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Saturday, December 6, 2003
Tony and I finally get to talk for real probably the second time.
Dilapoid: OB won't let me go on to it at all.
Semjaza Azazel: OB is lame.
Dilapoid: It keeps saying my IP is banned, my IP is banned.
Semjaza Azazel: You
Semjaza Azazel: re missing nothing.
Semjaza Azazel: WiP is where the action is, my friend.
Dilapoid: I'll go there, Tony.
Dilapoid: I'm talking to this person who's journal I found on LJ. They are really, really cool.
Semjaza Azazel: May I see it?
Dilapoid: http://www.livejournal.com/users/shutterwind/325962.html
Dilapoid: We have a lot in common. He likes Radiohead, and he's as weird as me lol.
Semjaza Azazel: Well that's always cool.
Dilapoid: I'll have to give you our conversation sometime, or post it on My O.
Dilapoid: And in my LJ as well.
Dilapoid: I got a flu shot today.
Semjaza Azazel: I never get flu shots.
Dilapoid: "ITS GOING TEH BE TEH WORST IN THIRSTY YEASSRRS!!!!!!!"
Dilapoid: That is what they say.
Semjaza Azazel: lol
Dilapoid: My Dad forced me.
Semjaza Azazel: I heard on the news.
Semjaza Azazel: They're actually out of vaccine.
Semjaza Azazel: It's all been shipped.
Semjaza Azazel: Supply is less than demand.
Dilapoid: Yeah. It wasn't free when we went.
Dilapoid: They were out of the free stuff.
Dilapoid: Needles are one of the things I'm most scared of.
Dilapoid: Heh. I'm also trying to get him into the Pizies.
Dilapoid: *Pixies
Dilapoid: I don't think sleeping in jeans is insanity at all.
Semjaza Azazel: Pixies rock.
Semjaza Azazel: Jeans are wonderful.
Dilapoid: I wear jeans over anything all the time lol.
Semjaza Azazel: lol
Dilapoid: I myself sleep in just boxers when I sleep.
Semjaza Azazel: We're just trend setters.
Dilapoid: But wear jeans all the rest of the time.
Dilapoid: Heck, I've worn the same pair all this week, that's how much I care what I am wearing.
Dilapoid: Did you read my My O post?
Semjaza Azazel: Not yet. Finals are killing me.
Dilapoid: But I want to talk to my Tony. :-(
Dilapoid: Stupid Finals.
Dilapoid: I'll kill them for you before they kill you.
Dilapoid: Or so I wish.
Semjaza Azazel: lol
Dilapoid: The world needs more final destroyers.
Dilapoid: They could be like giant warships, or something.
Semjaza Azazel: Or even just one lol
Dilapoid: Yeah.
Dilapoid: Tony, what makes you weird isn't bad at all. At least you don't chew on anything in your hands like some baby that's going through teething and can't seem to keep anything out of his mouth and feels the urge to just drift off in thought as he's chewing on something.
Dilapoid: :p
Dilapoid: Forevergreen. From "Velouria."
Semjaza Azazel: Yes.
Semjaza Azazel: Actually, that's a cover.
Dilapoid: Velouria is a cover?
Dilapoid: I never knew that.
Semjaza Azazel: No.
Dilapoid: What is a cover?
Semjaza Azazel: They actually did a song called tht.
Semjaza Azazel: Forevergreen.
Semjaza Azazel: I believe.
Dilapoid: Oh.
Dilapoid: You always know more about music than me. *bows*
Semjaza Azazel: No.
Semjaza Azazel: They didn't lol
Semjaza Azazel: I was thinking of Winterlong lol
Dilapoid: lol
Semjaza Azazel: Both remind me of Winter.
Dilapoid: Forevergreen reminds you of winter? Not me.
Semjaza Azazel: Evergreen.
Semjaza Azazel: Christmas tree.
Dilapoid: But it's "Forever"green lol. I see where you're getting it. I guess it makes sense, though.
Dilapoid: It is fun to take words apart, most definitely.
Dilapoid: Man, I have been tired all day it seems.
Dilapoid: I fell asleep in English.
Dilapoid: I love sleeping when it's not required.
Dilapoid: There's something great about doing something so good when you don't have to.
Semjaza Azazel: It's nice.
Dilapoid: We weren't doing anything in English, though, so I was not the "bad" student.
Semjaza Azazel: Yeah, you might as well in that case.
Dilapoid: I'm glad we are done with Huck Finn. It was a pretty average book.
Dilapoid: Although I love Mark Twain, aka Samuel Langhorn Clemens.
Dilapoid: You know what's amazing, though?
Dilapoid: That Huck Finn was released during the time when slavery was abound, and so on...and the book is obviously entirely against it.
Dilapoid: That is amazing.
Dilapoid: And that is the reason why it's seen as an American Classic.
Semjaza Azazel: It's not as if everyone back then agreed with it.
Dilapoid: Yeah, but still.
Dilapoid: It's still amazing on some extent.
Dilapoid: Back then it was seen as entirely wrong to not believe in God, and not believe in slavery from society's eyes.
Dilapoid: It is still labeled as wrong to not believe in God from society's eyes to some extent.
Semjaza Azazel: I suppose.
Dilapoid: Yes.
Dilapoid: My Dad acts like it's the end of the world that I'm actually thinking for myself and not believing in God.
Dilapoid: And he seems to think I don't believe just to piss him off as well.
Semjaza Azazel: Many people do, to be honest.
Dilapoid: Of course.
Semjaza Azazel: Oh well. Not much can be done.
Dilapoid: Not much at all.
Semjaza Azazel: You're not allowed to be your own person if you live in your parents house.
Semjaza Azazel: Very rarely anyway.
Semjaza Azazel: So you just have tod eal.
Dilapoid: I've realized this.
Dilapoid: I almost cried last night at how my Dad just yells and yells at me, and then ALWAYS, and I mean always, he turns around and allows me to do what I want.
Dilapoid: Yesterday it was I wanted to go to my friend's house.
