Baby It's Cold Outside

What is the meaning of life?

Listen to the whispers and obey them.

Sarah threw the phone against the wall. She cried out. No one heard her.

She picked up the phone. She threw it against the wall again. She wanted to make it cry. Unfortunately plastic never sheds tears.

Writing these papers will be the death of me.

I keep thinking that I just need to get it done. I just need to accomplish it. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be out of me. It just has to get down on paper. I'll fix it later. I'm good at fixing things, sometimes. It's not getting down on paper. It's not getting anywhere because I'm not getting anywhere. Why is everything so forced? I'm tired of forcing this out of me. I'm tired.

Dear Anthony,

It's been a while. I find myself thinking about you often and much. We've had years apart and its so much time wasted. So much time without your friendship and companionship. I don't want to remember you with bitterness, only the kindness I know is in your heart. I remember our first conversation. You hated me. I hated me. It's okay that you hated me. I guess what I'm trying to say is what I've always been trying to say. I'm sorry. I was pathetic and arrogant. I was selfish and unkind. I was everything that I'm not. I called for feelings that I don't have.

It's been years and in that time I've become so much more. I've lost a lot of who I was. I'm proud of that. I used to be so accomplished. I suppose I still hold that, but it doesn't matter anymore. I've lost everything and I'm picking the pieces back up again. It's not a bad thing. It's not a bad thing at all.

You've been trying to figure yourself out. I respect that. It's been a similar journey on this end. On this coast.

Do you remember our TV show phone calls?

I do.

It's what I think about the most.

I guess I'll be seeing you soon. I hope I'll be seeing you soon.

This isn't supposed to be anything special. This was never anything special. I was never anything special. I'm sorry if I've taken up more time than you would have liked for my non-sense.

It seems to be all I'm good at these days.

I hope you play Damien Rice and think of me.

I want to run into a bee-hive and lounge in the honey. I want to be a part of the sunshine. I want to create the moon. I want dominion over the waves. I want to eat my weight in happiness. I want to dance on books. I want tables to dance on me. I want a tipsy-topsy-tervy kind of world. I want to move in and around time. I want all the things I already have.

Cigarette's & Chocolate Milk

He danced in circles, round and round. Feeling the blood rush through his body. Wanting to make the blood feel like it was gushing out of his body. He swayed with the rhythm. His body frantic. His muscles flailing. He spent his nights this way. Sweating. Drinking. Dancing. & dancing. & dancing. Everyone was dancing. & nothing could tough him then.

He left with everyone.

For a leader, he followed often. He took interest in their activities and in doing so took a few drags from the lit cigarette's. He held the smoke in his lungs. He felt like a summer night. A camp fire. A light burning brightly in the darkness. It felt right. For once something felt right. Something besides dancing. Something felt right. It lifted him. He weighed the consequences. He weighed them and it strained him. It broke him.

It was a joy of life. A deadly habit that him feel all the more alive. Isn't that always the way? Things that make you feel the most alive are the things meant to kill you. You always want what you can't have. You dream of something better, but don't realize what you have in front of you until it's gone. Isn't that always the way?

Warhol said that "life is just a series of images that change as they repeat themselves." This carries a lot of truth. What he left out was that the series is masochistic in nature. Maybe he found it too obvious to share? Maybe it eluded him?

Maybe is just a word that slays you.

Losing the feeling of feeling unique

I'm Swell.

It's pandering.

Genius or a lunatic.... Don't they go hand-in-hand?

Kinsey 5

I want my life to be like an 80's movie.

"Things have changed for me. & that's okay. I feel the same. I'm on my way..."

Re: Plan

So you know that plan?

That plan failed. Epically.

Oh well.

Plan

I really fucked it up this time.

Tonight-

English Essays

Friday-

Study for English Final

Do Calculus Problems

Write

Do Psych

Saturday-

Read/start catching up for English Final. Read 1 of the books. Make way through the others.

Sunday-

Go to work

Study for English

Do Calculus problem sets

Monday-

Calculus

Psych

Work

Study for English and Calculus

Write

Tuesday-

Read for English

Go to Showcase for kids

Do Calculus

Go to Calc Section/Review

Do more calc

Read for English

Write

Wednesday

Study for English

Thursday

Take English Final

Study for Calculus.

-Make sure I can do all of the problems. Be prepared to excel on the final.

Fiction

Study for Calculus

Friday

Study for Calculus

Take Final

Work on Semantic Field Project

Study for Psych

Saturday

Study for Psych

Do some SFP

Sunday

Work

Study for Psych

Monday

Psych Final

- Need to get a perfect score

Work on SFP

See how I did in my other classes

Go out & celebrate

Tuesday

Finish work on Semantic Field Project

-Submit it

Go to work

Wednesday

Have fun! Enjoy my last day at Brown

Talk to all of my professors. Make sure I'm going to pass/excel in all of my classes.

Pack

Thursday

Fly home

John Donne

& new philosophy calls all in doubt,

the element of fire is quite put out;

the sun is loft and th'earth, and no mans wit

can well direct him where to look for it...

'tis all in pieces, all coherence gone;

all just supply, and all Relation

Me

I'm sensitive as fuck you guys.

Lyricisms

"You'll never be what is in your heart"

"Fixing all the problems you made in your own head"

"I'm wrong in all the right ways"

"You learn"

"My name is my virtue"

"I've seen enough of my friends in the depths of the g-d sick blues"

"My love's too big for you my love"

"You can't hurt me with the things that you do, I'll pick up dandelions and I'll give them to you"

Thought #781234891280201083781

I want to make an art piece made out of duct-tape.

Continuing Aiden's Story

Flipping though the channels, lounging on her bed, Sarah came across her mothers film. The tall, leggy, brunette walks through a hotel lobby in a gorgeous black cocktail dress, her hair done up, pearls hanging from her neck and ears. Her body elegant, her movements graceful. "Can you direct me to the bar?" She asks the concierge. Sarah kept flipping through the channels. That was the first time she'd seen her mother in four years. It was through a television screen. Fitting. An absent mother, and absent medium. 10 O'Clock news was on channel 7. NBC. The only news source she trusted. Important for her. "Trust is necessary for life," seemed to be the only thing she lived by.

A car crash killed 20. A truck over-turned on the freeway blocking traffic for hours and causing a few minor collisions. A man has been shrieking in the park for the past two hours....

Purification

There is a bench, between the Thames and the Tower of London, where one can witness the full beauty of the London Bridge. It is the essence of the word "bucolic." It holds the secrets of the universe. The truth's of mankind. It stores the knowledge of the human condition. Conrad would be proud. The (wo)man that witnesses this, at that time, is the universal genius. Thoughts are still. Breath is quiet. Life stands on end. The river ebbs and flows, bringing one in and out of consciousness. In and out of life. In and out of everything. You leave purified.

Class 12/2

"So....This is Kurt Vonnegut."

"Oh you fancy huh?"

"I want this vessel when it's done."

"I don't have a mouth"

"Writing is not narcissism."

~The Paris Review~

Stop saying "like"

Verbal fillers are not cool. They're annoying.

Olive skin

"Be happy"

"Crazy is just a minority of one"

"Is life a puzzle?..I am filled with questions."

"In a dream, are all the characters you? Different aspects of you?"

- This is what I wonder about characters in stories or writing... I feel like every character I make is me. Just a different part of me. I know many writers who say that their characters are based off of other people, like their friends...But I always wonder if the character is actually based on the author, or the part of the author that is most like the friend??

I think that makes sense.

"I understand many things because of the woods."

Realization

I am more screwed than I thought I was. Lovely.

Things That Have Been Inspiring Me

I may not be getting that much work done. But these things make me want to:

I must say. These are pretty awesome.

True Life

Fashion is an instant language

Some things

& there are some things I'll never understand:

why this country needs a g-d or a woman needs a man.

Bleh

She wasn't aware of her current situation. Belle was never aware of anything. She lived in her head. Not necessarily a bad thing, for that type. A woman of strong ideals, morals and courage living in a hostile environment where her talents were never free to flourish. She lived in books. She kept herself occupied, busy. She kept her mind free, open. Her mother often worried about her state. Less so as a child, but in her womanhood, without a courter, without an admirer, without a supporter. How could a mother not worry? Of course her daughter would need a provider. It was custom. A woman's place was in the home. How could her daughter ever find herself a goodman if she never sought one?

... I don't really like this. I just decided I should start writing. Jane Eyre and Pride & Prejudice came to mind and I went from there. I need to work on setting. I'm never quite there.

Audre Lorde

"Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare."

Hunter S. Thompson

"Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex."

November is Over

This worries me. This semester is almost over and though I wished for it daily I'm going to be sad that it's over. I'm reminded of a Dr. Seuss quote, "Don't cry because its over, smile because it happened."

