Ever feel like you are completely out of control? Yeah, anyway, let's skip the cliches. I'm in a mood to listen to Eminem, which is probably why I descided to quote him in the subject of this entry.

Let's see, how can I make that quote relate to what I'm feeling right now? I can't really. I'm in the mood to numb my mind with computers or fiction. I need to finish conquering the word in Civ2. Civ2, now that is one mother fucker of a game. It's the bestest game ever. My favorite games are Civ2, Halo, and maybe heroes III or starcraft.

I'm disjointed right now. I love but cannot love with mother fuckers all around. Love, is love paused in wartime or is it cancelled? You could say the same about your phone service. "This ain't no party, this ain't no disco".

My favorite song ever right now is Sleeping In by The Postal Service. If you have some illegal file download p2p software, download it. If not, ask your friends. It makes everything OK. The world is here and that's all there is to it. FUCK.

I'm trying to write a freakin' play, so keep the music down. I'm trying to film a freakin' movie, so shut up those stupid kids. I'm tring to finish my freakin' homework, so shut the goddamn window, it's freezing! I'm trying to eat my midnight snacjk and write some poems, so turn on the light, will ya'. I'm gonna go play a computer game right now. The measure of a man is not how he performs in good conditions, but how he performs in bad situations. According to that, I really suck. Fuckin' a goodnight

I am too damn nice. I hate these stupid people playing chess with me. I am too damn nice. I wish that my bonhomie would die and I could leave all this dust with it's family. I should've just said, "Fuck you!" Instead I said goodbye. fuckin' A.

i'm burning a CD for me and no one else. it's techno and stuff for listening to in the car. I'm going to go drive to the camera store and buy something. Maybe not. I might just play a computer game. I might go to the park. I might call my mom and tell her to stick her finger up her ass. I might lay on the couch and play with myself. yeah. I think I'm just gonna work on my play.

Today is one of those days when it's nice to say "fuck the past." And not, "forget the past" or "screw the past." It has to be "fuck." So pick on me for swearing, say it's low class and meaningless debasement, but there's really no other word to describe this than f***.

I was rereading through my old journal stuff, to edit for something else, and saw all the old stuff, idiocy, bitching, all that lela bullshit, and worried awhile about that stuff. But fuck it.

*Sigh, so where to start anew? Waking up early thinking of Rosie. My car passed e-check, but I got pulled over for having two license plates. No big deal, but a little scary, ja know. I took the old plates off and threw them out. Ritz camera...I think I'll just get a tripod there if they don't have this thing I want. It's a liteDisc holder, ja know for reflecting light discs, but it says it can be used at a boom, and it's expandble to 67 inches. That would be great, then all I'd need would be a mic for it.

ja know. I have to go write a play now.

Interesting that I spoke of something killing the creative wit, yet I had wits enough to write a poem, however terrible it was.

My Civ2 CD won't work. I want to go to the park at night. It's pretty. I won't be allowed, and that's understandable. I probably should call my dad. I will when I'm done with this. I want to see Rosie. I think seeing her would make me suddenly happy and energetic, but tonight it is impossible. Nothing positive will happen tonight. I will type this, wish for my Civ II CD, smell my cologne and wish that I could smell her hair, and take a bath and wish it would make me clean. I will look at my reflection in the mirror and wish I did not look so much like my dad. No one else cares if they look like their parents, 'cept teenage suicides. I'm not one of them. I suppose I think I'm biding my time, but when will I be happy again? Tomorrow, I suppose. Yes, tomorrow is a good day.

This is about timeshares.
The snow is commanded by
the ultimate authority on aesthetics.
But like the projected image
through a box or a hole.
All's fair, it's hard to love
in war, the snow begins to accumulate.
It's Stalingrad, but this time
the Rats aren't glorified.
They only stifle the food supply,
kill the creative wit.

If only I could see the falling snow stick to your hair...

I don't know what to expect here. It's like fantasy, my favorite fictional construct. Taken different ways. Some take it at face value as fantasy, others feel the feeling intended beneath the verses. I find few who see both. There will be someone someday.

Please, everyone, forgive me for my dulled preceptions of people. I don't notice everything. I am stupid and slow in that reguard. It comes from many of the same things that people always blame things on. yeah...um...I am afraid and paranoid and I think you hate me. I'll write you a song and a poem and work on secret projects that you deserve, wether or not they are taken with emotion. hmm...I enter the unknown crypt to face the unknown.

This is the last momument of anger and sloth and stupid youth before the calmth of sea shores at dusk and mountains at twilight.

I must read brit's journal because everyone's going crazy.

We are all our own protagonists.

Why not hate christmas? Is the joyousness of the season not putative and given throughout the system. Verily I say to you we are brainwashed into believing it is pristine. I do not encourage hate only objective analysis of your true emotions.

One big annoyance that costs money and halts progress. What does the christmas season bring to you?