Dilapoid: Then he comes down and bitches at me for 10-some mintues.
Dilapoid: And tells me, mainly, that I need to be "responsible" by cleaning my room and making my bed each day and doing what I am told.
Semjaza Azazel: My dad used to do that a lot too.
Dilapoid: And so I do what I am told.
Dilapoid: I clean my room, make my bed, shovel the walks, take out all the garbage in the house.
Dilapoid: Then I ask if I can go to my friend's house, since he said I could go after I did all of that.
Dilapoid: And of course he says not.
Dilapoid: *no
Dilapoid: And tells me, "The roads are too slippery."
Dilapoid: What a dumb excuse, too.
Semjaza Azazel: lol
Dilapoid: I only drove home to and from school in my car in the slippery mess. I wonder how I did that.
Dilapoid: So then I go downstairs, and go online.
Dilapoid: And I decide I am going to play Starcraft.
Dilapoid: And before I do, he tells me I need to apologize, and I need to think over what he says, and tell him what he's told me.
Dilapoid: Apologize for WHAT?
Dilapoid: I didn't do anything.
Dilapoid: So I said screw that and I went downstairs.
Dilapoid: I started Starcraft, and then as soon as I did that, I was kicked offline.
Dilapoid: Then I try to go back on, and I can't get on because he's dialing on the phone so I can't get on.
Dilapoid: So I sit there for about 30 minutes just listening to music and listening to the dilaing of his phone as I endlessly try to go online.
Dilapoid: And then I decide to go upstairs and try to get him to give me the keys to my car.
Dilapoid: And I of course am not sincere in what I say.
Dilapoid: And then he says I'm not sincere with my apology.
Dilapoid: And yet I'm apologizing about nothing,.
Dilapoid: And it's impossible to apologize and care.
Dilapoid: And then I tell him all that he said in one kick, monotone, sarcastic voice, and tell him I know what he's said, but he's said it a million times.
Dilapoid: He still won't let me go to my friend's house.
Dilapoid: So I just go downstairs and put on my head phones and lie in bed in my boxers trying to sleep.
Dilapoid: And I barracaded my door for some reason, beacaue I didn't want to talk to him.
Dilapoid: It's obvious that when I go in my room and I lock the door that I want to be left alone
Dilapoid: But of course he comes in and knocks down my clothes hanger thing I have and puts that all over the floor, and turns on the light and starts talking all nice to me.
Dilapoid: And then he says me friend has called and that I can go over there now.
Dilapoid: After about an hour and a half of endless struggle over nothing, it always ends up like that.
Semjaza Azazel: Hmm. I find that my parents are 10 times nicer if my friend is somehow around.
Semjaza Azazel: If they call or come over or are there.
Dilapoid: And I didn't want to go at all. And I lay under my sheets almost crying and sick to hell with this.
Dilapoid: He begins saying I can stay at my friend's later.
Dilapoid: First 10:30.
Dilapoid: Then 11:00.
Dilapoid: That is the first time he's EVER let me stay at a friend's that late on a school night.
Dilapoid: It was amazing.
Dilapoid: But I didn't want to go.
Dilapoid: It was just falling into his stupid trap.
Dilapoid: But eventually I decided I would. So I did.
Dilapoid: That was a waste of time.
Semjaza Azazel: Yeah.
Dilapoid: Then my Mom comes home about 12ish, and makes me get offline, which is fine.
Dilapoid: But she also seemed somewhat drunken.
Dilapoid: And she sits here and asks me to tell her I love her.
Dilapoid: And I couldn't tell her.
Dilapoid: And I couldn't hug her. And I don't know why.
Dilapoid: I just wanted to be left alone.
Semjaza Azazel: Do you not?
Dilapoid: And she starts crying in my Dad's room, and I have to listen to that.
Dilapoid: I don't know.
Dilapoid: I do not know.
Dilapoid: First off I was in a bad mood from my Dad I guess, and I don't know if I do love her in a "love" sense. I just don't know.
Dilapoid: She keeps saying that I hate her too.
Dilapoid: I did try to give her a hu.
Dilapoid: hug
Dilapoid: But she wouldn't hug back.
Dilapoid: I'm not a really emotional person on the outside.
Dilapoid: And when she came up to me all emotional, and started crying, I just can't stand feeling that emotions for some reason. It's just something that I don't want to feel, or something. I don't know. I don't understand myself up to this point a lot of the time.
Dilapoid: I'm really distant with my parents.
Semjaza Azazel: I'm physically distant.
Dilapoid: Exactly.
Semjaza Azazel: My dad hugs me sometimes. My mom kisses me on the cheek or something when she goes away on trips,
Semjaza Azazel: That's it.
Semjaza Azazel: I don't do it myself lol
Dilapoid: And lately, mentally, I don't even know.
Dilapoid: I'm just used to being alone to myself and so on.
Dilapoid: When my parents try to transcend this barrier, it doesn't help at all.
Dilapoid: And when my Mom comes to me in the middle of the night when I'm half asleep like that, I don't even know what to do.
Dilapoid: I am not used to it.
Dilapoid: My Mom never talks to me it seems. My Dad just yells at me all the time it seems.
Dilapoid: So I just sit here in my room and listen to my music and just do what I've done for so long.
Dilapoid: And my Dad often comes down here and bitches at me anyways.
Semjaza Azazel: Yeah. Understandable.
Dilapoid: He said yesterday that this is it. He's not going to yell at me any longer.
Dilapoid: And what happens first thing I get home?
Dilapoid: He tells me I am GOING TO GET A FLU SHOT NOW.
Dilapoid: AND I MUST BECAUSE HE SAYS.
Dilapoid: And I tell him it's my body, and I don't want a shot.
Dilapoid: But I was forced to go.
Dilapoid: It wasn't a big deal, but he started yelling at me in his same tone that I just can't stand as always.
Semjaza Azazel: lol
Dilapoid: I basically don't care if I die from the flu. So why should I have to get some shot?
Dilapoid: Plus I hate needles.
Dilapoid: The basic feel of them in my skin just makes me shiver.
