Thursday, July 8, 2004

The End of the World

Today my grandparents kindly allowed me to buy The Cure's The Cure and Modest Mouse's Good News for People Who Like Bad News. Also, earlier this week, I bought Wilco's A Ghost Is Born.

I still haven't had too much of a chance to listen to any of these albums, but I've listened to all of them all the way through, except for the Modest Mouse album.

I'm really mixed on the Wilco album--need to listen to it more; I'm also really mixed on the The Cure album--need to listen to that more.

Otherwise, I saw Spider-man 2 today, for the second time. It was okay. I only liked it for that hospital scene, really; and the action parts. I could do without the insipid love story, and the insipid moments in the movie. I mean, I found myself thinking, as Aunt May (Rosemary Harris) gave her little "Hero" speech, that I could care less for a hero. Which is good for me.

The first time this movie was spectacular, and I guess the second time I just knew what to expect, and it wasn't as fun. Which is fine. I still think it's the best superhero movie I've ever seen, and that it blew me away the first time. There's still better movies out there, though.

Right now, to be honest, I feel like crap. I haven't done jack in looking for a job, and I don't plan to anytime this week. My excuse is that my grandparents are here from Colorado.

I'm guessing I'll still procrastinate even after this week. I'll probably be doing the same thing next week as I did this week. Again, to be honest, I could really care less about getting a job. I don't want one. I don't need one at this point. I don't want any money. I don't want to buy things that I don't even need.

I still try to keep positive about things, though. It's the best I can do. But at the core, it doesn't matter. I'd rather not do anything.

But that is not how things work. To get where I want to get, I must work hard.
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Wednesday, July 7, 2004

Last Call for Tylenol put your pain inside your head/ Wash it away with sleep/ Get in your bed/ Because these pills are pillows to rest your head

So, I've snuck in here again. Whoopee.

While there's many things I could say, yet again, there's not time. My parents are out with my grandma and grandpa from Colorado, and they'll be back soon.

I'm feeling pretty damn good right now, because I had some caffeine; it always makes me feel better. But, these last few days, I've been pretty damn out of it, and not feeling well.

Example: I went to Dan's Supermarket to pick up some salad, and I go on in, get what I need, checkout, and I come out, and my car door's open. What the hell? All I said to myself is I was damn out of it. I mean, really, I felt like an idiot going back and shutting my door, as if everyone within the vicinity was staring at me. I think I'm just paranoid, is all; but still, I felt pretty damn stupid.

I was going to post more of my story about that guy that's got that job at the grill place--I wrote another entire chapter of it, and plan to do another tonight--but my mom's computer's really fucked up, and Microsoft Word's not on here, since she had to restore to some point when it wasn't on the computer. So here I was, coming on here earlier, trying to get my story on up, but of course it didn't work; and there was nothing else to read it with. So I was out of luck there. And I was excited to post it, too. I thought it was damn hilarious when I was writing it, I was laughing a bit as I wrote it. Ah well, so much for that; I'll have to get it on here at a different time.

Well, I think that's about all the time there is to say anything. I need to get a goddamned job, so I can talk to some of you people. I think I'm going to go up to McDonald's soon enough, and bitch at them.

Off I go to watch Butterfly Effect, which I've wanted to see for a while. . .
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Tuesday, July 6, 2004

Little Time

There's many things I could say, but there isn't time.

I've been keeping up with my jogging each day, and yesterday, last night, it was amazing. I wasn't just jogging, I was running, and it felt good. But today, it felt perfunctory. But I'm just glad to be changing myself; making myself better. It feels good.

I felt sort of depressed earlier, and now it's receded to the point where I just don't feel anything.

I think the main reason I'm depressed is because I was trying to get myself to write late last night, and nothing would come. You see, I'm trying to get myself into this routine to write something every night between so and so hours. Yesterday had been the beginning of that. And I couldn't write anything. I did write something, but that something was shit.

I'm thinking of starting to write more of my completely dialogue-driven story, "Wilt," because I know what I want to do with it, and I think the idea strikes me as very powerful, once it becomes more of what it wants.

I also want to write more of that story that's the last post before this one.

I also have another story idea, and I've had it for a while: it'll be about an angel, up in heaven, and how he goes down with other angels and these angels get their wings clipped, and become eventually what is man. They would leave heaven because they are sick of it. I think it's genius. It could be the next Bible.

Thing is, I need to read the Bible so I can implement some things from it in there, and better make reference to it throughout the entire story. And that'll take too damn long.

There's other ideas, but they're lesser.

One of the main one is, say we have a Jesus that comes during this age, and say he's put on trial or something. The main image I get is of Jesus, with his thorn crown on, in an electric chair. It's a very striking image to me, and would be an interesting story, quite interesting.

Another: a society where white people are slaves to black people.

Hm. What else, what else. I think that's about all I can think of.

My mind's working too damn fast right now.