"They say that Jesus and mental health are only for those who can help themselves."
"District sleeps alone tonight after the bars turn out their lights. I can see the cars are swerving off into the lonliest evening."
"You may case the grounds from cascades to Puget sound, but you are not permitted to leave."
-Bnl and TPS, respectively

Chatting with persons, listening to the dull relief of not being spoken to. Listening to our song that might've been 1000 years ago. Listening to my music with some foreign beat behind it. Staring watching as you leave, waving goodbye, not knowing if you see me. Running in jubliations. Suffering through boredom. Trying to finish something extraciricular (apathy). Cheating on test, talking because I am obliged to. Trying to finish up conversations. Wasting time because you did what I might've done and I'm wondering what you think. Eating out of necessity, vague socializations. Doing the bare minimum to get by. Doing less of a minimum, watching what society has done with standard, thinking about the tasks before me.Avoiding eye contact. Within a different world, a different city. Trying to make amends and maintain consciousness. Waking at the sound of a beep.

Sunrise, sunset, every day is the same. sunrise, sunset, no one can escape. From a cradle to a casket. Where in that day can you see why I feel the way I do? I want to go to hawaii with only the people who I can stand for the rest of my life and start a new colony. As one of those potentials said (he who loves which I despise and despise what I like) I'd be by myself. Wouldn't I?

Sleep, for me, is a cession to the mortality and humanity of my exsistence. I do not desire sleep, but as a human I must do so. Very few times to I settle down to sleep. In fact, I have to read something to get myself to fall asleep. Sleep...sleep...why do you plague me? Sleep is also a cession to the little fatigue monster that pulls at my eyelids and saps my will, even as I type, flip pages, or whatever. It's a cession to weakness. Sleep takes so long, and when I wake up I'm a little grogy. Most morning grogginess is mental, but functionality of person is limited in the morning to time constraints. So basically, my body fights for as many waking hours as it can, gets rid of all them in one big twelve hour sleeping session about every third saturday, and then goes at it again. Sleep...yes sleep...only in companionship do I find contentment. But even a companion can dull me: I desire freedom from restraint. Hanging out with friends is OK but pushes towards complacency. I will not be complacent. I can't stand waiting rooms, unless there is some way to entertain my mind, or perhaps keep my fingers busy. Always preferable that I am working on something that I will use in the future, but who can tell what aparatus will present themselves to my restless fingers. The only event in which an arbiter can truely speak freely is one unrestrained by generality and confined to specifics, which is not really a type of confinement. Arbiter, cool word. Goodnight.

I had a submission from last night, but slashdot nerfed it. So, this is in remebrance of that.
;-0

The little slashdot quote for today is (in case your too lazy to look) "It is better to have loved a short man than never to have loved a tall."

Sigh, things change, don't they? I mean, just when you start thinking someone is cool and open-source, something comes along that they try and shield you from (you know who you are, punk). It's a little jarring when someone takes a stand about something they think about passionately, and you think is irrelevant or idiotic. It's also a little disappointing to have these perfect glass ideals of kids you know shattered. Three people today, Polonius, three people! You kinda knew one, and the other to an extent, but this one is a shock! Well, right now 'tis. I look at you a little different tomorrow, but nothing really will change. It will just seem to. Life's like that, perception based. There is no universal truth, save God, who judges everything very exactly and very personally. This implies, of course, that boundaries cannot be drawn previous to any event, and all descisions before and after must be made by checking all possible outcomes against your own personal individual unchanging moral code. And I've gone off on another tangent. Did you know it's 11:24? I'm a little messed up. My bed is in the middle of the room, wanna know why? 'cause I put it there, so I'm gonna have to live with it.

Thank goodness for my girl, and for those fleeting moments of joy when music pours out of the folds of the universe...sigh, oh to unfinished products! How good I could be, so sayeth I, and look at the wonders! Many live under the impression that I accomplish...but show me what I have accomplished. Do not fool yourself, I am unfinised ideas, the bittersweet quality of life.