Dilapoid: But I did take my needle like a man.
Semjaza Azazel: I've no problem with needles, really.
Semjaza Azazel: I don't like seeing them go in though lol
Dilapoid: My Mom has been telling me I'm depressed lately too. As we were at Applebee's earlier she asked me what I was depressed about. I could answer of course. I mean, I think it should be obvious. Nothing matters much to me.
Dilapoid: But I don't know. I don't want them to know me for some reason..I'm too used to them not knowing me.
Dilapoid: It's always like this. When I'm most tired I talk the most lol.
Dilapoid: But I'm sure it means something to you.
Dilapoid: Does if I clean my room and make my bed each day even make me responsible or not?
Dilapoid: Not in my opinion.
Dilapoid: My dad also thinks I'm so immature.
Dilapoid: He especially did that when I was under my covers when he was in my room when I was sleeping, and also when I was all sarcastic at trying to apologize.
Semjaza Azazel: You know, the main problem is that you're very, very independent mind wise.
Semjaza Azazel: Parents do not appreciate this lol
Dilapoid: Well, I can't help it.
Semjaza Azazel: you're not supposed to question cleaning your room or eating some bad diiner.
Dilapoid: It is Mitch.
Semjaza Azazel: dinner&
Semjaza Azazel: I know you can't, but there's times where it is beneficial and times where it isn't.
Dilapoid: I will start cleaning my room without being told if it's such a big deal.
Dilapoid: lol
Dilapoid: My Dad always seems to make things big deals.
Dilapoid: He'd yell at me for HOW I SAT IN A CHAIR WHEN I ATE DINNER when I was younger.
Semjaza Azazel: Yeah. I guess you just have to sort out what you care about and what he does.
Dilapoid: That's so stupid it makes me laugh.
Semjaza Azazel: lol
Semjaza Azazel: It is.
Dilapoid: I actually don't care. I'm just doing it to make him stop yelling at me already.
Semjaza Azazel: Yeah I know.
Semjaza Azazel: You don't have to CARE about it.
Dilapoid: It isn't even yelling, more like he's all confrontational and in my face, and so on. But it's about the same as yelling.
Semjaza Azazel: You just have to get it out of the way so you can enjoy yourself.
Dilapoid: He seems to think I do.
Dilapoid: And if I don't, what is the point? There isn't. But he can't see this. And that is so endlessly annoying.
Dilapoid: He's been doing what he's been doing for years.
Dilapoid: He has anger problems as well...
Semjaza Azazel: He's not going to change.
Semjaza Azazel: You're not going to change him.
Semjaza Azazel: Unless he hits rock bottom, nothing will matter.
Dilapoid: And while I'm usually calm as hell, I sometimes get sick to here with his crap.
Semjaza Azazel: there's only two things... stand up to him until he backs down... which I did.
Dilapoid: A few times I've gotten physical with him.
Semjaza Azazel: At one point anyway lol
Semjaza Azazel: Really helped.
Dilapoid: Exactly.
Semjaza Azazel: the other is just dealing with this and forgetting it.
Semjaza Azazel: You'll be oput of there eventually.
Dilapoid: I don't even want to think of that whole venue. lol.
Dilapoid: I can't even get a job now.
Semjaza Azazel: I get the impression that you really don't even want one.
Dilapoid: Of course.
Semjaza Azazel: So you're not going to find one lol
Dilapoid: Do you want to work for your whole life? Of course not.
Dilapoid: I don't want to work just to get some money either really.
Semjaza Azazel: I don't want to do a lot of things, but I can't do a lot of things I WANT to do unless I do that.
Dilapoid: It's pointless to me. Just another required thing in society.
Dilapoid: If we weren't as smart as we are, we'd travel in herds, and each person would have their skill mastered by a young age.
Semjaza Azazel: The problem is that if you live by that ideal, you'll never get anywhere.
Dilapoid: If they were a hunter, they'd have that done.
Semjaza Azazel: You'll be in your parents house forever.
Dilapoid: And so on.
Dilapoid: I know.
Semjaza Azazel: You can think that all you like. I do.
Dilapoid: I just don't care.
Dilapoid: And I know you don't either.
Dilapoid: You can try to say you care. But yuo don't.
Dilapoid: *you
Semjaza Azazel: But you have to comply for awhile lol
Semjaza Azazel: Get a job and save.
Semjaza Azazel: Just save.
Semjaza Azazel: You'll get out of there faster.
Dilapoid: I'll try.
Semjaza Azazel: And you won't be home as much.
Semjaza Azazel: Which will cut down on a lot of stuff.
Dilapoid: I'll try. But saying I'll try basically means I'll continue to do what I'm doing lol.
Semjaza Azazel: I know it will.
Dilapoid: Which is not doing anything and just going to school and so on.
Dilapoid: I wish I knew you in real life. Then we could be famous together.
Dilapoid: You deserve to be famous lol.
Dilapoid: I'll tell you I care about you and most everyone I've met alone than a lot of people I know in real life.
Dilapoid: Other than the few real life friends I have, and some other things, that's the truth.
Dilapoid: And why is this? I don't know.
Semjaza Azazel: That's just how it is. You have to give people a chance online.
Semjaza Azazel: You don't in real life.
Dilapoid: Yeah,.
Dilapoid: If you consider, what would your life be without the internet, really?
Dilapoid: You would never have met me. James. Tori. Anyone.
Dilapoid: And so on.
Dilapoid: But you're not supposed to think like that, as you showed with the X thing, and as I've already found.
Dilapoid: Just live with what you have now, it's probably better this way.
Semjaza Azazel: Do you think the X thing is actually important?
Semjaza Azazel: You didn't seem to at first, but you've mentioned it a few times since then.
Dilapoid: It stands out in my mind, it must be..
Semjaza Azazel: I don't know, it just had a big impact on me.
Dilapoid: I just didn't open up I guess.
Dilapoid: But it has.
Dilapoid: I don't even remember my father, you don't really remember yours.