Other than that, not much going on. My dad's parents came up here from Colorado, I haven't seen them for two years. They're too orthodox of people for me, but it's nice to see them again, even if it's hard to say much to them.

Well, take care, all. I miss you people.
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Friday, July 2, 2004

Over

I just got back from jogging. I'm all sweaty. But, it was even easier today.

I think I'll go take a shower in a second then.

Here's a little story I started that I might not even continue. I might as well give it, since I won't be on here much until I get a job, and this is the last post I expect you'll all see for a while.

---

one1one
I had just gotten the goddamned job-I was fucked for life; but hell, it’s all right with me, I thought to myself as I was getting ready. It was just the beginning, and beginnings were always interesting times: times when it was all new, not old, and it was just getting born; getting its debutante into the world. So it was all right me, I could live with it. At least that was what I kept telling myself as I looked at my face in the mirror.

That face was kind of strange. It had a look in its eye as if this was the end, maybe; and maybe it damn well was-the end of something and the beginning of something else. I sure hoped so-hoped I could handle it, even if it was damn torture from the deepest bowels of this hell-this world. So what I did was once I was dressed in my red shirt and red work slacks is I went out, and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Aren’t you excited,” she said to me-my mom. I looked up at her, with her hair and that look of questioning and worry. I kind of ran the question through my head, tried to filter it all around and make it come at coherent, clear as it could; and I didn’t think I could.

I let off a fake smile. “Yeah, I guess.” I made it sound as if I was sort of apprehensive-a little worried-but I was damn ready for it. I’m sure it ended up sounding worse, the way I say things; I’m not good at that kind of thing.

“You sure don’t look like it, you look like you’re afraid”; “Are you really sure you’re excited?” She came over to me, set down a steaming pile of eggs, bacon, buttered toast, and hash browns.

“Mom, don’t worry, I’ll do fine,” is all I could say. At that point she was just making it worse, and there wasn’t anything I could do to soothe what she was on to-so I handled it well as I could. I really just wanted to tell her to shut up, but then she’d say that was “sas” and “full of contempt.”

I picked up my fork and started eating; I just piled the stuff in my mouth. I really didn’t care for the taste or anything-I just wanted the damn day to get on its way, and over with, so it was behind me; far behind me.

When I was done, I went to go brush my teeth-it’s what I always do. When I’m nervous; also, my breath smelled from what I’d eaten. I didn’t want my breath to smell-I didn’t want some customer coming up and being repelled because my breath didn’t smell good. I finished it, and came out to the kitchen.

Then it was time to go. I grabbed my keys from the key holder, said “bye” to mom, and went out to my car. It was a piece of junk, but that didn’t bother me-it didn’t matter; as long as the car got me from point A to point B, that was good, good enough for me.

I put the key into the lock, unlocked my car and went in, quickly shutting the door, then putting the key into the ignition. Then I revved her up; she roared to life, after doing it a bit. The sound of it starting was kind of painful, but then again, it always was; the car was old, and an old car always sputters when it first starts, like it’s sick-like it needs help. But it was all right, once it got going-it sounded normal after a few seconds of being revved on.

Sound hit my ears, banging; it was the damn radio, I’d turned the thing up loud as I could, since there had been a good song on last time I was in the car. I turned that down, a dull sound still coming from my ears as it receded. That sudden sound had kind of scared me, but I was over it now; I careened my neck over my shoulder, so I could see in back of me. Looked for some cars, if any were coming.

None were.

I put her in reverse, holding my right foot on the brake. Then releasing, easing down my driveway and switching my right foot slightly on the gas pedal, I accelerated a bit; then I was over-sitting right on the street, ready to go. I drove on, to my first day of work.

It was a damn hot day that day, one of the hottest on record-it was about 100, even more later on in the day. The job I had gotten was at a meat stand-one of those ones where you grill up hamburgers, hot dogs, brats, chicken breasts, and sell them out in front of some grocery store, just as people are walking on in to get their groceries. I guess I was lucky to have gotten the job; but if you asked me, it didn’t matter much-I had a job and that was enough.

How I had gotten the job, since I was lucky (so my mom said), was because my friend had told me they were hiring out there; he worked at the grocery store, so he put in a good word for me out on the stand. I had filled out the application, turned it in, and was interviewed-then hired-right on the spot.

I still remember some of the questions the guy had asked me. He was this obese guy-short, and he had this big beard long enough to nudge against his bulging stomach. What he had asked me was, “Why would you like to work here?”; “How old are you?”; “How many hours are you willing to work?”; “What school do you go to?”; and some others like that, and then there was the last one, “Tell me one word to describe yourself, and explain why that word describes you.”

