Miscellania

Killing time by drawing faces that stare back at me from the margins In a sea of 8 and a half by elevens I´m drowning in... Treading through run on sentences And sinking into empty text I´ll swallow the salt And spit a few dry words out Sometimes, music you're embarrassed of is so mint.

It's a decision, between my health and my happiness. I make it everyday, several times a day. Seeing other people that are more or less of something than I am, doesn't change that I am not happy with this. I am the only one who has to love me, but I don't know if I can. I'm itching for some sense of direction, and some help with these decisions. Get behind the wheel, stay in front of the storm.

There are always going to be people who get it, and get me, and don't have to try to decipher me at all. At this specific time, I feel like no one will really get all of these feelings but me. I do however acknowledge that there are people who get me, it feels like it's something that requires personal experience, and maybe it hasn't happened for you, and maybe it won't. Maybe all of this is so typical, maybe this is whats implied in all those coming-of-age stories. It feels good to feel something, even if its this eerie lonely kind of sad, that strangely feels good.

I make to do lists, a lot. I haven't recently, for no reason other than the obvious, I'M YOUNG AND LAZY. I love it, too. Anyways, I like making small lists, for daily shit. Making bigger lists for weekly shit, and a huge list for monthly shit. It could just be one thing, a goal, or something that will take me longer. I like having deadlines, and knowing what to do. This summer, I want to wake up at 8:00AM everyday, because I always feel so crummy waking up at noon. I want to read, and enjoy the books, and attain something from them, like I used to. I want to watch Elise play Zelda, and learn to make something other than PBJ. Anyways, my list for this week is: -Organize clothes/dressers/closet -Have a movie-party with Elise My list for this month is: -Finish One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (I found it, it wasn't at Sam's house after all) - Complete all of my weekly lists - Paint something worthwhile I'll write a real 'blog' later, with pictures and stuff,...

You know that one scene in Garden State, where Zach Braff is sitting on the couch after taking some crazy drugs, and everything around him is happening at a fast speed, and he's just lost in the midst of it all, seeing what is happening, but not being a part of it? That's what I feel like, all the time. I wish that other people could just 'get it', like you do.

It's the journey, not the destination. Getting what you want, doesn't mean you're happy.

Well my friends and I are just skeletons, piano key ribs, and eyes that serve as cup holders. Flapping jaws, creaking joints, and knocking knuckles. Well i guess we've got something to be proud of. tubes of crimson, humanity's first transportation system. Sure we have tendons and ligaments, pumping machinery, showy distinctions of the strength we entail. We've got a shell, and we've got protection, translucent flesh, I guess it's worth something. Sure we've got a powerhouse, something to keep the order. flipping images, and conducting fluent behaviors. We can make fire, and we can make love. We can lend you a hand. or watch you get fucked. Well, my friends and I, we're just human. Accidents, helplessness, and hormones that don't make sense. It's not too much, but around here, it's enough.

Since I've written a cohesive, legitimate blog. All of these ramblings, confessions, and worries, make no sense to anyone, least of all me. I rearrange my room, a lot. Some people are freedom-whores, some are truth-whores, and some people are just whores. Me, my friend, I am a change-whore. The feeling of finding new ways to work with what you have is gratifying, and with this change, comes the desire to spend more time in my room, hence more time in my head, therefore more time figuring all of this shit out. Actually though, most of the time I just sleep, or lurk myspace. I need a new journal, because though I always say I've never completed a journal, I have, in a way. I have a few notebooks, and though there wasn't really a conclusion, there was a new beginning, in a new notebook. I don't know how you're really supposed to end journals? I guess you don't, and it just lives on. It's strange to think of all of the things that could/will outlive me. For inst...