Titles are still Superfluous

I told another person the truth. She took it well. That's exciting. Her name is festive in nature, though with a different spelling. I find her compelling.

I helped my sister move over the break. It was a working vacation, though obviously from my lack of posting, I didn't get anything academic done.

I'm still afraid of loneliness.

I hate being questioned. Why is that?

Aiden has fallen off the map. Or is it off the page? I'm not sure where I see him going. I want him out of the park. He want's out of the park. That damn park. It's so dark, dreary, mysterious, haunting, terrible. Holy crap it's a metaphor.

I want to write more.

This is the start of that.

I feel like a bad student for fiction. I should have written more. I apologize. Though I think I owe the apology more to myself than others as it's me that's mostly affected. I delve into self-pity. I won't do that here, but I will say, to myself, that I'm sorry for not living up to your standards, but I need to give myself a break. If you want to write more, write more. Just do it. It's not that hard. The act of actually writing is not that difficult, being creative, being authentic, being true- that's hard.

Everything

Everything you think you knew was a lie

Happy Thanksgiving

Somebody should say it.

To Do

Spend my life reading.

I'm making a list of my favourite authors and all of their books. I plan on devouring them. I plan on making it my mission to read them all, intently. To reread them all. To understand them all.

Shells

I'm lost in a world full of sad people and empty shells. Literally. The streets are covered with shells, of all kinds. Egg, peanut, crab, lobster, you name. Shells all over. Always over. Sometimes under. Mostly under. They are left there by the sad people, walking around in utter disdain and without purpose, people afraid to be. They move in silence around commotion. There is no disharmony but there is nothing but it. Everything seems bleak. Rundown. Narrow. Impossible. Everything is impossible. Generalizations are impossible. Generalizations are all that occur. Generalizations are sustainable. Generalizations are.

-

Oh my.

Chandler Bing

"I'm hopeless and awkward and desperate for love!"

Words

I'm curious as to what are the most awkward words.

My vote goes to the word "awkward" itself.

It's a silly, SiLlY world!

Sarah moved through her apartment. She walked gracefully even in the most casual of settings. She put her ipod on shuffle... "Say my name, say my name, if no one is around you, say, 'baby I love you,' if you ain't runnin game..." She jumped around, mouthing the words. She takes the time to enjoy herself. She takes the time to be herself. She side-stepped around her coffee table walking towards her bedroom. BUZZ...BUZZ. Her cell phone vibrated against the table, exaggerating the sound through the hollow wood. She turned to its interference. Missed call, it read. "I'm not dealing with this now." She continued to her room, plopped herself down on her bed. She started sobbing.

"WHY AM I HERE?!" Aiden shouted from the center of the park. He was lost in the darkness and the tree's. Blakely looked up at him frightened, cold, hungry. He was disenchanted with the situation.

Silly Student, Blogs are for Writers

Aiden thought for a moment. Or rather, a moment longer than he normally would. Staving off impulse and relying on intellect. He wasn't used to staving off anything. He wasn't used to anything. He felt Blakely shivering. He was cold. He was cold too. He didn't realize it until that moment. He was freezing. How long had he been standing on the corner? Too long. It was past 8. He left the park at 6. "Where have I been,"? he thought. It wasn't like him to be that much out of his mind. It was always like him to be that much out of the mind. BBBLLLLAAARRRRR!!!!!!! He turned to the blinding headlights and blaring horn of a 1990's looking sudan. He was in the street. He didn't even freeze in front of the car, he kept moving. He didn't want to keep moving. He wanted to run back to the corner. He didn't want to move forward. He didn't want to.

Sarah was washing a dish when the phone rang. Last Train by Travis was playing through her headphones. "She, well she's so strange. I don't know anything about her..." She missed the call.

He was walking towards the park again.

Class 11/11. Yay Veterans!

"When the revolution comes, my back won't be against the wall"

"Does it end at midnight, or when you go to sleep?"

"Cool"

"Happ. Birth"

"Did you get a haircut?"

"Like a month ago."

"Oh. Well it looks good."

"It's a rush. It's a rush. I can't handle this right now."

I just wrote on Shane Jones paper. That's pretty legit.

I just read with Shane Jones. NBD.

"Do you know J.K. Rowling?"

http://andiamnotlying.com/2010/types-of-bitches/?ref=nf

Just write a few short sections..

Didn't write from point A to point B.

February is terrible fucking month.

"I constantly forget what month it is."

Light Boxes

I failed my midterm. Not for this class...at least I hope not, but for Calc. Oh well.

It was the only book I made off of Kindel.

It was the wrong choice.

I work a day job.

Do you think having a beard makes you a better writer?

Yeah definitely. That should be the first thing you do.

So you do think it's self-indulgent.

Pyramid Song by Radiohead

Bad called Salem, I like a lot.

Argyle knee socks will make you a better writer.

Intensity Write/Ride:

"Oh I'm gonna be funny. It's a rush. It's a rush. I can't handle this. OMG OMG you're so funny and so relevant...I hope one day to be relevant, also to look like a camel which apparently was used for sodomizing as punishment. That is distasteful. Therefore I shall change the subject to lead poisoning. Arsenic is for breakfast, lunch and dinner because your pizza went bad. Don't eat the crust, it sat in the egg yolk for too long. Avoid all things gelatin. Question and fill me up with red gas, who do I smell like? You smell like a fat guy who uses burger juice. You smellito the girl in my class who apparently never showers. I found a shower cap under my cousin's sandwich. I want to climb a tree and build a house. It would have a trapdoor to Saturn where I can see the aliens playing basketball with Diane Calher. Who is Diane? Is she your mistress?

Nobody likes a loud slut.

Quiet ones --- I can get behind that. There are no sluts except quiet sluts, they don't even say "no" I sewed a slut into a newspaper. Her name was Tapanga. SOunded like icing on a cake. Avocado icing, high in fat-but lotsa protein!!! (Thumb print looking picture).

That's gross, I ate a cupcake yesterday and it was great.

Hello my friend. I wasn't that funny. Hello my silly bird.

I have not been following the no deleting rule.

http://tomandlorenzo2.blogspot.com/2010/11/glee-s2e6-never-been-kissed.html

"What is this class?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you saying something, Chelsea?"

& I was like, oh, where's my money?

Something about war.

Yes it's a war novel.

How do I feel about war?

I mean, I'm not pro-war.

Do you think its a just endeavor?

Are you going to sell me a child?

Do you have racist friends?

Why are you still friends with them?

What advice would you give us as writers?

Read a lot and write a lot.

It's mostly like sitting down and writing a lot.

For me, writing's like writing short things each day.

Writing like 300 words a day or writing like a paragraph. That adds up.

If I liked a journal then I would send into them.

I just sent stuff into to independent publishers and hoped someone would pick it up.

What makes it a story bad to you?

Gut reaction.

Do you have bouts of incompetence?

Probably when the professor talks about light boxes.

Or the girl goes inside the horse.

spjones...

Amy Tan, Jeanette Winterson, Ian McEwan.

I would be a bass guitar and I would love to be played by Jenny Lewis. Or maybe a piano played by Vienna Teng. Probably the second.

...

I feel like my canister is out of gunpowder and colour.

Orange is circling all around

the sun moves across my skin

The air tingles my toes

I am still

I am washed over with joy

I am washed over with sorrow

The ocean carries my body away

My body carries my spirit away

My spirit carries everything away

I am away

Possibly my favourite lines of Shakespeare:

Then, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds

Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;

When down her weedy trophies and herself

Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide.

And, mermaid-like a while they held her up:

Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;

As one incapable of her own distress,

Or like a creature native and indued

Unto that element: but long it could not be

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death.

This is a close second:

I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so

To punish me with this, and this with me,

That I must be their scourge and minister.

I will bestow him, and will answer well

The death I gave him. So again good night.

I must be cruel only to be kind.

Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.

Funny that my favourite lines come from Hamlet, when The Merchant of Venice is my favourite play.

I'm not sure what that means. Or if there is any meaning. I'm tired of looking for that. It's tiring.

I think I'm going to get perspective instead.

I have no words today. The words have died.

So I'll make a list instead:

Study for Midterm

See Professors

Talk to old French professor

Study for Classes

Write 5 Page Papers

Read for English

Memorize Glyphs

Write for Fiction

Do Math Homework

Sleep

- Pass my freaking classes

Sometimes I wish I went to Evergreen State College. They learn. They don't have marks of distinction. They don't put pressure on students to do anything but learn. Maybe there or Hampshire College. Somewhere even more liberal than Brown.

I hate feeling as though my life is determined by my GPA. I don't care about it anymore. Success is not something that is measured by numbers, or at least it shouldn't be. I hate feeling like I'm just another number. I need to focus. Maybe I need adderall? Maybe I just need some sleep? Maybe I need to not be taking Math and Psych and Anthro? Because I don't really care about them. Maybe I need to get my priorities straight? I need to get my priorities straight.

