A night in

" there is something deep inside of me. "

Something I haven't felt before. Today my professor explained something as "new" anger. The anger that re-pumps you up when you reflect on something that made you mad. I let myself get re-angry all the time. It helps pass the time, though. And one day I won't regret where it gets me. With how things have gone in my life thus far, it'll take me where ever I want to go. "Not with that attitude," they'll say. But how can I make up cheap enthusiasm when all we are dealing with is money.
Money
I am reflecting on my parents' life or what their life would have been like. I feel tears drowning the inside of my skull like when you boil water with the lid on. Of course, I am not crying. My eyes are soft and glassy. The wine like a blanket from the dryer, over on the table still warm for maybe another hour. I do not discount my parents life no matter how simple it is. It's so much more complicated now and I refuse to leave them behind. At least they never cock blocked me - literally never. I love them because they remind me of cats. I never would have thought that people younger than me would be that much sassier than me. I miss my loves of summer. My brow furrows and my heart is sensational. This unexpressed joy is deep inside of me, like the brain dead patient that could sprout back to life, theoretically. I have been wanting a night at home like this for a while.
Lonesome
Though. I wish I had a cigarette and my friend just happens to call me as I light it.

Anger

Someone has said to me before that anger is just fear. This person is evil because this person shat on my dream in the most casual of conversations. I was really just trying to say that if I really wanted to be a teacher, graduate school is just the next step. He was talking me out of it until I expressed anger, when he finally said, "Fine. Go to grad school." This was not a high-ass question of, "Do you have to be smart to be an astronaut?" which assumes that my time thus spent was not towards becoming an astronaut, rather understanding that astronauts probably have way different agendas dealing with larger, more demanding questions of the universe and I am just a mere suburbian, now living in the city with slightly wider eyes. Real friends would understand that second question and laugh. Real friends would understand that first question and just nod with encouragement even if they didn't believe in it - real friends are down for surprises.

This fucking guy. If he is who I hope he is, he is reading this right now because he took the time to research my google account - I'm sure you could find people's blogs through that. I could also be grandiose at the moment. Either way, as we split, I stressed that I would be seeing him around town and campus because that is just inevitable. Even if we don't see each other at school, we'll probably see each other at future symposiums that I, at this point, after being shat on, am determined to be a part of, that are held all over the country once a year and I can only expect to see him there. I stressed this because it's not nice to cut someone out of your life completely. I never said, "I never want to see or talk to you again." I stressed, "I don't want you to know where I live and I don't want to talk to you right now." I'm 100% ok with passing eye contact. Passing conversation, hell no.

I guess I'm posting because I forgot about this blog, because I've been made angry because of one of his blog post that reduced our relationship down to stoop smoking. There was nothing else. I must be fair and say that I am in no mood to be talking openly about this yet - that every time I try to I choke up and become increasingly confused and all the more angry.

I know of someone who is dying and said, "I can't live like I'm dying." She has brain tumors and stage whatever-gonna-die cancer. I know of someone living who says, "I live like I'm dying." It keeps me calmer, more centered, modest yet adventurous, open with people I trust, and realistic with the expectations of those friends who I trust. Because trust doesn't mean 100% everything. It just means faith... and I lost faith in this fucking guy... this fucking manipulative fuck. Unmodest, spoiled rotten, and in denial of his identity crisis.


It's so funny all the gay boys in high school wore Hollister and Abercrombie and Fitch sweat pants - even simple t-shirts because they were desperate searching for identity. I was one of those gay boys but luckily my mother was smart enough not to listen to her 16 year old who wanted a stupid specific shirt. Now look at him. Romping around in his "girlfriend's" pajamas and slippers, offering her his old sweats that say in large and purposefully distressed letters a brand name that makes her cringe. If my new life goal is to fuck a gay boy I think I've reached it and now I need to make even more grandiose goals.

Spice it up

I'm not sure

...but the things I know for sure have to do with this state of mind that is real and radical and not trying. How will my parents react when I tell them I'd rather spend the money on a trip to Europe instead of buying a car? A biodiesel converter is about $2000. I don't want to directly contribute to the war at the moment... I have a choice, right?

I could prepare myself for even more ostracism without a normal car or normal friend. But I really do gotta do my research.

Last night I was excited to be alienated from my friends because I lost my phone charger. A night at home and I watched a really cheesy movie - I won't tell you who is in it - and listened to my room mate stomp on the floor and throw shit in her room and yell at her girlfriend. She was drunk and high, it was 12:35am and she had to be to work at 6:30am. I felt really bad for her but I slept like a baby anyway.

Where does the disease begin (addiction) and the person end? Was she having an insane meth craving? I asked her how she was earlier in the day, tears in her eyes, and I asked her, "Are you ok?" and she said, "It depends on how many beers are left, then I'll know if I'm gonna be ok." I feel for her. But I know my plants make everyone in this house feel better. I thought maybe the patriarch would leave today but he left his cigarette box full of $16 of coins and machete here. I'll be seeing him later tonight.

Poor little chick. I never thought I could warm myself by lending my own wing.

She struggles

Holy fuck it sounds like war outside

Here in my new apartment I feel like I live where the war is. The fridge sounds like alien ship defrosting. Faint voices from another backyard sound like cops. Fireworks sound like war, even the ones that scream like some sort of laughing child. I sense an anvil dropping from the heavens when I hear that sound. The patriarch of the evening offered me a hot dog. I said no thank you and took an apple turn-over instead. I already ate my left overs, and my friend hasn't come over to eat with me the fresh. The national anthem plays faintly starting in the middle

"They're $5 a day," he said.
"For sure, thank you." I said. What I really wanted to say was, "How long are you planning on staying here?" I keep hearing, "Oh ok, then I'll go home." And then, "No, you don't have to go home, I'm just saying," something I can't remember now, but it's happened twice now. What do I say when they walk in and ask me what I'm writing about here, in the war zone, when there's hot dogs down stairs.

