| kodos for president |
[27 Jul 2006|10:54pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 tired |
] |
i will never have a relationship
with my parents.
we're all too intolerable, i think.
and it is now the second time i have come
home to my dad passed out on the couch with
porn playing on the television...
if it were anyone else, it would be funny.
|
|
| your vigor for life appals me |
[27 Jul 2006|05:49pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 lethargic |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
casiotone for the painfully alone...the new album is AWESOME |
] |
update on my life, so i can remember just how strange and
belligerent it can be:
monday night: waited for ken and danni to close spin. waited a good
20 minutes, when a girl with glasses and bad teeth asked me for
a cigarette. i asked her if she wanted a clove or a camel.
she opted for the camel and then proceeded to tell me about her
dream of making zombie movies. she reminded me of whitney. a girl
i never knew from school, but whom i wanted to know. whitney was
eccentric, but not completely obvious about it or anything and
made amazing music. i remember a performance in java the hut where she
put on a techy song with communist commentary in the background. the song
was okay. it was the way she left the stage and stood to the side, hands
crossed over her chest in this way that said, "i know something you
will never know," that got me. she didn't care, really. or if she did, she
did a phenomenal job erecting an exterior that suggested otherwise.
anyhow, i told her so. i said, "you remind me of this girl named whitney,
from redlands." but she didn't understand what i meant by that and i was
disappointed. but i gave her ten bucks for a deviants cd that she was 3 dollars
short of buying. she asked me if i was rich and i said, "it's just money."
then danni came out and we headed over to a place called, "the green tee." which
proved to be a bar like any other except that the counter was stickier than
normal and the bartender gave us 20 bucks for the jukebox. danni ditched me
for some girls in smaller-sized jeans and i ended up debating religion
with some guy named neal. neal with an "a." he looked like a hobbit and
somehow that was a turn-on. but we didn't really get anywhere debate wise.
he said that humans have souls. i said that that's impossible to know for sure.
he quoted some philosopher i hadn't heard of and i drank another drink, while
trying not to fall off my stool. i left because we kind-of exhausted the
subject and i really wanted a chicken sandwich.
tuesday night: went to "penny lane" with my boss after work. which was
initially unnerving because he's stated his "intentions" with me, but i got
some free drinks out of it and some amazing conversation. so it wasn't
too bad, i guess. the next day he thanked me for that night. he thanked me
for shaking him up, like a snow globe. making things chaotic and
interesting. i didn't know how to respond, so i thanked him for
thanking me. and that seemed to amuse him even further. i don't really
know why people are drawn to me, but i do know that eventually they
will regret letting it happen.
wednesday night: watched project runway. and decided that since mulan
was kicked off, the show is shite. there was something about his face
that made me want to know him. made me want to make him some tea and
sit around talking about "the state of things." but he's gone and i'm
stuck with a dreary bunch that whine too much and probably smell like
pepper.
tonight: had to evacuate the house because my dad decided to drink and
start insulting my entire being. "it's okay to be simple," he said.
"not everything has to be complex." i was asking him about solar power.
and apparently being curious equates to being "complex." he makes me
feel like no matter what i do, i should always be doing the opposite
of that. maybe he's scared of me. maybe he's just sorry he didn't have another
son. i don't know. but i ended up reading yates at a seedy bar called
"the maxdon." and the chapter was about this girl in the 1940's, and her
first time having sex. she met a sailor who was on three days leave from
the ship. he asked her directions and she ended up leaving a dark alley
without her virginity, questioning whether his last name was maddox
or maddocks. she wasn't raped or anything, but she might has well have
been. i probably shouldn't have read that just then, when i was already
feeling kind-of low, but it gave me something to focus my eyes on and
when you're alone, that's something to be grateful for.
that's it i guess.
a few nights of complexity, which if told, my dad
would certainly say, "cindy, you should learn to be more
like me. learn to drink until everything is as simple as the
empty glass sitting in front of you." to which i would
reply......"suck it."
|
|
| we're happy because we eat lard! |
[16 Jul 2006|08:33pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 dorky |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
why |
] |
apparently it's national "iced cream"
day today.
i would have been blissful in my
ignorance had there not been a call
from nick telling me about it in this
total anime-esque voice. he sounded
very sincere.