At least I'm growing as a person and a friend. I'm trying to grow into somebody that I can be proud of. At least I'm growing.

Time

It's going by a little too quickly. It can't be the second week of November. It can't almost be Monday. It can't be daylight savings time. It can't be nearing Thanksgiving. It can't be nearing the end of the semester. It can't be and yet it is. Time is going too fast. It doesn't slow down. I understand that. I get that time moves quickly. I get that time flies. I get that time is time and it moves in a linear fashion. I get all of this. I don't get what I've done with my time. I don't get how so much can have happened in this seemingly large amount of time and all I can think about is how it felt like yesterday. How it all seems to have collapsed into each other. I can't fathom how quickly things change and how quickly things come and go and how there's never enough time to do what actually matters and be with the people you should be with and do the things you should do and live the life you should live and just be and just be happy. Life is too short and its a fascinating and scary thing. I'm only 19, I shouldn't be thinking about these things. I shouldn't be worrying about these things. I shouldn't be worrying, period. It takes too much time and effort and energy that I simply don't have. It's a fruitless endeavor and yet it seems to also be the easiest. To lose oneself to worry is probably the most natural thing, and also the dumbest. I feel like I've been locked into this ivory tower and everything outside of it is strange, foreign and almost nonexistent. I'm ready for...whatever I'm supposed to be ready for. I'm excited for whatever I'm supposed to be excited for. Yet I'm petrified of everything I shouldn't be afraid of.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I never know where I'm going with these things. I never want to know. It's more exciting that way.

Unsure

I'm not sure where Aiden is going. I can't say that I can't continue. Because I can. I'm very curious to see where is life is going to lead him. Michelangelo once said that, "every block of stone has a statue inside and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it." I think its a similar situation for the writer. There's always a story there. I suppose on every piece of paper there is a story to be written and it's the task of the writer to uncover it. However, I think that writers tend to have a different mindset. I could be wrong. I'm probably wrong. But I do think that writers tend to think that its actually their work, that it's their genius, and to an extent it is, but a lot of it has already been there, it's just been their job to uncover it. I'm not sure if I'm making sense, but why should that matter? I'm uncovering what was always supposed to be there, aren't I? And if I'm not then how is this coming into being? I can't possibly support the notion that it's all me, that it's all my mind, that it's all my thoughts. I think this is how the muses came into being...the greeks had something there, divine inspiration, forces that make work more creative, authentic, inspiring. I don't necessarily think that there are actual beings that make this happen. I just think there's something else. Something in the mind that is constantly untapped, that releases something, that recalls things that inspired you and made you stop and think and brings them to the for front that brings them forward and is released in your work. I just don't know. But I refuse to believe that everything I do is my own.

Back to Aiden. I really do like him. I really do like the story. I need to make some edits for flow and clarity, but overall I'm very proud of it. He's a cool kid. He's just lost, like me. Maybe that's where some of my fear has come from of continuing, because I might find a bit of myself. That sounds like it would be nice. Like I should strive for that. But I'm a little afraid, because I'm afraid of what I might discover. I'm going to try to come to terms with this and make more progress in my work.

This post is sporadic. I like it. I like eccentricity. I like different. I like giraffes.

Aiden's Continuation

Where we left off:

He sat on a bench looking out into the distance. Out into nothing in particular, just out. He remembered the first thought when he woke up, "unicorns took my breath." He laughed at the thought, but was saddened that it wasn't true. humf, humf, humf. He looked down at a puppy sniffing about him, looking for something he didn't have. Aiden bent down to pet the little lab. He looked about for an owner. Someone to claim the little thing. No one came about. He picked the little guy up and sat him next to him on the bench, stroking his back, waiting for something. He had always been waiting for something. The puppy lied down, giving into the rub. Aiden made a new friend. Aiden had a friend.

He sat there for a while pondering. Simply pondering life and serendipity and the universe. "Does the universe listen? Does it know? Can it know? How could it know? Should it know? Shouldn't it know? What is there to know?" He needed a friend more than ever. He needed some form of companionship. Some form of unconditional love and here was little Blakely, a chocolate lab mix (though with no overtly distinguishable features to determine of what other kind) who instantly loved him. A puppy who claimed him. Its a strange thought. That an animal can claim you. For some reason people seem to think that they're the ones deciding, that they're the ones who get to determine what pet they get...but couldn't it be the other way around? That the animal chooses you and you affirm it? I like that notion better. It gives them some control.

The sun was beginning to set. It caught Aiden by surprise. As if he was witnessing it rise rather than fall. As if it was new light. How long had he been there pondering? Blakely was shivering. His stomach grumbling. Aiden picked him up, placed him in his coat, closed the buttons and held onto him. Blakely looked up and liked his face, acknowledging the act of kindness and loving him ever more so for it. It was time to go home. Aiden froze. What home was he bringing this animal back to? What home did he have? Did he even have a home or was it just a dwelling? Just a place to lay his head. Just a place to escape. And if it was a place to lay his head, why did he never sleep? And if it was a place to escape, why was he never there? Aiden didn't have a home. He had a space of his own and material objects. He didn't have a home.

He looked down at Blakely. He was sad.

He kept walking. They both needed food. He made it to the end of the park, passing other people walking their dog's, running, talking, gossiping, social interacting. He kept walking. He was always walking. Olive street. Where was he to go from here? Left. (He lived right). He moved along, making his way further and further from his apartment. Further and further from where he needed to go. He didn't realize. He didn't care. He didn't want to realize. He didn't want to care.

The sun had set. It was dark out. It was bleak out. The streetlights only lit enough. Rimrock. He was on the other side of town. Where had he been? Why was he always in his mind and never in his right mind?

Japan to China

#43- jet ski across the pacific ocean

Potluck

I'll bring the pot, you bring the luck.

Markos

Originality is non existent. Authenticity is all that really exists. You were authentic.

Class 11/4

"Me? I'm just happy about the ice cream."

"There was like half left and he was like, 'sorry, there's none left.'"

Concerns about the structure of the class.

Prompts for each of us????????

That's cool. I like prompts that make me feel like an individual.

NO FINAL!!

The final has been caaaannnnnccccccccceeellllleeedd

Write a lot. Just write until you get good. There is no shortcut. You have to put in the hours.

"I feel like I just killed the mood"

Bleak weather

kills the mood

sleep all day

kill productivity

I used to write poetry. I used to be happy writing poetry. I used to have time to write poetry. I should surrender myself to poetry.

"I think the class brings out people's creative personality"

"You should keep going with it. I felt like I could listen forever."

"My kidney meets your heart"

"We get sucked out through the roots"

"Comfy knows no pants"

"I do remember what red is and what blue is and what green is."

"It filled my head and my vision and my hearing"

"They were scarlet"

"Babies voices are terrible black mushrooms"

"Imperialism leaves behind"

"I'm the medic, I'm not here to preach ideology"

"I remember meeting the hegemon"

"We took to the streets"

"I bought him a fucking muffin"

"You kick like the best"

"I started playing marbles"

"No longer alert"

"There is a light fixture in the sky"

"Where did the day go"

"We've all got a chance for redemption"

"Place is empty"

"He isn't here anymore"

"One could imagine pictures in there"

"Write the pretentious douche out of yourself." That is the best advice I think I've ever gotten.

Aiden felt himself slip away. He was caught in some state of fear and anxiety. He was daunted by time, by his future, by his past. He was caught in a time slip. He was a person embracing the human condition, faced with reality. As he moved across the park, he noticed the ethereal beauty of the leaves falling past him. He witnessed the sun sink in and out of the trees like a boat ebbing and flowing on a tempestuous sea. He held a cursory glance with a squirrel frolicking with its companions. He noticed life. He felt himself slip away.

Aiden had never been the type to live in the moment. Never the type to reach himself or his true persona. He never really knew himself. Once when he was little he fell in the bathtub and cracked his chin. He thought he would never grow out of that little boy who cried profusely for someone who never came. Once when he was little he sliced his foot open with the shards of a crock pot. He wanted ice cream. His foot healed, but his scar never faded. Once when he was little he had a crush on little Sarah Williams. She crushed him like only little girls can. Once when he was little he thought he was handsome. His classmates crushed him like only classmates can. Once when he was older he thought he was handsome. His boyfriend crushed him like only boyfriends can. Once when he was older he dared to be different. Society forced it out of him.

He kept walking through the park, admiring the young lovers bracing the cold together, admiring the old couples who never braced anything without one another, admiring the children laughing and playing while their mothers and fathers watched nearby letting them feel safe and loved and happy before they would have to grow up and face the world. He admired the people. He admired the world. He detested the world. Sooner or later it would crush all of them. Sooner or later it would embrace all of them. He kept walking through the park. He kept walking. He put in his headphones. "My Boy Builds Coffins" played. He kept walking.

