thinking differently.

if life feels like a punishment, it's safe to assume you should be doing something differently. when you hesitate at dancing publicly for mere existence, then there is something holding you back. take notes on living from the people you think have done well. if you can't find them, perhaps you need to reevaluate your understanding of life. being successful and making a living is becoming a sort of functional robot that performs certain tasks repetitively and without err. anything can become a habit. i'd just rather have mine be making love and smelling flowers. sunsets surrounded by horizons of endless ocean might be nice, maybe it would get old. depends on the company. desperate for friends, we find ourselves reaching out to those we might not otherwise reach out to. everything is circumstantial. even our existence is based on the circumstances that caused our parents' coital embrace, all the emotional factors, all economical factors, all social ideas pressed on. things could have just as easily turned out different. somehow i feel it couldn't be all that different.

an unnecessarily intricate philosophy, resulting from an overabundance of idle time.

she was skinny, but her face was full. like there's a chubby girl inside she's trying hard to hold back.

"it was better when i was younger." people go for years without love. even decades. will you?

i wish i wasn't doomed to love every love forever.

i wish i could forget. i wish i didn't care. easily turned to suicidal thoughts. love would be easy if we didn't have to think about it afterwards.

every day i wake up, i just think how awesome my life is and that this is the best day ever.

growing disappointed that it can never be exactly as it was. just playing it cool. playing it like a real cool hand. with no direction, no symmetry, no sense of familiarity in a world that's constantly pushing us forward. you've already lost who you've wanted to be a hundred times over. those moments weren't even poetry or song, they were just mumbled abstract thoughts that look ugly on paper or anywhere but your head. and the only thing that can keep them there is a night alone sitting on the floor in the dark with headphones on as the record revolves with eyes closed.

i tried to make it easy for her to fall back in love with me. i moved back. not too far, not hard to find, not out of the way. in fact, directly on the way. none of it mattered though. none of it would help make her love me again. i was just moving back, without her.

i could probably make her love me, but i wouldn't recommend it. she'd likely just learn things about life she'd be better off without. i feel the same way about myself.

it's like i have tourettes whenever i think of the past.

...fuck.

nothing comes so naturally anymore except unhappiness and regret. something drastic should be done.

if he had never gotten laid.

what the hell would bukowski have written about? horsetracks and puking in the morning? afternoon? no thanks. let's face it, if the old man didn't get a fuck, no one would give a fuck about him. people just want to try to understand how, being physically unatractive and socially inept, one can still manage to have sex on a regular basis with what one assumes to be decently attractive women.

thinking about it like this makes me want to start doing something detrimental to my health, habitually.

she talks like she's trying to be normal. she walks among them like there's nothing strange about it. she wants to be just like everyone around her, but she isn't. she's beautiful.

reading bukowski's a lot like an unhealthy addiction to pornography. you begin to alienate yourself socially, because you don't have sex as frequently as you are aware of others having it. and so easily. you must be doing something wrong.

going postal with a fear of brides.

not getting much happier and not doing much about it. when a path to happiness presents itself, i look down the path to consider it. then i close my eyes, spin myself around in a circle until i fall to the ground, get up and walk in whatever direction i am facing. some people may call this stupid. i call it faith. some might say, faith in what, you're agnostic. agnosticism is much too indecisive to contain room for such uncertain concepts. blind faith is a beautiful thing, i argue. whatever you believe. and we all believe in something. for the gamblers and number crunchers out there, it might be just as good as an educated decision. in the end our lives are all we know, and what we use to compare and judge those lives against is our decision. we decide how we view our life, however mundane or shitty it is. we decide if it is of value. but if everything in our life is telling us it isn't or could be better, who are we to argue? who are we to tell ourselves they are wrong. after all, they are many voices and contentedness seems so hard to maintain.. maybe they are right. ok, i'll buy your pills. thanks.

claim to fame.

before he sat down at the table of people he didn't know, he pointed out all their obvious character qualities and the entire dichotomy of the group which was interchanging until he joined. you were the head of the group and then you took over. and you two girls have been going back and forth and you, he said pointing directly at me, you haven't said a thing. from that point on i didn't say but a handful of mumbled words the entire evening. this overt description of individuals worked not only as an icebreaker but pointed out his acute sense of awareness and skilled hearing. so what do you do? we're a design firm, the man replied. i was the one who said they should make the tupperware lids blue. it's his claim to fame, said his date. i'm the cfo of a telecommunications company said the intruder. he went on to talk about milwaukee and how his daughter is looking at the local college. then in a conversation pause he looked directly at me and said, and what do you do? i uh.. um.

the christmas party.

i have to write something good here. i had a horrible night and the only thing that can make it worthwile is some sort of epiphany or insight. i guess we always have the potential to disappoint oursleves. there's no guarantee things will get better, in fact, they're more likely to stay the same or get slightly worse. after you realize you love something it has already become something different. it's easy to look back and say none of it was worth it. not even the beautiful moments.