I think this apple fritter has satisfied my craving for over priced cigarettes found only out in the war zone. Especially if I went to splurge wearing my Obama-as-Mau shirt. The tree is squalking :}

the internet is like a bad dream
where everything is how it seems
people you know aren't anymore
and you question the sounds bouncing off blinds
the images play back in your mind later
images of ideas sprung
last spring and trigger

{omg that was the stupidest thing to fix}

member dis

http://youtu.be/T8UfNlWzmJ0

I really wonder why this blog wont let me make paragraphs.

Hold

Apologies because I don't now how to format this blog.... Oh, well, you got me under your spell, and I don't think I've been kidding around. Don't think I can forget you now. Remember: the only thing we need sometimes is chilly nights and warmer thighs... cause nothing's like being held sometimes. A Powem: little dark girl with kind eyes when it comes time to use the knife I won’t flinch and I won’t blame you, as I drive along the shore alone as the palms wave, the ugly heavy palms, as the living does not arrive as the dead do not leave, i won’t blame you, instead I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again. little dark girl with kind eyes you have no knife. The knife is mine and I won’t use it yet. —"Raw With Love" by Charles Bukowski

"Living Well" excerpts

"Our behaviors and emotions, according to evolutionary psychiatry, are adaptations the mind has made to recurring problems. You want to know why we get depressed? Well, maybe it had something to do with ensuring that the inevitable losers in those prehistory tribal power struggles accepted their lot and didn't do something that would get them expelled from the group or worse. Even the winners probably needed some discouragement against getting too big for their breechcloths. There's even a theory for postpartum depression, if you're prepared to believe that Mother Nature at her most brutal was willing to step in and sacrifice the newest born for the sake of the other members of the family." "...we are the beneficiaries of a group of genes that did not anticipate credit cards, artificial light, processed foods, digital timepieces, rush-hour traffic, and rap music blaring from twelve-inch subwoofers mounted in oversized SUVs. Still, despite a world that seems booby-trapped to make us fail, many of us rise to the occasion to lead full and productive lives. Call it the twenty-first century Darwinian challenge. Our ability to feel on levels deeper and higher than the rest of the population, crippling as it may be, has also given wings to our thoughts, ones that motivated us to climb out of our cozy rock condos in the first place and now seem destined to have us reach for the stars."

Inspirational Conspriacy

Against my years of denial of what must have been the case(s), this year I allowed myself to be diagnosed mentally ill by a credentialed doctor. I have been reading this big book called "Living Well" with a subtitle I am choosing not to disclose... The stigma is alive and well like the tech industry. They must be related. A lot happened this year to me so far. My grandfather died. I crashed my car. My Dad's business partner from a drug overdose. "He left her with all of his shit," they said. I reread my other blogs, as I usually do instead of reading the sustained minds of professions. I deleted my latest blog in this fit of rage. I must not have read far back enough last year. So much has happened that I can't differentiate them mostly because they include the presence of one person. The previous two years I made and lost significant people in my life and they were all female. Their exit introduced a new male in to my life. Of course, we fell in love with each other. We have either passed that or have given up on it and are using each other because we don't want to "be alone." I think it might be impossible to be alone at this day and age in our story book. Where do I even start? I could write about the wedding. I could write about the title. I have one hour and fifteen minutes before people come home and I have to stop being myself I feel infinitely betrayed by my mother. Seeing her this way makes me want to revert to my old, obviously happier ways of dependency. Now that I'm not allowed to be dependent on things I have nothing. I have nothing because I'm not making anything of it. I read my old blogs with constant self-reminders about the road that I was on. Recently my vehicle has broke down on the side of the road and I decided to kick it for a while. My dream had become a reality for a little while there. I was able to partake in an organic little garden of love, companionship, friendship, and sex. In late blogs I was a single fireball till I met another. Now we are too hot to be of any use. We should separate and slingshot each other into dark caverns and sharp crevices like the Spring St. exit off the 101N... if you've never turned off of it, just plan on the fuckass u-turn you're about to make and settle with getting it next time. Tangent. Anyway, I'm trying to say that we are being selfish with each other and it makes neither of us happy. The incredible sex is becoming less and less worth it, or is it because it is becoming less and less incredible, or is it because it never was because we were both celibate prior? Is this what getting hitched must be like? Responsible and stressful? That seems not worth it... He is leaving and I could have gone with him. If I accepted his reach the day of the invite I could be here, now. I didn't accept the help because I didn't really want it. Now look at me, blubbering in solitude as if they last years showed me nothing. Based on my actions, they really didn't. The breeze carries my tears off my face and drops them more visibly on this gray T-shirt. The volume of liquid is not equivalent to the ounces that gush from my cunt. Something we experienced together. Something we'll both forget if we leave each other's lives. At the rate we had been seeing each other, I could not tell you where I'd be without him. I told him once before and he told me to shut up, snap out of it, or get over it. I started it... My feet are dirty and happy. I feel safe at this house, only because I now know that they won't say a thing and I enjoy the silence. I yearn for sprouting tunes of mindful voices and genuine conversation in these walls by no one else but us. I can't say that I'd become an alcoholic too if my entire family died in the span of the last five years. Now we HAVE to be friends in order to not be alone. "…to simply tolerate another out of loneliness and call this one friend - how pathetic!"- Wolfi Landstreicher