I am slowly compiling Macho Man Randy Savage's illegitimate rap child "Be a Man." It is, quite possibly, the funniest thing humanity has ever squeezed out of an orifice.

For those of you who have not seen Return of the King, let me recap on a thirty minute basis.

Section 1: Smeagol EVIL! Frodo gooood.

Section 2: Lots of people prepare for battle.

Section 3: Battle for Middle Earth.

Section 4: Battle for Middle Earth.

Section 5: Battle for spinal integrity.

Section 6: Battle ends. Long, drawn-out death rattle begins.

Section 7: Try not to scream while what seems like another three hours of violin/mandolin/celtic-olin play over weepy faces. Stupid people in the audience start crying. The fire in your back slowly creeps into your neck, engulfing whatever last bit of patience you may have had. Run out of the theater and punch an old lady in the face.



We ride...for MOOOOOORRRRRRRDOOOOOORRRRRRRRR...

My problems are so abstract.

And now for the dramatic personality shift to swing in. Every time I'm removed from my natural habitat for a number of days (i.e. school, social circles) I grow happier, more self-confident, friendlier.

I must admit, the thought of delving back into the game makes me sick some mornings. I hate that I will, that day, be expected to fill all the roles you and I have agreed that I should fill. Let me tell you, I want Matt dead. I want to be able to interact with people in my own way, not Matt's way. I don't want anyone to have to fill any role ever again. I want to do away with every set of rules I have been brought up with. I don't want to know that "girlfriends" exist; only people. I don't want to know that "friends" exist; only people. I wish we weren't fed lies, daily, that only serve to limit us.

And I wish I could believe in what I say.

This is an actual review taken from the Amazon.com page for "Hulk Rules," Hulk Hogan's foray into the musical arena.

"Oh my.. I am at a loss for words. This album makes my year. I give HULK RULES 5 stars because of its extraordinary mix of musical styles, and also because of the Hulkster's surprisingly awesome vocal ability. As a child I was a HUGE Hulkamaniac, and this album is a must for any hulkamaniac's collection. The feelings of nostalgia it produces, and the undying message the Hulkster continues to communicate to the young people of America and the world make this the ultimate album of all time.
I am not lying when I tell you that I cried the first time I listened to Hulkster In Heaven. Being a US Marine myself, I love the message Hogan sends about standing up for what is right and loving America and saying your prayers. But on the other hand, the college boy in me loves to boogie down and party like Hulkster does in the wild and crazy Beach Patrol. I Want To Be A Hulkamaniac... the title of the song says it all right there, and I say "me too." Hulk's The One shows how much the Hulkster is loved by the ladies, and gets your feet moving, as does Hulk Rules. By purchasing owning this album, you can help Hulkamania live on forever!!!"

Delawar once introduced me to an internet forum which discusses politics. He said I should join and have fun with the insane people it draws. My latest post may be my last. Here, read, laugh:

Here be assholes

I'm under the screen name Outtro. Knowledge of the original subject of the topic is unnecessary; politics is soon dispensed for an all-out insult grudge match. You are all more than welcome to come join the fight. Delawar was the first casualty and is now banned entirely.

Tha....that baby's....that baby's DANCING! A dancing baby?! HOLY SHIT!! THAT BABY'S FUCKING DANCING!!! OH MY GOD, I'M GOING TO SHIT MYSELF WITH LAUGHTER!! I SHOULD EMAIL THIS TO ALL MY FRIENDS!!! I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING SO HILARIOUS IN ALL MY LIFE! TO THINK, A BABY...DANCING!!!!!!!! Thank you, dancing-baby-animator, whoever you are, for bringing joy to my dark, lifeless heart.

"A routine will turn into an enchanting escapade."

Fortune cookie eerily relevant. The sky is winking.

SAAAATAAAAAN!!!

Chronicling my slow descent into Starcraft:

Day 1: Following an impulse I occasionally get to revisit computer games I used to play in sixth and seventh grade, I challenged James to a light-hearted game of Starcraft. We ended up playing for over an hour; our humorous textual interplay had stopped about halfway. After we had had enough intergalactic death and destruction, we quit for what I thought would be quite a long time. I was mistaken.

Day 2: Once again finding myself with nothing to do and no incentive to pursue something intellectual, I organized a game with Bonnie, Jake and Jenny. The first two were quickly dispatched, leaving Jenny and I to butt horns and shake the earth. After forty-five minutes or so I crushed her with a fleet of Carriers, felt a mild sense of accomplishment, and then proceeded to sit at my computer for another hour, listening to mp3's, waiting for something to happen on AIM and browsing the same twenty sites I always browse.

Day 3: Unable to find anyone willing to play, I was alarmed to find myself entering the mouth of the beast: Battle.net. This seedy little cesspool is inhabited with what I have come to regard as the lowest, most inebriated, mindless neanderthals the internet has to offer. And I was willing to play with them. Since playing traditional Starcraft on Battle.net is made impossible by gaming zealots who have come up with new and original ways to utterly destroy you in under ten minutes, and are likely not house-broken, I opted for what I thought would be a more casual session of Use Map Settings games. These are Starcraft maps which have special rules to create a game with objectives more or less unrelated to the original game. For example, movie-Starcraft adaptations are very popular. Battle.net favorites include Gone in Sixty Seconds, The Matrix and Rain Man: a touching story of two men's battle to cope with Autism.

I chose an aliens-and-giant-robot-killing-machines version of the comic strip classic Calvin and Hobbes. The game consisted of bombarding your enemies with hordes of murderous space pirates which have been renamed to match characters from the comic. It's amazing. I had played the map so often in eighth grade that I could pretty much overcome any adversary. I was playing against two other guys allied against me, and when it became clear that they would lose, one of them spouted, "This game is fuckin rigged. God, ur such a newbie, fagget." un-humorous textual interplay continued for a while, before he was wiped off the face of the planet by my insurmountable army of tanks named "Mom."

Day 4: My friends, now recognizing my growing problem, politely refused to play with me. I again turned to Battle.net for my badly-needed Starcraft fix. In the shared opinion of the entire network, I was still a "fagget."

Day 5: Desperate, desparaging, I severed all ties with those I previously thought to be "friends." They didn't understand me, and were only trying to undermine my happiness. I wanted to be addicted to Starcraft. It made me happy, something which couldn't be said of certain social relationships. Plus, I could stop whenever I wanted. All I needed was my laptop, a few cases of Dr. Pepper and a bedpan.