a need to be heard.

life is not meant for the quiet watchers. slowly taking things in. considering perspectives and pondering. full of both relevant and irrelevant ponderings. letting opportunities pass by and people finalize judgement. they should all be hunted, gutted, and served to the boistrous.

i didn't fuck anyone today, not even myself.

there's a lot of potential out there. everything presents a new possibility. yet most of the time it feels as if nothing really changes or ever really will. a potential constricted by perspective. if there were no music those girls probably wouldn't let boys they don't know touch them like that without a cushion of conversation. all i ate today was bread. it was all i had in the kitchen. i have a bank balance of -0.08 from buying the bread. i should have gotten paid a few days ago. but it will probably happen tomorrow, hopefully. not enjoying life is tiring. i'm thinking of just driving off. what do you do when you're tired of being yourself, but it's all you know how to do. i'm glad no one loves me who doesn't have to. it makes it a little easier to know that i'm not doing very well and if things go wrong it wont matter to more people than necessary. i wonder why people bother saying goodbye. just leaving seems to say it so much better. no note or anything, just the time spent together, trying to interact and relate, maybe. or just being around another person. then not at all.

nothing inparticular.

you could probably sit there forever and never really think of anything original. then again no one really wants or expects you to. some people say that if we stop the war on drugs society would fall apart. what does that say about society? puking and smiling, puking and smiling, fucking like shaking hands. curl up in a ball and try very hard not to feel. a habit of talking to yourself from all the lonely years. a parasitic tapeworm for a pet. don't forget to feed it. they look down on you when you throw up because they don't have to. they'll always love someone more than you.

why they're not alone on christmas.

Because otherwise, who knows what they'd do to themselves. What facing their memories and thoughts would turn them to. In this way, a house full of family is not unlike a psychiatric ward.

i've been trying to understand exactly what it is you do and i find i am unable.

the end of their lives was promptly followed by the relief of not living. she walked around the restaurant looking for empty glasses so that she could wash them out and put them in a tub of recently washed glasses. all the while she looked unhappy. she was the kind of unhappy looking girl, where it was hard to tell if she was just a naturally unhappy looking person, was miserable with life, or just dissatisfied with the position she served as a mobile glass cleaner in a bar/restaurant. the apartment is in a basement. the windows face up towards the world above. everything behind them exists below the world. they live beneath the world. if life is not exciting then we are doing something wrong. we are doing something wrong. everything we love is something we no longer have. this writing is for no other reason than onanistic filling of space. we are creators.

some people want to save lives.

some people never want to do anything like that. obsessive compulsive or busying yourself out of depression. none of it matters. people will still die.

heredity.

we're all just trying to deal with the mistakes of our ancestors until we have someone to pass our collective mistakes onto.

life; you'll never meet someone who thinks about it as much or quite the same as you. you're doomed to isolation in this aspect, as we all are. however, sharing ideas and compassion between these isolated worlds of individual ideas is the only consolation one can find. that or vicariously living through the scripted lives of beautiful people on television so that we forget our lives altogether.

now that you understand, be ashamed that at one point you didn't. man does not carry with him this shame of unknowing most things. he instead prides himself on the small information he has collected and recorded. people look at it and say, "wow". the great accomplishment of man.

everything made with a conscious effort by man has a logic system to it. man has a ridiculous love affair with logic.

i wish she was still that girl who wore bowling shoes.

she's become someone different, who has to rent bowling shoes like the rest of us. i'm losing the things i love about her to who she used to be. the past is eating away at this love.

the bathroom stall

an anonymous pair of shoes underneath a bathroom stall. he goes there to hide. no one will bother him, no one will ask questions. when he returns and they say, where were you? the bathroom. nothing more is needed as an explanation. he sits there on the toilet seat. just gathering his thoughts, just hiding from judgement and responsibility. he listens to the conversations grown men have while peeing, or washing their hands. he shuffles his feet some. unsure if they can tell he isn't really using the toilet. he likes it best when he's alone in there. when he isn't merely an easedropper on meaningless conversations of the world, but completely exempt from it. life and everything that goes along with it gets put on hold, except for an anonymous pair of shoes underneath a bathroom stall.

she never lets him put it in

he always has to wait for her to do it. thinking only of one thing while he's waiting. once it's in, he forgets all about that. he won't think of it again until he's about to forget it all over. his won't be the last. he knows this, but he just carries on and hopes. it's all that's left to do.

confiding is a good way of making friends.

she didn't look at all like the woman i was allowed to love. she looked at me and looked away. that was the last time i saw her.

an explanation of love

anyone at any time can change to the point that you don't know them anymore.

they have to write you letters

to remind you they're not dead yet. in case you forgot.

