Not with a Bang but a Whimper

Ha

2010-06-07T00:34:00.001-07:00

I screamed into her mouth for her to stop.
The Swiss Alps were calling me
To turn over in my grave
As the swift grace from heaven denied me.
P-P-P-Pleasure
Eminated from the light of the devine
I fell to the floor
Consituents of the devoid operators
Lent me a hand.
(See
This is just my normal mind.
Everything is fake that I speak.
Triggers.
You're all just triggers
Poorly acting triggers.)

Spark. Spark.
Zap.
Electricity is fired off
And my fingers take the brunt of it.
Ice it down.
No.
Put spoons in my mouth.
One way or another,
I probably won't survive this madness.

Shocked!
I wish to show you my face.
But then
I'll just tell you.

There are eyes.
They are closed.
There is a mouth.
It is open.
(I hope you've formulated
Some great idea from this.
It will be the last time you see me)

Degrees of burn
Are seen from the inside.
Oh so superficial
Are the scars of the past.
The future holds the true path to a literal scathing.
No death will occur
(Well, later)
But it will be when you do not pass
Onto the other side.
When you find that there is no River Styx
For you to erase the past.
No Nirvanic fountain
That helps alleviate those that pained,
And start a new life.

A new life.
It is what we all wish for.
Hundreds of times over again each day,
And should the time of day be where
The sun shouts at you from high tide in the sky,
Please do not quiver.
There is no earthquake.
It is just me.
And the memory.

A

2010-06-03T00:28:00.001-07:00

Jay-

Grow up on a street.
Water and blood pool together like brothers.
Sirens beat alarms to the punch
In the dead of night.
The night is dead.
Today,
This was the wrong street
On the wrong week
Wearing the wrong shirt
That had an array of too many hues of the wrong color.
A black Benz rolls up on your right,
Scratches and dents from chain link fences
That it met with a purpose.
Assumptions were made,
On their behalf
Not yours.

Lying on the floor of your beautiful city
The government buildings are astonishing from this angle.
The water next to you
Knows what you are going through,
As you and it mesh to become one.
You could scream,
Point at the Benz with rims full of "Them"'s
But now, you're mute,
As your voice has no purpose.

John-
He wakes up.
He wakes up and goes to work
To pay the bills.
He comes home;
Makes dinner and brushes his teeth.
He falls asleep.
He dreams,
Dreams of rosy lips and green gowns almost emerald,
Like her Olive eyes that never dart but
Glide
From side to lovely
Side.
She laughs, and so does he.
The sun sets,
In a glory of fire and extinguished flames,
And he wakes up.
He wakes up and goes to work
To pay the bills.
He comes home;
Makes dinner and brushes his teeth.
He falls asleep.
He dreams...
He wakes up.
He wakes up and goes to work
To pay the bills.
On the way,
He crosses a street.
He never looks twice.

Pigeons scatter,
People look-
He can't tell whether to breathe fast,
Or to hold---
A woman runs to him,
Screaming for the policia.
(She may save a life today)
Holding his head in her hands,
She finds it hard to look down at a dead man dying.
But she does.
(It will scar her for life)
He blinks.
The sun is eclipsed by her young flowing hair.
(His blood flows freely)
Her hair is black.
(He sees Saint Elmo's Fire in the sky)
She screams,
And for a split second
The sun is obscured and her eyes are a green that
He found as a child in the grasslands behind his house.
(His childhood is tainted red)
He smells lavender.
His eyes close.
He thinks he hears things,
Like footsteps running and the
Driver of the car exclaiming reasons
That aren't particularly important to John anymore.
He slides his hands into his pockets,
Looking for a phone to call his mom
And tell her he loves her.
But he forgot it today.
He dreams...

Don't HAve a Title YEt

2010-05-27T00:32:00.000-07:00

Whispers inside the stationary vehicle
Are louder than the metallic movement surrounding us.
Spires rise to the sky
At variable heights.
Heat rises and falls
Circulating in the empty atmosphere.
A certain fury can be felt.
Lavender implosions swallow the world
On your left and right
Allowing drops of rose to spring forth from the ground.
Fire burns impressions from the past,
To create ideas of the present.
Emancipate your feelings of this placebo love.
Condensation on the inside
Lets you draw words of romance
That those on the outside
Will misinterpret.
But what will happen
When the engine turns off and the sun goes down
And the pedestrians leave
While only stars and streetlights alone illuminate our path?
Will an affirmation of us be discovered?
Or shall desire overcome it all,
And burn all the roses?
Even when these roses have never embraced snow.

Lines Written with Futile Hope

2010-05-20T00:27:00.001-07:00

You are as real as the moonlight on my hand.
Doesn't it feel beautiful.
So sentimental,
But not enough.
Lamentation for the day that has passed,
The one that was young for a while,
But realized that it could last for so short a time.
A small while,
As the tides rushed the shore
And overwhelmed the coasts
Showing clouds of dying color
Through its liquescent window.
Time, minutes of sadly minute length,
Evacuates the clouds from the sky,
Defeats the bluebird's song and the
Evergreens' everlasting effervescence;
The presence within the atmosphere is now gone.

When Autumn comes today
Will it show colors?
Will the dying tree,
In it's last flourish for light and glory,
Refuse me the yellows and reds that would line these long streets,
As I keep the aqua-tainted ocean in eyesight?
Transitioning into a biting frost,
All I can see are the lines of smoke-entwined snow on the pavement,
And bare oaks of brown,
Swelling with the scent
Holding its breath
Until I pass, and then exhales.
Animals burrow into the gardens that don't provide,
Into homes that don't exist.

The day is broken,
While I sit among the pasture of leaves
Freshly matted down by my own steps.
I wish to mend it
But my fingers are decrepit and mangled
From brushing them through miles of wilted grass and lonely fences.
Healed just a bit,
I smile when the sun turns red.
So simple, it sprays a mist of rose within the sky.
But I turn to the Eastern shore,
With dejection fastened to the heart.
And hope for more.