Day 6: My harddrive now filled with Starcraft maps, screenshots, replays and screen savers, I sought for a way to expand my ever-growing collection of Blizzard miscellania. When I realized that selling what was left of my belongings wouldn't garner enough funds to buy more memory, I became desperate. That night I snuck into my neighbor's house and stole an external harddrive they had purchased recently; they were on vacation in Massachusetts, blissfully unaware their house was being raided by a Starcraft fiend.

Day 7: Finally recognizing and confronting my problem, I admitted myself to a rehab clinic for some time to collect myself and re-prioritize what was left of my life. Realizing just how much damage I had done to my friends and family, I swore I'd try to rebuild what I could, repent for what I had done, and never again allow myself to lapse into such depravity.

Day 15: After I was released from my short stay in the clinic, I found myself an alien in what had once been a life so taken for granted. My friends and acquaintances eyed me warily, always watching, waiting for me to do something unpredictable. While they spoke to me politely and in a friendly enough fashion, I always sensed uneasiness about them. Some day I'll conquer the demon of my past, but until then, there's always Diablo.

Finally, I've found a way to spread my seed in the collective consciousness. Go here for my new image site, featuring Phobitopia propaganda for you to use for your own mischevious ends.

He sexy dude, lieks for womans, milk make bones as large, plus other things if you are knowing I mean!

Who's Yami, and why does he/she/it have hair as he/she/it does?

Eric Conveys an Emotion is fit for reading.

Mr. T Vs. Everything

AAAAAAHAAAHAAAAA!!!
AAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!
..........AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There's a very long, very involved retrospective piece worming its way out of me. Soon, soon. For now, I'm just putting together the puzzle.

Happy 16th Birthday!

The ASB wishes you a happy birthday and hopes that you'll take a few minutes to consider this... Did you know that most accidents occur when the driver is between the ages of 16 and 19 years old? Motor Vehicle Crashes are the number one cause of death among people between the ages of 15 and 20, and in California alone, 18,000 teen passengers are injured or killed annually in teen-driven cars. So, we ask you to be a careful and considerate driver, and remember NEVER DRINK AND DRIVE! So, Happy Birthday, and please be safe.

Sincerely,
The ASB

So a guy walks into a bar, says to the bartender, "gimme a beer." The bartender gives the guy a beer and the guy sits at the bar for a while, just drinking his beer and minding his own. Then he watches a football game on a little TV bolted to the ceiling for a while before putting his jacket on, walking out to his car and going home.

I...am...creative-esque.

I work hard on english project.

I mold something beautiful.

Still working.

Matt craft tale of love, death, sex, cookies.

You wait. You watch. Matt pleased.

"What is this human emotion you call...love?"

A half an hour ago my dad brought home two air-filtering units he bought from Sharper Image for quite a bit of money. While he was setting them up I read the instruction manual and noticed that you're not supposed to stand within a foot of it, and staring at it can blind you. Hmm. "That clean, fresh scent you smell is Ozone. The US government has set safe standards for ozone, and the Ionic Breeze complies with those standards." Something occured to me. If Ozone were safe, why would the government need to set limits on how much of it we can consume? I voiced this while my throat and nose started to close with a mucus-ey sensation. The units also glow with a blue germicidal light. Staring at this light can cause eye damage or even blindness. Hmm...but Sharper Image says it's safe.

My dad left, and it took about thirty seconds for my mom and I to find supported evidence online that not only does Ozone do very little to clean air, it actually agitates respiratory conditions and even promotes the growth of harmful contaminants. !!!!!.

"Well if the government lets us buy it, it must be safe." Cigarettes are still legal.

I'll stick with the cynicism, oh ye of little faith.


Beautiful, beautiful blue light...

Shadows with no morning sun. Dark, dark room, darker every day. Snooze button. Snooze button again. Again.

Cold, cold water. Feed the drooping eyelid. Nothing can prepare mentally for something as formless and horrible as the rest of the day.

Everyone looks the same until you open your eyes. Landscapes of grey, fleshtone shifting mirages of little blizzards growing up to be snowflakes. Everyone's snowblind.

Always pulled against the tide. Nothing's pushing nothing forward. Never, ever, feel safe. Everyone trusts the wrong people. There is no love.

But look under the covers, and you'll find stars pooling into galaxies. You all look like ants...

A how-to guide to self-reinvention and absolute grooviness:

Jeff Filice invited me to the Radiohead concert on Sunday, bless him bless him. For a long time I've been very intimidated by this band. As to why, I'll have to start from ground up. Lyrics as cryptic as theirs demand scrutinization. Whenever I would try to decode their songs I would way, way overshoot, trip myself up and drown in confusion. This shortcoming was hard for me to cope with, I felt like I had failed in a way, like I was stupid for not being able to pick them apart. I decided to drop the whole thing, bury it away and come up with convenient excuses about them being "so pretentious" which I myself believed half-heartedly.

With Jeff's invitation I decided to heal the wound. I've been throwing around a few new ideas I've had and they held particular bearing on this situation. They are as follows: every person alive is capable of experiencing the full spectrum of human experience and therefore is not obligated to hold themselves to one particular standard, i.e. a personality. Personality is limiting and counter-intuitive if you wish to live as full a life as possible. One can become whatever they wish at any given moment without notice or justification. I'm just starting to get a hang on actually implementing this theory.

So, I implemented the theory. This sounds rather bizarre, but if you do stuff like this always with a sense of humor, all is forgiven. Listening to Kid A, standing in front of a mirror wearing a featureless white mask, I concentrated on the issue until I started to pinpoint exactly what made me so agitated. Using the mask simply as a visual metaphor for building from as blank a slate as possible, I slowly knocked down every barrier that was holding me back. When I was done, I had finished most of the album and it was like the Berlin Wall being destroyed, I was able to tread in the realm of Yorke without the least bit of fear, lyrics included. Ironically, once I allowed myself to see, their message made perfect sense to me. It fits me well. I can now live comfortably with whatever reactions their music may elicit from me, and I no longer feel the need to attack them to justify my own insecurities.

So just goes to show, what one cannot find without, one can find within.


The world's most important man enjoys some icthe cweem.

