where life really couldnt get worse; oh well, maybe that is why i am never too serious about things now, some become callous towards life but being callous is no way to actually deal with a problem and i guess i had to teach myself that early otherwise i am pretty sure i would have withered up and fallen apart, i think that is why i am such a goofball, i guess you could say i became callous towards being callous, hey when you have to be earnest at times when you shouldnt have to be i think it is only fair to be capricious when you have to be earnest, i think that falls under the law of conservation of mass somehow; i dont know when i decided it, but i think a while ago i decided that life is about making other people feel good, and i don't really matter (though there are times when exceptions must be made), it makes sense to me though to not derive my identity from who i am but who i am to other people; though it is far more arduous to live like that, and i think far to many people are genuinly scared of not having an identity to call their own, it could work......ye, it could work, now i just need to act on everything i believe and believe everything i say..... i think then i could flap my wings and start the tidal wave... alright well that was pure babble, but babbling is good (just call me brooke ;-))... i guess i am tired enough everything seems vital or not important at all.... but if you have made it this far in the IM, then thanks for putting up with my absurdity, really, im glad you're my friend....alright i think i am showering then going to bed even though i should do work, nothing will happen but my eyes absolutely collapse in the midst of something important; ciao"

i dont understand most of what he's talking about.
"ive been cut in the throat with a knife; triangular shaped blade, so the wound cannot close. im bleeding cherry coke all over the fucking place. on my hands and knees over white carpet. spitting frothy syrup in long sticky strings. right hand over left, left over right, crawling for the phone. for the sink. its all in slow motion, so the blood hangs in the air.

this is what it is to be betrayed."
we can toast to the untimely death of those that dealt the numbers.

save my soul with 3 and 7 and 12.
but im something like 5 and 2
and 666.

something like 19 going on 20,
6 and a fraction,
98 point 6,
and one less than i expected.
"hey god, i dare you to say that to my face, i dare you to be 14 again."

current mood: discontent

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Monday, February 11th, 2002
1:05 am - three pounds of shit in a two pound bag.
my theme music: redencion nueve-once.
"dont you think it defeats the purpose of being in a bad mood if you dont know why youre in a bad mood to begin with?" my brain tells me, maybe if you give her a blank stare she will quit talking. i didnt come here to socialize. god bless the birthday boy's soul (seriously), but im here for the music. the jazz. not to chatter over their talent with disrespect.

theres my standard-"emo"-i'm-so-withdrawn-from-society-i-need-a-livejournal-to-communicate-(to-fucking-deal-with-life)-introduction. now that i have passed that like a painful bowel movement we can carry on, unbloated (deflated?) and limber.
this weekend saw me fail to meet par, over and over again. friday night we played with a band from chile, which was awesome, but nothing about the show met my expectations. mostly on the part of our band, myself particularly. i couldnt kick high enough or stay on the drum set long enough. and the 3 hour drive home was slow suicide. every mile an inch thru my wrist. i bled to death long before we got home and was buried in black sheets on the bottom bunk.
saturday morning was deficient in showers and proficient in questions and hunger. interviews: on an empty stomach & under dirty uncombed hair. thank god it was just for the radio station where that kind of thing is actually valued. haha.
saturday, itself, through saturday night was a goddam irritation. work and more work, even though i dont remember being in my department, or doing my job for that matter. it was taxing enough just to have to be there. my body hurt. my tired neck is worn thin and shoe string tight. or it was. very nearly, i think, snapped off where the jaw encases the jugular. where it boomarangs the wires. very nearly walked out on me. i saw that gleam in its eye. that look of betrayal. the lipstick on its collar. blood red. something so tacky i would never wear it. evidence of double-cross. enough to convict a traitor.

"traitor." in arabic, a potential marking.

(if you are lost then i have done well)
saturday night through sunday morning was spent.... on this goddam thing. and this morning was two tickets to rollerball too many. we should have just gone to the park. if we needed it to be dark we could have closed our eyes. afterwords, with band practice cancelled, i drove to my parents' house. i played baseball with my little brother (tiene seis anos). tambien, yo habl� con mi papa.... talked to my dad about where my friends are now: west georgia in pink hair; not utah, but a paint store instead; bothering people door-to-door in australia (fucking mormons); perimeter looking into savannah... & i was sitting in a garage watching paint dry. seriously.
i told my brother i was going home. he was climbing the fence. doing what little boys do. he stopped, two fists and a knee atop the border, looked at me funny, and said "you are home."

