yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE.

crazy kids:

Inge and Nick defacing portland dorm property. 'Twas a good time. Mind you, this was in the middle of downtown, so a lot of random people, mostly regulars at the diner below, stared up quite a bit what would be the next few days.

46?

It says I have 45 on my dashboard thing. Strangeness, all around.

Hey it's the only pop artist I respect. . .!
woooooooohoooo.

i'm going to bed.

I think. I've got some plans. Although, there's not much more I can do. What I'll add isn't required, which doesn't help the absence of required things. I'm burnt out. I'm rambling so I can fill this up to 48 and go to sleep.

My chemistry grade is going to suffer this too. I haven't finished the egg drop business. Maybe school will be canceled tomorrow. Wait, it's not a maroon day. I'll have to forget it.

mary go round.

I'd like to see you when the summer sun sets down.

I need more for this portfolio that I don't have. Christ. My ankle fucking hurts, man. Every night of this winter it's hurt.

Do you see what I'm reduced to?! I'm solely bitching. This is a bitchfest, people. It used to be occasional. Now it's just pouring out of my lungs and onto this keyboard. I don't think I can maintain this much longer. I am being stretched too thin. I want to sleep.

okay.

We're lookin' good. I just need one more book/art project and I should be set. I don't know how much energy I have to write that. And am I printing all of this? I'm sure this printer is going to awake the parentals. . .

I really wanted a good night's sleep tonight. Ha!

I feel bad for you, Ms. Sirois. . .a Macbeth summary, eight pages, is a very dry informal paper. . .

I had a memoir type piece, much more interesting, but it's on the server on the laptop and I forgot to print today. Maybe in the morning? Perhaps that'll make up for my lack of class notes which are probably stinking somewhere on my bedroom floor. . .

ohhh.

Why don't I have everything done?

I wrote my Fear and Loathing summary, which took way longer than it should have. Seriously. I'm slow with everything, tonight. And I'm going to be so tired tomorrow. Now I need to write about another book. With step father looking over my shoulder, reminding me of the time.

Work Ethic: You asked for this.
Myself: Suck it through a fucking straw.

Just eleven more!

I think I should actually take a break. This is a dangerous business. Carpal Tunnel, man.

Did I write about Edythe's and I's brillant reflection on lesbians? Well, if I did, it'll be that pleasant feeling of deja vu.

I walked by these two girls with a baby in Panera. I commented on the child, who was drooling and looking up at me like a fish and so forth, and they just glared. I walked away.

Me: Geez.
Edy: What?
Me: (tells of event)
Edy: Let me see. (walks by them, comes back)Don't worry about it. They're ugly lesbians. Nobody likes ugly lesbians.
Me: They're useless.

We are terrible people.

37!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

The number 37 has absolutely no relevance to my life whatsoever. What if someone was born on the day 37. Would it blow people's mind's or is that just as uninteresting as I think it is? Yeah.

Edythe! Snake! Named! Nomis!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

broadway night!

Dear God, if you've a spectacle I particularly cherish, it is this.

Two mentally challenaged individuals singing Beauty and the Beast. Someone's cell phone going off while the chorus did a rendition of 'Sk8r Boy'. Edythe and I pissed all over our seats.

Sojo was spectacular, being the only one who has a voice in that whole theatre situation. . .

and it's your town now

Was not in a good mood today. No, no. . .I cannot wait to shed myself of that school. I can't say it enough. Just have to push through.

Thank you Katie St. Micheal, Aaron Dallman! For actually spending your time talking about me so much when you know nothing about me! I don't even talk to you, ever! It's flattering, really, that you refuse to speak to me, but to everyone else, who reach the point of aggravation to tell me all the time you're doing so. If you have a problem with my existence, if it particularly disturbs your monmouth academy experience, you should really talk to me about it.

But you won't. Sweetness.

we call it ridin' the gravy train.