This is what my poetry has become, and it is a welcome, welcome change from the trite, sentimental crap I usually spew. Be this good or no, I'm just glad it's here:

Breakfast of Champions

Making first crack so egg yolk flows out, like soul, milky yellow soul, pouring out, I’ve never seen, heard, smelled, tasted, shat the soul. Writing is like cracking an egg, omelet, eat, shit, sell so you can find girls who will love you because any girl worth loving knows how to read a good poem from a bad, knows how to read the poetry of every line, crease and stain on your body from every day of work you’ve done, every time you’ve cried rainy tears for other girls, your mother, the world. Every good girl can look into your eyes and see not milky white yolk but her own interiors and let you flail and sweat on her even though your colors don’t match.

I feel like making love to a girl in her own overcast rainy new york day apartment under dusty rafters over old scratched wood paneling floors under a creaky but soft and inviting brass-posted bed that cradles in the best of ways. I feel like looking out a window and seeing nothing but water-drenched brick exterior and the multitudinous forms of aspiration, degradation and memory mulling through themselves, sorting, multiplying. This thing just gets bigger and bigger.

I wonder often. Being another person, what it would smell like. As a full-grown man, submerging. The premier frontier. I imagine girls tasting like a bubblegum lollipop, sweet, sugary, reminiscent of times passed. That’s when weird shit happens.

Cool girls, girls worth knowing, grow on walls like a great big sexy mold that creeps farther and farther away the closer to achieving enlightenment you get, because cool girls don’t wear black, cool girls live with their parents and summon Satan’s thousand forms to hide in their shampoo. I’d like to erect a glowing, flashing, smelling, pheromone-emitting beacon to bring these girls out of their deceptive skins of clothing and human form, because cool girl is something unlike anything else, it’s magic, it’s freedom, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and will never, ever get. Cool girl tastes like bubblegum and steel.

Cook that omelette, eat full until you die and only you are left.

Despite appearances, vehement opposition to TV is really one of very few things I consistently take seriously and believe in on a daily basis. But even then, the angry tones in which I write about it aren't a very accurate representation of the way I think. No, I'm not really this militant and rabid, only on the blog.

Turn off your televisions. You're living through a false matrix of thought predefined, prepackaged and engineered to make you placid. I may sound like this a lot, I may sound histrionic in what you see as paranoia, but this is one thing which is absolutely true.

There is no "them." The sad irony of the whole fiasco is that we willingly continue the cycle started when TV became a part of the American Dream.

Point 1: When you watch TV, the left side of your brain functionally shuts down, leaving the right lobe to process information in illogical, nonsensical ways. You cannot possibly process information spewed at you by TV in any semblance of reason. Ad agencies know this, use it to the point of exploitiation. The switch in nodes also releases endorphins, a substance chemically almost identical to opium. The endorphins leave you placated and listless, unwilling and almost unable to stop watching. You know how you feel after watching TV for a couple hours? Disoriented and sick? There's a reason! It's unhealthy, and yes, addictive. People removed from television for a few months go into withdrawl, be it mild, in which they are temperamental and unhappy.

Point 2: You have lived with television for so long that you have begun to believe that the world portrayed in television is more real than the world in which you live, and that your life somehow fails to fit television's image, and therefore is unexciting, undesirable and banal. Before you dispute, think about how many times you've turned off a TV, looked around you and morosely walked through the motions of your life for the next half hour, feeling slightly unfulfilled and unhappy with the hand you've been dealt. Where is the logic in this, that we value pure fiction and lies as truth?

Point 3: Television has created a common language which we now share. It's creepy. If someone says "Can you hear me now?" everyone immediately understands and chuckles even though we all know the catch phrase is not at all funny in the slightest way. On top of this, listen to yourself speak during an emotional moment, and just track every single sentence you say back to movies or TV. I've done it many times, and it makes me sick.

TV limits what we can achieve, keeps us from attaining happiness and forces us into grim acceptance of the world we now perceive as violent, unfair and ugly. The average American watches four hours of TV a day. FOUR HOURS! That's 28 hours a week, 112 hours a month. Think of what you could do with that time. Even if you watch TV for half an hour every other day, that's still a chunk of time too precious to sacrifice to an institution designed to keep you emotionless. You will never get that time back. Ever.

Trust me, there is a world surrounding us that is more amazing, more mysterious, more unbelievable than anything I've ever experienced before. I have discovered a universe so unspeakably, complexly beautiful that I feel more alive and in love than I ever have, and I cannot wait to see what's next.

But go watch Friends, it's just so mildly amusing and distracting!

Placid. Serenity. A welcome length of silence in which I can retract and think about breasts and the importance of living like a hand outstretched in open palm. Test done. Agitation, gone. Discomfort, minimal. Not even indifferent, I begin drifting through my brain's back rooms with a flashlight. A subtle rustling and moving of papers, pencils. A faint "shyeet..." can be heard before, while my eyes begin to cast themselves towards nothingness...

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Oh..." say my eardrums. A fire alarm at point-blanc range sends waves of disorientation, shock, panic and terror throughout the class. A duct opens and my bloodstream flows with adrenaline.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!"

Somewhere, an angel loses its wings.

Nobody ever wants to change everything. Change everything a good thing! Yesterday I kicked down every goddamned door that was blocking my path through the world and toppled routine with the help of music and the will to make everything seem like a fingerpainter's canvas. I rearranged color-smears, conquered the devil and made snakes fly. Take the filters off your eyes, once you stop believing in dragons the dragons die, and all you get is a sick feeling in your stomach like the world's forsaken you. Don't believe what they tell you, Imma be the fucking president when I grow up.

-Perfect- You're the perfect girlfriend. Which
means you're rare or that you cheated :P You're
the kind of chick that can hang out with your
boyfriend's friends and be silly. You don't
care about presents or about going to fancy
placed. Hell, just hang out. You're just happy
being around your boyfriend.


What Kind of Girlfriend Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Whoa...awesome.

Why we are not a star-faring race.

You are Homosexual...You like people of your own
gender and there is no reason to be ashamed of
this result...Congradulations on finally
finding your sexuality.


The Sexuality Quiz
brought to you by Quizilla

Wow, what a revelation...I guess those guys were right. I'll be damned.

The First Ever Quiz That Doesn't Suck

YOU are a B-2 Spirit. Its low-observable, or
"stealth," characteristics give it
the unique ability to penetrate an enemy's most
sophisticated defenses and threaten its most
valued, and heavily defended, targets. Its
capability to penetrate air defenses and
threaten effective retaliation provide an
effective deterrent and combat force well into
the 21st century. Your quiet, but when you
speak your words are loud and make their
"impact".