something about god or love.
or the lack thereof.

to tell you that there's nothing left.

to no one, kept in a private place, in hopes that things wont change, that the excitement of beginnings can be maintained.
beginning with love, ending with disappointment.

making you numb to what you loved about life.

the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy

we fall out of love so easy, only to remember why we bothered in the first place. with everything we try so hard to be, certain things do not escape us. those things we want will not fulfill us, we will want things even after they have been attained. it's endless, it's all we do. wrestless uncontented lives we live. it's best for the elderly to keep busy, without this wrestlessness, there is boredom, emptiness, depression, carelessness, and inevitable death. frothing teeth, pulling hair, getting things done until we stop, not that they needed to be done in the first place, or that anyone will miss them once it's over. the world is not how i expected it to be growing up. it's worse.

it's easier to be homeless in the south

he can stand on just about any corner and no one thinks twice, whatever time of year it is.

typical belief

believing is the whole battle. giving up better judgement for a hallow smile. it's only a matter of time until everything we see tells us there's no other choice. until we believe it is the better option. after having had it shoved down our throats all our lives. we're going to have to make some sort of compromise. every day of my life i realize i'm compromising more and more. until eventually it has to be considered merely caving in. if i would have known this from the start it may have saved me a whole lot of wasted effort, struggling. i'd still feel the same way, i just wouldn't do anything about it. i just wouldn't try so hard not to try.

lunch money for guitar strings

it's all a matter of what's important to you. struggling for a life with meaning. trying to make it count, without any examples to point to. "is there anything in your life that could change to make you not want to kill yourself?" there's probably a chance. he knows all about arguments and analyzing human logic and words, but he doesn't know shit about quantum physics, or even trigonometry. we're all just trying to be part of some whole that doesn't even get much done, except continuously fondle and yank each other. milking with an air of dignity and self-righteousness. power and a sense of control in this life always comes down to someone fucking someone else.

i know i'm going crazy

but i don't know what else to do. with all my time looking into glowing screens. all social relationships deteriorated. we live so we can die. i keep starting over and it keeps getting worse. it seems like sticking it out isn't an option, when it is the only option life has to offer. the good times killed me. the fact that they began to spread themselves out so thin.

he doesn't smoke.

at 36 he owns his own company, has a 25 year old girlfriend, goes on 3 hour runs, and thinks i want to be like him. he has no idea. i'd rather be a crackwhore.

some things don't come naturally

the things of this world that everyone does. i keep find myself having to force them. if left to my own exploration of things in a vacuum of a world, i don't think i'd do them at all. i'm not sure what i'd do. probably just give it all back. here you go, you can take it.

i didn't eat much of anything for a long while.

he was just talking. about the 60's, after his parents kicked him out. he was a teenager. some guy gave him 10,000 hits of lsd. it was easy to get rid of. all those sheets. he was talking about how he used to travel around, living out of his car. some of his story didn't make sense. there were holes and exaggerations which were obvious. i didn't say anything though. he was drunk. it's allowed. sometimes life's better as a story told drunk in a car, on the way to a bar where you will drink more and think back on the people who have come and gone along the way. it mostly seems stupid going through it.

she's unreasonable, so whatever.

they're all doing their thing. sitting at bars, drinking drinks, getting upset and walking home. little battles won and lost. someone will want you, it's only a matter of time.

a question for the elders

do you ever stop having dreams about old lovers?

love = 0

math is logic. zero is infinite nothing. we're drifting around making calculations with our movements, trying to subtract the difference between ourselves and something else. trying to fill the negative with positive by creating something, let it represent us. it is a complicated equation we are performing every moment. we are rounding, creating variables and rules as we go. even so, the distance between ourselves and everything else is always greater than zero.

audrey hepburn

a woman who will do anything you ask... hesitantly. it's the subtle doubt that makes you love her all the more. without that it would just get boring. she could love anyone, the fact that she's with you is pure circumstance. when she crawls on top of you in the dark, you just happen to be the one she's crawling on for now. all those things you said to each other, those are words you can say to anyone, anytime. words are easy to say. love is easy to make. it's only a matter of finding two people looking for it in the same situation, in the right frame of mind. anyone can fall in love. anyone can fall in love with anyone. the changes that happen to us can make us love someone we may never have considered an option. in contrast, it can make us fall out of love with someone we thought we could love forever. we're all just waiting to fall in love with each other, even if we think we already are in love. we're waiting for something else in life to love. the only real love is a new love. like happiness, fragile, fleeting, and over.

trying to relate to her idea of god.

would i make something like this? no.

the accident

she spoke somberly about her scars to the camera. referring to it as "the accident", she mentioned, we don't always have any control over the things that happen to us, but we do have control over how we deal with them. she looked as though she was about to cry when she said this, but the editors cut to some footage of her walking majestically from an ambiguous office building. sometimes we deal with things by not dealing with them.