Mr. Eliot

2010-05-20T00:09:00.000-07:00

Why, Mr. Eliot,
Does my hand fail me when I write without meter?
It trembles like a distant hurricane
Close to shore.
Why am I inspired by rain beating upon my roof
By birds eclipsing the sun so gracefully
By love unfulfilled?
Take a portrait with me, sir.
You are long gone,
Dead years before I had seen lavender skies.
I am gone too
With each line I dedicate to your legacy
Creativity is invoked by many things,
But should the past be one?
Non-verbal seance,
The only sound is the candle's flicker,
My scratches at paper.
Each line I write makes me sicker.

The women, Mr. Eliot,
Why, the women come and go.
Boats rock to and fro
Drinking four glasses of chardonnay
Ruffle, rest, and call it a day.

Beg and plead to build a shrine.
I have no talent
I refuse to behold tradition.
For, Mr. Eliot, you refuse to listen.
Please be witness to the light above my head.
Spotlights in the blackened sky.

-She twists the rose in her naked hands.
We spread heavily across barren lands.
Angels swirl lightly over islands with lovely disposition.

I fall backwards
Hoping for someone to be there to save me.
Eyes above spy down upon us.
Wonder who I am.
Where I am going.
You cannot care why,
As streaks near the moon reverberate
While I try to envision what is not here.

First Poem by NMQ

2010-05-20T00:08:00.000-07:00

Everyday he works.
Gets up early to do hard work.
goes home
He used to work hard at home too.
but back then at least he had his family
his wife, his child, his parents
Here, he might have a friend, a cousin, an acquaintance.
at home he wasn't alone
Here, he is surrounded by strangers everyday.
Secluded in his new environment.
His new life here full of shiny new things and his newly found friends
Are they just enough to fill the void, to erase the memories?
of his life when he used to work for a life he could enjoy with them

NOTITLE

2010-04-30T12:57:00.000-07:00

Probably the longest poem ever. But yeah, I just wanted to write..

Into the well dives my wish
But the prospect of return is dim.
I threw it in upon a whim.
Hoping my misfortune would turn around.

With my nose to the ground
I hunt for the twists and turns of life.
Cut down our trees with a dull knife.
Tie them together. Call it a boat.

When the waves pick up, I hope we'll float.
But that's based on a hope and a prayer.
"I could predict this" Spoke the soothsayer.
The sky tonight, it has too many layers.

We could see, over looming towers and sky-bound skylights
Birds flying over head dive into the night.
Reds and Oranges; The dying sun dies out of sight
Leaving us standing in a field of green.

Leaves abound make rings around
Two souls lost. Lost in the middle.
Of a forest? A field of artificial greenery?
We look to the sky, and back to the earth, to find what it means.

Too many things are attempting to come full circle.
I am the lawyer in a trial,
And the suspect is full of undeniable denial
While I ask questions, prying at the truth.

"You and I, we are just youths!
We wish to seek the truth
Striking at the ground, making sound
Loving the other by claw and by tooth."

Primal desires overcome false mires,
Leaving our feet dripping wet from the dawn.
Speak of stupid passion and child-like desires
I retract and detract and sit down on the synthetic lawn.

Oh, the fireworks that do not explode.
A slow-motion, recurring episode of dramatics
Poetics and romantics. All is hopeless. All is lost.
I threw my last dime into the well. But more than that, imagine the cost.

My hands are numb. Maybe from the frost.
But the frozen tundra could not sway my mind.
Love is the last horizon to find.
But I am lost.

So when should I come back? How should I react?
My smile shall fall heavily among the bric-a-brac.
And so I detract. Into a shallow hole in the wall.
Waiting for an ever so distant call. Ever so distant.

I will never ask "What is it?" I will reply
With a whimper or a sigh. Something that will bring you nigh.
And I will pry. Sixty times with no results.
We shall depart amongst these solitary tumults.

On purpose, I will be lost in Delaware.
Somewhere far from here. Somewhere never near.
Probably the days will linger.
As I remember the days I embraced with the alto singer.

Monsters in my closet. In my car. In my launder.
Force me to sit and ponder.
Will this do me any good? Am I a runaway, or do I just wander?
I wander for wandering's sake. So I must return.

As the fire from the inferno burns
We takes turns. Jumping around. Feet never truly touching the ground.
But then the humor of it all
Become sadly pivotal.

She walks away. She walks away.
Becoming the greatest obstacle of the bunch.
We sit to lunch. The way she walks. The way she brushes her hair...
Again, makes me question. "Do I dare?"

But I don't. I won't.
She enters the door. I hold it open. "I'll take your coat."
Chivalry comes high to the forefront.
High upon my stallion, I forget about the hunt.

Sit down. Order. It is all so jovial.
Speaking talking, I listen. Interested in truth. Interested so.
My, does the day go. It goes and it goes.
Until it is night again. And we depart, my friend.

Marks on hands, simple tallies of love.
Or is it love? It's love. Wait?
The night does wane, and the hour becomes late.
My significance dies, along with the date.

Logic dictates the next maneuver. My rook guards the queen.
Sacrifice its life. But for what, I must ask? (And so does the rook)
By hook or crook, we'll survive it all.
I read it in a book. For we, Love in the time of Diphtheria.

The snow comes down. Cats and dogs hide away.
Blackness overcomes the house. Differentiate between the night and day.
But you need no coat. No blanket. Socks are an option.
I ask "Do you shiver?" and you reply how you may.

Younger and younger we are not getting.
Clocks have broken down. Worn down. Letting us forget
That which we must let.
We must let. I must let. I must let you go.

Bury me in the Sahara. Or in the depths of Africa.
I am Mr. Kurtz. I am dead.
I have floated to the bottom of the pool. Dense as lead.
Just do me a favor and paint our sunrise red.

Laugh away. For the rest of your life.
That is all I wish. That is the last coin flip.
Heads or tails. It doesn't matter. It never mattered.
My lips and teeth will miss you, among the chit and chatter.