Which miltary aircraft are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

By the way, this test consisted of two questions.

Matt Louv now available in soy form.

Crazy
Crazier

Books meet counter-top with resonant exclamations of relief. Librarian eyes my "abortion tickles" shirt momentarily, quickly concentrating on the texts in front of her as horror passes over her face.

"Write your name in them already..?"

"Yess'm"

"Boy, I sure am glad I don't have to carry these around all day."

"Just do the barcode thing."

"Matthew..."El Diablo"...Louv...

She was obligated by school policy to be unamused.

"It's my real name," I say in tones indicating a life of exasperation with strange parents, "My birth caul caught fire after it fell off of me."

Sixty-something is caught in a state of limbo.

"And this one," she says, indicating an Algebra 2 book with her checkout gun, "Pantaloon O'Saughnessy?"

"That's from my stagecoach robbing days. By the way, are those anatomy books for sale?"

"Next!"

Anthrit's Inner Magic

Matthew, watthew, bo-batthew, banana-fana fo-fatthew, me my mo-matthew, matthew!

Whoo, school. What-a-blast.

I'm in PE with Steven Gordon of dreadlocks fame. In that class we haven't done anything all week but sit for hours on the gym bleachers. Literally. Nothing.

We've all established our own places on the stands, our turf as it were. There are these REALLY COOL guys who sit behind us who are just about the coolest, most badass freshman muthafucka's ever to dominate scripps, who are SO COOL that their vocabularies are developed to a first grade level! Well, they started throwing pieces of paper at Steven and I, which was sad, because we were so eager to be accepted into their inner circle and become cool like them. Then, to rub salt in our wounds, they asked Steven if I was his boyfriend.

"Yeah. He's my boyfriend. We go out."

They laughed amongst themselves, swore.

"No, seriously. We're gay."

Laughter dwindles, they are confused. One of them looks upset.

"Kiss him then."

"No, it's against school rules," I say. "No expressing personal signs of affection. Didn't you read the student handbook?"

"Shit, they're like fags and shit. Hey, why don't you go have sex in the bathroom, gay guys! You're all gay 'n' shit," offers the one with the unibrow.

Even when they find out we're not actually gay (Holy hell! Whod've thought!) they won't let it die.

I wish I were as cool as they are.

Nothing new under the sun.

Same old tedium.

Hard to wake up.

If I jumped off a cliff right now, I bet I could fly. The harmonious song of worlds colliding. Beautiful.

I wish things didn't change at a snail's pace. But too fast and we'd break down.

Erin Simmer's AIM info is composed of quotes from Donnie Darko. After expressing my approval to her, Sean messages me saying he has just seen Donnie Darko, and it is the coolest movie ever.

Once again, there's nowhere to hide when the world wants to scare you.

You tell me.

Things are about to get cool again.

Exploding Dog

Despite the name, these cartoons are clever, funny and oddly poignant in their poetic simplicity.

The next man to spout a cryptic one-liner shall be dispatched by mine own hand!

Chihuahua World

This is me. The idiot chihuahua lovers will meet their untimely end at my hands.

I think I need to include more shout-outs in this blog. Yeah, I think there's a serious shout-out shortage. It really makes it seem lacking.

"The 5th Annual Wine Tasting to benefit girls' field hockey, soccer and softball held in May was a fun evening, This year's event raised over $21,000. We would like to thank our wine sponsors for their generous donations."

So reads an article out of the latest edition of the Scripps Ranch Newsletter, which I have come to regard in the lowest of terms. Before sinking my teeth into that travesty, I have to touch on our beloved school.

What total, utter, sleazy, backhanded hyppocracy! My god! Our sports department is funded by alcohol and yet the administration still puts on frightened faces when they warn us of its vice and danger. Not that I'm endorsing alcohol, much to the contrary; it's just that a little consistancy would be nice. I guess getting drunk is excusable when you're old, rich and it's in the name of children. Wouldn't it be great if there were a "Weed for Water Polo Day"??

And this newsletter, gah. Every issue is written in fear-driven arrogant, authoritarian tones. It sounds like they're terrified of losing the shaky foothold they've made for themselves, like they're trying to stave off the world's frightening, ugly parts. Well, that's impossible, and in the process they're backing themselves farther into a corner. That's it, the writing sounds like a small animal threatened by a predator who has cut off all its means of escape.

"I am happy to say that two resident families, Joyce Berzle and her son, Zach, and Awilda Parada, are stepping in to help with graffiti removal and are gearing up to take over the equipment. Once they are set to go, we can ask them to remove the graffiti that appears. I'm happy to say it is seldom, as we remove it so quickly and deny the "artists" the exposure they want."

How horrifying. This perfectly demonstrates this publication's mission: to try to suppress anything they feel threatens their false sense of security, and how better to do that then to make the very people who represent the "enemy" do their dirty work? Zach Berzle, Mr. ghetto poseur himself, wiping out free expression for his overlords. That's tragically poetic, isn't it.

Think about it, WE are the enemy, at least those of us who haven't succumbed to their message of complacency. I hate to use these "Us and Them" terms, because I don't ever believe that things are that simple, but we, the unimpressed youth of scripps ranch, are in a position to make these people shit themselves with fear. Sure, they'll try to clamp down; they're already fencing in the parks after hours because someone drove their car on the grass. But if you do unthreatening, harmless things just to keep them on their toes, it'll be fun.

I heard about something that happened up in LA; paper plates with smiley faces drawn on them mysteriously started appearing all over the city. No one knew who was doing it, but it made everyone uneasy. Stuff like that will make them run for the hills.

I actually don't want to encourage you to cause damage, I just want you to keep these things in mind and be aware of what kind of suspicion you're placed under every time you set foot outside your door. Every time you go shopping, they ARE watching you, not to sound paranoid. Employees keep track of you because of your age, and if you're dressed in certain colors, or wear certain patterns, or even if your facial expressions look vaguely aggressive, people will not only fear you but try to stay clear of you. Maybe this doesn't happen to girls, but it's a response so programmed into us, just from not being exposed to teenagers for our entire childhoods up until highschool, that even I get a little antsy when I come into contact with a guy my age wearing black. It's programmed in.