How can everything be fine and terrible at the same time? How can everything be one thing and the other? How can people experience joy while others are experiencing sorrow? How can people experience fullness while others face starvation? How can people experience love while others are stuck, perpetually apathetic? Why is everything a positive or negative? Where is the middle ground?

Once when he was little his sister took him to Disneyland, where he got to laugh and play. Once when he was little his sister crushed him, where he got to cry and sulk. Once when he was older he told her the truth. Once when he was older she turned away from him. Once when he was little he loved her. Once when he was older he loved her. Once when he was little she loved him. Once when he was older she didn't know him.

He sat on a bench looking out into the distance. Out into nothing in particular, just out. He remembered the first thought when he woke up, "unicorns took my breath." He laughed at the thought, but was saddened that it wasn't true. humf, humf, humf. He looked down at a puppy sniffing about him, looking for something he didn't have. Aiden bent down to pet the little lab. He looked about for an owner. Someone to claim the little thing. No one came about. He picked the little guy up and sat him next to him on the bench, stroking his back, waiting for something. He had always been waiting for something. The puppy lied down, giving into the rub. Aiden made a new friend. Aiden had a friend.

..I'm going to continue onto this story for a while. I like the way it's going.

Halloweekend

This was an absolutely great weekend. I had so much fun! However, I also didn't accomplish anything. Therefore, tonight is going to be very busy for me. I'm okay with that, though, because I did have such a great time and I do need to get to work. I need to get back in good habits. I know I say this a lot. This is probably the most mentioned thing in my posts. & I sort of feel bad about it, but I also really don't. I'm going to keep mentioning it and keep discussing it until I feel like its getting done. I know that I've been working so hard. I know that I've been doing my assignments and getting all the work done that needs to get done. I do my reading. I do my problem sets. I write as much as I can, when I can. I write my papers. I do my projects... I just feel like I'm never getting anything done. Even when I've gotten it all done. I feel like I'm never doing enough. Or that I should do less in other ways (like being social and having fun) so that I can focus more on other areas....but I also don't want to miss out on great opportunities and connections and networking and conversations and improving myself by experiencing different things. I focus way too much on my grades. I really do. I know that I want to go to grad school and I know what I want to do with my life. I just need to get good grades. I'm going to do that. I've been doing that. B's don't effing matter. If I get a B oh, fucking, well. ugh. I hate that I have this weird notion that I have to reach perfection in some way. But in actuality, I'm pretty great. I do so much. I work so hard. I live. I laugh. I love. I do the things that I'm supposed to do and yet I still feel empty. I still feel unfulfilled. This isn't how I'm supposed to feel. Is this Sophomore slump? Is it? I need to know. I need to talk to more people about this. I honestly feel like everyone I know is breaking down. I've been breaking down. Everything around me is breaking down and I don't know what to do. Everything is going well. I'm not dealing with the same things I was last year. I'm comfortable with myself... for the most part, and the fact that everything is fine and I'm not is really disconcerting. I don't know what to do. Actually though.

I'm going to post again tonight...possibly a short story while I'm taking a break from studying. Or at least I'm going to try. Oh. I should also say that I did have a great breakfast. I went to Andrea's and had a fantastic waffle. It was lovely. Everything is lovely.

Miles Davis

lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala...what is this supposed to be making me feel? I don't feel anything. I don't understand this. Does it have a purpose? Doubt it!

dodododododododooodododoooododooododoodoodododoooododoooddoodododooooooo

how nuce

i suppose it is pretty relaxing. i don't have time to relax. i dhould have done my tings earlier. i fail. grrr. i need to stoop saying that. because it makes it true. hmmmmmmmmm...lauren just took a picture of me writing with my eyes closed. it's prety cool. except that i looks like i'm sleeping when i'm actually doing work. i really wish i could sleep as i did work. i would be so productive. anyway. music is still playing. its some weird instrument that sounds a bit like Mario. yeah....oh..now it sounds more like a battle in a pokemon game. so that's pretty legit. dodododododododoooododooododododooooooodoooooooo

its like an electronic saxophone. which is a strange concept to me. i suppose it could be done. i suppose it has been done. i just dont want it to be done. oh hey machinery. also. i'm a pretty good typer when my eyes a re closed. maybe i can manage y time this way. write with my eyes closed so hat i feel rested while i actually do work...i wonder how well that would work out...probably not very. that's cool though. i guess. this is a free write. so i'm sort of just writing jibberish. i should write less giberhlayish.

part of me always wants to go to my classes drunk. just because. i wonder what the experience would be like. probably terrible. but it might be even better.

ummm

I'm kind of a pretentious douche.

I should really change that.

Class 10/28 stuff and other things that are way up and over my head

Quiz:

Why did Jorge go to Columbia?

Because he was a preprofessional idiot who thought it would be good to be surrounded by investment bankers and silly soho kids of failed musicians. He also admired their English department and was asked to speak at the school for a piece about post-modern feminist literature and the rise of J.K. Rowling. He didn't really want to go, but part of him did. So he gave into that part of him. Which is good for Jorge, because it's different. Jorge likes different. He thinks he likes different. He then went to the country to smuggle some drugs and coffee back to the states.

What is a floigus?

A floigus is a beautiful flower that blooms during winter. It is the oddity of the horticulture community, because while all phe's brothers and sisters and cousins are blooming and living in the spring, phe's ass be dead by then. Shrivled. Dry. Desolate. Alone. It's a lonely life to be a floigus.

What did Ted do in 1971 to become champion of the world?

Ted kicked a lot of peoples asses. First he punched Muhammad Ali, then he bitch slapped Ronald Reagan and Jimmy Carter. Then he kicked Bill and Hilary Clinton in the stomachs and after that was all said and done he married Elizabeth Taylor (granted who hasn't?) and he invented the internet...so when Al Gore claimed he did, you know some shit went down, because Ted was not having that. I feel bad for Ted. He's a pacifist.

Oh. My. Markos.

Some Day

One day I'll be good enough and one day you'll be worth it.

I'm talking to a particular someone. Too bad they'll never read this. At least its out there. Wherever there is. In the ether.

The Greatest

My sister, one of them at least, is the absolute greatest.

I already mention how I came out to her last night/ this morning...after the Ke$ha concert, which was pretty effing fantastic. But I didn't delve any deeper and I should have. I'm only going to graze the surface here, but that's as far as I want to go at this point. I still need to get my head around everything. However, one of the most stressful, scary, intimidating things I will ever have to do in my life is done, it's in the past, it's incredible. She was/is very supportive and said that she loves me no matter who I love. She is my hero. She is the person I always have and always will look up to. She has been the greatest role model I could ask for and she's just an all around bad ass. I don't know where I'd be or who I'd be without her. I'm very grateful towards her. I can't wait to see her in just a little over a month.

I'm procrastinating again. I really shouldn't do that. But....oh well. I was supposed to have so much completed by 5 today, that has not gotten done. Other things have. I believe. But I really need to focus. I'm almost certain I'll be pulling an all-nighter simply because I know that I would sleep in and not get any work done tomorrow. This way I can stay up as late as I need to. Sleep. Wake up by 4. Get to class. Get done with class & get back to work. I don't think I'll need the all nighter, honestly, but I would accomplish so much!

*sigh*

My heart grows heavy sometimes.

I always think I know what I want, but I have no idea. I'm certain that I'll be content with everything at some point in my life or even some point soon. I just need to make sure that I'm secure. That I am set for this semester in all of my classes. I need to do well in all of them. Like actually though. It's of the upmost importance. I need to talk to a few of my professors. I need to talk to an old professor. I need to be better. I'm not. I need to be better. I'm not.

Bleh

Wiggity wiggity wiggity wiggity wiggity wiggity whack.

I heard that earlier. I found it a tad profound. Then again I was at the Ke$ha concert and I was pretty plastered.

Speaking of which, she was actually really good. It was a good show. I'm not a huge fan of her music, but it is really fun. But the bitch called us crazy...uh, has she looked in a mirror?

However, it was a nice segue for me to come out to my sister. So...a pretty eventful evening indeed. Don't know what else I can talk about besides the 3 all nights I'm likely to be pulling. But that's okay. Things will get done. Maybe I'll cure cancer (note: I will not be curing cancer)...

We'll see.

I Feel Old

See title.

I thought I should share. I don't want to keep such things to myself.

Bacardi Won't Help This

Gurrgle gurrgle poprock what the fuck? don't stop.

I'm feeling particularly queer today.

I feel like I can't deal with things.

I have a great song that makes my life. I think Firework by Katy Perry should be added to the playlist about my life.

I haven't accomplished nearly as much as I would have liked to.