"it's naaa-tional ice cream day to-day.
so go get some ice cream!" he said.
and i said, "okay!" even though
i had been listening to a recorded
message.
i didn't get any iced cream but i did
spend 62 dollars at a drug store on things
like index cards, hand sanitizer and a
plastic farm animal set.
seemed more patriotic.
|
|
| drinking tea with an elephant |
[16 Jul 2006|10:50am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 contemplative |
] |
i got up this morning, made pancakes
and watched a documentary on the kkk.
one of the guys from the group, who
didn't seem important or anything, had
a sign. he had a sign at a rally. he was
shouting something and waving that
sign around. the sign said,"down
with martin luther coon." and it had
a picture of dr. king drawn-up in
black face, with protruding lips and
a huge grin. and i couldn't help thinking
that even drawn-up like that, he still
looked pretty nice. i mean, pretty nice
compared to the guy holding the sign.
i started a new story yesterday. it's about
a kid growing up in a town that's
rapidly modernizing itself. deconstructing
and reconstructing. "out with the old and
in with the factory-made house number 102."
and this kid doesn't like any of it. and
he refuses to get new shoes even though his
feet are busting through the fronts. and well,
he eventually meets this homeless guy who
gets compared to jesus and i know it sounds like
shit written out like this, but i think it
could be something decent. if i do it right.
if the dialogue doesn't stink.
i'm hoping to get it done for kyle's 'zine
but i'm not really counting on anything.
|
|
| the crustacean period sans the keen outer shell |
[13 Jul 2006|08:56pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 indescribable |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
weed for life, mofo |
] |
i've been sick lately. and not just sick.
but sick as in coughing up crap that looks
like, if planted in the right soil, could make
an elm tree, or a maple tree or something
larger than it's origin.
i'm tired. i'm so fucking tired. and no
amount of flintstone chewable vitamins seems
to remedy that fatigue. so instead of vitamins, i've
switched to whiskey. and i'm hoping that even though the
lethargy is still present, i won't care because
my veins are filled with formaldehyde and
my state, for the moment, seems bearable.
sometimes beautiful. but never appreciated.
work is going well.
although from what i've gathered
from the office nervous system, i can
make people a little uncomfortable.
jesus, that's tiresome. i like to
say i make people "think," but that
can be tiresome as well.
i was on a break, smoking and dehydrating a
little in the sun and i thought about
expectations. and why people have them.
and the theory i came up with, although
still in its infancy, was that people
expect me to fill some sort-of void that
they themselves cannot. it's like i'm the
sideshow, i'm what people secretly want to see
and having a ticket to the "main event"
makes it okay. and every whisker and every
malformed limb provides these people with
a perspective that their normally afraid of
seeing. yet when encountered, provides
slant, a skew, a looking-glass view of
the world that allows them to be a part of
something more interesting than the
habitual "wake, nut gather, sleep," that
they live everyday.
and as this seems flattering, purposeful even, i can't
help but think, "jesus fucking christ. i can't
always be your periscope. i can't always be there
to color in the places you've seemed to miss."
because it's too much fucking pressure to
be the guy whose brain is expected to manufacture
the goods that your brain cannot. sometimes i'm tired
and sometimes i'm sad and sometimes i cannot, for the
life of me, think of anything useful to say.
and the disappointment i feel from people
is intolerable. be your own fucking periscope.
be your own fucking sideshow, because i can't
do it anymore. i just can't.
(jesus i sound like a prick)
i've gone whole days without thinking about josh.
which is good, i guess. it's usually at night when it
happens, when the thought of his abnormally perfect
posterior or his uncanny way of knowing just what
drink to order, creeps in and i feel very much alone.
funny thing is, i don't even feel like i know him anymore.
like if we met, in some flea market somewhere and i'm holding
a 1940's ventriloquist dummy and he's holding a knight ryder
lunch pail, i would probably just nod and smile and
move on to a table covered in whale barrettes. i don't
remember what his voice sounds like. odd how that happens.
must be some innate survival technique that only makes
itself known when something is so painful, that you need
to forget things like that to survive.