"i mean school. im going back to school."
i found a way to sleep through the unconventional hours of the day once i got back home. to school, i mean. to school. four to seven:thirty. who needs 'em? my roommate woke me up when he came in. i asked him about his weekend and fell back asleep i think. woke up terribly hungry and drove out to wal-mart to get something to cook. i managed to burn my tomato soup (dont ask) and settle for saltine crackers-- their partner in crime-- instead. soon i abandoned all efforts to eat, and in their place was jazz night.
im pretty sure my hands are cold. yes. they are cold.
"coup d'oeil"
(would be the title i would give to this if it were made into a short film)

friday night,
just to drag us back into that,
words were changed to commemorate
two rings plus one.
two people plus five(am).
what two and a half and twenty have in common.

stolen from pinback,
i charged
through the quiet parts of the new song
"and the ripped ones... never collide.
while the others, while the others..."

while i have never been a firm believer in this (god can testify to my lack of firm belief in much at all), i think now, perhaps, the having nothing in common can be more romantic (than etc). so i gave that to the new song. filled it in. that was my part. i have no idea what lindsey and justin are screaming.

what two and a half and twenty have in common,
two rings plus one,
two people plus five,
four nine five three one.
this is three pounds of shit in a two pound bag. & im dropping it all over myself. goodnight. xoxo
(i postscript like silly)

fyreballz25: no, i get that a lot... or maybe i just hear the silent voices. whatever the case, i feel like the majority think i'm a fucking retard
ThsBoysEmo: hahahaha
ThsBoysEmo: hey well let me inflate your self esteem by asking you a question
ThsBoysEmo: is the golf term "par" or "parr"?
ThsBoysEmo: or neither?
fyreballz25: par i believe
ThsBoysEmo: okay
ThsBoysEmo: i dont know where i got the second r from
fyreballz25: and when i play its about 60 over
fyreballz25: what is a pom-pom?
ThsBoysEmo: that cheerleadin thing, right?
fyreballz25: oh really? you sure its not a "pomn-pomn"?
fyreballz25: sorry, pomb-pomb
ThsBoysEmo: are you fucking with me? maybe a pom-pom is like a bon-bon then...
fyreballz25: dammit, i can't remember which is which. one is a cheerleader thing and the other is some fucking anti-air artillery
ThsBoysEmo: no, youre confusing bon-bon with bomb-bomb
real acronyms that someone felt were necessary to write down.
PARR Pakistan Atomic Research Reactor
PARR Poseidon Augmented Radio Room
PARR Program Analysis & Resource Review
PARR Program Assessment Review Report
par (n.)
An amount or level considered to be average; a standard: performing up to par; did not yet feel up to par.

(maybe four pounds of shit)

current mood: drained

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Sunday, February 10th, 2002
2:31 am - about this entry and hour: tasteless, odorless, colorless... you wouldnt even know it was there.
son a las dos y media. something like that. i imagine there is good reason why im a poor spanish student. this keyboard, by the way, is spiteful and many-a-key refuse to cooperate. i try to fix as many mistakes as possible (now) but it will get old soon and you will get used to my erros. (like that)

we played with a band from Chile last night. redencion nueve:once. very polite. very soft spoken. the kind of people that make me feel guilty throughout a conversation, and leave me clueless as to why.

there should be a story in there somewhere, but its not happening tonight. left eye winks and right eye follows. i didnt say "simon says." they are both out.

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2:28 am - over-achiever with the control-C and control-V
hey.another old one. im just trying to fill up space. one day i will have thoughts of my own again....

then i will be a real boy.
6.5.2k1... i had the craziest dream the other night. i think it was the night before last. somewhere between eight:thirty and ten AM. i was at work and my manager asked me to watch the manager's office for a little while. sure thing, i thought. not a problem. now understand, in real life this office does not exist. thats the way dreams work though, i guess. nothing has to make sense or be consistant. and that was certainly the case with this dream.
im not entirely clear on the details, but there was this button on the manager's desk. it had some warning label. something i couldnt really read, yet the message was clear... you arent supposed to touch this...THAT MEANS YOU. so what did i do? yeah, i pushed the button. crap.

have you ever seen the part in the movie ''weird science'' when the missile or rocket or whatever it is rises out of the floor of the kid's house? it errupts thru the floor, splinters the ceiling above, demolishes the second floor, and emerges form the roof of the house. yeah, that part. thats exactly what happened in my dream.