The note said that you wished
(I quote the latter)

For a new day to come.
It said, lying upon my table,
That you lived within a fable
And that you wished to love someone.
That you hoped for a dream come true
This wouldn't last
Wounded, bound in a cast,
You didn't know what to do.
I ask who am I to mend this ruse?
The day is done. The night is cold.
Trivialities, they do grow old.
So to pain my mind, I ask, what's the use?

I fold the letter and hide it in my jacket
The cars on the street create a metallic racket
I look. I look for days. Drunk from wine, my balance swerves.
Lonely at this party, I drink more wine; eating hors d'oeuvres.

Gone are the days when we laughed. Laughed and cried.
Gone is when silence was all we replied.
Gone are memories which we promised we'd keep.
I'm in a pine box. You'll probably refuse to weep.

Violins, cellos, may you hear me out?
I do not know what you sing about.
Only chords of strain and softness strike me blind.
Rain pounds heavily upon my eyes. I am cast with doubt.

Struggle. Shout. I turn around and fall into a whimper.
The light dies near, I fear to say. To say I say with confidence.
As my dreams of a picket fence splinter gone.
We are strangers, here forever, now to hence.

And whence shall we leave again?
Beg my pardon. I must mean meet again.
Because this cannot happen twice. This cannot happen three times.
This has to cease. But I must ask when.

Thunder strikes this very house. I do not know how strong this roof is.
Earthquakes shake, take a toll on my foundation.
My foundation. The ground does shift.
I lift to heaven high with no elation.

Clouds take my sky. Commandeer the panorama.
Manipulate my scene from serene to what I deem sublime.
From a distance, your voice echoes.
But that is just the to-and-fro's of the cellos.

The sea must mellow out, one day, while I am still alive.
Birds flying over head, quit their gliding. Fall rather than dive.
Brick by lonely brick is taken from the foundation
Of my sea-side house. Atlantis is home to lovers before.

The picture's blurry. Your dress is green.
Life is not what it may seem. It isn't. It really isn't.
Specters are transparent, as so they appear.
I fear, that I'll stutter. I have failed. D-Dang.

Bang. And then we're bang to the beginning.
By my tally, I do believe you're winning.
Fooled me. I forgot it was a game.
Fooled me twice. You forgot I had a name. My name?

I don't remember either. Jay? Blake? Jake?
They're all the same. They wind up dead, or simply living.
Oh, darling, isn't it just so riveting?
When will the conclusion come? When will it come?

It comes sooner for some. Postponed for me.
As the sun goes down, I walk with glee.
The tree means nothing, in the larger picture of it all.
Slow down time. Please. Jack. Jose. Adderall.

Get me off this world. I'm dizzy. Busy. The days,
They come with ease. But knocked down twice,
It does suffice that I'm left with scarred knees,
And hollow chin. Throw the coin. I love these whims.

Struggle? Beaten down? You left this garden,
To love the plush and lavish lifestyle of the town.
You walk with them. She walks away. She walks away.
She has walked away. Everyone, this is parlay.

There is time. Oh, there is time. For visions.
And then revisions and decisions of those visions
Incisions. My heart divides from my soul like nuclear fission.
But alas I'm still alive. My eyes have mist. My eyes have mist.

Do you understand? I tried to explain the gist of it.
Hearts divide. Explosions in the sky. Words unspoken.
I throw a token. Deep abyss. "I love you dearly, miss."
Swing? Miss. Boxes. Letters. Dawn. Dive. Goodbye.

-------------------------------------------------------

New Title

2010-04-04T13:46:00.001-07:00

Here is the poem where the new title comes from.

TS Eliot
The Hollow Men

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

No! I am not Prince Hamlet

2010-04-04T13:14:00.000-07:00

Last night, predating the last entry, a room mate of mine asked me a question that I actually was stumped by.

"You're pretty concerned with people. Even everyone as a whole. What about yourself?"

I was like "OHHH SHITTTT SON. You just became all doctorate therapist on me, by asking me how I feel."

But, it's a question that does evade me still. What is it that I hold dear about everyone else, while there is my personal being at stake. There are those that don't give two shits about others in the world, and then there are people like me, who probably think about others more than they contemplate about themselves.

What about me? What about me. A sentence and a question separated by a rising intonation.

I, for some odd, and probably stupid, reason, wonder why we, as a whole, don't care more. Why is it that we don't look at ourselves and ask "What is wrong about me?" Not everyone can be the hotness, the business, el primo guapo (For my spanish friends). We are human, and by rights, philosophically, we are err'd. So why not try to improve those errors?

I have a messy desk. I question if it's a negative or positive thing. If I deem it negative, I should do something about it. So I do.

But then, I suppose, there are people who believe that this messy desk is perfection, and that this desk cannot be further improved upon.

These people must believe, also, that they are penultimate perfection in other realms of living too. They cannot do wrong. These people are either hermits that believe society is not good enough, or unibombers who hate society for their problems they create upon them.

Who says I am right? They possibly can believe that they are err'd. But are these errors significant? Can people look at themselves and say that "I have a problem telling the truth to my significant other." "I can't love, because I have been trained to be manly." "I value money over people." Is anyone really able to face these truths?

Steps may be the best way to go. Gradual alterations of the self.

I alter myself. I still have faults. Everything is perpetually under a moral and ethical construction.

Yet, the question about myself has been evaded like people evading homeless people in San Francisco and Berkeley. The homeless ones that you can see from ways away that they smell.

Why do I care so much about THEM, rather than caring about myself?

Selflessness? Lack of consciousness for my personal well-being? Maybe I'm just a open hearted individual, aka hippy, that just loves everyone.
Dude.

No, that can't be it. I believe that people are naturally ignorant about personal strifes, so that's not it.

Maybe this will sum it up. A line from a poem.

"No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool...
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—"

My "honed" analytical skills can tell you that the speaker of the poem is saying that they are not a prince or a lord, but a simple man that helps increase the swelling of the progress (Shakespeare's plays had groups of people on-stage to display a court or town scene). He is faceless, unimportant, but part of the mass.