I'm feeling better though. I'm writing these all consecutively to escape my chemistry project due tomorrow so you should probably scroll to the first postage of this date to avoid a headache or something.

"Oh man, what am I tryin' to say? It's a messed up world but I love it anyway."
Yeah you do, Greg Brown.

I made a turkey burger and it's good.

I want to paint with oils. I have never done so.

Congrats to Noah! You had your first gallery exhibit in a town I forgot the name of! (I think it's Rockport but I'm not sure because that doesn't sound like it even exists!)

uhm.

Did not go to mass. Was late. Yeah. Saw Steph instead. Bella would not eat those peas, no. . .

I need to work out. Why does the best gym have to be 25 minutes away?

Last therapy appointment tomorrow! My therapist needs closure, I guess, because I don't need it. Oh, I'm not excited for the goodbye, as I'm terrible at 'em, but I'll just be happy when it's over. And it will be.

let it all drop.

Watched The Wall. Was gonna do an essay about it, but then I decided it was magnificent enough to speak for itself.
I have to write another what. Twelve entries until this journal is completed? By Tuesday? Something like that. Well. If that isn't excitement. . .
I think I might be going to mass in the Basilica today at five. A friend may meet me down there. I went in there yesterday and fell in love with it. If you think it looks gorgeous on the outside, the inside is phenomenal. Possibly the most beautiful building I've ever been inside. So huge, so quiet.
That means I should probably get moving. I'm a little nervous, seeing as I haven't gone to a Catholic mass since I was very small. I still remember all the OCD hand crossing shit though. There's that.

redbird, redbird

I should write but I don't know what.
I should travel but I can't.

el fin.

a dream:

house of Emerson,(heard it mentioned) made of massive trees. Shot of walking on one of four stretching out into fog horizontally. Another building(?) made up of wooden steps, huge rooms, filled with children running around. Many floors. Museum came to mind. Man with a machine of some kind, again wooden, arrows indicating answers, calculator came to mind. He was puzzeled. He kept asking me things, but I couldn't talk. Certain animals - can't remember if it was a rabbit or a ferret. Ocean, huge and wide, swimming, went out to far. Train overhead, tracks in the sky. Was pulled up beside the train and suddenly Chris was telling me about a sweater his father had given him for his birthday alongside.

Yeah. Nothing extradorinary, nor the strangest of dreams that usually circulate. It's the only thing I've got to write about, really. That, and the lonliness that came on after I woke up. Immense. I'm so sick of everything right now. I really am.

more quotes:

"Age is no better, hardly so well, qualified for an instructor as youth, for it has not profited so much as it has lost. . .I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors. They have told me nothing, and probably cannot tell m any thing, to the purpose. Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail to me that they have tried it. If I have any experience which I think valuable, I am sure to relfect that this my Mentors said nothing about."

"The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of any thing, it is very likely to be my good behavior."
(This could've been my senior quote.)

-Henry David Thoreau, Walden

music-

is pretty bizarre when you really think about it.

I need to meditate on patience, because March is proving most restless.
What am I going to do with a free weekend? Evidently I was scheduled for too many hours. Mulligan's is getting sick of paying a part-time extra. . .

Patrick Swayzee (sp?) has pancreotic (sp?) cancer! They tribute that to his smoking habit! Gracious!

Ah! Maybe I could actually go to the Basilica this weekend. I've been meaning to since last summer.

why go home?

I am quite literally sick.

Someone something get me out of here.
Someone something get me out of here.
Someone something get me out of here.

best string bands around. . .

Yonder Mountain String Band
A Good Natured Riot
and you already knew about Old Crow Medicine Show. Who some terrible country singer stole a song from. (Thank you, untalented mainstream artist. . .)

I love that people still insist on prodding around in other people's business, specifically mine, and causing more conflict ala binge of self righteousness. Oh, you bet I love even more that I can only guess who this is, because most adults in that school system insist on lying to me so I'm not tempted to open my mouth, and so I won't want to cut off communicato.