Dilapoid: They must be not there because that's the way it is. And because things seem to happen for some reason.
Dilapoid: Whether that reason is bad or good is anyone's guess.
Dilapoid: But bad often grows good and good often grows bad.
Semjaza Azazel: I don't believe in that fate bullshit. I don't know if there was a reason for it or not.
Dilapoid: I don't know.
Dilapoid: I'm just saying it could be.
Semjaza Azazel: I just realized that it didn't matter. We are living our life. It doesn't pause. It never reverses.
Dilapoid: Yes.
Semjaza Azazel: And instead of thinking about all that crap, I'm just going to deal with what is.
Dilapoid: Exactly what I said.
Dilapoid: Tackle monsters from their hearts, not their heads.
Dilapoid: Don't think so much over what made a monster, but think of what it's heart is. Basically what it feels at the moment in the moment at the moment.
Dilapoid: *its
Dilapoid: That's my "flowered" version of what you said lol.
Semjaza Azazel: lol
Semjaza Azazel: Nice
Dilapoid: If meeting you means nothing, well, at least I have someone to tell something. At least it makes me momentarily seem like something matters.
Dilapoid: And I do hope meeting you online does matter.
Dilapoid: But if it doesn't, ah well.
Semjaza Azazel: I suppose so.
Semjaza Azazel: What do you mean?
Dilapoid: My Dad totally hates the prospect that I talk to people that I don't even know lol.
Dilapoid: What do I mean about what?
Dilapoid: I mean you might not remember me the rest of your life, but we have what we have now.
Dilapoid: That's what we should do, as you said. Live in the moment.
Semjaza Azazel: I don't get what you mean by meeting.
Dilapoid: I don't either. I don't get myself right niow.
Dilapoid: *now
Dilapoid: I feel light headed, and half alseep.
Dilapoid: I'm thinking out loud from my half-asleep mind lol.
Semjaza Azazel: lol
Semjaza Azazel: So sleep fully.
Dilapoid: What of meeting?
Dilapoid: It would probably be awkward. I'm terrible with people, I really am. Unless they make me feel comfortable.
Dilapoid: Radiohead's cover version of "Wish You Were Here" is great.
Semjaza Azazel: Rasputina did a cool cover of that, if you can find it.
Dilapoid: I'll try to.
Dilapoid: That is funny as to how the prospect of meeting came up from my lethargic mind, and then I was listening to "Wish You Were Here."
Dilapoid: Music is like that. It's always there for me, like some kind of mirror for me.
Semjaza Azazel: Yeah.
Dilapoid: So do you think you will be as much Tony as you are now when you're older? Or do you think the world will make you more jaded? Or has it already made you too jaded?
Semjaza Azazel: I can't imagine my basic self will change.
Semjaza Azazel: It never really has.
Dilapoid: Only physically.
Semjaza Azazel: Well superficially.
Dilapoid: But you know, your mind is created from physical things.
Dilapoid: Without eyesight you wouldn't be able to have visual representation of things in your mind.
Dilapoid: And so many other things.
Dilapoid: The physical is what fosters the mental into its beginning growth, at least.
Dilapoid: I just find that interesting.
Dilapoid: What if you couldn't see?
Dilapoid: The way you see things would be different--you'd use your other sense more acutely...and you'd probably not see things in your mind like you do.
Semjaza Azazel: That's true.
Semjaza Azazel: I hate to cut this short, but I have to go eat lol
Semjaza Azazel: I'll be back a bit later.
Dilapoid: Ah.
Semjaza Azazel: Nice actually getting to talk to you for once.
Dilapoid: I'll try to stay then.
Dilapoid: Yeah, it is.
Semjaza Azazel: Well don't overwork yourself lol
Semjaza Azazel: Bye Mitch.
Dilapoid: I hate talking to you when you seem to only use acronyms.
Dilapoid: lol
Dilapoid: When you are so busy.
Dilapoid: Goodbye Tony.
Semjaza Azazel: Bye
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Friday, December 5, 2003
Man, this is just great
What Usage of the Word Fuck are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
a09832542003 has just messaged you because you buddy icon is sexy. How do you respond? Copy and Paste various forms of fuck into the type box until you have a message that would take 5 minutes to send over a T1 connection and hit Send.
You don't know how much I laughed when I chose this.
Fuckery fucking my fuckers fucking fuckery is fucking fucking my fucking fucker's fucken fucking fucks..
And on and on.
Just imagine that. Only 5 million times bigger. And you've got one great piece of literature indeed.
lol
You recieve a $15,000 inheritence from a distant relative that you never knew. What do you do? Use it to further my campaign to have Fuck declared the shortest language in the world and get Fuck Day registered as a National Holiday which would be celebrated on my birthday.
lol. This is so great.
Your roommate's annoying friend who has been crashed on your sofa for the past week and a half just interupted your net time to ask for one of YOUR beers. What do you tell him/her? Utter a sentance containing 23 words. The only one not consisting of some form of the word Fuck is "No."
or
Listen to his/her sob story about how he/she can't afford beer because he/she is unemployed and offer to take an orgasm in trade.
Your bf/gf comes over for a romantic candlelit dinner where they feel so comfortable with you that they tell you they used to be of a different gender. Reaction? Excuse myself to the bathroom and gaze in the mirror for the next 14 minutes conjugating the word Fuck.
Man, I can imagine this one so much. Let me narrate:
I went into the bathroom, conjugating the fucking word fuck in my mind like a fucking mind fuckery. Looking at myself in the mirror, I just stared into it. The words were fucking right on the tip of my fucking tongue. And I fucking couldn't make them come out--they were like a fuckloose fuckal fucker. They were so tight it felt like I was fucking breathing through some kind of fucking computerized fukerizer.
Eventually, the words came like a fuckial fuckstorm. It was like lighting was fucking hitting down on the ground like a fucking storm, and it had finally let into its fucking high point.
Looking in the mirror, I pointed my hands at myself in the mirror, and my fuckored reflection pointed too. I began moving my lips like I was fucked. It was slow at first, like a fubar [fucked up beyond all repair] computer on fuckatronics.