welp. that's it i guess.
if i give next to nothing, maybe
everyone will adapt to those rations
and i'll have enough left over to
build the fucking tree house of my dreams.
which i'll live in and spit from, until
i expire or until tree houses are outlawed
by right-wing conservatives with nothing else
to do but ruin everyones fun.
|
|
| the color of men when left to their own devices. |
[21 May 2006|12:36am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 sad |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
modest mouse (past regressions) |
] |
i'm alone.
josh left me.
i'm jobless and i have to move
back in with my parents.
my heart hurts and gas costs
too much.
food is useless and alcohol, my one true
ally has abondoned me as well for people
with lower tolerances.
charles bukowski is dead.
christianity is a hoax.
and even though most people
agree that fax machines are useful and
efficient, i find them cold and
intimidating.
i'm having a real hard time remembering
why i bother with any of this. because all i
want to do is sleep and then pretend to be sleeping
when in fact i'm awake, remembering the days when
everything was okay and josh loved me and
i actually thought the future didn't sound
so "futuristic," even for me.
anvil. dropped from a tall building. my head.
that's about the extent of it all.
|
|
| agent orange, come in agent orange....over |
[04 May 2006|05:25pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 anxious |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
bing crosby (the early years) |
] |
apparently i'm a bad influence on children.
before, it was only speculation. but now
it's as much a fact as homo sapiens rise
from the apes.
(SCENE)
kid: i like taking a golf club and
hitting the oranges off the orange trees.
me: that sounds rad. if i wasn't stuck
inside cleaning your mom's crap, i would join you.
kid: my mom doesn't really like it when i do it.
me: well, she's not here.
kid: (grins)
me: (grins)
i thought i was encouraging a healthy
outdoor activity. you know, something to get the
ol' crank shaft cranking. he was inside staring
at the television like a bloated bag of bacon.
next time i'll tell him to do something really
unsavory. something involving a stick, a half-eaten
can of beets and a MUMMY!!!
yipes.
|
|
| locomotive ressurection |
[01 May 2006|03:50pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 pleased |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
stereototal |
] |
a day of strange happenstance and
undeniable drunken fun.
*met a hippie who told me my aura
was strong and pure. i told him he
would look good carrying a purse.
*bought two lacy vintage shirts for
ten bucks, even though my super-powered
perceptive nature told me they were two sizes
too big.
*tried on above mentioned lacy vintage shirts.
they were EXACTLY two sizes too big. decided
to make them into killer snake pets that kept
me less petrified at night. (since josh is in san
antonio and my imagination will be the death of me)
*met up with tony at his house. drank vodka and
loaded up his car with home-made italian bread.
*drove to various friends' houses and delivered italian
bread for no good reason.
*drank some more and shouted obnoxiously at passersby
with a megaphone purchased for that very thing.
*called beth and discovered her truck had called it
quits on a dirt road by the ocean.
*rescued beth by jumping her car and driving her
to an autoparts store for a battery.
*ditched beth and went to tony's shack. took suicide photos
while listening to the smiths. tony insisted he took all the
bullets out of the gun, but we were drunk. so i shot the gun in the
back yard and the second pull revealed he had not taken all the
bullets out of the gun. we laughed and laughed and then proceeded inside
for more suicide debauchery.
*showered off the blood, stole tony's bright eyes shirt and
listened to german language cd's while driving home.
strange strangington the third.
|
|
| nostradamus stole my schtick |
[28 Apr 2006|05:53pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 blah |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
the hum and cough of my refridgamerator |
] |
i am jobless.
and as amazing as sleeping at very odd
hours of the day, strumming unintelligibly on a
guitar and playing nintendo gamecube until my
eye sockets are squeezing my eyes like two
over-ripe persimmons sounds, i can no longer
tolerate feeling useless.
you'd think i'd use my empty hours to write.
nope. i tried that and all that came out
was, "i looked out the window of the bus,
number 403 with the picture of the young woman on
the side that reads, "another life saved because of
organ donation." nothing was happening. buildings
were still holding themselves together. cars were still
ending up somewhere different from where they started.