Tomorrow I'm going to wake up as soon as my alarm goes off because I want peope to think I'm a good, smart, neat, and still somehow unique person. My main inspiration is Rosie, who does it all without obey such strict alarm rules. I will shower, shave, apply other cleaning elements as I see fit, eat some lucky charms and possibly sleep on the bus. I might not sleep on the bus because I bought a 16 pack CVS AA batteries for $9 (don't dilute $8.99). When I get to school, I'll go to the comp lab and print some crap up and go to english. Nothing will happen in that class, 'cause nothing ever does. I swear that class is a suction for new thought. Creative will be a little uncomfortable, hiliting Rob's inner struggle between saying everything and saying nothing. Some cool stuff might happen, but most likely it will be focused on group work on our play, I have no idea what the hell we are actually going to do. I could do the entire thing myself, like all the other group projects, but we'll see. Then lunch and band, which are most often periods of blissful nuetrality: no requirements on my head except to eat and blast away at instruments. Parting for homeroom is such sweet sorrow, but harder until you finally pull that little bit further away from staying, like magnets. Then after homeroom, which is small talk about art or fiction with greg, or maybe listening to him go on about some NES game from 198234023 years ago. Then there's pre-calc, the hardest class of the day which is saying nothing, and is nothing, 'cause I'm Aceing the class. It's annoying, 'cause there's like real work and stuff, and "oh shit, I didn't do my homework", but it's mostly easy and a little boring, passing the time drawing mazes on my book cover (look in phantasm!). Then programing, which really sucks 'cause Mrs. C is the worst programming teacher ever. I'll print out the phantasm stuff from my email account ('cause I think floppy disks suck the little one (worse than the big one)), which might be kinda fun. After school I"m supposed to call about driving, and I'l end up sceduling for january or something rediculous 'cuse nothing's open, and dad'll be pissed, but then I'll be apathetic. Then there's play, which is taxing 'cause I can't sing, and annoying for that same reason. Rosie will be there, but she'll be working on singing or whatever, maybe with chris, which is like whatever but I can't chill with her. I'll probably think a lot of thursday to cheer me up. Rosie's mom is amazing. Anyways, I'll go home with something, who knows who, and eat dinner with my dad, maybe do homework or something else important like amusic or literature project. I'll try and convince myself that it'll all get done over break. I'll worry about service for a bit, then ask dad to call the people. He probably will (i won't cause I'm a pansy) and set something up for 1000 later, after they are due. I'll convince him to sign off for them even though they are done after the due date. Who cares, anyways? It's getting done. Worse comes to worse, I could fake one to sr. nancy, but I'm a pansy and might not do it anyways. Um.. then I'll chill until late at night, ya know, this insomnia vigil, dream about actually doing something with my poetic vision (never ever ever, 'cause I'm stupid and lazy and sloth), and then fall asleep reading something like the sun. Wow! Disturbingly like today!

Anyways, the point of that was, what does that tell you about me? Anything at all. I'm going to go and try to read myself to sleep. goodnight.

Making music is like sitting down on chairs with tin cans and butterscotch. Writing poetry after a social event is like rebuilding The Bomb after the apocalypse. Trying to remeber what to write is about the same as listening to a song whose lyrics *almost* go with your life. And falling in love is a lot like finding the perfect melody, repainting the masterpieces, and knowing exactly what to write, exactly what to sing.

...yeah, the title just fit. Any more characters and I'd be done.

Ok, the theme of today is: phantasm. I will own the phantasm. No one else has submitted anything at ALL. Some people may have ideas and stuff, and english classes always have stuff (most of which sucks 'cause it was done for class), but no one will match the volumne of stuff I have. I've never had people read my stuff mainstream, but I sincerly want to know what people think. And if I submit a lot, it's like bludgeoning them into response. Plus, most of it's not that good, so the more stuff, the more chances for positive reaction. SO I'm submitting two mazes, probably about 4 or 5 poems, and one (maybe two) short stories. If there's anything of mine that you liked and wanted to see inthere, lemme know. 'course, as we alreayd established, no one really reads this, but whatever. Hey, lurkers out there, don't worry, this stuff is out in the open. It's here 'cause I'm not good at articulating in speech, I'm better at saying what I mean when I write(which isn't much better anyways). But where was I? Ah yes, phantasm. I was thinking I could sumbit the story version of Strange Happenings in a Deep Dark Forest, to get popular reaction. (for those who dpon't know, SHINDDF is the storyline I'm making into a play for the student directed play. The stage version will be finished by january.) They only thing about puting the story version in pahtasm is that it's 9 pages typed size :(10 i think or 12):

So anyway, other things that you probably care less about, like my person growth and love life. I'm getting better and better into that ideal frame of mind every day. Wow, that was really easy. It used to be hard to say that so bluntly, I used to have to tell my life story in huge metaphors (you know, those prolific periods when I made works like Flame [which everyone seems to love] and Couch). SO yeah, that's me. I know who my ideal person is, and he isn't anyone else 'cause I have my own person goals and dreams and ideal and things like that, and it's a clearer picture every day. Things in my life that I sincerley care about, like careers, school progress and appearece, Rosie, friends and stuff really move me along. If it weren't for Rosie or Music, I would have no real reason to try and be a good person.

ok, enough mushiness. back to cool things. man, if life were all halo, i would be soo set. I'm not the best everyday, but everyday I'm up with the top 8-10(in our little circle). you've got steve and matt^2, chris and mike were floating around there somewhere, and there's all those people that I'm not great friends with like Elliot who are all better than me. yeah, anyways, yeah, bye.

The War for Love persists through homework, techno music, and crappy messaging servers. That is all.

Dan ***c is a genius. Life is rosie. I really suck at puns. Halo is a great game. This kid I know named Kyu-bean is a genius, too. I love him. Life...sigh...it's very cool. very cool. i love how bittersweet things dominate. sexy. cool. crazy. love! yay! The morning of work...I wonder what else homework I have to do.