It was an impossible question when I thought about it, because there were so many words I could’ve chose; and on another hand, I really didn’t care-so I just pulled something out of thin air. “Creative,” is all I decided on; then, “Because there’s something great about making something. Kind of like that thing you create is an offspring of you, y’know. And it’s so much like you, and even if it’s not alive-maybe it’s just some painting, or some story, or something-it’s more alive than anything else you’ve damn well ever seen”; “-so alive that it just grows and grows until you have something when where you got this something, there was nothing-there was just imagination, blackness. I think that describes me, and why I chose it. I like working with nothing, and improvising, and seeing what I can make. It’s a nice feeling-sort of a feeling you’d get if you had a baby and first held it in your arms, and all your life watched it grow.”

The guy just looked at me with this doughnut “O” for a mouth, his beard dangling, his eyes sort of staring at me hard; and that was when I thought I’d just gotten the job right there-and I was right, too; I had the job. “Well,” he said, looking over my application (my writing was terrible on it-damn terrible; and where it’d asked for “past employers” all I’d written in my terrible scrawl was “I don’t have any ‘real’ work experience yet,” and did I mention my writing was terrible?). He acted as if he were concentrating hard on what I’d written there, like it was written in cold blood, or something.

Right then I got this feeling; an interesting feeling. I thought the guy felt pity for me, sort of; as if he’d been here before, and wanted to help a fellow out that was in a hard place (and damn right it was a hard place: my goddamned debutante, no less). “Well,” he said again, looking me right in the face; I gave him a stare right back, even though I hate looking in peoples’ faces. “I think you’ve got yourself a job,” is what he said, and I watched his lips as he said this; recorded in my mind for eternity him moving his lips; and as I think over it now, I see his lips moving, his beard following like a puppet being moved by strings. He mouths, “I” then “think” then “you’ve” then “got” then “yourself” then “a” then “job,” but the words don’t come out as I see it in my head, because at that moment, as I remember it, it was like time had frozen still; and I knew it was fate.
I didn’t brighten up, when he said; I didn’t smile some smile; I wasn’t proud-all I did was say, “OK,” and that was it.
“Be in at 12 tomorrow.” He held out his hand, a hand covered with hair on the top-just like his whole arm, and that damn beard. I shook it.
“I will,” I said to him, and then I got the hell up and left. I remember when I was driving back, I didn’t know what to think. Was I supposed to be happy? Was I supposed to be sad? Or was I supposed to be angry, or resentful, or morose, or what-what the hell was I supposed to feel? When I was driving, I tried to figure out what exactly it was I felt about this, and I came to a conclusion; damn right I did-the conclusion was I was indifferent. I didn’t care, I was apathetical. All I felt was as if a little weight had been lifted from my shoulders for the moment, because now my parents would be glad of their son, and stop pestering him; but that weight that had been lifted-I felt itcould crash down on me and crush my bones and kill me at any time, since I didn’t know what would happen next. They’d always told me to get a job, so it was sure they’d stop pestering me about it. But what was next? I still remember how they’d tell me to get a job, every damn day.
My mom’d say, “Dear, you need a job.” That was all I ever got from her, thank god. But my dad.

My dad’d say, “M’boy, listen-come on over here and talk to your old man.” So I would. He’d say, “Things’re changing for you-aren’t they? Damn straight they are. It’s that time, son; time to get a job,” and then he’d go into this big sermon on a job and what it meant, and why I had to get one, and on and on and on until I wanted to go hang myself by some noose, because of all the things he told me. I asked myself if this was really what I wanted to do with my life-work away for this society, and I decided there wasn’t much I could do. I wanted to tell him how alienated I felt, but I knew he wouldn’t have any of it. It was rubbish to him and always rubbish; it always would be. If I said it, he’d just say it was “hogwash.” I knew he would; he had in the past, when I tried to tell him how I felt. So I was quiet about it, and began doing what they told me to do-I looked for a job. I did it without any desire and without any want, but I did it. Just so they’d quiet down a bit.

But I did have different plans, and hell if those would ever see the light of day-hell if they would. Of course then I told myself I could do those “dreams” on the side, when it was late after working at whatever menial job it was I worked at. At first I felt I could, but I was disillusioned. Even if I did do those dreams, hell if they’d become reality. Because dreams are different than reality; dreams dwell in a land far far away, called imagination-and reality, well, he dwells in what’s real. I needed to wake up, and soon enough I would, and soon enough; well, soon enough other things would get in the way of what I had my heart set on. My heart would change in what it wanted.

That’s the thing, the future. We never see it coming.

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Fight

Well, I'm pretty sure you people are all wondering what the hell's going on with me. Those of you who care, anyway.

Well, not too damn much, but some things, of course.

This thing with my mom continues to go on, and now apparently she's going to leave me dad in the near future; divorce him, as the word goes. It hasn't really hit me yet, but my dad's been acting a little strange, and I sense an inwardness about his feelings.

When he got home today, he was telling me all these things about my mom, negative things, and I agreed with them, but it was unlike him. He seems depressed, but I would too if I was going to get divorced from a marriage I've had for 8 years or so.