The words did eventually come, though. Just like a fucking enigma.
My lips finally parted like a fucking gate, and the only words that came out was, "Fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff," and then I had to breathing in some fucking fresh air. Too bad it wasn't mountain air. That stuff's the fucking bomb. As I continued, I almost smiled a little demonical smile.
I just couldn't fucking believe it.
My fucking lover. She was a fucking fuckaree. She was fucking fucked, a total sick fucking cracker.
"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..."
I had to stop and breathe in again, like a fucking wind machine, or like being punched in the fucking stomache and falling to the ground.
My anger began to rise like a fucking revolution. My whole body was in fucking knots, going up and down on a fucked roller coaster of fuckadoo tango. The rest of the word came out like a crucified fuck, all bleeding down and slow, all dying slowly, not fucking wanting to end.
"Ccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk."
And it was done. And my face in the fucking mirror just stopped too, like the fucking reflection he was. I kind of fucking wonder. I fucking wonder what is going to happen with my fuckified life from here on fucking out.
It's fuckled to fuckfull fucking figs. It's only fucking torn pieces. Where the fuck do I got from here? I fucking love her.
Or him. Fuck. I can't stand it.
I couldn't fucking stand it at the mirror either. Holy fucking fuckmas. I sat there saying fuck this and that like I was fucking on fuckium, some fucking derivative of opium or some fucking thing.
Fuck.
___
Thus it ends lol.
You are driving down the freeway minding your own business when some asshole cuts you off from FOUR lanes over. What is your immediate reaction? Repeatedly slam your hand on the steering wheel and weave a tapestry of obsenity comprised solely of the word Fuck and its derivitives.
lol.
Mind the word fuck, fuckren.
If this post repulses you, so be it.
But fuck is just a fucking word that is labeled as bad. It's just symbols combined together.
So if you're fucked to fuckadict that, then do it.
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I Am the Creator
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O.o
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13? What is this? lol. That is kind of sick. And "your head over their shoulder"....lol.
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Anal? Yup. That sounds so much like Fabio.
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Damn straight. No pork for you peons!
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lol. Nice worshipers there, Barn.
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Hey, sounds like our God...
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That's enough of that, anyway.
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The Night of Rusted Nails of Perpetual Tetanus.
life is falling gently off the hinges life is
gently falling off the hinges
life is gently falling off the hinges.
the hinges are broken and rusty
and cracked and white.
white as snow as bent as steel as rusted
as steel as white as a deathbird as white
as eye sockets as white as death as rusted as
a breath as rusted as
duress
as rusted
as
caress
life is gently falling off the hinges life is
gently falling off
the
hinges
life is gently falling off
the hinges
gently falling off
the hinges
is gently falling off the hinges
between the hinges and the doorway i can see blank
between my eyes i see the human in me and i sigh
and i breathe in nothing and i sigh
and i wonder why
and then i sit and think and sit and think
going over everything isn't going over it all
going down is going down and i'm going down the hinges
life is gently hanging from
the hinges.
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Killer Is Me
Deleted an older post. It was unneeded anyways, since I'm feeling decently now, even though I almost cried among other things. But anyway.
Tried to make up a poem on the spot in here. Don't have the heart to at the moment, and I'm also too tired, and so on. So I'm dry on writing today. And I had things written all this week, too, and now I have to break my clean slate of steady writing. Ah well.
I've been trying to work on this super hero poem more I am writing. I just am not in the mood, I guess.
Sorry if you are wondering what happened, but I feel paranoid on some level, if you'd like to say. It's nothing too important as it is anyways.
What else is there to say? Ah. Thank god it's Friday tomorrow. I am tired of school as it is.
I guess I could do an in-depth post on how I feel, and what things happened, but I just feel that I don't want to. I guess I'm just tiring of this blog altogether for the moment, at least. I've been tiring of a lot of things as it is, heh.
Two interviews tomorrow for newspaper. I'm nervous about them, since I'm going to end up just winging most of them. But I'm sure it'll go good.
Also, download Alice in Chains-"Frogs." I love this song. Been listening to it a lot today.
No point to this post. Just posting because I think I should...for my loyal followers, if there's any.
Filler post: check.
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Thursday, December 4, 2003
Can you stall a second and give me directions to TP Topia?
Words are only symbols strung together to represent some ideal, or emotion. They notion towards something that is alone indescribable by normal means. Definitions are things which give a new, unknown word a meaning by using words that are already known. And bathrooms, they are convenient places where one can get some nice quality time alone.
The most interesting thought once you are alone in a bathroom stall, or even alone in your own personal bathroom, is a wonder as to who has been here before, sitting upon the toilet, or perhaps standing aside the toilet, and what has gone on there. It is also quite an unsettling thought as well, for it goes into one of the most personal matters—the very acts of defecation and urination. Another interesting thing to think about is what the persons before you had thought of in this same bathroom you are in.
Evidence can be found as to what, exactly, people have thought of as they sit on the toilet, or stand in front of it, by the scrawlings made from pen, pencil, or any sharp item.
I have often found going into a bathroom is like going into another plane of existence. Once inside, the door usually slams shut behind you if it is at a school bathroom. It just has an eerie feeling as the door shuts as if by some force. Yes, it's only gravity shutting the door, but I think it's still eerie in a sense. Especially if there's no one in the bathroom, and it's just quiet to the point where the only thing you can hear is yourself. It's then that I wonder if I'm going to see something out of the corner of my eye, or maybe something is going to jump out of nowhere at me.
Call it paranoia, I call it an insane muster of imagination. Ever since I was young I've had this imagination, and I guess it's one of the things that makes me as erratic as I can be at times. I remember when I was really young that I couldn't sleep because I thought the devil was going to get me.
Another memory that stands so vividly in my mind is I absolutely swear I remember my Dad coming in my room and beating me, or something to this extent. And then soon after that, my Dad came in again, and I remember asking him if he really did that, and him completely denying it, and was kind as ever. It's amazing how reality and fantasy can just come together as if they are tied into one another. I'm certain at this point I just dreamed what happened, but never have I had such a vivid dream as that. Except for maybe two other times, and that is all.