I'm so utterly sick of that building. So sick of sitting still, keeping my mouth shut, and having to smile at someone who is probably the reason I feel the need to throw up all over the place.

up on the hill where they do boogie.

All of the bands I want to see are all out west.

I could've made that sentence rythme if I had stuck 'without me' on the end of it. But I didn't. Yeah.

March doesn't really provide any short term goals. Besides gaining the weight I lost, I'm left with May, the magic six month marker, the graduating from school scenario.

I looked up 'Pistoria' which is actually changed to 'Pistoia' in Italy, where half of my family is from and half of them are still there. 20 miles from Tuscany. A quick little factoid to the devoted of random. I guess the pistol was invented there? I'm thinking of more tattoos, perhaps two pistols, one on each hip, dedicated to my mother's blood(what a bad pun!)/heritage and memory. The other for my dead sister.

Oh, let's review all the tatoos I want! Okay. Grateful Dead lightning bolt in Magritte sky style, don't know where. Something if I ever get married. A fish, one color, 2-d print-esque, probably brown or white. Either catfish (oh, inside symbolcies...)or coy. That'd be on my neck in front/to the side. I was thinking of "we are all frail" after a favorite of Shakespeare's plays (line from) but I don't know how much I like the idea of words. . .

Holy shit, nine year olds are doing flips into the air off platforms on NBC. Olympics or something? I don't know. Insane man. They've got thicker legs than I do.

you know.

People get old.

uh.

Have no idea what to write. Took a nap today. Tomorrow will probably be a snowday. If not, I'll eat a kitten.

Yeah, so. . .oh. I find Buddhism incredibly depressing. I'm very much not Buddhist. Have too much Ayn Rand in me or something. I want a book on Islam. And I want to finish the Bible.

Well. Nightmares are no fun.

This is has been The Most Interesting and Intellicually Demanding Blog You Will Ever Read and I wish you a goodnight.

young and bored 2

I'm young and bored, bored, young, cannot sleep, will not settle down, I am young and I am working in hours and I will not sleep, cannot settle down, I'm bored young and will not come down -

My feet only hurt as much as my head as much as my wrist as much as the burn as much as the absence as much as the fear as much as I am bored.

My car snowbanked itself and it doesn't bother me that's not a word not as much as the cold as the spying as the articles as the food as the weight loss as the young as the cat hair all over the carpet.

What are you looking at?
What do you want?

more garcia greatness.

Listening to a Grateful Dead radio really hits the spot. "Leave That Little Girl Alone" <- my theme song, I'll tell you what.

Working like a mo'. Eleven hours yesterday. Oh yes, oh yes.
I have nothing personal to reveal, nor do I want to. Times get hard and then they get mild, and it cycles. The pressure never changes, just the sensitivity.

A great friend of mine I love unconditionally like family is going through absolute hell right now and within a matter of weeks there's a great chance I may never see her or her daughter again.

My lover will be getting out in a little over a month and I better not see him again until November.
"The girl I love, she's sweet and true,
You the dress she wears, sweet mama, it's pink and blue,
She brings me coffee, she brings me tea,
She brings me 'bout every damn thing but the jailhouse keys."

All of this weighs on me, and the relief comes with exhausting myself on what is supposed to be my vacation. I am trying to be strong for both, one I can do nothing for but listen, the other the most I can do is not doing anything at all.