I guess what I'm saying is that I am just a person. Nothing more. A pessimist about my own future. So I care more about those around me, because they the ones that control my degree of happiness in my life.

And I try to do likewise.

Laughter covers up the sadness of our ends.

So what about myself?

I like basketball, people, and music.

Anything other than that,
I fade into the crowd, and you may never see me again.

Edit: 1 minute after.

I can sing "Tik Tok" by Kesha. All of it. That should define me. Tell you who I am. And if it doesn't, life, as we know it, is a big lie.

Don't Know.

2010-04-04T03:05:00.001-07:00

I have always wondered what it means to actually do something with yourself.

They say "Boy, go and do something with your life"

Then I wonder what that something is. Are we supposed to get menial jobs, that you return home to your 1.5 kids and your wife that may or may not be addicted to valium and cheating on you with the pool boy? Should we go to college, only to arrive... Arrive being the operative word.

I feel as if just "doing" is so...pathetic isn't the word...meaningless. I think it's meaningless to just be at a level that you enjoy, and while being at that level, you stay there. I feel that people should strive to be more. Doesn't everyone want to improve themselves?

Of course not. There will be people who are satisfied with where they are.

I personally don't understand how they can live this way.

But then it boils down to whether you believe that there is a reason. Is there possibly a reason that we should live? Why don't we just kill ourselves in the bathtub listening to Tubthumping by Chumbawumba, throwing the radio in to our watery ending? This would skip straight to the answer, if there is a purpose. And then we'd deal from there.

However, if you do believe that life is worth living, and that the end can wait, why wait? Why should we wait. That was a statement more than it was a question, because the statement deems the mentality is more important than the questioning mind. There are people who, like a great philosopher said (Soc, Plat, Aris?) "The unobserved life is not worth living." There are those that live, and that is all. They exist, standing, sitting, doing what they are expected. Thinking what they feel everyone believes they believe.
But is this good enough? Shouldn't we ask everyday "Am I doing this right? Am I doing this, the word this being so ambiguous that I can't even fathom a single meaning of this, right?"

I personally ask myself everyday, when I wake up and when I fall asleep, "How can I make my life better today? What was it yesterday that I can improve upon, and what shall I do tomorrow in order to make sure that doesn't happen again?" If we are not striving upward, shall we linger?

But then, the question should be what is right? What makes my opinion more valid than those who, I say, just exist? That is true.

Take the example majority versus minority. If the majority values monetary assets as their false idol, and the minority values interpersonal relationships as their false idol, who is right? Who's idol is more real?
And the answer would be no one's, right?

In actuality, correct. But because the majority controls, they are 'right'. At this point, they dictate what it is we should believe. They believe that this designer bag is more fabulous than this one. This value is more important than that. You are more important than they.

In the end, though, what does it all mean? Just because the majority is right right now, does that mean that they are true (For lack of a better term)? If there is an eternal judge, would he say "YUP, you guessed that the D&G jacket that you got for 30% off that still cost you 350 dollars is right"?

But then, we're dealing on such a level of un-sureness that no one, even those that propose they know, don't know.

That's my problem. I want to know. Whenever someone says "Oh, it was nothing." I say "FCKINGTELLME". Because I feel that if I don't know, there will be something haunting. Something that will perpetuate to my demise. What if that something I don't know, winds up being the one thing that could have benefited me? Now, that's such a correolis effect theory that it's ludicrous to talk about.

We don't know, anything. And that I feel is where we all wind up winding up. Those who have faith, may say they know. They read a book about it all. But they don't know. There will be those that say that they know the universe was created by a bang, rather than a whimper. But they don't know.
I don't even know if I like the new cast on the real world because that one guy tried to prank the other dude, but wound up getting him sick. It's crazy how much we don't know in this world.

Edit:

Five minutes later.

This is a philosophy. So discuss. Or don't. Either way, if you have read this, I've made a mark. It can be so subconscious that you may never see it in your daily life, even a day in your life, but it's there. You'll sit there at your desk, or standing holding a cup of gin and juice (Laid back), with your mind on your money, and possibly money on your mind, and contemplate "What am I doing?" And just contemplating that made your life a little better, more substantial, more worthwhile, more real. From there, we can all work together to be able to say "Shit, I still don't know.... SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOTS."

New.

2010-03-01T14:39:00.000-08:00

So instead of writing my essay due in 24 hours, I'm going to try and write a post (Since Rebecca said that she misses my interesting ones, and I haven't posted in forever)
Soooooo yeah...

-I feel as if I have nothing to write. There is much to say, that I could say, but when I ask my hands to write something of significance, to say something that will force people to contemplate, nothing can come.
I've had things happen in the last week, that I never thought could happen to me. Challenges that I've tried to face, but I think I've taken a chicken way out of it. I can't explain it, but to have two people, both who understand what's happening, both who can say with honesty how they feel, to turn out as (on my end) completely devastated as I felt, it just doesn't make sense to me.

But a lot of things don't make sense to me.

-I've been forced to think about life. On a grand scale, immediate scale, and personal scale. Where I'm going, in the sense of after I leave Irvine, and after I leave life itself. lulz, it's all so serious.

-Fred made comments using lines from Batman beyond. Using the joker as an example for a dating guideline on his part. I said he should go out on dates, and quote ONLY from the joker. See how far that gets him.
Not far.

-I wonder how people are doing. I took a nap today, and dreamed of people from middle school that moved away. It was weird. I saw them, and when I tried to talk to them, their words were muffled, muddled, and I couldn't hear them. I wonder if that means they are gone out of my life, or if they are trying to say something, but I can't understand. Crazy.

-I still think that what you learn under the stars and in night skies are much more important than what you can learn from a book or in a classroom.

-Class is good. Probably B's - B+'s. I've never gotten an A in I'm unsure how long. I think I can, if I really want to, but when I go to school, all I care about are the people I meet, and the days I have. What will become of those who get straight A's? They'll have lives. They'll do things. They'll go places. But I feel that if I miss out on the days I could have now, with people, that the seconds before I die, I'll remember it all, and smile. What will the people who studied for hours, sacrificing people over books; what will they have to say of themselves later? And when I say, say of themselves, I mean, what will they be able to say to themselves in terms of "Did I just waste my life on that?" Because in the end of it all, what does having a Masters mean, if you never mastered yourself?
Shitty pun. But it's done.

