11-11-2008

So many sounds under the electric lamps here at eleven thirty
Doors opening and closing
Guitars shouting out
Mechanical humming of the heating system
Cars ripping by
& disjointed sounds of speech and laughter, too far off to define

I don’t fabricate I describe
I would like to learn how to do both simultaneously
Write meaningful lies & truth

I wish the sky was not so dull
Gray-pink-brown and starless
Light pollution is a bitch(!)

11-10-2008

Well it is nice to have some alone time finally
I was getting a bit overwhelmed though I didn’t realize it
At least I had the sense to come outdoors
Though it’s cold
The air is clear and still and I can think

If I live too long, I'm afraid I'll die.

Have you ever noticed that the majority of songs either have gorgeous musical qualities and shit for lyrics, or beautiful, insightful lyrics, paired with substandard music?

Tonight was a strange one, indeed.
The snow defined my mood. It created a overwhelming sense of euphoria in me which still has not dissolved.
My faith in my friendships is stronger than ever.
I planned to sleep, but then, when I got to my room at 4:30 a.m., time passed more quickly than I thought it would. By the time I had time to go to bed, the time was almost 6:00 a.m., and time had run out for me to sleep.
Instead, I hung more pieces of magazines around my room.
Now, in addition to,
-Marc Jacobs boys in trendy dresses,
-Woody Allen looking pensive,
-an Andy Warhol exhibit advertisement,
-Hlep Kdis Raed,
-a man on an old bicycle, the kind with the huge wheel and the tiny wheel,
-a rainbow girl,
-Cig Smoke For OBAMA,
-and a U DECIDE poster,
my walls are hung with,
-a Hunter S. Thompson biography advertisement,
-a Ralph Lauren suit model,
-a man seated outside a blue hair salon,
-a Swedish Fish advertisement I found particularly clever,
-The Clash,
-a girl and a boy in a van,
-Indian artwork,
-and a hand-drawn picture of a man with two bloody knives, surrounded by his victims.
Immediately following the decoration festival, I walked to Family Fare to purchase some groceries.
A man stopped his car as I walked and offered me a ride. I politely declined. He offered again. I declined again. A third time, he offered; a third time, I declined, maintaining a relaxed and polite tone. Finally, I convinced him. I wonder at his intentions. His very young son was in the car, and he seemed to be an honest man, but you never know. Was he a good person? I have never developed any skill that allows me to perceive people for who they are based on first impressions. Our society is so largely based on self-sufficiency and mistrust of strangers, that we have no reason to develop such skills. We simply stay safe, and alone.

A horrible legal drug experience: SALVIA DIVINORUM.

The drug came on with a hellish intensity like a serial killer moving on to his next victim. Most drugs take over the brain gradually, and assimilate each cell and nerve to the new state with care and compassion. This one rushed in, and sadistically twisted every cell and nerve simultaneously, bent them all to its will, with gusto. The first two minutes of the experience were laced with pure terror, and exhilaration, which led to a complete lack of mental control, and psychologically induced paralysis. Following that, a light body buzz and slight intellectual incapacitation, as well as a lack of self awareness. Curiosity led me to try it, but it left me humbled and nervous. I doubt I'll ever sample it again.

I miss last fall and winter.

The time here passes too quickly.
I have been enjoying it, but the thing is, I really don't have anyone exactly like my friends at home.
I have close friends here. People I can talk to. People I can be with.
However, they are nothing like my really close friends at home.
I don't get individual time with anyone here. And I really miss that aspect of my life in LO. That kind of relationship is so valuable to me, I wish I had it here.
I miss being serious.
Goal: start getting really close with people. Relating and discussing more, not just goofing around.

Mother

My mother was so happy last week to hear Cynthia, Linz and I mocking each other's choice of reading material. Cynthia loves Bukowski, Linz loves Harry Potter, and I have a healthy appreciation for both. Linz began the argument by rawly imitating Bukowski's style. Cynthia retaliated by picking out JK Rowling's writing flaws. I contributed my minimally clever comments to whichever side I saw an opportunity within. My mother was shocked at first at our brutality, but soon that impression dissolved into hesitant delight.

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