The only way I'm on here is that I snuck on. My mom went to Dickinson today, and somehow--who knows how--the key was sitting right on this thing beside the door to the computer room. My mom's been locking the door with a vengence lately, so I haven't been able to get in, but the key was sitting there. She left it there for me, I'm sure. Or maybe it was an accident. Who knows which it is. I don't really care; but all you need to know is that I'm here online for right now.

Yes, I still haven't gotten a damn job; I keep telling myself I need to get serious about it, but here I am again. Hopefully, I'll get one after my dad's parents leave (they're coming up next Tuesday till Saturday). This time I'll try to make myself go in and ask for the manager, and all the good crap that I hate to do but have to do.

Once I get a job, then I'll be on the net again. That's a good thing, as well as a bad thing. I don't know which. Most of the time I think it's time to move on and stay off the net, but I keep coming back anyway.

I've been really pushing myself physically lately. The main reason why is that I want to be attractive to the opposite sex, because at this point I'm really feeling passionate day-by-day; I mean, it's not that I don't already look attractive (each day I look at myself in the mirror and just think "wow"), it's just that I want to get some muscle on this lean form I have.

So I've been eating well lately, and walking like hell, and swimming like hell. And just three days ago, I started jogging.

Now, I hate running, I loathe it, but I'm serious about getting more fit. I'm sick of being physically weak all my life. I'm bound and determined to get what I want, and so I've started jogging.

The first day I did it I felt like I was going to die. When I finally stopped jogging, it felt as if my feet didn't even exist on me anymore--it was all numb and stuff.

And now lately my legs ache--not too bad, but they ache--and so does my neck, and the lower part of my torso a bit. But I can handle it. No pain, no gain.

I'm already starting to look a lot better. I mean, I look amazing, the best I have my entire life. So that's good.

And that is about all there is to say.

Other than I'd like you all to go down below and read the two posts I posted, with writing things in them.
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window

you’re very white, you should sleep, tonight; i think as i look at the curtains blowing from the wind i’d like to keep you with me for a while-just a while, not a long time; it’s kind of cold in here, with that window open, blowing soft; saying things that aren’t spoken; you’re the one who’s open, blowing down on me; you’re the only one i dream, you see; don’t leave me, breathe, and don’t leave me. . .my window, my flesh sea, i’ll take you with me. . .you’re glass, clear; something from within; something i can pass-and i’ve pulled open the window, taken out the screen; you seem cold inside, permafrost, and goosebumps outside, on your thigh. . .you’re beautiful, amazing, but you don’t see why; a window you are, picturesque, full of sky; seeing you just makes me cry; i can’t quite say those tears were sad; my dear, who made you and what made you this way?; i’d like to find out; i’d like to know; but you’re so white, and i think i know why. . .

you’re a ghost; the holy spirit, and here’s the words of a dying atheist; faith has time to grow; but i just don’t know; did your gaze meet mine?; did i really entice?; seeing you as i walked by. . .

my two boring spheres; the eyes, making one eye; my vision came upon your form; my passion, myself torn-beautiful, i adore; i could stare at you for hours; but time is pointless to me, when the time is now; i could only stare; seeing you as you walked by. . .and then so short of notice a goodbye. . .

your lips were torture, your hips vultures to eat me gutting out your side; legs were long curves so curvy they were hard to find; your breasts were a cluster of grapes: round, small, divine; your eyes were sky blue, deep tunnels wide; your hair was wild and all over, a tangle of shine; your cheeks were semi-circles transcribed; your tush was a killer, a murderer tried; your arms were meant to be wrapped around to hide; you were beautiful, and you walked me by; left me with only one goodbye-what i’d seen with my eyes. . .

you’re a ghost to me now, i go over the moment again; the memory i keep of you; i wonder where you are; what you do; i wonder what your name is; i try to think one for you, but none seems right; you’re just an apparition. . .a specter in the back of my memory; a cold window, a white window; you’re deathly pale; you’re frail; a banshee demurring in my head; that beautiful woman; it’s only me here, this maniacal pine; a tree with branches, i sigh. . .your temple could have been mine. . .

the faith, i find; the faith was just lust hanging on a vine; growing up the wall, creeping in my mind; your temple blinded me; i would have entered it inside; i would’ve desecrated it, made it mine; i would have eaten the body; i would have drank the blood as wine; the flesh i would have had; the communion to remember; i would have written and sang songs, written all about you; you would have been my bible-i would make the words for you; i would pen them down; they would be true; but you. . .walked me by. . .

someday you’ll be crucified; the crosses you carry will kill you; it’s the same for me; and your beauty. . .that is one of those crosses; it will one day die; the nails will inch on in; when you give into the desire it will be the cardinal sin; you’ll thin; your beauty will leave you, never to be seen again; and i would have done it; but someone else will. . .someone else will because you walked me by. . .

until then your haunting face cascades across my psyche; it pushes me open and lets me see the window-the memory. . .