apparently my place of business, in this dream world, was housing nuclear warheads and my innocent press of the aforementioned button caused them to launch from the floor just below men's accessories. crazy business. im not exactly sure what happened to them. i think they hit china or something. i remember looking up at the sky and seeing the missiles and an airplane trying to collide with them. an airplane or a bird. im not sure which it was. anywho, it missed the missiles and for all i know, they started world war three. but that part was obsolete. what i really remember clearly was my manager walking up to me and explaining to me how sorry she was that i had to be fired for launching the missiles when i should have known better. ''now stephen, we trusted you in that office... and i think you know what i have to do now... i hate to say it too... i dont want to have to do this, but i have no choice... the company has to let you go...'' she said. i felt bad for her. and rushed, because i was trying to quckly come up with an excuse for having launched the missiles. but she continued, ''and the money the company saves by not having to pay you, they are going to use to sue you.''

aaaaaaaaaahh great. in my dream i had also launched nuclear weapons from my parents' house the week before and i was desperate to find and excuse for launching two nuclear attacks in one week. not only that, in this dream i was stressed out enough as it was, just trying to figure out how i was going to repay my family for the damages to the house. now i had to worry about losing my job and getting sued. this was not a good night's sleep. however, the only thing that crossed my mind was, how am i ever going to get married now? i cant support a family if im getting sued for tons of money i have yet to even earn. what a nightmare. why cant i have normal dreams?

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2:04 am - i am all words too many (in a class on hitch-hikers 101)
im already having regrets.

this is old news. but i wanted my first journal (god, this is cheesy; nina, shoot me) to be worth reading. so i just grabbed something particularly meaningful to me from my other page (www.angelfire.com/boybands/xsweatervestx) and posted it.

dont like it?

dont care.
6.21.2k1... yesterday when i was driving home at 7:30 pm i passed this tall skinny white man with glasses and a mustache, tight jeans, and a black sweatshirt slung over his shoulder. head hung low. hair cut short. awkward. i completely wizzed by him at first, feeling sorry for myself for having wasted my day off with a million things that werent turning out right. then i thought about how he must feel. he was in the middle of nowhere. walking. so i turned around and made a circle to get behind him again. it took some work to get his attention. honking my horn while pulled over on the side of the road behind him didnt work, so i eventually had to get in the right lane, beside him, with traffic passing me, to yell at him. he accepted my ride and hopped in.

first thing i noticed, he smelled like beer. i asked him where he was headed and his answer was ''well... where are you goin'?'' i think he thought i was only going to take him so far. i explained that i would drive him home, wherever home was, if thats where he needed to go. so after talking about how my day had been going and explaining that i was just pissed off with everyone and had no direction, he finally agreed to let me drive him home. technically, he lived in lawrenceville (where i live). i didnt realize this part of lawrenceville existed. it was a ways out there, past the skating rink that everyone used to go to in elementry school. on the way there we talked about a lot of stuff. about what he was doing out there, how he got out there, where he was going, what his plans were for the night, where he worked, what his children were like, the police, athens, friends, everything.
his name is dennis. he is a fifty year old retiree from the phone company. he installed the phones in the mall of georgia where i now work. he took a ''lump sum'' pension (?) of 250,000 dollars and left the phone company just recently. he and his wife are getting a divorce, but it has so far been a long process, because he knew they were splitting up when he was installing the phones in the mall, which had to be at least two years ago. and we were driving to his wife's house where all his stuff was. he has three children. i know i saw two of them. one kid running around his neighborhood was questionably the third. the oldest is about my age. he would have graduated this past year, but a month before school ended he dropped out. dennis and i talked about how it wasnt too late for his son to finish if he wanted to go back. that son went to south gwinnett highschool. his other chilren are 15 and 8. i saw the eight year old for sure. she gave dennis a fathers day card while i sat in his den and watched something on comedy central with david shwimmer. " 'i love you daddy'," dennis read, "i love you too pun'kin" and gave her a hug.

dennis had all his stuff was layed out on the floor in the den. all he wanted to grab was his credit card from his wife and a little bag with clean clothes. dennis had been picked up for his second or third DUI, which was why he was walking down the street. he had been coming home from the priliminary hearing at court. the one where you go with about fifty other people with tickets and state your plea and then get an assigned ''real'' court date to have your case tried, if you wish to do so. dennis has to meet with a probation officer and pay him 35 dollars at each visit. he was the last to have his plea heard yesterday in court, because his infraction (DUI) was a violation of his probation. the case had more or less been pushed back because of some technicality. today dennis is doing his last day of community service for a previous infraction of the law. he has been mowing grass since seven o'clock this morning, i imagine.