and the people, with their coats buttoned or unbuttoned,
still filled themselves with cold sandwiches and coffee just
to make it another day."
and then it just stopped. i didn't know what this guy
needed after that. he seemed set in life. decided. packaged
and stamped and ready to be purchased for a well balanced
dinner.
i'm hoping my ibook will run away, to somewhere
like greenland, but not that cold, and when it comes
back it will be full of stories. and i can sell those stories
for thousands of dollars and no one will know that i
stole them from a self-animated computer machine.
this will not work.
because 1.)computers can't walk. and 2.)no one would
believe i wrote a story that involved binary code and
and unemotional scene about a dead pony and a dead pony's
dead cat.
ech.
|
|
| it all started with a gangrenous toe |
[23 Apr 2006|03:45pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
tired |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
oasis |
] |
the first one i can remember was penny from
inspector gadget. i would scribble in a
notebook while hiding behind the couch. i would
talk into my watch and say things like, "dr. claw
is right behind you." and "get the bad guys, brain."
i must have been pretty little because i
couldn't spell "penny."
then it was a girl named jessica lee. she was
in my 3rd grade class and she was beautiful.
i would study her in class and take on her
mannerisms. i would color like her. use the same
kind-of pencil. fold my hands over my chest and tap
my foot like her, while the teacher droned on about
fractions.
then punky brewster. with the ribbons in the hair
and the bandana tied over one knee. i asked my mom if i
could legally change my name to "punky brewster,"
but she just laughed and told me i had a very nice
name.
then it was kizi george. a black girl with a horrible
stutter and no friends. i saw her reading a book
called "quentin corn," so i made sure to check it out
of the library the next time we went. it was about a pig
who wanted to be human so he dressed in suits and learned
how to walk upright and everyone thought he was peculiar.
everyone thought he was a very smart pig. i liked that book.
then it was the girl from the movie, "the little princess."
then my best friend, natasha.
then wynona ryder when i saw beetlejuice.
then twiggy.
then a guy named "james" who used to knit
in science class.
then charlie chaplin.
then wynona ryder again when i saw girl interrupted.
then chris pace.
then anyone from japan.
then charlie brown.
then audrey tautou.
then the guy from school with the
mohawk who played the bass like a
madman.
and on and on...
which is why i'm 27 years old and i have no concept
of who cindy schuyler really is. i'm a coat patched together
too many times and now the original color could be any color.
brown, beige, burgundy. i don't know. it's hard to admit
that i'm an asshole, but i think that's a pretty solid
foundation to build on.
|
|
| whiteman meets bigfoot: the most incredible encounter ever |
[21 Apr 2006|09:05pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 drunk |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
yeah yeah yeahs |
] |
words don't seem to come easy to me
anymore. in fact, i've de-evolved to such a
neanderthalic state, that i have since
hunted AND gathered and drawn crudely on
my bedrooms walls. (mostly of old russian men
doing very mundane things like smoking pipes while
holding each other, taking turns on a tire swing,
wrapping christmas presents....stuff like that)
but i've given in to the pressure of livejournal
despite my better judgment and will now recount
the easter weekend that just happened because i
really can't remember much before that.
friday night: josh and i decided to celebrate the fact
that we've tolerated each other for a year by driving
to big bear mountain. i guess tolerating eachother at a
higher altitude suggests accomplishment. we drove at night
which didn't seem like a good idea and proved to be detrimental
when paired with a moorish fog that decided that killing people
in its spare time would be smashing good fun. at one point we were driving
on the other side of the broken yellow line. i screamed. josh
yelled at me for screaming. we pulled off on the side of
the road, played jeopardy on josh's cell phone and watched
episodes of sea lab. the fog persisted. i fell asleep swaddled
in three jackets, an interpol sweatshirt and a few t-shirts.
one of the t-shirts says, "i love mae."
saturday: i rode a horse-drawn carriage while high school boys
informed me with their "boos" on how uncool riding horse-drawn
carriages are these days. it rocked. i talked to a 38 year old
retard while drinking the best russian imperial stout i've ever
had. he told me that the easter bunny was magic and that his tail
allows him to "fly high into the sky." that rocked as well.