I also think You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift should be on there too. I may have just a lot of cred, but I don't care. Its true. Isn't that the point of all of this? Isn't that the point of everything? To get to truth. If I'm doing that. If I'm living that... why does it matter. Why do I think it matters? So many questions that I could actually spend hours trying to answer with no avail and without enough background knowledge to fully tackle every angle that would need to be.

I write more in stream of consciousness than I ever have before. I let things come to me. I write them down. It's simple, but it's also very difficult because I'm not always sure how I'm supposed to track my thoughts, or if I'm even having thoughts or if I'm just in some state where everything sort of flows out of me without reservation. I'm not entirely sure. I just know that this is calming. It makes me feel like I've done something. Or that I can look and say, "oh, well I didn't accomplish anything else, but I've gotten closer to myself."

That's the point of education. What's the point of education? How much does it actually prepare us. Does it actually prepare us? I know it helps us grow and discover, but I'm always wanting to question and always being afraid to, because...and that's the thing, I don't really know. i don't know why i don't question the way that I should or as much as I should. I just don't. It's really starting to frustrate me. I don't push myself. I need to push myself. Help me push myself. That was more of a note for myself. Now I'm never going to do it.

Oh well.

That just makes for more for me to write.

I'm constantly afraid that at some point I won't know what to do. I won't know how to function. I already don't know how to function.

I need to finish the novel I started. Or at least turn it into a novella. I want to work on that more. I'm going to try and spend most of November doing that. I think I'm really going to spend Thanksgiving doing that because I won't have a crazy amount of things to do. Or I shouldn't. So I should be able to spend a lot of time doing things that I want to.

I'm sort of excited for it.

I hope I'll actually do it.

I'm going to be a new character. His name is Aiden.

There's A Moment You Know

I'm about to cry and or pass out. When I'm stressed that's pretty much all I can do.

There's far too much for me to complete in the next week that I simply don't have the time for. I can't focus on anything but these things. I can't go out. I can't really have any fun until I'm done with everything. This is of the up most importance.

I wish I could write more fiction. It's why I took this class. I wish I had the time to devout myself fully to writing and reading (for fun), but I don't. I think that would make me happiest. I don't know what would make me happiest. I wish I knew what would make me happiest. I wish I knew anything. I wish I wasn't so afraid to fail. I wish I could stop wishing, but it seems to be the only thing I'm good at.

I failed another quiz for my Antro class. Which is just what I need. I really need to talk to him. I really need to work my ass of for the class. I really need to stay in every night and just do work. I need to draw back and not be so social. I have opportunities that I let go to waste for friends that I might not see after I graduate. I'm afraid I'm letting everything go to waste. I'm afraid.

I have to get back to work. I have to start and finish an assignment I didn't know I had. I have to read 3 books in 8 hours. I have to do a problem set. I have so much that I just can't do. I have so much that I wish I could do. I have so much.

Perhaps I should take a semester off? I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Taking time for myself. Taking time to figure out what I want. Taking time to enjoy my life instead of feeling as though I'm wasting it away. I fucked up my freshman year. I fucked it up hard. I can't do that this year. I can't let everything pass me by. I have to use my time wisely. I have to dedicate myself fully. I can't bull shit this. I know that grades aren't the most important thing. I know that they don't determine how intelligent you are. But they do correlate very well to work ethic and at the end of the day having a great work ethic is extremely important. If I want to do anything with my life, I have to be able to show that I have that sort of work ethic instead of me being incredibly involved, but lazy towards things that are considered to actually matter.

My parents just want me to pass. I want that too. But I want to excel. I want to prove to myself that I can do that. I want so much. I want too much. Is that such a bad thing? Is it a terrible thing to want? To crave? I'm certain that it's not. Though the guilt penetrates my conscious, it penetrates my bone, it sits at the very core of me for wanting so much for me wanting more privilege when so many have none, when so many can't want because they need.

I'm a selfish person. This place makes me feel like a selfish person. I went away for the weekend and I felt like myself. I felt loved. I felt normal. I haven't felt that here in a while. I've felt detached and hurt. I've felt pathetic. I'm ending that now.

"[I'll crawl back into bed to dream of a time when my heart was open wide, and I loved things just because, like the sick and the dying. And sometimes when I'm on, I'm really fucking on and my friends they sing along and they love me... But the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap and it teases me for weeks in its absence. But I'll fight and I'll make it through, I'll fake it if I have to and I'll show up to work with a smile. I'll be better and I'll be smarter and more grown up and a better son and a real good friend. I''ll be awake, I'll be alert, I'll be positive though it hurts and I'll laugh and embrace all my friends. I'll be a real good listener. I'll be honest, I'll be brave, I'll be handsome and I'll be beautiful. I'll be happy.]"

- A reworking of some Rilo Kiley lyrics.

Weekends

I fail at keeping up with this on weekends. I should be better, but I'm not.

I've been in Pennsylvania with my best friend and my mother. It's actually exactly what I needed. I needed to get the fuck away from Brown. I needed to focus on things in my life other than school and work. I feel so much better.

I watched Waiting for Superman with my best friend, Raquel. It was...it was amazing. I needed that film to give me some perspective on my privilege and my work ethic. I need to work harder. I needed to study harder. I need to focus more. I've been given so much. I'm incredibly fortunate and I don't take advantage of it. That's so stupid of me. That's incredibly stupid of me. I feel like I shouldn't have these opportunities if I don't utilize them. If I am consistently letting them pass me by. The film itself looked at the educational system of the US specifically focusing on the underprivileged and impoverished and their limited access to decent education. It also broadly looked at how the US has stagnated. We're not improving. We haven't been improving. The rest of the world has. It did solidify the fact that I will be doing Teach for America after grad school. It's going to happen. I can't be given this education, be given these opportunities while the rest of the country isn't and do nothing to help them, sit back and let the country stay in ignorance and a vicious cycle of poverty when I can do something about it. Voltaire ended Candide with "Il faut que cultivations nos jardin" which means "we must cultivate our garden." It means that we can't just sit around and ideally theorize, we actually have to do something; we have to do good works; we have to make this life meaningful. I feel like a different person.

... Actually, I feel like the person I used to be. I'm sorry I lost that. It won't happen again.

Playlist

I promised a playlist of my life. So here it is:

Perfect by Alanis Morissette

Thank you by Alanis Morissette

Not Pretty Enough by Kasey Chambers

California by Joni Mitchell

You've Got the Love by Florence and the Machine

Hurricane Drunk by Florence and the Machine

Maudlin Career by Camera Obscura

A better son/daughter by Rilo Kiley

How soon is now by The Smiths

Asleep by The Smiths

There is a Light that Never Goes Out by The Smiths

King of Anything by Sara Bareilles

Nicest Thing by Kate Nash

Floorplan by Tegan and Sara

Starting Now by Ingrid Michaelson

Mannequin by Katy Perry

We Get On by Kate Nash

Be Ok by Ingrid Michaelson

Locked Up by Ingrid Michaelson

Everybody by Ingrid Michaelson

The Ocean by Tegan and Sara

The Sound of Settling by Death Cab for Cutie

Pride and Joy by Brandi Carlile

When it Rains by Paramore

Crazy by Patsy Cline

I Fall To Pieces by Patsy Cline

Vampires in Blue Dresses by Margot and the Nuclear So & So's

Quiet as a Mouse by Margot and the Nuclear So & So's

Stray Italian Greyhounds by Vienna Teng

Slow Me Down by Emmy Rossum

Extraordinary by Liz Phair

...this is pretty much just an excerpt from the complete set... its a work in progress much like myself. i suppose its mostly kick ass female artists that speak to me. exceptions are incredible bands like the smiths and margot and the nuclear so and so's.. i suppose it should be comforting that i'm not the only one who has experienced these things or can relate them to my life..but its not. its just a little scary how closely they mesh and how often they can relate to times in my life.

More Shit

More shit.

I'm a sleepy little bird

I think I'm going to write about Lauren. She seems down. I want her to feel better and noticed.

She just licked her computer.

"Why aren't you recording this?"

I just yawned. I had to draw on the bored. It was exciting....but sort of nerve wrecking. I can't draw. I need to learn how to. I feel like if I knew how to I would be much better at exploring my emotions and thoughts.

We're doing a writing prompt.

This is it:

Panda hat. I don't know what this part of the prompt is.

Someone has a flashback.

Jacob realized he hadn't thought about Lorraine in a while. He thought of the first time he met her. The way she moved across the ballroom floor in her elegant blue gown with white lace. They way her hair, pulled back, hung a little in the front. The way she smiled and his heart stopped. He came back to reality. 415. Too much time had elapsed. Such a problem. He moved towards the door. He had to get back home. He stepped from the doorway into the street. He noticed a man stumbling. At first he thought it was just some drunkard who got a little too happy before happy hour, but no, it was a man having a heart attack. He collapsed on the ground. Right in front of Jacob. He screamed. He called for help. He moved to check his pulse...it was too late. This is the first time Jacob had witnessed someone die. The first time he held death in his hands. He pulled out his executive pen from his coat pocket. He looked at it momentarily before putting it back. His mind wandered. He couldn't help but think about what that really meant. He realized the gravity of his situation. He called the police. ....