dennis's first DUI had been on the bridge over I-85. he was driving from the outback steakhouse on one side of the bridge to the days inn on the other side. he could have walked the distance in twenty minutes. incidentally, the walk he was taking tonight would have taken him roughly 12 hours, just to get to his house (i originally thought maybe five hours, but others' estimations were much higher). then he would have had to walk all the way back to where i picked him up to crash at the days inn. he hasnt been living with his family, since the split up i suppose. he has been spending a fortune on motels and cabs, because he has neither a place to stay nor a drivers licence.

dennis and i did our impersonations of the cops that have pulled us over in the past. we shared stories about court and tickets. of course, mine were all for speeding, his were all for DUI and fighting. he told me of one specific officer that he hates that gave him a citation for getting in a fight with a guy at applebees. the cop tore dennis's shirt when he threw him in the back of the police car. he told me about how he has to pay fifteen dollars each day before he does his community service. about how, if he has ten and another guy has twenty behind him, they cant combine it to make thirty. you either have the fifteen or you dont get to do your service for the day, and therefore have to do it later. i told him about getting pulled over fifty feet away from my friend's house when i was speeding. about how i offered to show the officer some leg if he would left me off with a warning, just as a joke, and how the officer didnt think it was funny. then dennis and i did our impresonations of what the officer's reaction could have been. (southern accent, a must) i had to shoot 'im. he was bein' a smart ass. i pulled out my mag'num and pumped two bullets in 'is side 'fore he could make any more smart ass comments.

dennis has a good sense of humor.

dennis smoked his cigarette at his house before getting back in my car. he wanted to be courtious. i sat on his front porch with his son and his son's friend. i watched his son's friend ride a bike with some younger kids. his son's friend left his afro pick in the grass. dennis's front yard caught on fire once because an ash tray blew over into the grass. he joked that the grass grew in better where the fire had been, and that he should have let the fire spread over to one area to the left side (our left) where the grass wasnt as thick. dennis's wife was not the least bit phased by walking into her house and seeing me there in her den. his son hardly said hello.

dennis wanted to pick up 'a cold beer' on the way back to the days inn, and give me some money for gas. he warned me about the bump at the entrance to the gas station, about how it would tear up my suspension. about how "the stupid fucking rag heads*" that ran the place didnt know any better than to have that uneven entrance. i wouldnt let dennis pay for the gas. i filled up while he bought his beer. i walked in to pay just as dennis was paying for his beer. he tried to give me a five. i turned it down. when he walked out the stupid fucking raghead* asked me if he was my dad. "no, i just picked him up off the street about twenty minutes ago... he had a DUI and isnt allowed to drive." she looked at me funny. i guess i shouldnt have mentioned that he had a DUI. i dont think she believed me at first. i was afraid she thought he was buying the beer for me. finally she smiled and said, "well he is really nice, he comes in here all the time." the stupid fucking raghead*, by the way, was very pretty. i loved her eyes and mouth.

dennis drank a beer while i drove him to the days inn. he said he had to "keep em low in these parts" talking about holding the beer down where police couldnt see it. we passed at least two cops on the trip. i slowed down to ridiculous speeds when one got behind me. i wanted to see how slow i could go. she passed me. there was somebody in the back seat of her car. dennis had warned me that our "friend" was behind us. it felt like an aliance. a bond.

dennis signed my journal before i let him out of my car. we thanked eachother for the good time and wished eachother the best of luck. dennis thought he was going to go to jail yesterday. thats why he had only a sweatshirt. he said he thinks he might go to jail in july when he goes back to court. i wont know if he does. when we passed the lawrenceville police station he told me he was just another number on their sign. onehundred and eightysix, i think was the number. but dennis will not be just another number to me. he will be a man i talked to. a man i exchanged stories with. one of the guys. dennis will be a great memory of an evening spent. nothing profound, dennis wrote this in my journal:

"steve, thanks for the help, dennis."

*please note that the use of this racial slur is intended to RIDICULE the racist ideals that many have in this area. i DO NOT condone or support this mentality. i think it is sick and long overdue for extinction.

current mood: indifferent

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