I have to be careful with voicing my concerns, as always, because I'm always watched. So. I'm finished. This is the closest you'll get. These next entries-I don't know how many I have to go-will probably dissapoint the pryful.

althea

I told Althea I was feeling lost, lacking in some direction.
Althea told me upon scrutiny that my back might need protection.
I told Althea that treachery was tearing me limb from limb.
Althea told me better cool down boy, settle back, easy Jim.
You may be Saturday's child, all alone, moving with a tinge of grace.
You may be a clown in the burying ground, or just another pretty face.
You may meet the fate on Ophelia, sleeping and penchence to dream.
Honest to the point of recklessness, self-centered in the extreme.Ain't nobody messing with you, but you, your friends are getting most concerned.
Loose with the truth, baby, it's your fire, but baby don't get burned.
When the smoke has cleared, she said, that's what she said to me.
Gonna want a bed to lay your head and a little sympathy.
There are things you can replace, and others you cannot.
The time has come to weigh those things.
This space is getting hot, you know this space is getting hot.
I told Althea I'm a roving son, and I was born to be a bachelor.
Althea told me, okay, that's fine, so now I'm trying to catch her.
Can't talk to you without talking to me, we're guilty of the same old thing.
Been talking alot about less and less and forgetting the love we bring.
Jerry, you speak for and through me. Your music is IV for a most captive soul.

oh. . .

Browsing through podcasts (because I am now just learning what such a thing is) under 'Literature' was something involving Harry Potter.

Just, no. Harry Potter is not literature. I do not even care if it fits the dictionary defination. That Potter kid can suck it through a straw, and all his middle-aged mom-fanatics can write fanfictions involving him, homosexuality, and various talking animals.

I'm working nearly forty hours this week! All with the feared manager! Hi-oh!

florida, florida, wasn't far enough. . .

Dear Various Cheerleaders of Maine:

I do not care how many stunts you nailed, or how many flips you didn't flop. There was one team who sported glittering, silver underpants and they automatically owned that competition.

Seriously.

I'm still trying to figure out how I even went. How I spent an actual Saturday at the civic center, listening to snippets of Grease and 'this is why I'm hot' in every single routine.

I suppose I can attritube it to Casey, and my lack of a life. Although, I could call up that a (luckily) former twenty-five year old co-worker who gave me his number before leaving, informing me I had one week until he hauled his flabby ass to Texas. And then I'd suck on some lead, perhaps puncture my skin in various ways, because I'd rather throw myself out of the highest window onto thousands of sharpened nails than be a red neck's booty call.

Maybe I should start wearing a ring, just so these people can just leave me the fuck alone. . .

peace?

In making mac 'n cheese? Who knew.

It tasted pretty bad though. I settled with an apple and now I'm here. Later, I'll be elsewhere.

So it goes.

documentary greatness!

Watch that. Red light district Indian kids get cameras and photography lessons, and struggle for an education to avoid the fate of prostitution and the like. At nine, ten, eleven years old. Remarkable and sad.

you can find it at alluc.org.

Of course, you have to love this that Casey sent me:

an angry tribute to my mother:

I have little idea what to write here, as I always have to watch what I write on this computer. Kind of kills anything personal I want to record.

Like my mother's outstanding helplessness and hypocracy. Why would I destroy someone else's family? Why would I want a relationship with someone that much older than myself? What caused all of this? Why don't I feel guilty?

It's funny, Mother Dearest, because I could've sworn in court you claimed I was a victim, that I did nothing wrong, that I was manipulated by a predator. And since when have I become a sociopath? Since when does this guilt not plague my concious? Since when would a simple mental disorder, or schism in childhood, constitute the reason I sob at night, the reason I still think of him everyday, the reason I write, the reason I put up with the label of the town's whore because of my honesty, the reason I still face these people everyday. It couldn't be genuwine feelings for the man whose habits mimic mine in relation to myself. Or the sense of responsibiliy I have for my actions. No. Something is indeed wrong with me.

Amazing how, if you're not understood, you're automatically crazy. Because every person is exactly the same, and everyone can understand eachother. People all have the same exact values, the same exact beliefs. It's why our whole wide world lives in peace and why all of our different cultures have the same exact laws and punishments.

Fuck you, you who thinks you know me. My mother thinks I think I know everything. Why? Because I know myself? Did I ever say what was right, what is wrong? The only thing I claim to be 'is', is myself. How would she know me? She who scolds and rejects any sort of human emotion, supresses human behavior and encourages facades and lies. I've never said I know something concretely, and I don't act it, either. It's just her interpretation of my defenses.