rememberancers often are forgotten waste; a bad aftertaste; one day, this memory will be erased. . .that is why the words serve as the variable in the equation that is you-the banshee the specter the ghost, the window that’s right now open and close, one day to be closed. . .
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So Let Her

I
give me strength, give me strength
to endure-endure
i’m quite sure
inside is
a
crawling reaching
meant to tear me down

i can’t change
it-
i try to change myself
try to put on
the shell
wear it,with
the best way i
can-but i
i am not sure
i’m not sure
i think i need
surgery
--to change
the inside

i’ve been walking away
jogging-running every day
to put this feeling
down,but i don’t know
now
if this
is
really me
how i’m supposed
to be

on the
outside
i’m fine,don’t worry
it’s fine
i keep my mind
set on
the
beautiful i
feel alive
for
even though
she may never
come

inside
me
it’s like a
uterus-a womb
i’m giving
birth
to
life,i think
it’s all right
--it’s all right-
i’ve got all them
connected
all of them hooked in
--my will will win-
trial and error, this is
how it’s been,
i want to know
this pain,this strain
called living,giving
having this inside
i want to know
that pain

II
my legs ache
from walking
from running
my mind is
wondering what’s
next
my fingers are
bones with flesh
my neck
holds up this head
i can’t sleep
in
my bed
i’m restless
tomorrow seems
so far away
but i’m
doing okay
sleep will have
me once more
i just
need to
shut my eyes
keep them closed

just need to
shut my eyes-keep
them closed

III (So Let Her)
upstairs
she’s there
she got home
it’s 3:28 AM
i tire of this
i don’t care
i wonder
what’s happened
to my mother?

my brother
is up so late
waiting for
her
i would like to tell him
it is a waste of time
i would like to tell him
to sleep instead of
worry
like he does

he’s just too
young to understand
what she’s doing
and i guess she’s
just too impervious
to know how foolish
what she’s doing
is

earlier
he was on the phone
with her
he said
“you told woody not to
do what?”

even earlier
than that
he was outside
in the room
right by my
room
crying
i wondered why

there was nothing
to cry for
why should i cry
for what she’s doing?
why should i
care?
she’d rather be
out there
with her friends
than here

so let
her
let her
let her let her let
her she can do
what she wants
so let her
let her she can
do what she wants
no one can tell her
what to do
when you tell
her what she’s
doing is wrong
it’s just “fuck you”
it’s “don’t tell me
what to do”
it’s
“you don’t even
know my
perspective”
she acts like
a little girl, she does
she acts like a little
girl, she does
so let her let her let her
let her let her let her
she’ll learn , it’ll come
sometime
she’ll know what
she’s done
she’ll learn what
she thought was fun
wasn’t fun for us at all

because in this world
out here
i think there’s a thing
called justice
i think there’s a thing
called redemption
i think people get what
they deserve
i think you make your own bed
and you lie in it
until what you’re lying on
is actually coming
from your lips
i think, and i think
she’s been a good mom to me
but she’s just got to see
this isn’t how it’s got to be, it just isn’t
how it’s got to be,
this has got to end, it has to
it has to end

i should do something, i think i should
but she won’t listen to me, will she
she won’t listen to anyone
she’ll just drown herself
to get attention, to get reaction
to get a little thing
called tension
rising in all of us

every night
night after night
after night after night
she’s gone she’s off
my brother’s up
waiting for her
my dad stays awake
sometimes, but
he’s getting used to
it he sleeps, just like me
every night every night
it’s not right
this is not a mom
not how they’re supposed
to be

we don’t even know
who the people
she goes out with
are
she just goes off
to that bar
and drinks and drinks
and does whatever she does

so let her, let her let her
is all i can say
so let her, let her do it
let her waste her time
let her do what she wants
because what she wants
is what she’ll get
she won’t listen
until it’s too damn late
until her lungs get cancer
until she gets in a wreck
until one thing leads to another

but then again
i suppose there is some hope
maybe she’ll start thinking
rationally
maybe she’ll start seeing
things the way they are
but then again
there is no hope
for something like that

all i do is
push it aside
i let it go inside
i don’t bother to
brood over what
i cannot change
what i’ve tried to change

i remember when
i told her bluntly
what i think
all she did
was get angry
jealous-my dad told me
to apologize
i was wondering why
when it was the truth
i told her

so i think again
i’ll just push aside
whatever the hell
this is

i don’t quite see
how she expects me to love
her for all the things she does
i don’t quite see
how my dad’s still with her
because i thought
she was going to leave
but then again
that’s been reoccurring off and on
i don’t even believe my dad
when he says it
it’s happened so many times
i don’t believe it anymore

it’s not that big
of a deal
really
it’s not a big
deal at all
when i think about it
why should i feel pain
when it’s someone else’s pain?
why should my hands feel stained
with their problems
when they won’t even help themselves?

