38: Thriller

congratulations on your one year anniversary. you have now reached a whole new standard of pathetic.

the bomb-head man on the sidewalk on casa st. seems to feel my pain. to feel so metaphysically capable and yet not be able to put the words together for the general concept of pretty. here is what i say.

on my walk home last week, i stopped to take a picture of the bomb-head man on the sidewalk on casa st. 

there was a pile of dog shit a couple feet away, and i felt more similar to that block of cement than i maybe ever did to you.

they all say im crazy and that i should be pissed, but they didnt hear how you said it, so they dont understand.

what you said were lies or truths, but i dont really think it matters enough to know the difference anymore.

id still sit here and try to figure out if its better to swallow glass or scrap metal, and which is better for my composure.

i hate that all i have to write about is you.

i think that most people settle for the reasoning that the meaning of life is in the mass movement.

37: Blue in the Face

I'm always keeping bad habits, and
starting new ones.

36: Purple Haze

So many more things:

My pipe: John Paul, from Haight
Object of confusion: Nick
Idea for future: in music composition, heavy percussion in rolling triplets, harp, beatboxing.
Plague: studying...ew
Alc: Sangria...let's make it
Crush: Isaiah?

Where is he going? He has taken my concept of personality and accepted it and now he is accepting someone else, perhaps? this is the only thing that is sad at all. Not the ex, but that maybe I wasn't good enough to be next she. That maybe, he's just not that into me. And rather into the Barbie doll, and I am too much of a hippie to be any kind of Barbie. Fuck it. I never liked plastic anyway.

There must be some kind of way out of this intrinsically established personality definition that I have attributed to myself, in relation to interpersonal stauses. But I kinda don't think I'm the problem anymore.

35: I'm Looking Through You

Wow, finding a relevant job is hard. Still waiting for that CEO to get back from vacation so I can call him...errr...

Wow, almost 5 months ago, and still keeping bad habits.

I am either really good or really bad at reading people. I don't know.

I am too tired for this, and almost for all of it. Not like kill myself because I'm so sad or anything, but I'm so sick of trying that I just won't anymore.

34: Virtual Insanity

I'm giving all my love to this world.

I have the perfect man. He calls me a lot, leaves me sweet messages, is very attractive, attentive, affectionate, popular, friendly, and my mom likes him. But I don't want him. Something in my nature will not allow me to be satisfied. Apparently I would rather constantly strive for the unattainable. But I guess that's a good feature to have in the long run. If Bob Dylan was happy spinning pizza dough (sure, why not?), I'd have no fool to listen to.

Or maybe it's that I have just been so badly damaged that I don't know what I want anymore. Maybe I don't want Prince Charming yet. Maybe I want to be bruised a little bit more. It would be better than putting my trust in someone and then choking to death on my own proclaimed regrets (like an emo).

Loving sucks but Trusting is so much harder.

33: Stronger

I leave at least a half hour early from work every day. Shame on me. But it's so addicting. Why be there of no one needs me doing anything? What a waste of time. This is why the govt. is in debt (well, maybe not).

3 times today, all after 7 o'clock. That that don't kill me can only make me stronger. If not in body, then in mind.

Break is almost halfway over. I feel like going back to school would be more of a break than this is. I'm too tired to write any more.

32: Boss D.J.

I made a little coin purse with "Boss DJ" on it. Hella cute.

I want to learn to transverse with the sounds of everything eloquently, and to support my reasoning and justification of myself with that force, invisible as music, but positive as sound.* So that the poetry of beauty and pain and humor and anger all fly to me, knowing, and I can interpret and use it for translation. But I guess thats simply put as, I want to know and understand everything, and let's face it...

3 or 4 times today because none were very well-planned or well-executed, and because I won't be able to for a few days. My jeans are fitting damn well though.

Things would be much easier to say upon my microphone like a boss d.j. but I won't walk up upon the sea like it was dry land. Someday, hopefully.

Disneyland tomorrow!

*Emily Dickinson poem; don't remember which one.
"Boss D.J.", by Sublime