In which, I find her idea of happiness hilarious. She's a workaholic with a husband who bullies and belittles her. He's one of the most ugly people I've ever met. This is her idea of the life for me? A slave to economy and a man? Right. . .

I don't know why I was so surprised. I should be used to this form of abandonment. This habit of as soon as she doesn't know what to do, how to be, she throws me to someone else to raise. To devour. To digest. My resilence to the process is remarkable, and painful, and I cannot wait to rid myself of someone so present in my life and yet so unavailable.

freetetris.org

Rough day yesterday. I was overwhelmed and complex, and I was miserable.

Luckily, I went to Stephanie's and remembered civilized life, as she made a delicious meal she, I, and her fiance sat down and ate at the table. We talked and lounged and I felt like this was a space life liked me in.

Slept in, went to school late. I went to a job interview and denied it. I have the luxury as I already have one. The power. The glory. . .One ring. . .(No, no, nevermind)

Thanks, but no thanks, you twelve dollar car washes. Rain cleansed my tank's soul. I can actually see out the back window. Makes reversing an absolute dream.

"i got it like that!"

http://

Possibly the best Maury clip of an episode in existence. This girl's voice is just too much. Christ. So funny.

I particularly treasured my therapist's comment on my parent's enforcement of therapy, after speaking about how solid my beliefs and living habits were:
"What do they expect to change?"

Good question!
Went out tonight, and it was nice. Picked up a Buddhism book today (sp?) that I'm eager to read. I've been looking for some Eastern literature regarding philosophy and religion. . .

you should watch this:

(Love's a Bitch)

Very brutal, very good, very smart. The best movie I've seen in awhile. Be warned, however. I'm not kidding when I use the term 'brutal'. I'm not even sure the word is enough to describe the ruthlessness of this film. . .

you should be listening to:

(Connectivity!)

Walt Whitman -

Marry me?

accepted!

USM likes me, evidently.

So does T.J Maxx! Oh, you charming clothing outlet, you. Your jeans were $15, your shirts were ten! I just about had an epileptic fit. It was huge. I haven't bought any new clothes since maybe August? And even then, very few. Also, I saw in my dad in what had been almost a month. He lent me some cash I plan on paying back, congradulated me on the job and the college acceptance, told me he loved me, missed me, and hugged me in the cold parking lot. I didn't really know what to say. This is the side of him I'd battle the ocean for. As the cliche fest goes. . .

Last night I went to bed at six. PM. Yes, that's right. I collapsed. Your bod can only take so much, kids. True story.

This week has been long, but good all the same. Tonight I recover from the gym visit, read much, drink plenty of tea. I start working Thursday, so this will probably be the last weekend I have free for awhile.

Spillman expressed concern over my lack of Sonnet. It was sweet. I'm wondering if I should actually get over the effort barrier and spit something out to get a better grade. The fact that I'm even debating it surprises me, as I was sure Sonnet and I were through. If we went on a date, I'd stand Sonnet up. It's just that repulsive. Sorry, I mean, it's just the way it is.

I do like one sonnet in particular though. . .a certain numero 29-oh. . .

hired!

YES.

Oh, you bet I was singing on the way back to school. I just finished night school, as in, completely done. Now, I have to do the paperwork, as soon as I can find my damn social security card, take care of last minute school business, call USM, handle a ton of stress mixed in. . .figure some things out.

I'm going to be pretty busy. Well, good. It's about time I started going somewhere.

hire me!

Mulligan's, I know your two clerks gave me two applications, due to my soft voice and small stature, but I'm also aware I wasn't completely humilated, as one told me the manager's schedule to a tee and how those hours would be the very best time to apply.