So you can either exploit this and use it to your own means through intimidation, or you can do your part to change the way people perceive our demographic by acting generously and in a friendly manner. That's really the only way to make things better for ourselves. Show them that we're not all a bunch of drugged-out maniacs and people will slowly begin to treat you with more respect.

This post isn't so much a call-to-arms, but a wake-up call.

This blog is rated:



Guidance may be suggested. Some of your writings may not be suitable for some people. Explicit sex and talk of drug use is basically absent; nudity, if present, is shown in a non-sexual way or isnt full nudity, horror and violence does not exceed moderate levels in your writings.

You should be dating a Taurus. 20 April - 20 May This gentle creature is dependable, artistic, and very calm and patient. Though Taurus has the tendency to be self-indulgent, stubborn or materialistic, this bull naturally enjoys a roll in the hay!

Girls with horns make me hoooooot.

This blog works a lot better when you're listening to music.

People say that high school is like a game. If so, the pieces have really shifted around the board. Everyone is now interconnected in completely new ways; social geography is changing and people keep re-emerging as fresh and different than when I last saw them. I don't know if it's just my attitudes changing, but I'm seeing some people in a much different light than at the end of the school year.

Everyone's got someone new. New combinations of the same friends make for very fun and interesting results. I'm sure I'll be pulled into it soon, but for now it's just good to sit back and observe.

Maybe I'm getting more accpeting? Kinder? More generous? I can talk to Bryan for a long, long time now and not have any conflict with him, even internally. Maybe that'll change, but it seems that just not being around everyone I know seven hours a day, five days a week has made me much calmer.

It's all good and well to speculate about these things like this, but when the shit storm begins September, we'll all just regress to our passive-aggressive, selfish other selves. See what this system does to us?

Panic until the last stop before the subway derails into a pack of erudite pelt-wearing strippers scraping gum off the walls and making statuettes of ex presidents. Cherry flavored and dripping through the cracks in the ground to the under, under, underground where homeless and prophets sleep. Friendly rats scuttle through my toes and someone holds a pillow to my mouth. Three shots and they're dead. All of them. All nonsense, of course.

I can sense it on your breath: you need a cryptic one-liner.

"Trying to find new ways to tether myself to the ground."

I believe the correct term would be "bored."

As many of you know, Gangs of New York is the coolest thing to come out of hollywood in years. This is why:

The movie is about a boy (dearest Leonardo DiCaprio, swoon and whatnot) who rises out of the past to extract bloody revenge upon the gang lord who killed his father in a massive gang war unlike anything I have ever seen. This all takes place in the dirty streets of mid eighteen-hundreds New York, so most of the killing is done with knives.

Daniel Day-Lewis plays a character named William Cutting, or Bill the Butcher, the man who killed Amsterdam's (Leo, our hero) father (Liam Neeson, playing Liam Neeson). Never have I experienced such a completely fleshed-out character; it's as if Lewis created an entirely new person out of nothing. He is enigmatic, violent as hell, funny as hell, and I remember the first time I saw it, my hairs would stand on end whenever he was on screen.

It's interesting. While Gangs is one of the most violent movies I've ever seen, there is no graphic violence actually demonstrated onscreen, it's all implied. True, it's implied by showing blood, but rarely, if ever, do you actually see the act. I didn't even notice this the first time around. After the first battle scene you're always on your toes because you never know when Bill's going to kill someone.

Overall, the main reason I love this movie and bought it (it's out on DVD now) is that after seeing it for the first time, it literally became a part of my waking existence for a few weeks. I assimilated Bill's mannerisms into my own, and for a while I actually walked the same stilty, spindly way he does. It was actually hard to stop thinking about the movie for a long, long time. I've watched it a couple times in the past few days, and let's say it's highly recommended.

It seems like every movie I ever see about school has at least one lovable, charismatic misfit character. I figure, I'm only going to be in my summer school class for another three weeks, why not become that guy?

I'll come to school in ripped jeans, boots, and a plaid overshirt with cut-off sleeves. Sitting in the back with my feet up on the chair in front of me, I can spout pithy catch-o lines at "teach" and sneer at the rest of the class. In the middle of a lecture I'll lean back, spit into the air, catch it in my mouth and belch. And then I'll confront a spoiled white girl about the superficiality of her problems compared to my tumultuous home life.

Hey, I've got the hair for it.

I've been neglecting you because I've been shrinking, growing, exploding and rattling inside for the last few weeks.

And now the bomb...I have summer school. I'm already halfway through it; the teacher acts like she was thawed from some dormant Martian glacier. My classmates look like members of a police lineup, but they're some of the nicest people I've met.

Happy God Bless America day. Two countries down, the rest of the world to go. Celebrate!

Trying to get creative, but everything I write turns into a coming-of-age thing. Inevitable I suppose.

HBO is nothing but crap and freakish porn.


Squeeze.

So then I looks up, and I sees every one of our timelines intertwining and bumping into the sun like we was the greatest fuckin' thing in the world, and then I sits down and cries into myself because after peeling myself away from my life I realize we are.

I'd like to elect Oasis as the most obnoxious band in the world.

All this world's humanity.
We're strutting around with chests puffed out
Sticking each other with thorns,
Watching blood flow
And cradling our babies.
In the end,
When all actions are memory and
We're looking things over with God and a cup of tea,

We just have to laugh at ourselves,
Take all of it, all of it, embrace it in our arms with all the love in both worlds,
And maybe cry a little.

My animal instincts are surfacing.

Because the snow is deep
Without spot that white falling through white air

Because she limps a little--bleeds
Where they shot her

Because hunters have guns
And dogs have hangmen's legs

Because I'd like to take her in my arms
And tend her wound

Because she can't afford to die
Killing the young in her belly

I don't know what to say of a soldier's dying
Because there are no proportions in death.

-Kenneth Patchen

Take a moment, lock yourself in a dark room and think about all the people who have died for 'nation.' Then you look into the eyes of an Iraqi mother whose children were killed by shrapnel, and you tell her 'God bless America.' You say it. Because that's exactly what we're doing. We tell them it's for their own good.

I'm going to have to get a TV for my room or something, because I'm tired of my parents walking by whenever someone's getting their head bitten off by a giant wolf, or when the movie's only shot of a naked breast flashes on the screen.

I wrote this in Spanish, I really like it.

Coffee and Salmon

And I feel like swimming upstream
With all the wet and slippery things
Which accompany the Jesuses and the girls.
They are born of struggle,
But are better off dead.