-I've had to question the concept of God a lot lately. Not my favorite topic, purely because everyone (my idea) has a different idea on who it is, and what happens. There is assumed an absolute truth (There are those that firmly believe this. As for me, I'm like 'ehh?'). But I think that if there is something out there, that God'll be chill as fuck. If I was made in his image (falling back on the Christian/Catholic concept ((No offense, I can't differentiate the difference between the two in terms of this concept))) I'm perfect as can be. If I am to meet God one day, I'll say "Sup?" And God'll say "Sup breh?" And we'll kick it, and do whatever it is all eternity. Chill shit.

-But then there's the possibility God doesn't exist. And then to that I say "Shoot." Because then that means, there is a rivalry in my mind. I hope that there is something that occurs after my life which allows me to remember all the people I've met along the way, and all the experiences I've had. That would be ideal, regardless of where it is, what it is, and who controls this fcking odd world.
But then there's the blank out of existence concept. This has caused me great fear in my life. To a stupid, utmost degree. I can't fathom it. Just not existing. I've heard people say it's peaceful to just not be. But then I think "Well, then you haven't lived a life worth remembering" Life is about the trauma and shit you go through. Given, I haven't lost a close family member or friend, so I'm not sure if that will change my mind. But I still have to say, why would anyone not want to be? Why would anyone not want to remember loves in their lives, or experiences laughing with a group of people, as you make jokes until three in the morning, and can't stop laughing, until someone says "Don't say anything else or I'll throw up" and everyone is quiet, and then you start laughing again because the silence makes you think of things funnier than you've thought of before, and your friend who said stop, starts dry heaving, and then we all get serious and go to sleep?
That's what I want to remember. That's why I live my life. So to say it gets erased, the second I shut my eyes from my inevitable death as I drown in ice cold water because I took a stroll one day in Seattle just to get out of the house, screaming for help, but I realize that there's no one around in between Seattle and Tacoma, and I try to control my hyperventilation as possible as I can, is just something I won't accept. I will have to accept it, of course, because it's not my choice, but:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

-I'm out of food.

-This has been a long ass post. Sorry. That's what happens when I neglect to post in a while.

Yup.

2009-11-12T01:32:00.001-08:00

You can tell how much someone cares about you

By how they say goodbye.

Restraint

2009-10-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

So this may be one of my favorite poems I've wrote, just based on the fact that there's a coherent pattern, a beginning, middle, end, and it makes sense, rather than my other stuff.

And it means a fucking lot. To me. Not you.

"Restraint"

I pick it up
And then put it back down again.
Dial tone dies
And revives like a long lost friend.
I decide not

Because I've been taught
That there are emotions you allow
And there were the emotions I fought
To keep it parallel normalcy.
I don't give it all up to save Pandas in China
Just for the sake of advocacy
Don't sell my house and my car
Because I had a dream you'd be abducted to Mars.

No
My rationale keeps them hidden
Locked away in a safe underground a local Wells Fargo
In order to not cry every hour, I must stow
Them away today.
Birds wings flutter
And as I mutter
"I thought we'd enjoy another stroll along the avenue once more"
Why, I'm on my way once more out the door.

And not a swinging door. It's more revolving.

Because I spend my entire life solving
What isn't right with me.
Or more like
What's wrong and what do I do?
Would I sacrifice myself for my new found religion
Where I walk along streets having philosophical talks with pigeons?

But they fly away.

Or do I spend day by day
Sabotaging each opportunity that appears?
Such as when I'm on a flight home
Nervously eating peanuts that are slightly salted
And the passenger next to me has halted their progress through the magazine
They lean
Ever so close and say
"What's your name? What's your sign? I was born in May."

And I sit and stare out the window
Locked in daydream lust
As I have utmost trust
That the rock I threw into the ocean
Stayed near the shore, battling the tides, just for this one man.
A jilted (or soon to be) lover
Who took fire from opposing sides, and ducked for cover
Instead of firing back and hitting the sack
With arms full of possibilities
Rather than an arm full of feathers and a flock of birds in bad weather
(Alongside the plane I mean)

And on this flight I'll dream
Of that one single occasion
Outside the bus, or train, or taxi cab station
And then I'll laugh.
(Haha)
Actually, I'll be devastated
Like a worm that's hooked, baited, and ultimately fated, and looks to God in awe.

Then I'll be crying into shots of vodka
Finding new ones to shoot the breeze
Oh, they'll be the bees knees as they squeeze
Into stupid dresses
Turn their faces into stupid clown messes
(She doesn't need the make-up)
And make conversation that would amuse a five year old
As I remained bold and stood out in the cold
(Because I remember that's how it was then)

And I'll remember when,
Even amid the rambling on about what she didn't wear tonight,
That time when I heard THAT song and had to fight
(With a choking force)
As words were lacking, I relied on pre-historic Morse
And tapped out the words
"I-M F-I-N-E. G-O A-W-A-Y"
As I tipped a piano and pulled down a tray
(Might have been shish kabobs, or maybe shrimp)
And my mind went limp

I came to...

Holding a phone, with the look of question
Would this be a good time for a long distance resurrection?
Or would we just contrast the pros and the cons?
The nights we stayed up and looked at the dawns
To the nights we stay up and look at the dawns
Alone.

Chinese History

2009-10-24T02:50:00.000-07:00

Wrote this during class
While I was still inebriated from the night before.
It speaks of my mind, giving me clues about myself.