Bathrooms always get these kind of thoughts going into my mind, especially if it's an empty public one. It is the quiet, and it's also just how grimy a bathroom feels altogether. It is like a coma to your eyes; they are always so white if they're a public one, and then the toilets are always full of urine, or sometimes even feces, as if to give the bathroom an unclean and dirty feeling. And it just seems to bring these kinds of things out of you.
The thoughts also seem to go to things that could happen in a bathroom. Especially in an empty one. I'm sure that many murders have happened in bathrooms, many dirty thoughts, and many things I don't even want to get into. It's just rational that something which is so quiet and dirty will catalyst you to thoughts which normally don't come to you. I think it's also the entire factor of some place such as a school bathroom not being a common place you visit. That too plays a role in altering how you are thinking.
I do think I'm paranoid. My imagination just does that to me.
In a bathroom, as you walk in a stall and shut the door, and you look on the sides of the square which encloses you , there is sometimes words that jump at you from all sides. The words stare at you, and you stare at them, and you can't help but read them. It has been said that we don't even look at a word for each letter it uses to spell, but we look at it as a whole. I believe this is quite true, especially as we become more and more familiar with words and use them more often.
These phrases strewn about a bathroom only lead to make you wonder more what people could have possibly been thinking as they sat in this stall where you are now sitting, preparing to do what must be done. This also makes you roll your eyes at the lack of useless things you'll find.
Don't get it wrong, though. There's some really interesting phrases to be found in bathrooms. But as I found, by going into the bathrooms I could here at school, there isn't much interesting in a high schooler's mind, at least. Most phrases appeared to me to be carved by some pubescent boy that had raging hormones that, for some reason, he could not control as he was going to the bathroom and alone to his thoughts.
I can just imagine some zit-infested baboon with wide, gaping eyes, and buck teeth sitting on a toilet with a pen in hand just glaring away at the wall, thinking deeply to himself like he's in some kind of twisted psychiatric evaluation. I can also imagine him drooling and salivating at his thoughts as he begins to scribble his horrid script upon the wall. Thoughts like, Man do I want Michelle right now swirling from his head onto the stall's wall like some beastial instinct. And as he writes them he hums in an entirely rabid fan boy fashion, his eyes fixed fazedly on the wall as if that right there is Michelle's naked form dancing merrily for him, up and down, and smiling as she looks over her shoulder.
Then suddenly, as if a comet just hit him square in the head and took out his brain, Mr. Baboon finally comes to the realization that that is not Ms. Michelle dancing naked there, but it is simply his pencil waggling up and down all excited like a dog. And Baboo just sighs, and he lets his eyes drift up to the ceiling in an extremely dreamy fashion. And soon Baboo leaves his sheltered home, where now scribbled on the wall stands, "Michelle, I want your heart for mine, want to feel you inside, want to know you MOTHER F-ING WANT ME DOWN AND DIRTY."
I've noticed that there's always an f-word somewhere in the tangle of words you'll find. It's people that are pubescent, by rule of thumb, that write these. Don't ever listen to them, either. Why teenagers feel it's fun to say f-this and f-that all the time I have yet to find out. I especially hate those kinds of people that say the f-word every single sentence. It's like they're afflicted with a speech impediment, and for some odd reason, it has ended up going into F-ingal Syndrome. I think these people have to be some of those who write f-this and that on the walls of stalls.
I can just picture Mr. F-you Wong right now. He'd be some tall kid, maybe. Or maybe short. And he's got this certain mean look about him. And as he's walking down the hall, he's just yelling endlessly, "F-ing F I got in that f-ing class, what the f-ing bizatch is this f-ing f-ery. What the f! I ain't f-ing ever going to f-ing go to f-ing class one more f-ing time. Holy f-ing mother of f-ing f-ery. F-ing f-er."
At this point I would like to take out a sniper rifle and shove it directly in Mr. F-you Wong's face, and say something like, "Now what do you have to say?'
And I can completely imagine his mouth beginning to open like an opening gate, and then him going on and on again with his f-this and f-that. At this time I would look at him like he was some poor waif if an animal, and I'd not hesitate to pull the trigger and allow him to flinch as the only thing that flew out was a large flag which said upon it, "F-ery is f-ing."
Whatever the case is with these messages upon bathroom stalls, I shall always be there to read them. For I am the bathroom decoder of the ages. I'm also a paranoid-ridden camel. I thirst for the feelings of paranoia and nostalgia.
Next time you see me in the hall, maybe you could tell me if Baboo ever found his Michelle. I know I haven't. But at least I'm not scribbling on walls like some inane yak.
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Wednesday, December 3, 2003
The bigotry that is Sour Jacks.
Sour Patch Kids were Gods. They stood out to moviegoers and candy fanaticals like a romanticism that was as beautiful as a rose, and smelt as great as love. But this was soon ripped from our amatory hands like a jarring effigy, a nice doll to do a tango dance of taste with. When we went to our movies, Sour Patch Kids were there. When we went to school and learned the inanity that is education, Sour Patch Kids were there. And when we were going to the bathroom, Sour Patch Kids were there, sanitizing our unsanitary condition.
And now Sour Patch Kids lies lone on the ground, souring and rotten like mangled dreams. For in the foray has come a contender, a very sissy one. It comes in the name of Sour Jacks, and it comes in a package in form with that of the aforementioned Gods named Sour Patch Kids. It intends to mar them from our hands and taste buds, like a fluent anti-Christ gone Christal. And will you, you impudent moron, will you allow this to happen? For it has already begun, like a furious bigotry. And if you allow it to happen, then you yourself are as a bigot as them all for following it.
I will not let this happen. Sour Patch Kids are my rose, and a rose smells sweet. And Sour Jacks are a rehabilitated group of clamoring hippies. And Sour Patch Kids themselves taste eons better than Sour Jacks.
Screw you Sour Jacks.