the best part was walking in snow piles with josh, while smoking
cigarettes. he smiled a lot, which, made me think he was enjoying
himself. although he smiles when he shits, so i'm not sure my gaging
system is very accurate.
chris just called me. we talked for awhile, swapped sordid
tales of drugs and whores, complimented eacho thers writing.
all in all, it was nice. except when he revealed he's having
another kid, to which i replied, "fuck you." children tend to
distract from the important things in life. and i don't like losing
people i admire for their moral corruption to children. it seems like
such a waste.
chris wants to send me a plane ticket to colorado, so we can
resurrect our old cocaine habits and write crappy poetry that only
reveals its crappiness after the cokes worn off. i think i'll go.
i want to go. at least i know i'd be among others who think being
human is as creepy as i do.
|
|
| it's definitely a clownfish....i have no idea what it is. |
[10 Jan 2006|11:59am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
anxious |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
the raincoats |
] |
i think i expect something amazing
and meaningful to happen everyday.
and it rarely does.
but when i open my eyes in the
morning, bloated and brainless,
i feel myself feeling hopeful
again.
i've come to hate that hope. loathe
it really. because it keeps me in a
perpetual state of disappointment.
and fuck everyone that says experiencing shit
makes us really appreciate when something worthwhile happens.
because it seems like it happens too infrequently to really matter much.
if i could just figure out a way to love
the shit, my chances of a life of contentment
would be greatly increased.
that's logic.
christmas was surprising. i received many
gifts. among them a rather large, rather expensive
casio keyboard that i plan on making horrendous
music with. and when that becomes a bore, i'll just
use it as a prop in my apartment. that way, when people
come over to my flat, they'll think i'm just a little
bit more interesting than they previously thought, and they
won't feel like their wasting their time being there.
rock and roll.
i also received another volume of family guy, which
will give me a reason not to drink so much. because it
really stands on it's own. example:
peter: i feel so lucky. i feel like rhode island.
(flashes back to colonial times)
patriot: heads rhode island. tails caca-poopoo-peepee-shire.
(flips coin)
patriot: it's heads.
which has inspired the name of the apartment i will
soon move into. josh and i are going to hold a mayoral
election for caca-poopoo-peepee-shire, complete with
signs, speeches and those phone calls that start out
with, "i was wondering if i could have a minute of your time..."
granted, there's only the two of us running and voting
but we're both very excited.
we've also decided to create "theme rooms."
the kitchen will be a mad-scientist's laboratory.
complete with flasks, beakers, a poster of the
periodic table and small animals suspended in
formaldehyde. eep.
the bedroom, obviously a pirate's lair. i wanted
to buy a boat and sleep in that, mast and all, but
josh said he thinks it would make him reminiscent
of his days as a textile merchant. and i wouldn't
want to make him relive such a vile time in his life.
but we have a pirate flag and i'm pretty confidant
everything else will materialize if we just
lure enough young maidens into the room and rape
them senseless. the blood could really be a
rad effect!
the living room will contain tragic historic
memorabilia. (ie-the hindenburg disaster, the
cuban missile crisis, sars, the invention of the
cotten gin....etc) i'm hoping to find a real
human limb from the civil war on ebay, but i'm
not counting on winning that one. because i
have all my limbs, and i'm pretty sure my competetive
spirit will give-way when i look down, mid-bid and
realize that. meh.
josh is at work. and i really wish he were
here. sometimes i feel scared without him.
even when it's light outside. and even when
the pain in my arm has been proven to be
a pulled muscle and not leukemia.
i'm scared now. jooooooooosh. please
stop with that silly memo and sing that song
again, the one that goes:
"i love you, you crazy stupid girl. and even when you kill me
with that hatchet you keep by the bed. my guts will
hug you and thank you for being so perfect."
sing that one.
rock over london
rock on chicago
wheaties
the breakfast of champions
|
|
| steamless engine |
[14 Nov 2005|07:26am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 pessimistic |
] |
sometimes love can be so tiring.
|
|
| please walk the plank, bill murray |
[13 Nov 2005|05:05pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
dorky |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
camera obscura |
] |
so, i just cut my own hair.
it's much better than it was before, but
i think the shock of it will come
later. but not much later. and then
i will descend into depression and
possibly develop a tic.