To find new ways to put colofrul clothes on them,
Spin them around and say
"Sadness and glory, buy my crying
and black-turtleneck-stupendousness."

Everyone's born wet and slippery;
Everyone swims upstream.

I have never laughed so hard at anything on the internet. Honestly. Internet Mammogram

I've taken the forum by the reins, and it's more or less fully operational. We really need a big readership for it to work, otherwise people will lose interest because no interesting content is being produced. So please try to get people you know involved, and the more participation there is, the better it will be.

I have created a forum. I figure it can be a main focal point for the blogs and the cliques, and it will be fun. The Node Make it cool. Get your friends to join.

I'm pretty sure fly tying is something foreign to most of you, but it's something I've done since around sixth grade, and I've gotten rather good at it. Take a look. Fly Tying -I have no personal connection to this site, but it gives you a general idea. Click on either the tier index or the fly index.

Kelso gave me a book on film today, and it got me a-thinkin'.

Film creates a basic language which allows us to interact on an equal level with each other. Starting at childhood, we are saturated with representations of emotions and the way fake people react to these fake emotions. Monkey see, monkey do, and soon enough we all think love is standing under a balcony with a torn heart. "When you are happy, you will smile."

Think about what would happen if these conventions did not exist: emotion would be much more masked. We all know what is going to happen after a man brushes the hair from a girl's eyes and she looks at him with watery, sniffly eyes. I don't even need to say it. If we didn't see this scene played out for us time and time again, how would we react? I don't know, neither do you, because we use these languages of gestures and pre-written dialogue patterns to communicate emotion with a protocol we all understand, and it dictates the way we interact. Next time you're around other people, try to recognize the body languages people use that they've picked up from the media. Try to hear the "worn cliche's" (how ironic that that too is now a cliche) behind what people are saying. Especially when things get emotional.

I'm not letting my kids watch TV.

I demand to know who's responsible for this. Kyra Phillips Speaks

My typical JMUN experience:

1. Half-hour long bus ride to USD while listening to Mulvey whistle. Make a lot of Jesus jokes and hold signs up to cars (usually a drawing of boobs, penis, the usual). Occasional paper-wad fight breaks out, bus driver yells at William Wood to stop playing with the bathroom door. Contemplate what I'm going to say to Mr. Williams, the slick bastard.

2. Get there, tap feet nervously with sweaty palms or chuckle at the panicked expressions of the seventh graders, Mr. Williams doesn't say anything to me when I walk up to him. Shuffle off to delegations after looking older and suaver than you.

3. Proceedings underway, prod Jenna in the back of the head with a pen, whenever she raises her hand screech her name under my breath in a raspy voice. Rustle hair, assume a nonchalant pose. Entertain self by drawing pictures of John Lennon on resolutions. Make more Jesus jokes and give the chairs the old eye.

4. Present previously written speeches in persuading tones, walk back to seat with even stride but invariably trip on someone's tote-bag. Sit down, assume nonchalant pose, tap pen, stare holes in the back of Jenna's head.

5. Listen to seventh graders try to talk about politics without sounding stupid, eat lunch and try not to cringe at the 'intellectual' dialogue. Get involved in conversations, sound stupid and young, guess I am. Kick Bryan Casey.

6. After the conference, win every award I can and go home to a hot tub filled with oiled love goddesses, play Battletoads.

Things that annoy Kelso:

-Not doing your reading
-Freshmen
-People who talk during movies
-Sulking
-Lunchtime music
-John Hawkins

For Christ's sake, stop saying Kafka-esque.

Where do babies come from?

Had all four of my wisdom teeth surgically removed yesterday, laid on a couch and vomited four times due to the volume of blood I was swallowing. Woke up early this morning and felt better so I watched Evil Dead 2 and was rather unamused by it. Watched Chasing Amy and was satiated. Groovy.

WiggleForce: yo soy perro, feliz
KrazyWinkerbean: hey
KrazyWinkerbean: whaty what what?
WiggleForce: i think it means, "I am a dog. Follow Satan into the nether."

-10/10/02

My Karma's broken.

Batman is the greatest comic book hero of all time. He kills super-humans for a living using only his intellect and judo-break your face-skills. He's conflicted and dark, and he takes his aggression out on everyone in blind furies. He's rich, he pops sixteen-foot-boners, and he can kill you with the power of his wits alone. Discuss.

I've been reading Michael Moore's website, and why the hell am I getting caught up in all this careful calculation of what to consume and what not to consume? There is honestly no point in depriving myself of music or movies because they might violate some social ethic or break some cultural taboo that would immediately render me a worthless member of the automaton horde. Ghod, I just pulled a stick out of my ass and it hurt. Hooray for Eminem, it's all irrelevant and we should try working together instead of second-guessing everything we do from other peoples' eyes. Maybe it's just me.

"Well maybe Thom means.....girk.....skrrrg.....bphrrrrt.....robots.....
fearfearfearfearsocietyisgoingtoeatyoubuyouralbumsandliveinashedinmontana BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT..................................."

I read an article in an old Rolling Stone at Bryan's house waiting for him to wake up about DJ's who illegaly splice songs together to make frankenstein-esque remixes of songs that have nothing to do with each other. Mm, run-on. Bootlegs and Mash-ups. I'm currently listening to "Love Will Freak Us," a combination of Missy Elliot's "Get Your Freak On" and Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart."

Comedy comedy.

Dsico, a bootlegger and all-around cool person

And light which was borne on my shoulders.

A sunrise is a dappling of yellow over blue.

Seeing a new set of eyes in every unwavering gaze. Taking each step to a symphony of violins. Making every movement like water running through hair. Watching spider-webs clear. Waiting.

It. That's it. I have become overwhelmed by the disfunctional nature of our system. Killing a-rabs in a fit of pent-up testosterone. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! I can't even cope with it anymore, and now that we're at war, chances are we're stuck with Apeshit Jr. for another six years. When people talk about the legacy that's being left for the youth of the world, they're right. Look at what we're left with. Just take a look at this big 'fuck you' that's being left on our doorsteps for us to clean up. I don't know where to start to make a difference, though I will do something. I suggest we all do.

I know I have at least three readers who live outside of Scripps High, so I'm opening up the comments to a little debate. Do you think that suburbia supresses creativity and personal growth or allows us to experience music, literature and the rest in an unthreatening, undistracting environment? Personally, I don't know.