(An improbable event solves an improbable situation) A car pulled up on the curb as he was dialing 911. It struck the man, not Jacob, but the man and jolted him back to life. Exciting, no? Jacob reacted quickly, the way he had in Desert Storm. His training was coming back to him. How else would he have escaped the impending doom of the car hitting him. He noticed Nancy in the corner of his eye. A woman he hadn't seen in years. She still wore the same pearls, the same red bow in her hair, the same style of flats and the same style of dresses as she always had. She used to be the light of the town...when they both lived in the town and not the city, but had since gotten older. She calmed herself. She matured. But she held the same captivating beauty she always had. Jacob took out his pen. A coincidence that the woman that gave it to him, the woman that lit up his life so much, that reminded him of his youth and his prime and his wonder would be only a few feet away from him when he needed her the most. She kept moving. He kept silent. He finished giving his statement to the police and went to work. He needed to pick something from the office before he went home. When he arrived at his office, he couldn't remember what he needed. He thought long and hard, but couldn't recall. He decided to move on and deal with it later than waste his time. He headed home. 700. It's gotten dark. He moved to his car still in the same parking structure. He reached for the handle. Wine! He left the wine in his office. He ran to the elevator. It moved slower than usual, but he made it to the penthouse none the less. He opened his office door, on his desk was the bottle of Merlot he bought for this occasion. He was ready to celebrate his anniversary. The same night his wife died five years ago. He wouldn't celebrate that. He would destroy that. He would destroy himself tonight, by the gravest of methods. He grabbed the bottle. He went for the door. It locked. How was that possible. It only locks from the outside. He couldn't get out.

~This is why a man grieving should grieve when its time. This is why a man grieving should take time. This is why a person should take time. This is why you should take time for yourself. Put this down. Pick it up later. Live a little. ~

His rival, Steven Denny, laughed in the distance...well down the hall. Music started blasting. He heard laughter in the office. What has happening? How is this possible. He was the only one here. He listened by the door. He realized he was still trapped. He banged and yelled and hollered the way he did when he taught bootcamp, when he quite the marines and joined the navy. He looked for his knife. He would get himself out.

He heard another voice. Slightly familiar. It was the man from the street. The man who was supposed to be dead. How was he here. He yelled. He yelled. He listened again as he worked on the door. It was the sound of his son, Austin, running down the hall. Cheering. What's going on??? A crash. The same noise he heard when the door closed. He fell down. He was dying. He wanted to, but it was actually happening. Was his life flashing before his eyes and he didn't know it? He thought there. He lied there the way he did when he found out his wife was leaving him. When he found out she had died. When he found out everything was gone.

Class 10/21 & Thoughts That Have Come To Me

"Wow the lighting is all like magical right now" -LYS

..something about reality hunger

Future national book award winner, maybe.

Rule five has been -~~---~~_~_~ cancelled.

Quiz:

1. Why is Jorge monoracial?

- Jorge's parents are of the same race...they met during an all same race dating forum. They were both quiet and shy, so they were instantly drawn to one another and they decided right then and there that they would have a monoracial child together. I don't know how they're doing now...probably pretty well, I would assume, or they could not be doing well and then I'd feel bad...They're doing well.

Jorge's a silly fellow. I think it's because he is only of one race.

2. Why is Todd depressed in only odd numbered years?

- Such a sensitive subject. The poor man has been through so much. How could he not be depressed during the odd numbered years? He is constantly getting is heart broken at the end of every even numbered year and as he is such a sensitive fellow he must take the time to heal. The odd numbered years just fall during this time, unfortunately. I'm hoping one day he'll be happy, but that seems unlikely as he is sort of masochistic and enjoys his odd numbered years the most.

3. Why was the sad girlfriend happy yesterday?

- Her boyfriend stopped being an asshole. This changed her perspective on life, because of course she doesn't want to be with an asshole, she wants to be with a kind soul. She just attracts assholes. But for one day, her beau was actually sweet and pleasant and she took full advantage of that time. Also, she's a panda, and she realized how great it is to be a panda. Almost as great as it is to be....nope, pandas pretty much kick everything else's ass.

Markos almost blew up... There were descending numbers on his forehead. I was scared.

We all got 93's on the quiz! HUZZAHH!!!

He looks like he's trying to sell me something from Apple.

He looks like Shrek.

Nothing to know quite yet. when you know, I'll know.

you know picasso, right? he did some pretty cool shit.

i think i'm fucking up signals. i think all the signals are fucked up. tonight should make it clear.

having no influences is just dumb.

"you're still on your music aren't you?"- rachel

"i'm always on my music."- me

consumming's just so easy... but if you think on the flip side, making those things is the real art, the real hard part.

"i think i have an obsession with food"- rachel

"its derivative so its not that original"

"okay, now i'm just confusing myself"

I need to take more artistic classes. I need to take more intellectual classes. Classes that make me think and aren't so fact based and classes that make me create and imagine and expand my horizons. A few fact based lecture, know this shit classes are great...but I don't find them as rewarding. They don't expand my mind. They don't make me think. They just teach me things that I can find from books if I really want to know. I feel like if I were to research things on my own I'll get more out of that then someone telling me those same things in class. As opposed to reading theory and literature and seeing art and watching films and devouring these things and changing my perspective and then talking to people about those things, their experiences, their thoughts and changing mine...not to fit theirs but to appreciate theirs and to complete mine.

i'm so aware of how many people are going to read this.

like david shields I'm really into myself.

i'm catering my writing to my two readers

are you writing for an audience or are you writing for yourself.

if you are writing for yourself, or if your not, it becomes more performance based.

i don't feel like performance is a bad thing...but you have to embrace it.

a lot of stuff about writing is supposed to be...universal truths.

do i have to dive across the table? because i will.

Titles are Superfluous

My body feels like a rock.

I don't know why. I'm sort of in a depressive mood right now. I 'm in some sort of state that I've never really experienced. I just feel heavy. Everything about my body just feels heavy. I don't know what to do. Perhaps I'll sleep or read or pine or lie. Perhaps I'll lie and just be and just notice. Perhaps I'll be happy to be alone. Perhaps... is the worst word in the english lexicon.

Religion

I went to an amazing panel discussion tonight about Islam. I loved it so much. I really enjoy intellectual conversations about Religion, it makes me happy. I also got one of the speakers to ask my name after I asked some very pressing questions at the end of the talk...this possibly made my night (there are other things that sort of ruined that...but we'll not talk about those). It brought up questions to me about how well you know someone. According to some poll 62% of Americans don't know muslims. I find this very hard to believe and I think that my parents would have said the same thing. Now there is a lot of ignorance in this. First for not knowing a muslim and second for thinking that you don't know a muslim. I was thinking about how my parents probably would think they fall into that percentage when in actuality they know one of my best friends who happens to be a muslim, but seeing as she is also hispanic she instantly thought to be catholic. I was wondering how many people actually don't know muslims and how many just think they don't. I also find that silly, that perhaps you are unwilling to know some one well enough to know if they are muslim. I also started thinking about whether or not (in some cases) it had to do with the fact that the muslims wanted to hide their religious affiliation, because of fear of discrimination, condemnation, or some other reason... I like when I go to these talks because they really help me grow more (I think) than a lot of other things and they bring out new ideas and interests that I didn't know I had in me.

..

For the first time in a really long time I'm actually really happy. I don't know how this happened. I don't know why. It may have been some point during my all nighter when I realized (again) that everything was fine. I don't have to reach for perfection. I just have to give everything I have to everything I do. I have to try. & if I come short, well hell. But life is so much better not that I'm in this mind set, in this state.

I've also been flirting with someone, which helps. We'll see how things go, but I'd really like for them to work out.

Truth

My life is a playlist.

I'll post the songs later. When I'm not stressed from 2 projects, 2 quizzes, 3 midterms, and a slew of other things (including but not limited to romantic prospects that are confusing).

In class

Oh hey,

I'm writing this in class. Some kid is talking. I think its John. I'm not sure. He's reading, actually. So the last activity was pretty fun. I have to leave early. I have theatre. Ugh. Fucking theatre. I want to sleep. I want to do my work. I want to excel in life. I think I'm going to fail. I need to be okay with that. Failure makes you stronger I guess. I heard a quote earlier that if you want to succeed faster, fail faster. So that's nice. I feel like if that's the case then I'm going to be pretty successful.

I'm leaving early. I said that already and I just told you in class. But I thought I should remind you. That I left early. That's cool right? Yeah.. Lauren is my surrogate. She's great.

Now I'm playing Howl by Florence and the Machine. Such a great song.