Great, Blue Sky
or
A Kind of Falling

(Not sure which I should title it)

A kind of falling
Heavy as Stone
The love that I love
Is not my own

The reason I fall
I know why
That I am lost in this great, blue sky

Taken aback
My breath did halt
The sun doth scorch
Like a wind-burned fault

The reason I fall
I know why
That I stare up into this great, blue sky

Heart had stopped
Soul is swift
My whisper does mire
As my soul does lift

The reason I fall
I know why
That I find myself in this great, blue sky

Hand is empty
Eyes so blurry
Tumbling without a net
I can't seem worry

The reason I fall
I know why
That I find myself crying out to this great, blue sky

The day wanes late
As the sun recedes
I know what I know
And I know what I need

The reason I fall
I know why
That I am lonely, all alone with this great, blue sky

I speak your name
As it carries in the wind
You left long ago
So my love must rescind

The reason I fall
I know why

I am here, but once laid with you in the great, blue sky.

Don't Listen to Interpol when Writing

2009-10-17T02:41:00.000-07:00

My E key isn't working too efficiently. I have to continuously repeat the tapping of 'e' in order for it to register. This laptop is killin m sometimes. Seriously, like I have to fix the power input and bend it and shit in order for it to register a contact to the laptop itself, so it just keeps making minimal contact, killing my power. Sucks

So
I guess I need to write something significant.

I tried writing again today. A poem. Of sorts. And in my cohorts and tribulations, I couldn't find anything in me to write. No grandeur. No relations. No simplifications of oversimplifications that have no significance nor stance.
I hate when that happens. It's as if you've been drained emotionally.
And the term "Drained emotionally" typically refers to being beaten down and battered, like a cod from the sea, that winds up in your freezer as a breaded fish, eventually going to be eaten, or frozen for year until you discard it because it's unedible.
But no. I think I'm at that point when I apathetic to most things. Because most things are apathetic to my cause. And my cause is just making through things alive.
It turns out, with a common occurrence, that the rants and raves I make about the waves of swelling crowds, I shout out loud, makes not a difference to those of whom I care. Those who are not a part of the passing faces of the passing places, still seem to not understand just what I say. Or, what I say, in regards to what I don't say.
Example. What I may say is that there aren't stars outside. The night would be beautiful with or without them. This is the time, the perfection, the midnight complexion and tension of unsurity.
But no, the response is calm, quiet, quite a riot of silence. Taken away from th moment, I walk away wondering, what I need to do for affection? Stare at my reflection from beside a river tide? Love myself more, for thos who adore me will wind up here anyways?

I'm just done. Writing. Yeah. Because my eyes hurt, I lost in poker because I'm too nice to quit when I'm ahead, and because my ys hurt. They do.

Trading Sthhhhhpaces

2009-10-16T00:47:00.000-07:00

I finally quit the redundant 'W' titles. Sorry, but I couldn't think of a clever 'W' word to title this with.

I'm switching rooms with Harrison. I think Arturo wants his privacy on the weekends with his girlfriend, since everyone but he and myself leave. So it's Saturday nights, I'm in my bed
He's in his
She's in his
I'm still in my bed
He's in his
She's in his
I "sleepwalk" into theirs and ask if they want to make it interesting
He's in his
She's in his
I'm on the couch in the other room.

That's a typical Saturday night.

So I'm switching rooms with Harrison. I'll probably make my way back into the room and say "So, have you all done anything interesting with animals, objects, boys dressed as girls dressed as boys?"
And then sleepwalk myself back to the couch.

Sadface :(

NEXT

Our team won our first intramural game. It was actually a hella close game the entire way through.
The dynamics of the substitution goes like this:
Starting line-up.
Sub three guys out.
Sub two girls out.

So I subbed in the first time, and I hit a three. Played for two more minutes, and then got subbed out. (We have like, 11+ players on the team, and Tomo no Kai is a friendly organization ((Like Diablo, without the a-holes)) so subbing is a regular necessity)
Second time we got subbed in, there was a lead of about two. I hit a runner for two. Some freethrows, and before we knew it, we were up by NINE.
NINE.
Biggest lead of the game.

Next sub for the guys. They had no ball handlers, and the other team was legit. Like, they seemed to be able to all make high school.
Now we're down one.
We eventually pull it out to win by 4. And the thing is, I actually had some fun, regardless of the 7 out of 40 minutes that I played. I'm in this for the social aspect, somewhat for the competitive, but overall, it's just straight up fun.

NEXT

I need a job

NEXT

Write a poem. For me. I want to read people's writing, but no one ever feels like sharing. Poetry is nice, in one aspect, because I get to see another person's creative side. Another is that they show the beauty that truly resides in them (And I like to believe that beauty is a natural component of an individual)
Also, I like figuring out what the poems mean, because there are parts of the poems that they don't realize they're saying, which unfurls another side of them that they can't even tell me.

So write me one. Send it in an email, if you want. Or FB. Or liek, whatevs.

I'll write a freestyle one. Time me.

12:57am

The space that filled our voices
Was seemingly endless
I doubt these were never our choices
So our love had to regress

To bare essentials
The broken bones
Of weakened wires
Malfunctions of phones
Dial tones
Are what's left of us

I hope that you can trust
The fact that I'm still here
A letter sent in the midst of a gust
Will make you feel as if I'm near

A young endeavour
Our paths are not done
We are two apart
But in heart we are one
We view the same sun
It is whole

I bet you can hear my soul
It talks out so loud
It vanishes from me
In the shape of a cloud

And makes shapes for you
Pictures of present and past
Of life that will last
It ever so higher..

And if you think of me
In the saddest of manners

It will rain
And we will feel the same.

1:03am

Whoa, Snap

2009-10-11T12:25:00.000-07:00

Last night I chilled with some friends out in VDC at an apartment party. Played beer pong. Used my 3 point abilities to dominate sophomores.
Left, had to jump a couple sets of fences, drunk. Which was scary as shit, since I have a phobia of heights, and when you have been drinking a tad, the combination is just horrifying.

I originally wrote a page long dissertation about how much my being is in a blaze, but I'll just sum it up.
Yeah, I can't take this anymore. It's shit when the good in your life is always negated, and all that's left are the ones who are walking problems.

Love it.