Oh, paycheck job, if only I could belong to you as we are meant to be. I wish I were better at applying for these sorts of things, as now I'm left to return one of the two at either five in the morning or during school hours. Atleast they weren't girls. Women hate when I apply for jobs-not surprisingly, these women are usually fat. Obtuse. Planets, if you will. I get the bad look, the up and down look, the I'm-going-to-throw-your-application-in-the-trash-IN-FRONT-OF-YOUR-FACE-look.

Yes, yes, these are the joys of growing up.

happy birthday Chris,

and Cassandra Kaye. . .both of whom I love dearly.

I do wish there were a better picture of you than this mugshot circulating all over the internet. Although I do find it rather pretty. That angle. That hair flippage going on, yeah, most sexy, loverman.

In all seriousness, the only other picture I have is someone else's from last year's graduation. That's right all you memory-savvy individuals, the short hair, the sweaty face, that completely unecessary woolen vest, infectious grin. . .a lot of memories, that day, and I'm thinking of one in particular that I dare not share. . .

I spent the night and day with Casey and Kevin Smith films, (must get her something) and Stephanie. Shocker, yes, mother turned me loose in the ghetto's of Lewiston. (thank you. . .) I was out of the house for two days and it was wonderful.

All this goodness has to be halted with school tomorrow. . .

p.s. I love Woodstock footage. Three naked girls turn around and yeah!, they're men. The magic. The skinny-dipping. Oh, oh, oh.

if i were a flower growin' wild and free. . .

You love this painting as much as I do.

Very sick today. Yuh. . .Snot is all over the bedroom floor. It's a classy situation.

I've nothing to say that'll move humanity with right now, but I do have plans. Always, with The Plans. They wear big red capes, by the way. I know you were wondering.

I am home-less, this college season. We'll see how that turns out. My mother is completely adament I live on an impossible campus, and just about anywhere else but the dreaded Lewiston area. I don't think she's being very practical. I have the chance to live with a longtime friend with a steady income, and no percent of the rent needing to be paid.

"I want you to get along with kids your own age." (special note of sub-conscious: HA-hah-HA-hah-HAAAah) Uh, where were you, five years ago? I understand her, but she's a bit far away from the ground. . .

Future babies! please note: a parent's time line of your age is delayed, depending on their level of denial or control issues. Greg Brown, sing me to sleep.

"whao, dream big!"

Also picked up some Thoreau and Forster goodness.
All of my posts have the same date. Sweet. Oh wait, it's manual. Like a standard. Car, that is.

Now, can I edit. . .?

a quote:

"Perhaps he is right, and always will be right. Perhaps each of us would go to ruin if for one short hour we acted as we saw fit, and attempted the service of perfect freedom.”

good morning little school girl-

can i come home with you?

Please, Jerry Garcia. Listen to this:
Grades are catching up with me, and so forth. Most tired. Getting sick. Must write an essay about Forster's 'The Longest Journey' by tonight.

Kids in my English class are very irritating. Implying religion isn't intellectual, etc. It's not that I'm offended; I just can't tolerate people who don't know what they're talking about. This could range from religious worship to turtle mating, whatever. I have few peeves, but this is definitely one of them. In short, stupid people.

Maybe I just love Emerson too much. He completes my sense of self. It's true. I should be reading him, on days like these.

All I'm doing is bitching, today. That, and pounding the caffine.

is

I suppose I've graduated from livejournal. It was horrifically vague, very self obsessed.
I can't imagine much will change here.

My computer is tapped though, I'm rather sure, and no, this is not my famous paranoia. My privacy devouring step-father will be on here anyday now, driven, I'm sure, by the perverted sociopathic tedium he refuses to dignify himself from. I think I will venture to say he walks around like that which he lacks. . . Not clever, no, and it's okay. . .

Clever does not come while he lies with the grace associated with elder roadkill on the living room carpet, enjoying American Idol.

Can someone please sit nature in a corner that doesn't involve New England?

Question: If people are arrested for doing drugs, why aren't they arrested for making themselves throw up? Is it not a self indulgent, addictive habit, damaging to the body, and a complete choice?