this self-pity, this game
it’s really just about her
that’s all it is
it’s all about what
she wants
what she needs to do
as if she cares about what
we all say
it’s been a proven fact
she doesn’t
with the way
she keeps on doing
what she’s doing
despite my brother
calling her each night
despite my dad
telling her it’s not right
despite me telling her
what i felt in the easiest
way i could

she’s looking for fulfillment
in all the wrong places
in empty spaces
and i guess that’s good for her
let her do it to herself
she’ll see what she’s done
one time or another
and know what she’s done
with open eyes

i shall not shed one tear
i shall not stress or brood
over this

it’s just late
and when it’s late
the feelings
are opened wide
to let out
what’s inside

i can tell you
i don’t really love her
i don’t really love her
i don’t really love don’t love her
right now
i sometimes wonder
if i ever do

i can say
i love her
for taking care of me
after she divorced
my real dad
but that’s about all
because i don’t
really know her
we don’t speak
when she’s around here
and the only time she talks to me
is after she’s been out
and is drunk
and that’s when
i’d rather not talk
to her

and when i think about it
i don’t want to get to know
her
from what i’ve seen
i don’t deserve to have
to see this
she needs to grow up
and realize
she needs to
get out of this
she’s goddamned hypnotized
for some reason

but of course
my dad says
i am only seventeen
and should not act
like i know better
than a thirty-something

well you know
it actually does seem
i know a lot better
than some thirty-something
who isn’t my mom
since she’s been stolen
by all the pills she takes
by all the drinks she drinks
by all the time she spends away
by all the cigs she smokes a day

that’s not my mom
that’s not her
she’s buried herself
away in all this
junk
maybe someday
she’ll actually
come out of that
landfill

and you know
i do see glimpses of my real mom
sometimes
but that’s so short
and i’m too tired
of what i see of her most of the time
to care when i see that glimpse
because i know it’s surreal
at this point
it just doesn’t feel authentic
when it happens

well here’s to the plague
of this society
to the drinking
to the cigarettes
to the prescription drugs
we’re all given
we don’t need
well here’s to this
messed up world
that’s ended up
messing up my mom
and did mess me up a bit

but i’d tell you right now
frank as hell
i’m recovering from this shit
i’m going to become something
when i get older
because you know what i’ve found?
i’ve found i can do anything
if i set my heart to it
i’ve found
that with great power
comes great responsibility

i’ve found my power
is words
and i’m damn well
going to use them
for us all
for those who can’t be heard
for entertainment

and most of all
i’m going to use them
to show everyone
my potential, the amazing
person i can be
how despite how
empty i feel
i will fight it away
i’d guess what i’m saying
is i’ve found
what many people so lack

it’s called
discipline, my friends
it’s something my mom
quite lacks
something i’m still
just getting the knack of

but with this thing
called discipline
you can get far

damn far

so let her
let her let her do her worst
let her do her worst
and i’ll do my
fucking best

i’ll counter this hostility
with pure passion
with pure dedication
--i’ll do my fucking best.

and you better do your fucking worst
because i fight like this
and i’m ready.
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Saturday, June 26, 2004

He had a lot to say/ He had a lot of nothing to say/ We'll miss him, we'll miss him.

I feel pretty sexy right now, since I'm wearing tight jeans and a tight t-shirt (it's my Latin club one. Hah). But you don't care about that. So anyway.

I could discuss my personal issues, yet I realize I'd rather not. It's not anything that's too concerning even if it is, I suppose.

I actually did say something to her today, finally though. I told her if she really loves me then she'll figure out which is more important--her family or her friends she goes out with each night and is gone till who the hell knows when o'clock at night. (I mean, yesterday she called and said she was tired so she was lying in her friend's bed and that she wasn't coming home. . .the whole night, maybe. Which of course makes perfect sense considering she has a house and a family right here and a nice bed where she can sleep on). Apparently she was crying about what I told her. Which is fine. My dad told me I should apologize to her--and why? I told her the truth. I suppose the bluntness of what I said wasn't good, but I really didn't feel like going on some endless tangent about it, and getting in some big argument. I just wanted to get it over with. So all I did down there was resay what I said before, and said there was no need to apologize for that.

But it's ridiculous. A mom doesn't go out every single night with some friends my dad doesn't even know and hasn't met (I haven't even met her friends, nor has my brother--nor my entire family). I mean, what the hell. Which is more important. Going out each night and drinking till you're drunk, or your kids and family and marriage? If it so happens that the answer knocks me in the head I'll tell you, but geez, I just can't seem to figure out, it's so damn impossible. . .

Apparently my brother likes it when she's drunk to. He tells me all about it. A few nights ago he was lying in bed with her and he kept trying to leave but she said, "No Kellan, stay here with me," and she kept hugging him again and again. I went to tell him that he should realize it's not good to be around someone when they're drunk. . .but as if he'll listen. He's only 12 years old and still acts as if he's 5 the way he's been brought up.

Well, she's coming up here.
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Friday, June 25, 2004

That was hilarious

Shy as George Washington

That was hilarious.