left of a labido: nothing.

those girls. you know the ones. that only have worries in life so they can feel like they're the same as everyone else. they even force it sometimes. doing things a certain way makes them feel like they have more control over their world. although it seems much more that it was made for them. they did this to me. they're still doing it. the most beautiful of relationships are doomed to wither and decay into barely recognizable artifacts of a forgotten perfection.

going back

i don't know if i believe in eternal return, but it seems to be something to be desired. as a man, always penetrating, always seeking the forgotten comfort of the womb. the mother, every man's first penetration. he seeks out others, he'll try and fail, and settle for something he can tolerate as a parallel to perfection; a reminder of where he came from. for girls it's different. perhaps there is comfort in being the host, a feeling of being wanted, needed, fundamental to a system. but even they have this cryptic nostalgia for comfort which compromises into coitus. inside of her he's a parasite. she thinks about him, he thinks about her. they both think different things. they both do their part to keep things going.

developing a nervous twitch.

"Historical Fact: People stopped being human in 1913."
-p. 95 Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides

see that kids, there's nothing more to worry about. we're just one big assembly line. you're just worrying over something that already went wrong. this whole thing.

much too late for closure

throwing away what you meant to keep. getting what you thought you wanted. remembering only warmth and skin. feeling nothing like it.

some don't even have to think about it, some call that true love.

she welcomes each coming year like taking a stranger to bed. trusting each will be good to her, won't leave her worse off, beaten, or lifeless.

luciferian dilemmas and the ease of coping with the coke inspired orgy we had last night.

cheap champagne and hiding fom sunlight. sleeping in the same bed, but not touching. remembering who we were and seeing now that we haven't come so far. using tongue only to remember what it feels like. collectively letting daylight slip into bad documentaries, without saying anything. when they broke up, she moved all his photos from the shelf over her bed to across the room. he walked her home the next morning, filled with these ideas that make his actions right. justifications for marrying a teacher, for having kids, and not having to deal with them.

whoever you are, i love you.

she only gave me a look. it was the most i'd know of love. there was heartbrake in her eye and i knew i didn't need anything more. i overflowed with my very own alienation from love. it was something to hold dear, like a secret they'll never pry into, they'll never even consider. my memories of love take me someplace that never existed.

lonely mistakes

she was alone at a bar and needed a ride home, that's the only reason she called at 2:30am. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

i was only her prom date, that's all i'll ever be. two bottles of wine later, she's touching a russian girl's boob between drunken interludes on the dance floor. she complains about men while we drive off, a little damaged, but forgiving. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

she's just trying to figure out her life like the rest of us. it makes us feel we have more control over our own lives when we help guide others. that's the only reason she's being nice. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

she talks about work through a computer when she gets home. she types about how she's trying to make friends. she talks about what seems to be working, but mostly what doesn't. she goes to church to keep her spirit up. that and maybe she's a little lonely. either way it would be a mistake.

you start doing things when you are one person and they become a habit until one day you find yourself a different person doing the habits of someone you no longer understand. habits and mistakes can disappear with enough time.

in the end there's only what we think

she convinced herself that love is what you feel when you desperately don't want to be alone.

things we learn before love

brushing teeth
driving
sex
drawing a straight line
fishing
tetris
the birthday song
not to eat rocks
the difference between good and bad sleep
long division
to tie shoelaces
tv is a good excuse to do nothing
hat hair doesn't matter if you keep the hat on
feed the dog
to make friends
itching makes it worse
to lose friends
money is a necessity
to use the toilet
to say 'thank you'
...for the most part.

the great thing about wanting to be bukowski

trying is already having succeeded.

practicing agnostic

i don't believe in god the way you do, but i don't think we're it. there was a lot of assuming going around. it was pretty obvious.

she never called to say she doesn't want to talk to me anymore.

he smiled a dirty smile as he held the bottle of whiskey, looking straight at us. we didn't know him, he didn't know us. but he smiled as he walked by showing off the bottle of whiskey as if to say, "this is where my night's taking me." thinking the same thing, they sit alone. each of them looking for a future to project their past onto.

so, today it was snowing.

i wish i was better. worrying about things only makes it worse, right? a paranoid life is not a life worth living. fish probably don't often want to be caught, but whatcha gonna do? hook in the mouth. poked and prodded. flopping around in a strange place. there are a lot of people out there who aren't socially adapted. society has failed them. they have failed. they life reclusive lives, possibly shared with an equally reclusive person, where they focus on specific menial goals in order to be fulfilled. it really doesn't sound too different from the socially adapted. it only comes down to dealing with other people, whether it be by choice or otherwise.

she spelled her name wrong, either that or i don't know anything.

waking up tired seems like it shouldn't happen. so pretentious, not like self-righteous pretentious, because aren't we all. not like claiming value where there is none, because who decides where there is value? but to try so hard to the point that things seem to take so little an effort. disappointed despite effort.