Alright, you've had your intellectual reprieve. Now let me pull out my acoustic and play a little poem. If Thom Yorke went to Scripps:

Lock me up
Throw away the key
Nothing's come over me
Something's come over me.

Crush them one at a time
But they breed like rabbits
Breed like rabbits
And they'll fill you up with
Blinding car lights and
This big this big
They're like ticks
They won't wash out.

Lowest ever prices on nothing
Gee it's foggy in here
Gee it's foggy in here
But there's blinding lights outside
And my neighbors want to hurt me
Curl up in my living room
Feel not want not

Tell me when to laugh.

-2/26


Hell, I'm laughing.

Aliens vs. Predator vs. Mr. T

Sup, muthafucka

I searched for "home town smell."

My google search for "Valentin image night" (Valentin) yielded these results:

What the holy bejesus does this have to do with my google search for "Mr. Shoulders?"

I found this when I did a google search for "flintstones hate boys drop monofilament." Cultural Psychobabble

And just for your enjoyment,

Enlightenment

Even Weirder

Christian conservatives who want to abolish school? Senators too? For all the wrong reasons, of course, but I'll add this to my devious little bag of tricks.

God hates gays...and school

I caught onto the whole Beastie Boys thing about ten years too late. I might get skinned alive for this, but I actually like Intergalactic. It's how you kids say..."Show me the boogie."

I just finished Catcher in the Rye. It stuck:

Once again, I was leaving my door behind. Quite farther behind than my parents would have liked. Nothing against them, just some things I needed to fix. I made my way north, past a few sleeping faces.

The streetlights were always dim. The city fell behind in its civil upkeep now and then. In fact, now. I didn’t want to ride my bike there, it wouldn’t play into my scenario very well. I’d show up at the door, “Uh, hi Rave, I’ve loved you since third grade. Can I put this in your garage or something? I don’t want the dew to rust it. Thanks.”

Her name’s Raven. It’s her most endearing quality; probably why I was so attracted to her in the first place. Sounds like something from a movie; I like that. Her parents were hippies. You know. I always imagined her sitting in a café in Paris or some crap like that. Like in the movies. Not here, not now. Never here, certainly. Maybe back in the sixteen-hundreds, when she was some Indian deity-war-goddess-thing. It would fit her.

I knew I was supposed to be thinking about things. Raven, me, me and Raven, life, existentialism, all of it. Any of it might do, but all I could see was this dog I saw earlier. It had worms, I assume; it was dragging its ass all over my driveway. My parents were rotating through a circular set of shock, anger, despair, uncontrollable laughter and brief horror as it started leaving little red streaks on the concrete. Luckily, it had the good sense to stop then, and we told its owners they should probably take it to the vet. I had to clean the driveway. Of course.
I found myself smiling. No time for smiling, I was trying to incubate worthy memories. Something I can revisit when I'm older, maybe by only a week.

Just so you can appreciate the effects of time: My humble beginnings

Man, there was a moment. And by the way, the CD's still for sale, along with a couple of new ones that'll make you want to kick your mom RIGHT IN THE FACE!!

Perhaps I should continue to allude to people and events I can't specify under layers of poetry that only I understand.

A little bird told me about a girl in its physics class. Real questions, spoken out loud, from her mouth:

"I don't get Earth. Do we live inside it or something? Because we can't see big buildings from space."

"Y'know how Earth has water and mountains and stuff? Well, do they have that on the moon, too?"

"Who was the first person to land on Mars?"

No joke.

I was listening to Blackbird and having one of those moment-caught-in-time-self-discovery moments that was absolutely priceless and poignant and DLEEELEEELEEEE the phone rings. "GOD DAAAAAMMIT!!!" It's my mom, she wants me to order chinese takeout. Find the place's number on the whitepages website, order, can't really understand what the person's saying. Put phone down, start going back to headphones and DLEEELEEELEEEE "GOOOOOOD DAAAAAAAAAAMMMMIIIIIIIIT!!!!" It's Bryan and he's coming over in half an hour to drop off recording equipment.

Oh well.

When feminism gets absurd to the point of humor: Snow Penis

I subscribe to an online DVD rental service run by a very good friend of mine called GreenCine which sends you DVD's by mail. It's like Netflix, only cooler, because I have personal ties with them. I suggest it. I'm signed out for the 8 DVD plan, meaning I have about 16 hours of movie to watch at any given time. And now, The Movies Matt Watches:

1. Dersu Uzala by Akira Kurosawa

The dialogue is completely in Russian, which is strange because all of Kurosawa's other movies are in Japanese. Dersu Uzala is a Goldie mountain man who comes across a Russian team of explorers, the captain of whom he quickly befriends. After many adventures in the wilderness the Captain asks Dersu to live with him in a Russian city whose spelling eludes me. I think pi is in there somewhere. Overall, a visually interesting movie as well as very believable script-wise. To watch this movie you must have patience. It's two and a half hours long but it feels like four. It's worth it though.

2. Yojimbo by Akira Kurosawa

Along with Seven Samurai this is my favorite Kurosawa movie. It was remade into Fistfull of Dollars starring Clint Eastwood. A lone samurai pits two warring clans of a small town against each other. Mifune's best performance I've seen and the movie's good enough to see three times, like I just did.

It's a lost cause and a losing battle and it's all going to come out upside down SCREAMING!!

Countless nights spent in front of a screen waiting for connection, gratification, little moments to get caught up in music that always plays to nothing. Oh well, it's a losing battle.

Mattie Ess, who are you? I have a readership outside of my highschool?

My list of phrases most commonly heard at school:

"Who do you have next?"
"Who do you have for physics?"
"Do you have Dean for physics?"
"Did the bell ring yet?"
"What about work in Australia?"
"Get your damn dog off my roof."

Last night I went with Clay to see The Gangs of New York and ran into the Segade tag-team of wondrous wide-eyed stares. While I was dancing around and trying to scam them into sneaking us into the movie (what a surprise that they were seeing the same one we were) Clay was looking at her and her husband apologetically. We ended up just buying two tickets to How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days and then slipping into Gangs as an employee looked on right in front of us. Friendly service with a smile, that.

Take a good, hard, long look at what the school system is doing to us, and then take a good, hard, long look at yourself. You have got to understand, so we can make things better.