Going to stop now. Though this is pretty fun. So that's plus. Break is over. I want to be better. I want to write more eloquently. I used to. I've lost it, I think. Or I've gained something else? Something different. Something more unique than just some smart kid writing. We're continuing. Begin!

Homework for the Week

Oh my. I can finally breathe. That asshole isn’t lying on me anymore! I swear every night he stumbles in and wakes me from my slumber so that he can get his. I can’t deal with it anymore. Every night I jump off the bed as he sleeps so I can get away from him, but every night he wakes up and picks me up again. I can never escape. Oh how I wish I could grow legs and walk away. I mean he does let me rest for like 16 hours of the day. For 16 hours I’m alone to hang out with my dear sister the mattress and her kids sheet and blanket, so its lovely family bonding time. I just can’t deal with this anymore though. I think I’m going to fall again tonight and hope that finally works!

Well this is some serious gender bending activity, which I sincerely support. To mix the “masculinity” of the work gloves with the “femme” of the lipstick sends a very powerful message of the full human figure encompassing both ends of the spectrum. I’m not actually wearing either, but I’ll pretend I am. It’s quite difficult to write in work gloves and the lipstick gets stuck together sometimes making it difficult for me to mouth the words, but I like where this piece is going, so that’s a plus. The gloves reminded me of the bus ride I took into downtown providence to mentor elementary school students. There was a poster about recovering drug addicts. It was to use them in a study about their methods of overcoming their addictions, which is great, but in all actuality it shouldn’t be posted in buses towards the poor as they are statistically the least likely to recover from drug addiction. It should be posted in wealthier neighborhoods or in centers where AA and other drug addiction groups are held. That would be the most conducive for their success. I’m getting angry. The work gloves are bringing out my testosterone. I think I need to stop for now and continue this at some other point.

My lobster pinched me! I’m getting rid of this thing!! Ugh! I thought this would be a good decision. A pet I could keep in my dormroom, but no, I can’t play with it because it pinches me and it doesn’t like doing anything but sleeping and scuttling. I’m done with this thing. Done.

Stage Managing

We call this tech week. It means that I (the stage manager) effectively live in the theatre... its great. Except that it doesn't give me time to do much work...besides stage manage. I literally get up. Go to class. Eat. Read for like 20 minutes. Go to rehearsal. Get out of rehearsal. Spend four hours sending e-mails to people about rehearsal and the show and what not. Go to sleep. Wake up. Do it again. MY LIFE WILL BE MINE AGAIN ON SUNDAY!

SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY!!

I'm so excited. I love stage managing. Its so much fun. BUT (the great verbal eraser), its so time consuming and it doesn't leave me anything in return. It's also a very thankless job. I mean, I get thanked. I do. But...its different. Well lord knows I'm not doing it again until next semester when I'll have more time and I'll better know what to do.

My posts will be coming tomorrow. I've been writing. Just not posting. This is bad. Very bad. I know. I apologize. Or do I? I made my decision to work more on the show than on my other duties, so I take full responsibility for everything. I'm just tired. I'm going to go sleep now...after I send more e-mails.

It never ends.

Additionally

I'm not quite sure how I did on my quiz. I'm going to give myself an arbitrary 85, but please feel free to give me whatever you think I deserve.

Also.

That time I picked...or is it plucked? I think its plucked. So that time I plucked something off the ground was quite the adventure indeed. I actually threw it on the ground to pick it up and sing a song. It was not the greatest and best song in the world, nor was it a tribute, Tenacious D. It was more like a bad attempt at a good song that just fell really short> i find myself pondering the importance of picking other things off the ground and singing a song about it> i wonder if that would make my days go by better and faster and if I even want that. Possibly...because I would be making up songs all the live long fucking day and picking up litter, which is always a nice thing to do. So yeah...quite the experience.

I call this story "Michael: Hero of the Chalkboard."

All across the land, and by land I mean the world, but I don't really like the phrase, "All Across the World."... So, all over the land, and again "land" is meant to signify "world," the chalkboards go unchampioned. They are hit, beaten, abused, written on aggressively, smacked by erasers, etc., and they have cried in agony. But their plight has not gone unnoticed, for Michael has become that champion that they so desperately need.

Quiz 10/7

1. Chuck Norris is the president of Jorge's desire to buy a wood stove because besides roundhouse kicking people in the face he doesn't have much going on...& wood stove's are very Chuck Norris-esque.

2. No. That's not a field. That's a building Are you on acid? How cold you possibly think that the Minden was a field. It's no where near a field. Its off of Brook and Charlsfield. No. Reallly. Are you High?

3. I named my son mudsling because I was forced to pick an "M" name and seeing as I'm a hippy and my daughter is named "Moonshine," I felt that I need to get closer to the earth. I considered Mountain for a while, but that name just kept conjuring images of people climbing mountains, trying to dominate them. But the Earth is not a place that can be dominated by one person or all persons. So I as I got angry at this I picked up some mud and slung it at a store that soled hiking gear (specifically Mountain hiking) so I thought, "Hey, Mudsling is a pretty cool name and it comes back to the Earth and defending your beliefs with a mild form of violence."

Introduction

I'm coping out of this assignment. Or I did it preemptively. So booyeah!

I've already written an introduction to a book that I want to write. So I feel like that should suffice. See Masks, posted in September.

If I must write a statement of reason explaining myself, so be it. But I refuse to write an introduction to something else. I need to get this book out of me first. I need to spend more time writing it (which I'll actually have time for come October 18- done stage managing!)!

So throughout the rest of the semester that will be my goal. To write 3-5 chapters of this book. If I can do more, than great. If not, whatever. I'll embrace failure. I've been pretty good at it lately.

Jesus

Its very difficult to be Jesus when you're sick. Though I doubt this would be the case for actual Jesus, since he probably never got sick.... I mean, how messed up would that be? He could heal a leper and the blind but not himself. Not to mention that his father must have really wanted him to suffer if he wouldn't heal him when he's ill. Also, there's no record of him ever being sick. Granted there's no real record of him at all. Well in any case, I've been sick, cooped up in my room for most of the week and even when I wasn't I was probably doing something else that wouldn't help me be Jesus. Like stage manage. Jesus never would have been a stage manager. Never. Ever.

I have decided, however, that I could potentially be a cult leader. I could make people feel secure in themselves, trust me and make them believe that I have all the answers. Show them all the beauty in the world and stockholm syndrome the shit out of them to make them think that it would be a good idea to follow me and do my bidding. I also feel like that would take a lot of time and effort. Which I just wouldn't care for. So instead I lazed about it my bed watching Charlie Bartlett and different TV episodes from hulu. Or I read. I did a lot of not being Jesus. I think it was a better use of my time.

Marwwiage

Dear Stranger,

My name is José. I know we don't know each other. So I felt that I should at least introduce myself before I ask you a very serious question. Will you marry me?

No, seriously. I want to be your husband. We can go to Massachusetts. It may sound strange to you to marry someone you don't know, but isn't that what marriage is about anyway? Don't you marry someone you think you know just to find out about them as time goes on? Why not just skip a step and get to know me through the course of our marriage. If things don't work out, they don't work out and we can go our separate ways. But I would like to marry you.

Please consider this for a moment before you accept or dismiss me.

All my love,

José

I found my stranger. It was very very difficult to find one who wouldn't think I'm completely crazy. But when I asked him he said no. My stranger turned me down. He said that he didn't believe in marriage and that since he's already in a relationship if he was going to marry someone it would not be me. So I'm kind of bummed about that. I really wanted to get married and then get a Brittany divorce, but that's just not in the cards I guess. So the gist of this is that I failed. I failed at getting a stranger to marry me. I almost said love me. Which would be very awkward. I would hope that by getting married he would fall in love with me. But no, that's not what's happening. So I'm going to say that I failed. I believe I've already said this, but I don't know what else to say. So I'm going to say that I'm done. I tried. The end.

I think

I think I'm in love with them

"i laughed at the irony. but life is stupid, the irony got lost on me"

and Him

...I'm probably really in love with him. He's great. Music is great. I wonder what I would do without music??? I'd probably be extremely depressed...which is saying something since I already have to deal with depression. I wonder how much Hemingway liked music?