rainbows of cocaine white, she bites her lip.

relationships based entirely on self-concept. are you willing to let him think he's someone he's not? is his happiness worth that to you? are you willing to play along? for how long? if you let him think he's exactly who he wants to be, will he eventually become it? are you the only thing keeping him from it?

we use others to construct an idea of who we are. the people around us are constantly changing, we are constantly changing. depending on others for any amount of meaning is futile.

letting the cat lick it off.

realizing if you look hard enough, you'll find people who don't think you're crazy. even if you are. more time spent thinking than doing. trying to only see the world i want. looking at the same things. falling captive to an endless dream. not giving up on the life you want, even after it's over. a bitter afterlife.

dead dog, curiously approachable. a lonely heart diluted with experience, sits in the chest like a fist. he forces them apart, though they want to be together, his eyebrows. life catches them by surprise, like a cake, with a person inside; now there's nothing to eat. if cannibals find themselves lonely, isn't it their own fault? you could probably say the same for anyone.

the life we live is nothing more than something we do.

just when i gave up completely, something turned it all around. it was only hope.

she looked at me like i was crazy.

i should have known then. she would never love me like i wanted. so i asked this girl out. sort of. i was drunk and asked for her number, she gave it hesitantly. a few days later i call. i get the machine.. "..so there's this place i heard of, on south water st. they do thursday night swing dancing, it could be fun. if you're interested give me a call, ###-####. thanks." i don't know why i said 'thanks'. i think a combination of nervousness and the habit of ending machine recordings with "..give me a call back, thanks!" so now i just thank people for listening to my awkward recordings by default. she didn't call. thank god.

chameleon

sometimes we find we've been so many different people that we forget the reasons behind the things we do.

fall cloud, fall

all this planning, all that trouble, trying and hoping and risking it all. only to find that she doesn't even care. just another person she'd rather forget with the past. of all the things i've had to do in my life, of all the thing i've had no control, this one i wish i wasn't blamed for. i don't think this thing i did was wrong, but she'll have me think otherwise. despite the fact that i came back, every reply she makes could just as easily be followed with,
"YOU ASSHOLE, YOU FUCKING LEFT!"

it's true.

can i tell you a secret?

it all blurred into one meaningless orgasm. i was ready to give up because of the lack of meaning. everything since i left has been a sort of afterlife. afterlives probably have less meaning than actual lives, only you can't take them away. i've been going crazy. i think it has to do with sex. binge and purge. never in moderation. we can't go back to who we were exactly, we just take something from it with us. we like to think there are certain things we can't lose. i lost it. fuck up. i've been watching walls fall in. just sitting and watching, not doing anything about it. i was unhappy, but everything was better.

hedonist despite.

he's likely to never know the pain of masturbating when the one you love is, has, or soon will be making love to another. it's a horrible feeling. it's something he'll miss out on. predatorial habits evade some, some avoid them on purpose. some lives are like flowers, preserved in a greenhouse growing to perfection, allowed to die of old age. we never know more than what we've experienced. people die for less.

pretty bitter

when i think of love these days, not much good comes to mind. i guess i'm pretty fucked up. though i know this doesn't make me special or rare. it seems to be common these days. expecting things to end. best case scenario, one person will be glad that it's over. now when i talk, i'm lucky if i don't say something horribly insulting or humiliating. i should be happy to just get out a good "hi" with a fake smile. they should be happy to get it. they don't even know what's going on in my head. love is what happens when we can't tolerate existence as it is, lonely and indifferent. love is a reaching outwards. love is a cake with two people holding hands. love is something to be admired. to love someone and be loved without knowing what love is, this is naive, this is lucky. i have forgotten how to love and yet, this assumes i have loved in the past and that it can be learned again. as if love is something that comes and goes. more often going. coming only as a reminder that it will go away. one day we will be without it again.

she explained and justified, but it still seemed so irrational.

she came up to me while i was reading alone. she looked and acted a little crazy, like she was seriously stoned. she asked if she could join me. i said sure, after all, i was there to meet people: i went to a coffee shop, ordered a drink, sat against the wall by myself with my head in a book, to meet people. so this girl was sitting across from me now. i don't remember thinking her ugly or pretty initially, but definitely strung out. this became more apparent as her words and personality exposed themselves to me. she said something, then i said something, then she mentioned she was in a band. what kind of band, i asked. rock, she said, as if there were infinite other kinds of bands she could be involved with. then she mentioned some musicians, one i'd heard of, one i hadn't. she asked me if i'd like to come back to her place and listen to music. i hesitated, but ultimately agreed considering the lack of harm that could come from it and maybe she'd get me high.

