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(no subject)

Dec. 30th, 2007 | 11:28 pm

i want to go to the beach now and throw sand at the waves until i can't stay awake. when i'm bored i mistakenly tell people that not much is going on, when i really mean that nothing different is happening. in a recurring metaphoric daydream i see myself jumping from ice floe to ice floe, wary of staying on one long enough for it to sink under my weight. one week i'll sleep every day until my back is sore and the next week the skin around my eyes feels bruised from insomnia. i don't know what to do with my free time anymore, and i'm getting restless, like i've been balancing on the same frozen sheet of water and my feet are getting cold. the problem is, something can't stay different.

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(no subject)

Dec. 26th, 2007 | 01:48 am

dream: i was on a basketball court in a park when a three-dimensional luminous grid overlaid the surroundings, or the surroundings dissolved to reveal this bright matrix. i ran inside an apartment with my ball. a television show began: a rapid tour of the earth in one long take. the screen pulled me in and i assumed its perspective, flying through forests and deserts, then shooting into space. the planet was halved like an apple, i could see all its layers. then i plummeted through the atmosphere over the pacific ocean and dropped straight into the lens of the space telescope atop mauna kea on hawaii's big island. whereas the television was an entrance, this optical element was an exit. (though this journey was almost wholly dissociative and egoless, i kept an anchor in the other consciousness by feeling the basketball's grooves and dimples.) my next memory was of swimming with hammerheads off the coast. i heard narration, like a professional voiceover, saying that we would save the sharks now that the money was going to the right places.

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(no subject)

Dec. 1st, 2007 | 10:30 pm

"want" and "need" should be synonyms.

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(no subject)

Nov. 19th, 2007 | 12:05 am

people secretly exclude me from their weekend plans.

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(no subject)

Nov. 6th, 2007 | 04:40 pm

my caricature is the generic west coast asian boy--that mcdonald's-eating, digital-cable-watching, music-downloading, middle class kid with the white t-shirt and brown cargo shorts--stranded between pastel siding and ford tauruses, abercrombie and the gap, and there's always somebody who has to say, "man, you shouldn't complain and be so dissatisfied. so many people are worse off. just appreciate it." no, sorry, if i could invent contrasts, i'd always be ecstatic that i'm not being disemboweled. yay! my intestines aren't being ripped out! this is amazing!

if you think i'm cool, i've fooled you. lately i'm starting to see that i am a loser. everybody's been so nice, they never told me. i had to figure it out for myself. i had to examine the facts, of which the key points are: i'm still living with my mother, i don't have a job, i'm not in school, i haven't been on a date in years, and my character is falling apart. yes, maybe all this works, whatever that means, but the model t ford worked. the musket worked. rubbing sticks together for fire worked. shitting my diapers worked.

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(no subject)

Nov. 6th, 2007 | 04:40 pm

from an article:

"Another attraction is the Helpless Robot, created by Norm White of the Ontario College of Art and Design. Completely unable to move itself, the robot can detect the presence of people nearby and plead with them to move it into a certain position. The more the human gives in, the more strident its demands become until the person is faced with the choice of becoming its slave or ignoring its cries for help."

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(no subject)

Nov. 1st, 2007 | 02:24 am

i wrote a lot of notes at monster massive. they were hard to read, but i managed to salvage these.

can't really write.
i feel cool, so much more than i should be.
the music is nearly tangible.
it feels warm and soft like an electric blanket.
such a tingly sensation.
sore muscles swollen, another strange near emotion to process and while it is there, it's not important.
the sounds bombard my consciousness like a kid screaming for the first time.
floating. upside down-left side up.
am I sitting or swimming?
would it matter? the answer is yes, but only so you can duplicate this again.
i'm talking.
it's there.
i can feel my voice.
the words are not important.
i run the tinges of a fork in my arm just to feel it.
luckily I'm thinking clearly and won't.
i've been lied to. this is wonderful.
love warmth talking.
wind floats around my body and tickles my every nerve.
my teeth feel different.
i've spent so much time to figure this life out.
understand this.
friends.
i wonder if i'll remember this tomorrow.
sounds of cars.
kissing.
girls.
girls kissing.
the feeling of a dog gnawing on your arm.
this straw is good.
everything is new.
glowstick.
light is a new toy i've never seen before.
i'm going to end this now.
i will write, but now it's time to give another his turn.

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(no subject)

Oct. 29th, 2007 | 06:42 pm

listless, lost, feel like puppy in the woods.