Minimizing Contact. College doesn't stress me out. It's life that's broke my mind. A slow shatter through the years. And this isn't just another small crack in the glass, but it's an explosion of the transparent floor I've been lying on.

Wavering

2009-10-10T00:25:00.000-07:00

I've been living so long with my pictures of you that
I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel. -Pictures of You; The Cure

This is the first time I've heard this song, and I have The Cure discography. It hit my mind like when you accidentally stand up too fast and the blood rushes to your head, and you know where you are, but you're still a little dazed and can't maintain balance very well.

That's what it felt like.

I finally have food again in the apartment.

I was down to these items:

1 cup of Yogurt
A quarter box of Mini-Wheats
No Milk
Spinach.

So I was getting pretty hungry in the apartment. Finally got to the store with a friend, drop a cool seventy bucks, and have three cartons of Lactaid milk (Because I don't want shooting pains in the middle of hearing my professor from Jiang Nan province of China speak about how much cotton China grew in the late Qing dynasty)
A couple cartons of juice, cereal, yogurt, and that's about it.
Not much solid food...

Aside:
Hopefully when the dust settles down
and the people move on
I'll crawl into town
And see you're not gone.

Boom. Freestyle quatrain poetry.

I've got mass amounts of laundry to do. Like literally, it's a small hill in the corner. It will equate to six loads, or 14 dollars of laundry, sans computation of the cost of detergent... This shit sucks.

Aside Again:

I never meant to cause you trouble,
And I never meant to do you wrong,
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble,
O no, I never meant to do you harm.

Coldplay - Trouble

I enjoy emails. Send one.
Via Facebook, Gmail, or AOL. Anything.

I'm hoping to send a mass amount of letters out soon. And I have no addresses except for a few valuable ones.
I love hearing what you've got to say about you. Really.

Waking up

2009-10-04T01:57:00.000-07:00

In the metaphorical sense.

I'm beginning to understand what it means to leave. It means that you're going to grow up. Going to become more of what you are supposed to be. Going to go through some shit that will literally break your mind. Something like "Is this the right choice?" "Should I really go through with this?" "How could this have happened?"

And my favorite:

"Why won't we work?"

Yes, that penultimate question that resides near the "Who am I?" query that is a perpetual thorn in my side.

Why won't we? Hmm...I don't see a reason, other than some strikingly taxing factors.
But they're obvious, and they kill me each time I think of them.

Digress

Waking up, though, comes with that haze. When you first open your eyes, you can't seem to understand where you are, or what day is it.

But apparently, it doesn't matter where you are, because time doesn't stop for you and allow you to gather your shit up, figure out your route, and bid those who you want to, adieu.

It's too early to really post anything, early as in time, because when it's two in the morning, I usually say things that make no sense, or if they make sense, they'll bring repercussions. So, I'll continue this later. When I'm saner.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fijjPy5BFL8

In my place, in my place
Were lines that I couldn't change
I was lost, oh yeah

I was lost, I was lost
Crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed
I was lost, oh yeah

I was scared, I was scared
Tired and under prepared
But I wait for you

If you go, if you go
Leaving me here on my own
Well I wait for you

When We Make Love

2009-09-30T23:05:00.001-07:00

Sorry

First off

Just gotta say.

This my shit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5c1WXftnQ0

Just feelin' lonely. It seems like I can't trust many people now, because every time I try and reach out to people here

They somehow flake or let me down in some way.

I'm at the point where making a social group is a minimal care. Which it kind of should be, but shit, wouldn't it be nice to know some people?

Welllllllll

2009-09-26T20:18:00.000-07:00

So I tried again today
To restore my faith in human kind, and the ability for people to have the capacity to reciprocate generosity.

What I did was smile and verbally say "hello" to a middle aged woman walking her dog on campus.
She didn't have earphones. Had sunglasses on. Walking a dog. So I thought "Maybe she'll say 'Hi' even maybe on accident. It's possible."

So I did it.

"Hi" :)

She stared straight ahead and walked her dumb ass dog right past me.

I walked into a tree about two feet ahead of me, just to make sure I wasn't invisible.
I took a picture of my face, to make sure I didn't have the word "Rapist" written on my forehead.
Checked my id to make sure my last name wasn't Swayze, and I wasn't in the fucking movie "Ghost". I even touched a jolly black woman on campus to try and make contact with the mortal world.

She screamed and slapped me.

Then I looked down. Pants on. Good. Zipper up. Nice. Basic functions of living in society were in tact, and I wasn't insulting any one.

Maybe I should do that.

Maybe I should take my pants off, write the word "PEDO" on my forehead, and just go around touching people. Then they would recognize me.

This is probably how public nudity accompanied with insanity begins.

Or just jump down into a well. Maybe if I just live there for a couple days, some unsuspecting pedestrian or bicyclist will fall down into it. Then they'll be forced to say something.
Kind of like this.

*Pedestrian falls down*
Me: Why, hello!
Pedestrian: *Screaming in pain, because they fell down a fcking well*
Me: OH MY GOD! WON'T YOU PEOPLE JUST SAY HELLO ONCE?! JUST ONCE IS ALL I ASK!
Pedestrian: *Still screaming*
Me: NO NO, DON'T. YOU SAY HELLO!
Pedestrian: *Screaming in agony. About to pass out because of the pain*
Me: NAH UH. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. YOU STAY CONSCIOUS AND SAY 'GOOD DAY'
PUT THE LOTION IN THE FCKING BASKET!

That last line was a reference to a movie. If you recognize it, nice.

I'm at the point to where I may never return to being nice to people. Is this the shitty OC attitude that is so famous in Nor Cal, known as the "Hella rude" mentality? Because it's really fucked up. I hope I don't adapt to this way of life, because I kind of liked how I was before.

Lyrics that fit the situation:

Dig
Incubus

If I turn into another
Dig me up from under what is covering
The better part of me
Sing this song
Remind me that we'll always have each other
When everything else is gone.

We all have a sickness
That cleverly attaches and multiplies
No matter how we try.