so we get to her apartment which is surprisingly nice. spacious or empty, depending on how you look at it. she had a keyboard in the middle of her living room and not much else. it should be noted that on the walk over she explained her name and the names of her band members. her name is artemis, or will be once she has it legally changed from candice. her band members follow suit with names of various greek gods. so she put on some music by some chick who sounded like she was trying too hard to be lou reed. because i noticed this, i mentioned lou reed and she got all excited. it seemed like she had to be on something. so since the keyboard was there and she said she was in a band, i asked her to play something. she didn't hesitate to oblige. she played the massive keyboard sitting like an elephant in the empty room and sang. she could play the keyboard, for what it's worth, but the singing left much to be desired. inbetween songs she got up to blow her nose and did so facing the door to the balcony, away from me. cocaine, i thought. i bet she's on cocaine and faced away in fear her nose would bleed. she sat back down next to me on the couch. i wondered if she was trying to seduce me. if this was all about some nympho- adventure. she asked me if i had a girlfriend. i said no. good, she said. then she showed me her band's website and some books. it's around this time i realized her shirt was transparent, exposing her entire upper torso except the small area concealed by her bra.

we went back into the living room and sat next to each other on the couch. there was a feeling that something was about to happen. a feeling like something had to happen. just then, something did happen. her phone rang. "come on up," she said. it was a friend of hers. he came in carrying a small plastic bag. he set it down on the floor next to a chess board which was apparently already set up. we introduced ourselves like gentlemen. his name was not that of a greek god. his name was matt. matt and artemis almost immediately sat down on the floor and began a game of speed chess as if it was all they ever did together. as if it was understood that this is what would happen. they played a fifteen min. game, which was over in 5 min. because artemis lost. then i said i should probably go. but she wouldn't let me leave without hearing her favorite poems which she performed in front of matt and i. there were three and while they contained nice words and explicit content alluding to intercourse and misconceptions of love, they were typical. i walked to the coffee shop and sat down, hoping to meet someone. no one else approached me that day. no one else came close.

i just want to buy a car and not feel like a sucker.

with my world view this is probably impossible.

15,000
15,500
16,000
no? eh?
16,800?!?
oh. jez.
14,200?
please?

i never liked sex...

i never liked sex as much as being able to have it whenever i wanted.

i was exactly who i wanted to be and then who i wanted to be changed.

in college, you study some, go to parties, try to get laid and whatnot. experiment with drugs, do the college thing. you try to do the things you saw in the movies, on tv, the things people expect you to do. you try not to disappoint. the world is a frightening place when you don't know what is expected of you. all our lives we know exactly what they expect of us. they tell us through their stories, through various media, in the way they represent us and teach us and make subtle suggestions. we are entirely familiar with what they want from us. but what do we want of ourselves?

make love like a texas chainsaw.

taking yourself seriously is what being an adult is all about. it seems so clear now that all our education is in order for us to become comfortable at the idea of sacrificing our lives for something considered productive. happiness is power; having control over your perceived world. control over outcomes. godliness. a smarter person would have reason behind every action, or at least be able to justify it.

my answer to everything uncomfortable: run away.

92 colors was tempting, but i settled for 48.

they're not much for motivating, more for demotivating. sometimes i think this world cultivates a certain amount of insanity with its constant buzzing and flashing. sometimes i wish everything would stop for a second or two. sometimes i wish i could stop the things i do that make things worse. if i do leave here, i wont ever return. people don't pay attention to most colors anyways, it's just something they're used to.

casual day.

sometimes i like to get dressed up to go to work, just to pretend i have a job that requires me to be dressed any sort of way. every decision i have made in my life was based on blind curiosity. aimless and thoughtless discoveries only leave you an observer of an indifferent world that you have little to no effect on.

looking for something to eat in the medicine cabinet.

thinking back on the best of the past few years, you cringe a little. giving a small awkward chuckle, for yourself, since no one's around. the only people who talk to you anymore are strangers and you never say the right thing back. though you never realize it until they're gone. with just the right amount of idiocy to function on the same level as everyone else. realizing you don't fit your own standard of normal, not knowing if anyone else does. acknowledging an amount of it has to be the everpresence of self-dillusion. think about the people who think they're good enough, or better, more worthy than everyone else they've ever met. rich kids think the world owes them. we're all living in a world that doesn't quite fit. like a really bad puzzle with all the pieces dented and torn. it's not even supposed to make a picture. the contest is only to see how much of it you can make fit right, or at least think you made fit right.

you're gorgeous hon, don't worry about it.