Screw you to screwy screwing screws where screwers screw their screws.
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This is entertaining.
Music: KoRn-"Here to Stay."
Current phrase that is lovely: The suicidal cats were like mad watefalls running off the hurr of the optimistic cataract.
Reason why this phrase is awesome: Because I made it up as I wrote it, and it doesn't make sense.
Thing I wish for at this moment: I wish for melons. Especially water melon, for that stuff 'tis teh shiz.
Current poem I was working on: One abot superheroes and villians. It shall be fun once I post it. Currently it is only 1,000 words, sadly.
And the last question, why? Because.
I am in an odd mood. It is late and odd moods seem to follow you when it is late, and isn't that just a flipper.
At this moment I feel tired. So I must sleep soon.
But first, a quick recount of the day's events in lazy fashion.
I went to school. I moped around. I got my gomework. I ate my lunch. I went to more school. And then I went home in my mustard car. And once home I came upon the internet and I sat, and I sat, and I sat. And woe is me, and woe to thee! and then we went to Applebee's, and had ourselves a gradually feeding time.
And then lo and behold! I came back home and did my Latin, and excused my Geometry, for it didn't look like it wanted to be done.And if it wanted to be done, it was well done it wanted, and I cannot cook things. And it would also be bad to burn things, for that is a bigotrous sin of cometual proportions which could perhaps end me up in hell, or even worse, ALONE ON AN ISLAND WITH RICHARD SIMMONS.
Such a thought is an evil one, so I must mollify it from my accosted and sickening mind.
There. It is gone. Gone like a flowing river which has dried up and has been replaced with an unsanitary bathroom whereupon the toilet has been dusted with an enamored amount of desert dust that smells slightly pig.
Yes. Good thing that thorn is gone. Good riddance Richard Simmons, you damn daemon fluenter.
Mitch needs to get a job. But all job and no work make Mitch a sad boy. So Mitch sit around and wish he wasn't so lazy and uncaring, but he cannot, so Mitch still sit around and do nothing as parents tell Mitch eh needs to get a job over and over again in an endless apostrophe to a stone that shall not be moved from its place.
For it is my perciousss. And it is my unawares affliction.
We have a debate due of the red scare in History in a few days. I also need to ganderalize a column from space, and give it its own little colony, as well as its own little color, and it needs to be done well by ThirstyDay. That's Thursday to you Gnomes.
This post is splattered eggs on toast. The toasty toast that is so terrifingiffical.
Anyways, on to the acertained mootion of this post:
Go here to this amazing place whereupon there is exalted poetry of a mostly salty and sexual explicit demeanor.
That is all.
Keep eating your dead tissue you maggots and I shall do the same.
Hark to me! we shall eat the feces of our youth together; wherefore we shall grow wings to flies, angels in a beatific relic.
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Tuesday, December 2, 2003
*listens*
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from hell, blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field
from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
Did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts
Hot ashes for trees?
Hard earth for the cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
for a knee-roll in the cage?
How I wish
How I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year.
Running over the same old ground
Of how we found
Same old fears.
Wish you were here.
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I am proud of this poem.
This poem was so fun to write. And it came so easily...which is great for poety. So yay for that, and I mean it.
Ain't no feeling better than your natures
I shuffle to school like a marionette
my mind twirlin like a spiraling mess
and when i sit in my desk, my eyes observant,
i feel no sense of anything nor accomplishment.
I open my books that are abound,
and i read over many a mundane bore
talking bout the twenties and its age of jazz,
or geometrical garble, or latin language,
and i eat it like an obese man.
Each day my mind grows and expands,
each day my brain feels squeezed down,
each day my mind has a stroke and feels
a certain need to vomit, and a certain need to spill.
And i do it all like an obese man.
Sitting in my desk, my chest is gaunt,
but sitting in my mind i am not,
and i feel quite prime, like a pig,
and i feel like a hog.
Been fed what's wrong,
and as it chokes down my nose,
and goes deep in me where it goes,
it is fat, and quite energyless,
and quite holding.
And i eat it like an obese man.
The garbage man comes round each day,
and his eyes are a burning haze,
and he looks me in, and rings my bells,
comes up to me and tells,
"Time to throw 'way what you don't need,"
and i give him buckets full,
and i even give him some flowers.
When all is done, he looks to me,
and he bids me farewell, and goes tucking off
and i'm left with what i lost,
and my brain is still too full.
My head's a crisis, call nine-one-one,
and i can just hear the phone a-ringing,
and can hear some dull voice answering,
and i want to tell them i'm a pig,
the most fat swine you've ever did.
Heart attacks attack me down.
Ain't ever going to break that much down.
My head's at war, and the lovers are all biting nails,
and as i sit in my desk, i just exhale,
and i breathe some kind of romantic hope,
and i die as my alliances noose themselves on rope,
the stuff that climbs them too far down,
that stuff ain't never the end.
They still are at war, and it's the same as before
and before, there's no guns, just beating gore.
Blood smeared round memories,
that thing that died alone,
and still crawls in my mind,
and the casualties are doing just fine,
they're dying like heroes in my mind.
The lovers just look to the skullies,
the dead things on the other side
and they just swoon.
Dead can't die like that,
because they're already dead.
Hopeless romantics think they can
still win nonetheless.
And all along as i'm at war,
my teachers are in no-man's land
talkin bout their own wars,
their sweet misery.
One teacher looks too young to be so old,
and another he looks like he's einstein,
and still another looks like he's a bear.
They're all fighters fair.
But fallen as much as fighting.
They're all caught in the twilight zone,
the place where nothin seems to belong,
and they are just making their dues,
teachin kids bout things that make no sense.
Things that they been taught to bench.
School days are like skins,
and i wear mine in
and it's gettin too worn out.
And my brain's starting to show
and soon i'll be done and give up
but still end up getting right along.
My brain's a broken mess,
and i don't need mops to regress,
and i don't need helping hands,
i make right along alone.
I build my towers to the sky,
and i topple my dominoes like flies,
dead falling flies that ain't got eyes.