Hm. It's too bad I missed out on Shin's RPG. I would've tried to get in. It's kind of unfair, too, since just now my mom's started letting me go online more, and if I had been online more prior, I would've seen this RPG probably and joined. Ah well. As Erin would say, "C'est la vie," or whatever it is. . .

Anyway, I'm sure my old friend Shin will be making another RPG, and also, Shy is making an RPG entitled "Hero" which I'd love to join just because Shy is making it, since Shy rocks.

So that's that. Nothing real to update on, other than I thought Shy being George Washington on that RPG, and his subsequent post, were hilarious. I'll definitely be reading this RPG if I've got the time just to see what Shy does, as well as to see all the cool people posting, of course.
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Change one thing, change everything.

i think i’m crazy. i think i lost all my marbles. i think my head’s misporportioned. i think it’s maladjusted. sorta crestfallen & crusted. and what i think’s even more crazy is i’m living here right now. writing these words when i don’t even see them. do you think i should’ve quit long ago? do you really think i’m going to do anything with my words? am i even a good poet? i’m not sure, i’m really not sure. i’m just gonna demure. don’t you come looking for me. i’m lost in my own sea, you see. come, come grieve with me-we’ll talk about how it seems to always end at this time. because our time is now.

now.

---

the world’s a crawling ground of bred war. how in the hell can you live with this anymore? well, once you see, you’ll come to understand what i’m saying. till then i’m just gonna brush aside your hair, see your eyes hidden behind there. what your eyes are reading to me is words too wrecked to salvage. that ship, i’d like to steer its course. don’t worry, i’m here even though i don’t exist. i’m here even though you don’t exist to me. someday i’ll find you again.

---

the ship wreck in your eyes-the seas have swallowed you whole, the waters are sullen over your figure-the seagulls like silence grace your pupil. this ship’s set to the heart; it stops and it starts. where did it begin? in your eyes i do not know. the beginning is too long ago-so long ago you left. . .so long ago you left. your ship’s gonna drown i know now. don’t frown, just go on down. someday i’ll dive in and find you deep in the past. dwell with it and live with the fishes. your deepest wishes. the feeling’s hushed and the water’s making it hard for you to breathe. and from your eyes-from your eyes tears fall as if it’s too much. the ship’s going down, ship’s going down. it’ll be a dead hull. the water will wet free. the touch of tear to my face is comforting. it is not from me. you’re the one who’s crying. sunk down to the sea. up above those gulls still peer. up above there’s still so much to fear, where there’s air. where it’s dry. where you’d hang your wishes like clothes to dry in the wind. if i could, i’d hug you again. but this is a dream.

i’m waking up. that’s when you’re gone. if sleep would only last longer. if only it’d last forever.

---

yesterday i held a gun to the world’s head. i asked it, “why the hell’d you ever come to be?” the bastard didn’t answer me. he just kept spinning his head around and around. he seems to think he can keep going on, as if he’s got the right to. well, i told him, “this gun’s loaded, you know,” and that got a little reaction from him. just a little, though-not enough. it wasn’t enough at all. so i said to him, “didn’t you hear me, world?-did you hear me?” but he didn’t seem to hear me.

that’s when i put my hand gently on the pacific ocean and dug my hand in the seas. i felt around until i’d unearthed this big ship from some time way too long ago. i said to the world, “you see this ship? see it?” but again, it just kept spinning, always goddamned spinning. well, i went on, even if it couldn’t hear me-which i doubted, since i guessed it did, in fact, hear me-“see it? see how it’s all rusted-all full of welts and holes and it’s empty and it’s cold and it’s creaking and it’s broken and it’s old and it’s lost and it’s dead and it’s obsolete and it’s pointless and it’s just a small-useless-hull?” then i waited for a response. when i didn’t get one, i said, “well, this is sort of what you are, world. a sunken ship that just keeps on going on-forever. that just holds everything inside itself-inside a sunken ship like this one-and lets it grow and eventually decay inside. sometimes i wonder how you even came to be.”

then i looked down on everything in the world. i saw man. and saw he was much like me. but not like me. down there, i saw buildings which ascended the highest heights i’d ever seen-i saw highways and byways and little mechanized beasts trodding on them-i saw ships traversing in the open sea, in lakes and rivers-down there i saw everything i’d lived with. i said to the world, “this gun has a certain feel in my hands. it sort of feels like retribution, kind of as if i’m getting my revenge. because you know, once i stop you, it all stops, just for me.”

because you know, the world i was talking to, it was really my world. i had seen it through my eyes. i’d met the people in it through my eyes. i’d gotten my understanding of everything from my own senses. it was really my own world. i was the individual that governed it, because once my eyes never saw anymore, my nose never smelled anymore, my hands never felt anymore, my feet never walked anymore, my brain never functioned anymore, my heart never pumped anymore, my hands never wrote words anymore-once all that stopped, the world stopped with it. it stopped with it because the world would stop existing once i stopped existing.