so i sat there all morning, i hadn't eaten. it was about 11:30. i wasn't really doing any work, there wasn't any work to be done really. so i went out to lunch. i told the girl who works with me i was leaving, not that i had to, or that i had said anything else to her all day. just to say something. walking down the street at lunch hour, you see a lot of people. different kinds of people. business people, non-business people, weird people, ordinary people. i walked by a lot of these kinds of people on my way to get food. i saw two girls, one of them was stopped, looking at herself in the mirror, like she was fixing her hair. "you're gorgeous hon, don't worry about it," i said. i don't know why i said it, i normally am not so forward and outgoing. she just looked at me and awkwardly grinned as i walked by. i mumbled "it's cool" kind of as an awkward default statement. i don't know why i said it, it's like it came out of my mouth as the thought entered my head. i don't know why i said it, and i don't know why it bothered me for the rest of the day. also, i haven't shaved in about a week. so i'm looking pretty grizzly. i don't know what that has to do with any of this. but it should be noted. i don't put a razor to my face without motivation.

it's standard.

keep your standards and "the way things are". i want to know a good reason. a reason to do things like you do. one day i stopped having fun at parties and bars and just doing things in general. things seemed to change around me, even though i knew i was someone different. someone who no longer wanted the things people around me want. none of it. searching for an example of a life i consider worth living, not only tinkering.

"you have a blessed day, mam."

she only said it when she was really pissed at someone. they often said, "you too," with a scowl on their face. our memories of people become caricatures over time. it is no wonder we have love affairs with the past. we only remember the parts of their personalities that stood out. it seems like such a cartoon when we think back. like everything had meaning and purpose, not like now at all.

some people want to have nothing when they die:
having money is not happiness, maybe spending it is. maybe just not enough.

you should have tried harder.

some things are easy to say without considering context or pretty much anything it involves. most people may agree, even you may agree, but it doesn't change the result. not counting the losses, just pick up and move on. go where they smile and mean it. don't forget to zip your fly. the pretty ones are where you want to be.

he sits there, all ass-wise and sure, and yet..

he's never fought for anything in his whole life.

maybe he would have killed me.

maybe that guy would have killed me if the couple didn't happen to walk through the parking lot just then. or maybe he would have just pestered me until i got irritated and went in my car, maybe then he would have tried to use force. maybe i could have reasoned with him and told him i was a really nice guy and that he shouldn't do anything to hurt me, maybe that would have worked. or maybe i could have told him that i didn't care if he hurt me, that it wouldn't make him any richer and that we're all just suffering through these lives together, maybe that would have made him think twice about things. maybe he had a knife and just would have threatened me some. or maybe he would have stabbed me somewhere so i would be injured but still live. or maybe we would have had some sort of fist fight there in the parking lot. not that any of this matters, because that couple happened to walk by just then, and he left.

GODDAMN YOU, YOU FUCKING SLUTS! an ode to strange forgotten friendships in a series of unrelated questions.

where did they come from, where did they go, how do you get them back. stupid question. the past. you don't. when you judge yourself primarily through others and your relationships with them, what do you do when you don't have any? and how do people judge themselves if not through others? through personal successes? social ranking? those confident fat slobs raking in piles of cash, banging trophy wives. people want to be them. is that enough? if i sit at a computer day in day out, if i can't see my own penis without looking in a mirror, does none of this matter if we are given a little respect? a little power? one might say, none of it matters if i can have what i want, when i want it. does anyone really have this? or they just change their idea of what they want to fit what they know they can have? or to fit what others want? they came from inside me. i left them. you don't.

i don't care what anybody says

there is an objective reality, and it mostly sucks. why did you make those decisions you made? they changed your life. it's a safe bet to say you have issues, maybe serious ones. you probably couldn't even know it if you wanted to. it's sad when you look around and could pick any person at random and imagine a past for them that would lead to them being great, by anyone's standards. because they're not. so, why do miserable people go on living when they don't enjoy it? because it's easier. living is easier than dying when you are perfectly healthy, there's always the possibility of surviving any attempts at self inflicted death. no matter how miserable a person is, they probably don't want to be miserable and paralized. then they're just fucked. the irony is if they were unhealthy, it would probably give them some sort of motivation to persevere. either way it's tiny pointless goals. take those away and you're just a monkey on a rock, scratching his ass, looking at things, maybe wondering why.

the last time we spoke

she seemed a little crazy. i don't know what that was all about, but it's nice to know i'm not the only one.

she doesn't want much out of life.

she sits there on her computer. she talks only when spoken to. some weekends she goes to the beach. it is uncertain who she goes with, or what she actually does there. even when spoken to she doesn't ever have much to talk about. she won't answer the hard questions. she just says, "i don't know" or avoids it in some other obvious way. she has a boyfriend, i've met him, he's not too different. one could say they are perfect for each other. some people are contented easily.

sitanddonothingbox

most of the time we're just sitting and waiting. we don't often know what for.

they have their reasons.

he knows if he goes back to her now, she might not take him back, it might not be the same.

his boss tells a joke about what his parents got him for his fortieth birthday, something about a gym membership or a hair implant. like all his boss' jokes, he knows it wont be long until he hears the joke told again, word for word, to some captive listener on the phone. It's as though the jokes stay in rotation for a couple days, then retire.