i hung out with tony last night.
among various other people. people
that don't count. gray people. at one
point a guy asked me if i wanted to see
his anal spout. i did. but i guess he
didn't really want to show me.
but hugging tony consistently was
nice, considering josh is away. and
i've been physically lonely. tony
loves me. i love tony. it's a
symbiotic relationship.
tonight will be unknown activities and
unknown conversation.
and that's fine with me.
|
|
| the existentialist memorandum |
[11 Nov 2005|10:20pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
annoyed |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
bunnygrunt |
] |
i was supposed to go out with tony tonight.
drink a little. play semi-banal music
on his tape player. and "talk." but he didn't answer
his phone. and i wasn't that committed anyway.
christmas is already scraping it's teeth
across my skin. red and white icicles. rattling
it's heavy bag of out-of-date things like
lutes and snuff boxes and bicycle spokes.
and i can't, for the life of me
decide if i'm disturbed by this. or
just expecting something a little less
predictable.
i don't know what i'm saying really.
i just know that christmas used to be
amazing. but it has since been disappointing.
like losing a tooth and then realizing it's
going to be replaced by the same kinda tooth.
what a drag.
my "robot smoking in space," 'zine is realizing
itself. i'm hoping it will be done within the next
two weeks. because then i will have tangible proof
that i am moderately talented in very few things.
and that's a true statement.
chai has since re-entered my life, and as trivial
as that seems, it has brought with it a
bucket of memories. typing on my typewriter at
3:53 in the morning. lord of the rings on mute.
back against an open window that's chilling me to the
point of being painful. chai's a wonderful
wonderful substance.
shit. tony called and wants to give me presents.
and ironically enough. i want them. because i don't
get presents very often. and because i know
one of them is a jar of fake blood.
when i masturbate, i think of myself.
cindy
|
|
| the forbidden closet of mystery |
[08 Nov 2005|05:01pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 creative |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
belle and sebastian |
] |
i'm somewhat excited to go back to
school. if not for the remedial writing
classes, for the people that may prove
to be more interesting than i previously thought.
they weren't present before. i'm sure of it.
but it's almost as if they've been flung from
the ocean, too evolved to stay there, yet not
quite normal enough to be absorbed into
society. these are the people i want to know.
and i'm hoping that my mental inadequacy and
my penchant for all things crude and disturbing
doesn't deter them from wanting to know me back.
josh seems okay with me leaving. which is
good, i guess. i'm just afraid that 156 miles
might cause our relationship to turn into
a rotting vat of homosexual flesh. (ie-jeffrey dahmer)
and fornication will be significantly reduced, which
makes me sea-sick already. i think i'll
invest in a gameboy and try to be content with that.
and if that doesn't work, prostitution.
halloween was pretty awesome. i was actually turned
away from a bar because of the large swastika on my
arm. it made me feel very powerful. but i'm not
sure why. then i was questioned and lectured to
by a man dressed as a pirate. and when he refused
to see the humour in the situation, i receded into
myself and started trying to come up with as
many words that rhyme with, "hemingway," as i could.
it kept me occupied.
now, a scene from my life.
THE BOY AT THE SEVEN-ELEVEN:
"have a nice day," he said.
which made me feel pressured. like if i didn't have
a nice day, i would be dissapointing him or something.
"thanks, you too."
(touche')
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[12 Oct 2005|03:10pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
sleepy |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
interpol, but not by choice |
] |
there's something very satisfying about
shitting at work.
and it's not because of the obvious
and tired notion of "defecating on corporate
slut-bags and on their moms and on their very
expensive sheet-sets."
but because i'm getting paid to do it.
and because i can use as much toilet paper
as i like because it's free!
i plan on doing it as often and frequently
as possible.
josh and i are planning an elaborate and
misguided life together. complete with murder scenes
and rotting goldfish art and late-night/drunken
music sessions and pornographic poloroids and
spiderman finger puppets and ambiguous neighbors and
monosyllabic conversations and lover's walks and
robotic man-servents and tacos!
it should be mayhem. but if it's not, i'm okay with
that too.
my psychologist supects i have add.
i think im just bored with being human.
check please.