For those more versed in the ways of weirdness:

Dennis Hopper Bathes

This is what I've been trying to communicate for the past year. GW Scorecard of Evil --Still want to argue?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is important. Your voice will be counted even if you're under the voting age. Bio Gems

Spread it around, it's ridiculous we can't take responsibility for these things.

What makes a choice right?

God damn music. It's ruining everything, y'know.

I was trying to watch Election and my dad came into the kitchen right behind the couch. He's on the phone. He's BEEN on the phone for about half an hour, and he's doing the dishes one dish at a time. Click...................click.................click.............click

I ran upstairs to restrain myself from screaming, put my laundry away, came back downstairs and he's STILL THERE!! And my mom's going to come home soon and start making dinner. BLEAAAARHGHAHGAHGH!!!!!

You all need to see this. Right Now. This is honestly the funniest thing I've seen all year. I can't even express in words...

Arnold

I think I've started a Blog fad. I wonder how well I've maintained my readership.

Oh yes, I have a cool new feature that lets you comment on posts. Click on the thing that says "comment" right after my name on every post. Enjoy.

Everyone blasting guitar solos at each other. Harmonize god-damn-it. Work together.

KELSO 4 EVER!!!

The Kelso Brady Fan Club

We all know Orlando Bloom, the charismatic and hunk-a-licious co-star of the Lord of the Rings movie series, in which he portrays the stern but sensitive elf Legolas.

I am

I am Chaos: Prince of Darkness and I shall rape your human mouths when the Vampyr god has drowned the Earth in the blood of virgins!



Transcend the Earthly Realm

In a desperate last-resort method of maintaining my readership in the light of Brad and Clays' new weblogs, I am reduced to toilet humor.

...hey man. Hhhhow's it...goin'? .....pbbththhh...............hey, is that a penis? ..........(long, protracted silence)

My conservative christian sixth-grader neighbor is over at my house playing Starcraft, so I'm blasting The Clash and periodically rushing over and slashing him with a highlighter.

Please, please, please go and download the movie I made with Bryan. It's been quite popular, and I haven't run into a bad review yet. I know people who have watched it thirty times.

Movie!

I finished a minute-and-a-half long movie I made with Bryan one day, and it's gaining a small cult following. IM me and I can send it to you; you may have to download Quicktime to play the .mov file.

A new kid on the block. http://www.shaftpatty.blogspot.com/ Come back when his grammar has inebriated you.

Over at Bryan's and up at six so I can watch the sun rise through the cold. Something sacred made its way out of me, and it flew too fast with honesty irreparable. Time for trust and friendship to kick in. Good to laugh again.

Reading old, yellowed conversations makes me appreciate my standing in things. A tragedy. I have a lot to think about this morning, and a lot of decisions to make.

It seems like we, 'teenagers', are almost obligated to listen to music as a form of personal extension. It's all around us, overwhelming, it's ingrained in our society and every one of us. It's always there. On TV, on the streets, even advertisements are somewhat musical. So instead of choosing to love music, we just do. It's a given. And maybe we don't even 'love' music, but just accept it as a part of our lives, one more way to pass time.

Even worse than this neglect is the idea people seem to carry around that the music they listen to is the most holy part of themselves, as if these musicians you don't even know could express to the world your innermost thoughts. Sometimes it even becomes a kind of language, to be traded as little bits of ourselves. To try to flesh out an impression of someone you might browse their cd's. It's become a means of communication, which is so bizzare. Whole conversations can be played out by trading mp3's. Such a strange niche in the human web.

It's eleven-forty on a school night and I'm feeling an INCREDIBLE SENSE OF ELATION! Jump on my balloon, let's go sailing.

Eliminating the competition.

"I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me. She showed me her room, isn't it good Norwegian Wood."

Unmitigatedly pretentious of me to do this, but I'm posting lyrics.

Mortal Kombat!
Mortal Kombat!
Fight!
Excellent.
Liu Kang
Sonya
Jax
Kitana
Jade
Sub-Zero
Scorpion
Cyrax
Smoke
Sheba
Motaro
Hahahahaha!
Choose your destiny.
Flawless victory.
Fight!
Mortal Kombat!
Finish her!
Excellent.
Liu Kang
Sonya
Jax
Kitana
Jade
Sub-Zero
Scorpion
Cyrax
Smoke
Sheba
Motaro
Hahahahaha!
Brutality.
Animality.
Fatality.
Superb.
Choose your destiny.
Flawless victory.
Fight!
Mortal Kombat!
Finish him!
Well done.
Outstanding.
You'll never win!
Danger.
I win.
Hahahahahaha!
Choose your destiny.
Flawless victory.
Fight!
Mortal Kombat!
Finish him!

Unmitigatedly pretentious of me to do this, but I'm posting lyrics.

Do you realize
That you have the most beautiful face?
Do you realize
We're floating in space?
Do you realize
That happiness makes you cry?

Do you realize
That everyone you know someday will die?
And instead of saying all of your good-byes
Let them know you realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do you realize?

Do you realize
That everyone you know someday will die?
And instead of saying all of your good-byes
Let them know you realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do you realize
That you have the most beautiful face?

Do you realize?


The Flaming Lips - Do You Realize


note: existentialist crisis not included.

Head above ground now, dirt and mud is so much smaller than the limitless sky.

Bryan,

Keep up the good work.

Harrison.

Ironically, Tom Green is one of two television personalitlies I actually admire, the other being Michael Moore. Jackass can't hold a flame.

Speaking in tongues with internet stuck through head. Maybe if all the blogs speak in a broken, Joyce-esque poetic code, people will think we're brilliant.

Ah, broken corridors and my foot hurts like Bowie in a cold rain. Comply comply and heart will spiral on.

I feel a consistent obligation to create. "You should be reading something, listening to something, writing something, creating something, meditating, anything but sitting around on your ass talking to people." Gets so frustrating. It's usually not even creative inspiration, it's just a drive to try to self-improve. The desire to see eye to eye with twenty year olds isn't detrimental, in fact it's been quite helpful in helping me mature, I just feel like I need to create little macro-universes on a page or a screen somewhere and it pisses me off sometimes.

Of course, maybe I'm afraid of my own potential. This happen to anyone else?

If you stand out in a crowd, I want to hear from you. Drop me a line (the hook is optional) at wiggleforce@aol.com

Two parts blind love, one part reproach. That's the way to take it.