*Cough*Cough*

I'm sick. I hate being sick. It is the absolute worst thing. <--- This may be an over exaggeration. I'm sure there are much worse things, I'm just not feeling well, and of course, as I can't actually understand what everyone else in the world is suffering through and I only have my physicality to account for, I find myself at the the center of the world. Or at least of my own world. Isn't this where I belong? And if not, where? Does it make me selfish to want to care about my well being when others need more help than I? Does it simply make me human? I really don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. At the moment I'm slightly delusional, which is an absolutely wonderful state to be in when you're writing, because you don't have much of a filter anymore. Your restraints are gone. You inhibitions have been lifted. I wonder if this is how Lewis Carroll felt all the time? I hope so. Disillusionment is highly overrated and reality is nothing more than what we make of it. I feel like running through a spring in a forest. Where can I find one of those? Or maybe I'll watch a movie. I do really enjoy films. Though "blockbusters" just piss me off. They don't do anything. They may be entertaining for a moment or a little while after, and I shouldn't use generalizations because this is not always the case, but they don't make you think. They don't make you recognize the world around you. They don't explore art and life and love and what it is to actually be human. They don't explore truth. That's what I hate about blockbusters. I hope that, if I become a producer, I never make one... and if I do, I hope that its because it will have touched so many lives and explored so many facets of the human condition that it can't be ignored. If not, I just want to make indie type films that do well and have not only a message, but a true aesthetic.

...I'm not quite sure how this all came to be. But it is. And I shall let it.

Woody Allen

"That's one of the nice things about writing, or any art; if the thing's real, it just lives. All the attendant hoopla about it, the success over it or the critical rejection-none of that really matters. In the end, the thing will survive or not on its own merits."

"Good films are better than bad books, and when they're both great, they're great and worthwhile in different ways."

"IT's a wonderful thing to be able to create your own world whenever you want to. Writing is very pleasurable, very seductive, and very therapeutic."

"I started on page one...I love the classic narrative form in a play...I want to hear people speaking plainly if at times poetically. When you see death of a salesman or a street car named desire you're interested in the people and you want to see what happens next."

- I really enjoy everything that Woody Allen has to say. I think that the main purpose of writing and film is to get to some great truth, to uncover what's worthwhile and meaningful- to understand human nature and the human condition all the more... I think he understands that, appreciates that, and his work reflects that.

Quiz 9/30

1. I'm pretty sure Jorge drew some fish on your eyelids. I don't know what kind, because I don't spend my time learning the different aquatic animal species. So let's say they were non-gold, gold fish. & I they are the first ting that every person kills.

2. Jorge licked the window 4 times. He was so dehydrated, and without a water fountain in sight he was desperate to consume the condensation that formed on the glass. Though he only needed the first two licks to satisfy him, he figured a third would be even better and fourth, a fourth would drastically improve his health. He was wrong.

3. There are approximately 18,341 bricks in place for the building across the street, give or take a shit ton. 18,340 of them don't really matter, you see, because they have no true history. Some masons made them and formed the building. But the fifth brick, the fifth brick is something special...

Homework

So I keep forgetting to post the homework assignments :/

I'm going to do my best to post them all by Wednesday night

So here are the 2nd Sentences:

Is there a reason for make-up, other than to minimally alter an appearance that nothing was wrong with in the first place?

He couldn't help but feel alone, isolate; pounding the pavement on those desolate small town streets.

Mini-write ups:

I checked my gmail. There were far too many messages, I closed out of it because I didn't have time to work through them. (Multiply this by 9....stage managing gives me no time on the internet)

I went to facebook. I got a friend request from some creeper. Ignore. So...uneventful night, I see.

I went to my blog to make a few posts. I felt uninspired, but I did something Anyway. They came out all wrong. Oops.

I posted a new look to my lookbook. It got a few likes. Thanks for stroking my ego, people.

I went to facebook. Nothing ever happens anymore. Oh look, person I like, lets chat for a while and not let me get any work done.

Logged onto facebook. Still nothing has happened.. oh no, posts about suicides :(, oh but posts about queer theory that can combat this :]

Searched for song lyrics to some Alanis Morisette songs. Waste of time since I already knew all of them..whatever.

Logged onto mycourses to see my progress. My professors have yet to post anything about it. Awesome.

Statement of Reason:

The night was as dark as an emo kid thinks phis soul is. The air was crisp and still. The harvest moon rose delicately through the clouds. I emerged from the swinging doors of the Rock into this wonderful night at approximately 721 PM, fully intending to accomplish my first Fiction assignment for the week. At 731 I arrived at Urban Outfitters, they were having a sale and I wanted new clothes for the fall. let's just say that I took full advantage of the opportunity, spending far more than I anticipated. Yet at the culmination of this brief adventure, I believe it was slightly passed 8 o'clock, I did not continue with the tasks that were laid before me. Nay, the shear pleasure I took out of shopping stifled me so. I found it wrong of me to continue with my night of enjoyment without any work prior to defray my guilt. I hastily abandoned my endeavors to finish, or rather begin, the assignments that loomed over my heat and atone myself for the joy that I just experienced. After my hours of tedious reading and writing, I drifted to the land of slumber where I dreamt of the night I couldn't had...It's a good ting I ended my journey when I did, for if the dream held any accuracy at all- the clerk at 7-11 would have punched me int he face for even questioning his love of pleasure, thrown me out of the marketplace without my pack of twinkies and squeegy. I would have been so distraught I wouldn't have had the nerve to accost a total stranger on the street, let alone enter a pizza establishment, though I did go to the mall to watch a movie. I can't recall which, I just remember hating it and getting into a fight with the manager about getting my money back and being forcefully remved from the mall, into the harsh streets to walk back to Brown. Cold and defeated. Yay, it was a good thing, indeed that my guild over came me so and I ended my evening before it even began.

Je l'adore

"Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don't bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: "It's not where you take things from - it's where you take them to." - Jim Jarmusch

Je ne l'aime pas!

The limit as x approaches 0 of SinX/X = I don't give a fuck!

Ah! I'm completely over math. I missed it, for whatever reason, and I love it so fully when I do it and I know what I'm doing...the problem is that I'm not really being taught how to do it as how I should be able to go about doing it.. if that makes any sense. Essentially it's all about the methods to use to solve the problem rather than actually solving the problem and its so frustrating. I'm going to fail my midterm tomorrow. ugh. Okay, well I need to sleep since I'm going to have an hour and half of hell tomorrow, luckily the rest of my day is great.. so yay!

I think I might write a short story about people, but replacing their names with numbers and having them do things math related... like taking others to their limits to find their end behaviour. awww yeah.

Okay, no, but really. I'm exhausted. Goodnight world.

Je ne ;

Interview

I've been reading interviews with Woody Allen. I find him fascinating, he's incredibly humble and incredibly conceited at the same time and I'm not quite sure how he manages it, but it works for him. So kudos!

I feel inspired to write. I've been listening to hours of music using my friends headphones...its been magical, honestly, it's like I'm listening to music for the first time again.

I've been transcribing a ton of Woody Allen's quotes/straight up interviews.

Putting off math is the greatest and worst feeling since I have a midterm on Thursday, but its the first time I've really not cared about doing it.

I sort of regret taking 2 of the 5 classes I'm taking this semester (sleep and math), its not that I don't like them, it's just that there are so many other outstanding classes that I could be taking, that I should be taking, that I would love to be taking that I'm not because of some weird feelings I have towards taking "academic" classes. Like at times I feel like I should take more Political Science or Development Studies classes so that what I'm doing seems more reputable, but at the same time, a lot of the classes I'm taking are far more interesting and far more difficult than a lot of those classes and they have cover much of the same material though in different contexts... so fuck it.

I must now get to the long list of reading that I've been putting off. Until tomorrow my dear blog, until tomorrow.

Rien de dire

I literally have nothing to say. I can't focus, sleep or eat- whatevs, but I really have no inspiration today. Perhaps my next post will be more exciting/entertaining. G-d I hope so.

Also, I have Kasey Chambers songs stuck in my head... so there's that.

I didn't know it was possible for me to cry on a swingset, but that's exactly what happened tonight. My night started out fairly well, then one disappointment after another built upon each other and caused me to break down. The only person who has ever been able to piss me off that much is my mother, and she hasn't had that effect on me in 2 years, so this is something that I'm not going to be over for quite some time. I apologize in advance for having this face on (). I just need to be away from people for a while and focus on...I don't know, my life? Maybe? I'm not sure but hopefully I'll figure it out. Right now I'm going to sleep, but I feel that I'm going to be spending many a nights down by the swings.

Until tomorrow,

Always mine.

Suppose

I suppose I died yesterday, since I didn't post.

Though, oddly enough I feel very dead today. So maybe I was alive yesterday, but dead today, and everything I'm doing is just for all the most illogical of reasons? Irony, maybe? I don't know. I don't feel ironic. So I'm not.

Tonight was great. Today was not. I'm really not going to get into anything specific because i don't want this to be my space to bitch, I just want this to be my space to think and to get things out, to work things out in my mind while writing things that I'm not sure really exist or where they go or how they get there or why they're inside me to begin with. I just want to write.

I'm also sick of feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my privileged life when I can actually be doing something more productive- like help someone else have a more privileged life. I'm tired of not going for what I want because I'm afraid and I'm, I'm just tired. Fuck this. I'm going to sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day, with new things to write and new things to discover. I will say, however; before I go, that the moon was perfect tonight and swings make everything better.