And i think i'm blind, and i think i'm dyin
but it's such sweet refute that i can't die.
So i'll build nothing from nothing
to cry.
If you have built castles in the sky,
they are allusions to your death,
and hapless demise.
Breathe a second from your eyes,
and see the reality that is by and by.
You can build bases to your castles,
but they aren't so grand
so just keep your castles a-floatin
and full of empty cubicles.
Ain't no other way,
dreams are too critical
they aren't bricks hard enough,
they're soft and so they need to be demeaning.
Reality's got more breathing than that,
and more hard heart to have.
School's like a home for the sick,
and i got the hiccups and i'm figthing my infection.
Gotta gain all i can before i get detention,
and i'm sent to a job in a box.
I'll be the most possum fox,
so crafty but so lost,
and so wild.
Some kids at school, they're as dumb as rocks,
they talk like they was shot, or broken somehow,
and their minds are just exclamation points that shout.
Some kids at school, they're as smart as they come,
and they've got lots of commas and things to the side to say,
but the teachers just keep goin on with their talks,
never let anyone that wants to talk talk.
Some kids sleep like a sloth,
and teachers just go over to them and go off,
and point fun at sleep and its laziness.
Work does that to you, that black bruise,
nothin beautiful bout the way the world works,
and nothin neat bout working with a smile.
My dad tells me i need a job,
and that i am the biggest slob.
And i feel like it too as i wheeze and shuffle,
and go about my daily muddle.
And i do everything like an obese man,
the slowest way of the slow.
And i do everything the last second,
or as a last thought, never pushing myself much.
I guess that is what intellect feels like.
Feels like a broken record bein played morose,
and spinnin like it's broke and sad.
I don't want to learn no more,
and i don't want to know much anyways,
only makes me sad the way the world is.
And my mind screams this to me everyday,
and its wars battle on the field insane.
And i'm getting ready to call nine-one-one
My brain's in crisis, and i'm shaking the shakes,
and i feel like i'm just going to break.
As my mind gets to know more,
it's more jaded and hurt.
And i'm getting bitter as sure,
and i'm getting a taste of reality.
Soon it will all escape me, for nothin makes sense,
and everything feels like incessance,
and it just hammers me with nails
that prick my skin into my brain.
And here at school i go about my ways,
and i talk to a girl here and there,
maybe flirt where it comes around,
and i know that what i'm learning doesn't mean much to me,
when the simplicity is what makes the most sense,
and not being encumbered with all these chains is the best.
What you don't know is festering, but most sheltering.
And maybe i'll get shelter from the storm,
for the clouds are gettin grayer day by day,
like a heavy fist that's gonna beat me down.
The blackness just flitters around,
wanting to create something more.
And my heart is in the blackness, tarred and feathered,
trying to learn to fly.
And the tar is seeping in my skin,
and burns again and again.
And i feel so fat, and so empty,
and so morbidly obese.
My heart burns in my chest,
and my brain won't give me a rest.
What matters the most is what i've done since i was born
and that's doing what makes sense, and what makes me glad.
Ain't nothing in happiness but pain, and it stings like hell.
This IV in my arm just won't stop pumping me full,
the morpine's gettin old, and i'm developing a tendency,
gonna break free.
My natures feed me most of my meat,
and in school i just feel prime.
I want to roast on a grill,
and be cooked to a black till i can't look back,
and i want to eat my own skin, and know what it is that makes me tick,
but i ain't got a clock, and my heart resists.
I look at girls like they're going out of style,
or maybe they'll just become extinct like dodo birds.
I've noticed many a lady fine and fair,
and i've only just gotten to stare, and not feel much else,
and just go about my way.
And i guess it's best that way, for i feel more self-sufficent than anything else,
but deep inside my heart, i'm being taped all sticky,
and i'm starting to stick to some fates.
And that type of tape feels funny,
and it feels fresh all the same.
I wonder if some girls look my way,
or if they are revulsed by what they see,
or maybe they just don't take a liking to one like me.
Lust's a funny man, and he's got a funny bone,
and he itches you like you're just unknown,
and everything feels like his own.
And itches are meant to be itched as they twitch,
and they're meant to be abated in a full release.
Ain't no better feeling than doing your natures.
School starves me, like a buoyant fish,
and i rise above, and i have gills and lungs,
and all of them need nourishing.
And most of the time they feel unused,
and dead as a bone,
but other times they feel alive,
and they beat in me like burning fire.
When you bend one way, and this way,
you feel something crack, and you know it's something you never had,
and you resist everything but this temptation,
and you realize you can resist everything but temptation.
School's only fun because of temptation, and all the things you find so fine there,
and it just gives you life to know they are there, and makes sitting bearable,
and makes your mind just a crazed behemoth that thinks of the wildest things.
And you get more obese each day, and more wicked cruel and jaded,
and only the simplest things that give the easiest pleasure feel needed,
and you let your mind have them eaten whole.
I come to school each day, and i rack a sigh,
and i wonder why, and sometimes i feel like dyin,
but being dead's as much as livin alive.
For i feel the same thing all the time.
My mind's a crisis,
calling nine-one-one,
and calling an SOS.
Gotta go on and fight my fight,
gotta empty my messes to make more.
Gotta live with something to fight for.
And when i see something fine and fair,
and when i feel like that i just stare,
and when my mind feels broken,
it fixes itself by being more broken than ever.
Ain't no feeling better than doing your natures.
And i come to school a marionette each day,
and a twirl round my way.
Life ain't nothin but a bust,
we must do what we must.
It fixes itself by being more broken than ever.
And i'm always achin, and my brain's always bakin,
and smoke's coming out of me in plumes,
and things are flying in there like swarms.
I'm the portly swine, and i feel empty outside,
and inside i feel too full.
Release never comes till you let go of all you feel binds you,
and till you tell yourself nothing really matters no more.
Being obese makes you fat and sore,
but these britches hold so much more.
And i'll vomit all over the floor, and eat just like i have before,
and my mind'll be just a broken whore.
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