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(no subject)

Oct. 25th, 2007 | 10:12 pm

structured ideas have their place, but so do random scraps of thought:

i took two chemistry classes in high school, and i learned the same thing from each: don't ever again take chemistry classes. i know you've done this before: somebody has asked you if they've told you a certain story before, and you say that they had, even though they hadn't. feelings are not clear and defined, so words don't quite fit upon them. it'd be interesting if, for every life you save, you're allowed to take one. all i want is just a little more, constantly. when they can't make fun of your weaknesses, they will make fun of your strong points. what's the difference between awful and god-awful? sometimes it seems a shame that one can purposely remember but not purposely forget. sometimes i see morbidly obese people drinking diet soda. you can breed orchids and have your purpose that way. why make a distinction between artificial and genuine happiness? i wouldn't have the patience or dedication to be a woman, but if i could be female, i know i'd spend the first six or seven hours of womanhood squating naked over a mirror. the more the merrier, to an extent. apparently my call will be answered in the order it was received. note to self: next time, check to see if cheese is available before attempting to make a grilled cheese sandwich. you've got that crazy look in your eyes again. i wish children in general were less sticky. i am of the opinion that my opinion doesn't matter. tell me, was this sentence worth writing? feelings are not decisions. not only is pink a color but also a connotation. there are people who care more about their dinnerware than their dinner.

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(no subject)

Aug. 28th, 2007 | 11:16 pm

i just heard something about you: your boyfriend/girlfriend was great at first but then he/she gradually changed, leaving you with this new person while you longed for the old one, and for a long time you just couldn't let go of either.

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(no subject)

Aug. 26th, 2007 | 02:19 pm

i had a counselor once read some of what i've written. what struck him first, he said, was the passion. the fucking passion, oh, oh, the passion.

if i'm vague now, that's because i haven't figured out the details.

i keep waiting and i keep bearing. patience and tolerance--venerated virtues, when our heroes on stamps and in history books couldn't sit around anymore while one problem kept spawning more. martin luther king, he never wrote a speech titled "we'll just wait it out."

this ebb and flow of abivalence keeps pushing me around.

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(no subject)

Jun. 19th, 2007 | 02:53 am

my boredom makes me envy others' depression. there are hotlines for depression. paramedics will race to your house for depression and crowd around you for depression. maybe friends will give you flowers and teddy bears for depression. maybe relatives will take you to a movie, for depression. maybe coworkers will take you to a nice restaurant, for depression.

but i can't scream to a 911 operator, "quick, send somebody fast, because, oh god, for the past 78 minutes i've been sprawled on my bedroom floor watching the ceiling fan."

nobody worries about you, if you're bored, capable and healthy. don't wanna slit your wrists? you're on your own, buddy. get outta here, you little scamp.

good. that's the way i like it, i think.

"oh, little johnny's just antsy," they say. "look at him go." giggle, giggle.

but it's not funny. little johnny's decomposing over here. bored means rotting. rotting, you feel fine but you're rotting. while depression could have gotten you bright balloons.

i want you to know that, again, this is not where i want to be, and that i am going to leave. everything's already in my backpack. i'll save more money then i'll be somewhere else. my friends know. my mother knows. that this is not where i want to be. that i'm going to leave, again.

it might be just right, or it might break more than it fixes. johnny's aware.

see, little johnny's been weaned from parents to teachers to bosses. it's been like a series of custody swaps for little johnny, and little baby johnny wants to stop the suckling.

seems places are eager to hire young polite inquisitive mild-mannered little johnnys with no criminal record, so he has a job. but he's not there for the betterment of society or this quarter's revenue figures. he's there to oppose the influx of boredom, but the tide's never been higher, and little johnny can't throw sandbags up fast enough.

but nevermind metaphors. really, i want this flushed out of my system. that's all. i want somebody to mention this to me later so i can say, "yeah, sure had lots of energy back then. now i put up new road signs for the county and that's just fine."

little johnny secretly wants to get churned out of a college and shoehorned into a career and like it. but he can't. all his friends can sit down and do it but he can't. poor little johnny.

not a lawyer or a rock star or football player or doctor. probably, more than anything else in the world, what he wanted to be when he was little was a space station. but he is not and never will be a space station. no telescope eyes, no solar panel arms. just a person, a person with a tummy, maybe a transparent one, because after his grandmother fed him dinner when he was little, she could lift up his shirt and point to where the food had landed: pork chops near his ribs, mashed potatoes above his belly button. to the right, apple sauce. to the left, peas.

but now i'm caught off guard, because she never pointed to the fire.

but nevermind metaphors.

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