feb 11

Although it is 3:25 in the morning on Sunday, I will count this towards my Saturday. At the start I combat a hangover, because I got too jiggy with it. We left the children alone and kept a safe distance from any real conversation with them. Talk about stealing girls from each other. Listen to bright eyes while making lunch, a sandwich with lettuce and onions, salt pepper, ham cheese, a dash of ranch, in the george foreman. tons of coffee, and a few hits of weed. to empty the mind like a recycling bin and refresh the haze for the next day. i time traveled once again. tonight I could have finished things but I fooled around. I am rather coherent now just tired. very tired. looking forward to laying down in my clean bed with clean teeth and clean thoughts. i will be on drugs tomorrow with the amount of work i have to do... Mom's home cooking. That shows something about me if I don't end up going. A secret life perhaps. Anxiety if I don't go. But hey. Cold war kids. I witnessed an elimination dodge ball tournament. A group of high school senior girls on a team of so kind, discussing the possible options presented in the cafeteria, i wish i had fallen in front of them, would have been hilarious, i had expensive things in my backpack though, just trying to get by you know. Beer with the british folk, a bro weekend. but i stay up too damn late. shirtless on the couch. i am notorious for falling sideways out of sanity. for tripping over my big feet in attempts at making progress. pizza for tomorrow if i cant go to dinner. why can't i cancel these intrusive thoughts? you think too much. its all like this. perfection. close to it. good. quality. and quantity. the philosophy is that if I create a lot of things, if I paint so many abstract blobs, or draw so many amateur animals, with lines, then I will have a bigger and more diverse skill set when applied to more important jobs. my continual writing should create something like this. but I don't study dialogue. i don't know how to write it without sounding too clunky. and forget it about the past tense or present progressives. the roommate with a date to sleep in with. the kid upstairs. two big people. the cross cultural mix. i am a sap of energy and good intention. hookah in the living room. tequila and a free concert. coffee. more coffee. never enough coffee. caffeine wrote this story for me. if you only knew what pains it caused me. it would make sense for me to have to stay back. i can't coast at a leisurely pace this sunday boys. i must work. i spent the whole damned week playing catch up and i will continue to limit myself. come on man. you need to motivate yourself. you're wasting away and you have not even climbed A mountain, once. papago park is apparently a joke. i need to experience all this fucking desert has to offer. and all the while create well formulated hypotheses regarding the nature of existence and scratch the mad rantings onto tombstones, and cave painting scenes of modern history, impersonate so many famous people that the english folk had never even heard of, the accents and the tastes, they probably will hate this. i struggled with myself today. i entered my own personality into the story and shook it all around. tomorrow i must discover the results. A dusty guitar. Depression. Simpleton. if we are unique snowflakes i want to shake the globe and shroud the city skyline in our blinding influence. we will topple gravity and attend lectures written by gods. bacchus will fill our cups with wine and the devil will transform it into water like magic. dark magic. suddenly we are full and squishy soft humans and fully aware of our surroundings which is a place no one wishes to be. someone lives in a city for ten years and has nothing interesting to say about it. do you like it? i don't know. i just know that it has not been good to me so far. "a self hindering drug". Cross my river. Sending me messages from telegrams. I am so alone waiting for the bobsled team to arrive. I am so cold and thoughtful waiting for the wire. The train to come and take me away. What a wonderful world. I am so alone like a bored ghost. drifting in between planes of existence. seriously text about potential self murder. terrifying implications of a drunken night. ashamed of my foolishness. we are all aware. you idiot. i cant be stupid. i can't allow myself to be stupid once. jump on it. i am a shaking coward and you will all read my exposed story with red eyes, stoned like the devil. and we will have to face each other with your new knowledge of me until may. i will say fuck and shit. i will write a story that gets me credit as a decent author. i fucked up though because i needed to be where i am now two weeks ago and i have to fill 40 or so hours with the content of 4 days. my head will explode and i will have horrible kidney stones. until pain overcomes and paralysis. mental paralysis. caffeine is a lifeline in this state. you dont care what homework i have to do. i just keep writing it down because it interests me. oh, i have to do this too! i could have stayed in tonight to be diligent but i like beer too much and the thought of meeting interesting new people. i am the sad one there anyway but at least i went damn it. last time i was sick. and i drank so much that i feel fat and stupid but not drunk. fat stupid and tired. if i keep this up i will never be allowed to grwo into myself. my hair will turn blue magically one day three years ago. at least one part of it for one week and it felt like wax in my hair. faux hawk. went to the game or just chilling smoking bowls everyone is predictable and boring. why i didnt simply work through my homework i will never understand. i have this huge contradiction in my head. have fun and be easy going or me stringent and focused. tonight. if i stayed up this late, nearly 4 am, working on hw i would all day tomorrow to party. but i fucking messed that up. goodnight now my love. i miss you and your ghost never vists anymore. you dont scratch on my window like i wish you would. watching comedy for a smart man on the tv on the desk while we lay in my bed giggling like babies, constantly smiling. holding hands maybe. the physical sensation grew beyond simple words. i talked of throwing myself in front of a bus. in jest of course, there is a thin line between losing yourself and finding yourself. i love you gorgeous. you half wit. superbowl sunday a day or two before full moon. and now i enter darkness.