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| conversational daggers and singular woes |
[28 Sep 2005|04:58am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
numb |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
galaxie 500 |
] |
the reasons he gave me
to justify the end of our relationship:
1.)because i have feelings that exist
beyond "happy." "joyful." "gay."
and my all-time favourite, "a good time."
2.)because apparently i'm no different than
all his ex-girlfriends. (in which ways
specifically, i'm not sure, but this definitely
stung quite a bit when he said it)
3.)because his feelings are directly correlated
with the moment that he's living in at the time.
which means circumstantial. and that's why saying
"i love you. i want to be with you forever," and
"this isn't working," with three hours between the
two, makes sense.
and now for the one that hurt the most.
the one that actually made me want to ask
for decapitation for christmas.
4.)work comes before love.
now...after realizing that i was struggling to
decipher and repair our relationship, while he was
concerned with getting in his "eight hours," i can't
help but feel like this decision is the right one.
his value lies in himself.
and i can't be with someone who
doesn't see the value in things
beyond themselves and their own
immediate satisfaction.
i feel stupid.
i feel stupid because i allowed
myself to love someone that doesn't
need my love.
that doesn't need my company.
because he produces
enough for himself.
like the bee-keeper that's never
purchased a jar of honey or
sought out the company of other bees
because hey....he's an effing
beekeeper.
he's a self-sufficient nation.
he's a god-damned commune.
it all makes sense.
i don't like it.
and i want to hit it in the
knees with a sack of rocks
and seeds.
but it makes sense.
the end.
(for real this time)
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| making sense out of something senseless |
[27 Sep 2005|11:00pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
disappointed |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
80's rock radio style |
] |
i've been contemplating alienation.
while drunk off of vodka and red bull and
red-eyed from too many moments of sitting
in a corner wishing the conversation were
something more than poo and anal cavities.
(that seems to be a constant source of humour
for commoners and rapscallions) go figure.
and i came to realize that even when
surrounded by bikers wearing tight jeans
and 8 year beard growth, friends and
a full box of french cigarettes, the feeling is
present. present and working it's way into
my esophagus, into my innards.
i never feel welcome. i never feel combined with
my surroundings. whole. included. sure. confidant.
unecessary words falling out of my mouth. and that
inevitably ends alls sense of feeling human.
which is something i forget, but need to remember.
out of survival. because then the disappointment
i continually feel may be lessened some. which
could get me laid more. yay for that.
does anyone want to move to san fransisco to
panhandle and drink warm beer in grassy knolls?
i need this.
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| 37 cents short of a taco |
[09 Sep 2005|06:00pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 sick |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
the white stripes |
] |
i'm sick again. which only
makes the world around me seem
more ugly and more barren.
i've been coughing up all my
pleural lining. i think my lungs
are finally giving
out on me. maybe i should quit
smoking. but that thought only makes
me feel like anything worth anything
doesn't last very long. and that seems
like a very sad thought. sobering and sad.
i don't want to give in so easily. bukowski
flooded his system with toxins all his life.
he shit inside himself and shit inside of others.
and he produced some of the greatest works
ever put to the page. and so i'll keep up
my self-destructing ways. in hopes. in small
hopes that maybe i can produce something
great as well. or in the very least, be drunk
while creating crap. which in itself, doesn't sound so
bad.
austin was epic. i developed a deep and lasting love
for the "bloody mary," which i feel will help keep
me content for a couple more years. the blues were played.
the blues were profound. i feel like i found my head in the blues.
and i could walk around inside of it. and from that place, watch others
walk around their heads. and not feel so lonely about everything.
josh knew about the blues already. and i was kinda pissed that
he hadn't introduced me to them sooner. but, i kinda fucked him over
on the trip. so i guess we're even.
my family continues to be aloof and impenetrable. and my will
to keep throwing rocks at their window is fading. because
when i look down and see the huge pile of rocks beneath me, i can't
help but think i could have been throwing them at larger rocks.
then at least it would be funny.
i think i'm gonna give up christmas this year. not
for any reason in particular though.
just to see what it feels like without it, i guess.
the end.
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thelastpumpkin's journal