sure, it might still be there. but not me. not to me. to me, the world would really have ended. it would just be blackness. nothing. i would no longer think a single thought, nor would i ever be. i would no longer exist.

so there i was. my gun to the world-my gun to the world when i was really pointing at myself. i realized the thing was just goddamned plastic-a toy. but my toy.

because really, my only gun is words. i really think in my hands these bullets misfire. someday i think they’ll shoot from that misfure and make bleed, inward bleeding that will stop my heart.

until then, it spins. my world spins. and the people in it. and the beauty in it. you know, this is so contrived. i need to escape for a while. i want to disorder these laws and make it stop spinning and make the world hit against something hard. make it go far. go way in the distance. leave me with the stars.

i’d fire my gun but there’s some stitches on my letters. my letters were cut deep on the coarse ground. i’ve been picking them up one at a time, but some are gone. some seem to be lost never to be found.

give me the strength to scavenge up the right words and make a large woods in my world where i can build us a hut and hide away. because i don’t know how long i can stand out here in the open and see this world unfold beneath my eyes.

---

i have ill-intent. once i have you in my arms, you will be spent in the end. in the bitter end. until then i think i’ll just lay my eyes upon your form-imagine you if i can as i’d like to see you. don’t let my eyes decieve you. i have cruel intentions in my eyes. if you look close enough my eyes make a wicked reflection of you. a reflection of your beauty desecrated, destroyed by my overwhelming desire. you see, inside me there’s this fire, an endless pyre which i must aspire to build to. this is starting to get dire; every moment i feel expire is another moment i’ve wasted. it’s you i’ve always wished i tasted. and isn’t this the reason i’m alive?. . .this prime directive i despise. wicked, wretched design.

---

digging in myself i clutch a gem. it’s coated finely in dust and grime. i wishywashy it and make it shine. it makes a reflection of my face now when i look at it. it’s as if it was never dirty, never sordid. now it looks just fine. i think i’ll keep it and call it mine, never give it to anyone else. it’s rare i’d fine this here. usually when i dig all i find is rocks scathing around. but this i’ve found, it’s different. something i should never let go. but you know. . .you know-you know i’ve got to throw it back inside. i’ve got to let it be buried in its grave. in the deepest darkest dirt. maybe it’ll be washed up in the rain, someday.

gems like that just aren’t meant to last. it’s best to give up on them before they get weathered. out in the open it would just be shaped by the world, jaded by the world, until it was ugly. let it be beautiful. let it be out of human hands. let it sift away in my deepest sand.

---

goes into the brain leaves a stain racks the skull concussions the pain. head dead going ringing insane. poison for the masses drug for the impassioned she drinks it too this dame. is out late-gone out long-never comes back till it’s late at night. will it ever change?-will it ever change-i think it’ll just stay the same. never heard of the catalyst never understood change. always the same. voices talking to me in my head-bang bang-shooting out answers, forgetting the questions, leaving the game. the only answer is indifferent, leave your claims, i’m in these rusting chains. a beast needs a beauty so he can be tamed. she is touched by the finger that hushes her voice her choice, nails it into my head in smoke & slur & sensations she words-addiction quite plain. what is there to gain?

---

i’m on the plane to die. all the people in here are as morbid as me. we’re in this metal hull looking out our windows wondering when it’s going to bring us to the end. we try to imagine what’s on the other side. i’ve heard many people guess what there is. one guy told me “this’s the plane to heaven we’re on,” but i don’t believe in that.

i tried to get into the pilot’s room, but it’s locked tight. i banged and banged on the door to no avail. i even tried jumping out of the plane. but i was grabbed by some passengers and told to stay. what i really want is to be at the end already. i don’t care what it is, as long as it’s the end. i think it’s making me crazy. this frustration the wonder the endless feelings-it’s mundane. this’s getting old and i’m one of the youngest on the plane.

sometimes the pilots come on the intercom and shout, “blessed are you who follow in his name,” and i just look all around me and see some people pray; others open the bible and read, their lips moving but nothing coming out-not a single sound, a single name.

just yesterday someone was saying there’s a train that takes you to die too. i don’t know if it’s true. i told the guy a train’s slower, though-not as fast as a plane. he gave me this weird look. a look as if he was airsick and wanted land. also yesterday i went to go into the bathroom, but there was a couple in there. they were kissing. i had to catch myself. force myself to let them be. i wanted to tear them out of the bathroom and let me go, but something made me tell myself “no”-not to do it.

here on the plane, we’ve formed a social hierarchy. we’re supposed to be thralls to what this governing mass tells us to do. it’s made me wonder what else man can accomplish. and it gives me more things to blame.

i really hope this plane is going to hell. because right about now hell doesn’t seem as bad as here. what’d be even better is if the plane got in a wreck and crashed on the ground. too bad i can’t get in the pilot room and take this bird down. it’s funny that i don’t even control this.
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