she fell in love because it was the easy thing to do. she doesn't know any more about happiness than him, but she doesn't think about it near as much.

if he would have gone to paris his life would be different, he wouldn't have married her, he wouldn't have divorced her, he wouldn't hate his job, he wouldn't mock everyone when their back is turned, he might not be bitter. he also wouldn't have his daughters, they're the reason he puts up with it. to him it's a good reason.

she's learning to go out in the world and not have to worry about loving or being loved. she's learning life can be ok like that.

he's trying to sell himself the idea of things getting better, but he's not buying it. he's giving it away.

something good to remind yourself about everything.

i'm just visiting, this is temporary, one day i won't be here.

need to get the fuck out of the south.

this cabernet sauvignon is a breath of fresh air. needing midwest customs like a fish needs water. like life needs reason. everyone's gotta be good at something, right? how many millions are just as good at the same thing i am, if not better? let's take a train, let's just pick up everything and take a train somewhere, then take a boat, then land on an island, then who the fuck cares! we're on an island! fuck all man. island.

the difference between bitter and spiteful.

i look around and see a lot of lives i would not choose to live myself. a lot of people doing what they have to in order to stay alive, whithout much good reason.

that month when i was sick, i think i had mono or something, that took a lot out of me. i could have gotten my life organized otherwise, perhaps.

the only direction we can move is forward. it makes one wonder what all the fussing is about. things are different already, we should see this. it doesn't mean improvement, it doesn't mean more understanding, or smarter, it just means no going back. not in any true sense. we're stuck on this conveyer belt away from what we know and love. if you don't go along with it, it will just drag you along anyways. the happiest people i've met still complain about things. maybe i haven't met anyone who's that happy, or maybe even happiness has its problems. people are always full of advice for the lives of others, especially when they have no answers for themselves. it's easy to be objective and point fingers from the outside. let's not go to bed, let's open some wounds; there are certain people, certain moments, certain memories, that although they're gone, you don't want to get over. it's time to have kids and start focusing on someone else for a change.

reenacting the war.

is it fun for them? is it like a game?

someone to praise the pretentious.

as long as someone buys in, that's enough. if you look long enough, someone will buy in.

there are two types of salesmen. the salesman who wants to sell and the salesman who wants to find someone who needs what he's selling. they are both trying to make money. they both may or may not be successful depending on various factors. both are likely to sell to someone eager to buy without any need for the product. salesmen are ubiquitous. we are all salesmen to some degree. even if we don't mean to be, and are bad at it, which normally go hand in hand. the life of a salesman, we're selling our worth for all we can get.

$15/hr.

god's country.

if one can be happy anywhere, if it's all in one's attitude, then why doesn't everyone just move to the slums and shut up about all the bullshit.

he cries so easy.

a small kind of constant distortion. tendency to shut oneself off from the world. not shaving. not eating properly. scarce interest. disturbing feelings of social obligation when around others.

resolution is a path that leads somewhere else, part 2

things won't be the same, but there's a chance they might be better.

resolution is a path that leads somewhere else, part 1

his father asked sincerely in front of him, where did i go wrong. nothing was resolved that day.

1 speed bike - limp penis.

1 When I Was 12 I Used To Skip School (5:07)
2 Just So I Could Masturbate All Day Long (1:20)
3 I Used To Think About This Girl At My School (2:57)
4 When I Was 20 She Took Me Home (5:58)
5 But I Couldn't Get It Up (3:55)

idiotbox.

people's reactions to him could only be justified if he was a complete idiot. he realized this. and thusly, he realized he was an idiot. perhaps not always, but enough for other people to think so.

forget your ideas of god and love.

what's life to you? what makes it worthwhile? interesting? not just a series of small goals?

god dies in the fine line.

everyone knew the motive behind each action he took. just as her motives were commonly understood. the two of them weren't all that different really. they were both drunk on wine and what they wanted of each other. the next day, one will leave them hungover, while the other leads them away from who they are and towards who they'll become. we're always going in a direction towards or away from things. away from the things we know, towards the unknown.

if the few people you interact with in your lifetime happen to consider you odd, and treat you as such, you might consider yourself to be odd, possibly causing you to act more odd out of insecurity. the other people in the world might have considered you perfectly normal. the loneliest, strangest people have only to meet one right person to be a little less lonely.

god dies in the fine line, sleepwalking towards truth, forgetting how to act, focusing on the temporal nature of things.

opening doors.

he opens doors every chance he gets. he wants people to know he's a good person, just in case. when he's alone he thinks of the past and says, "fuck" aloud, as if scolding himself. he looks around to make sure no one's there, more disappointed and embarrassed, he carries on with the task at hand. one day the past will be worse, he's sure of it. he's just not sure what happens after that.