We all have someone that digs at us,
At least we dig each other
So when sickness turns my ego up
I know you'll act as a clever medicine.
___________________________________________________________________

Oh, and I got a letter today.
I loved it like crazshee. I'll post the sonnet letter up on the blog in a bit.

Weight

2009-09-25T23:12:00.000-07:00

So as of today, I have lost ten pounds since I've gotten to Irvine.

Which was last Sunday.
I'm on my way to getting down to 160 (Used to reside at 207) by the time Thanksgiving rolls around. Freak out my family and friends. YEsssss

I actually wrote this one before, but I clicked exit, so I lost all I wrote. And it was much better than this...Sorry guys.

What I can do, is I can explain a situation that I came across this week. Here we go:

Set up: I see this person in my class who sits two seats away from me. Don't know her. Don't talk to her. Just knows she sits in the class.

LATER

I sit in my second English class. She walks by, and actually sits next to me. Right next to me.

HERE WE GO

Myself: ....... *Through the entire class.*

NEAR THE END OF CLASS

Myself: Hi, you were in the other English class, right? English 100?

Her (Michelle, because I remembered from roll) Umm, yeah.

*Air*
*I give the sign for awkward turtle, awkward flamingo, any awkward animals you can think of with a hand motion*

Myself: Yeahh...Cool.

I leave. Jump off building, and as I fall, I curse the shitty people that are so reluctant to converse.

The classes that I'm taking aren't too bad. It takes about half of the things I've read (Or supposedly had to read in Junior College) and goes over it. What I'm truly nervous about is getting my work study in tact, because I have to pay the work study loan.
Also, the IGETC situation, which either makes me take one class and get on my way, or take five more, and stay another year at IRvine, which would cost me another 20000 dollars that I don't have.

Predicaments.

Iono, if you want me to write about something, with some funny puns and incredible wit included, post a comment. Make sure it's not anything too current, because I don't read the news, and nothing about anything too anything, such as anything too detailed, because things that deal with complexities are too boring for me...

I don't know what to say. I'll just post some lyrics.

Brown Eyed Blues
Adrian Hood
Given to me by KC.
And I've listened to it 20 times today.

She got those eyes, those eyes that will see right through you
When she leaves the night I want to leave with her too
And she's on my mind, like all, all the time
When we touch I go weak, and I can hardly speak
And I hope that she's thinking about me cause I'm always thinking of her(always thinkin of her)

I just wanna hold her hand, be her man
I wanna know if she'd take a chance
Cause I still have not revealed it,
Cause I still get the feelin
That lovin her is a game I'll always lose
I got the brown eyed blues

Week

2009-09-23T23:42:00.000-07:00

So
I'm living in Irvine.

Or as I have called it

The Inferno. The perpetual heat wave. The reason why dinosaurs became extinct. The sun's place to fucking be.

My room mates are Arturo, Fred, and Harrison. Brief bio on each of them.

Arturo: Math major. Quiet, but funny at certain times when he cracks hella funny one liners. ^^^^ Math majors = logical. His desk is really orderly, and he smooths out his bed like he gets a prize for most beautiful spread in a dorm bed. It puts me to shame, because I haven't slept under the sheets yet, because I'm fat, and start sweating like a mothafucka. So I've had just pants on outside the covers.
Isn't that a beautiful sight for Arturo to wake up to each and every morning.

Fred: Chill ass guy. From LA. Hates the word hella. We play basketball and lift weights, and we all shoot pool every so often. Loves a girl with assets.

Harrison: Just met him. Nice guy that seems to keep to himself mainly. Has car, will leave. Often.

Irvine is basically a small college townish area that has an in n out. I ate there. A four by four and was simply satisfied. The people have been scarce, other than those that try to hand out fliers for bible study. I have had to put on a gay accent to keep them away from me.
Or they might have the inclination to get the demons out of my body, so they're help me more.
Shit.

One thing I've noticed is that in the Bay, I could just smile and nod at people, and they'd have some reply, such as a whispered hi, or a nod right back.
But these rich mother fuckers down here, with their D&G sunglasses and high heels in a fucking park. They don't respond.
They turn their heads away, as if smiling back would be something for the serfs of their personal kingdom would do.

I've actually lost 7 pounds already at school in three days. Laaaahve it. I'm trying to come back to the Bay area to scare Katie by losing 40 pounds. By Thanksgiving. YES.

What else...
Miss my parents. Miss close friends.
Why of course...

Basically, there's not much to do just based on the fact that school hasn't started yet, so there's no reason for people to be here yet, since a majority live within an hour drive proximity.

I'll update often. With either stuff about Irvine, stuff about friends from both LA and Irv, and stupid shit that I think of.

Iono. I miss the weather. That's it. IF IRVINE IS 96 DEGREES AND THE BAY IS 72, THAT'S A LITTLE FUCKED UP. THAT'S ALL A BROTHER'S SAYIN. WTFACK.

Washed Hands

2009-09-16T02:23:00.000-07:00

So I'm trying to wash my hands/eliminate negative ties that I still have in the Bay Area. It's quite difficult. I feel like Dean Winchester swinging at ghosts with lead pipes: They disappear, but in actuality, they just come up in different places.

Side note: I am definitely hoping to see certain people (Who have the initials CK) and not TC.

After writing that, what I'm going to do is write like a 14 year old, stereotypical cheerleader. About a boy who doesn't like me. Or so I think
_____________________________________________________________________
TODAY.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG I tink Jared likes me, but Idk. Like, he looked at me in the hallway today and smiled, but it
TOTALLLLLLLLLLLLLLY
could've been Kelly. I mean, she's totally on the cheer squad. I heard she gets around, stupid slut.
I made a poem for him today in math. here it goes.

Jared! So cute. I wish you'd look at me. I gave you a pencil today. YAY!
__________________________________________________________________
That's enough.

Let's try something more real. Ish.

I constantly wonder how life works. I had a discussion with a very interesting very attractive female friend recently about not-life.
I have been on a constant search, asking people of different faiths, and faith lack thereof, about what they believe happens when you die.

I have the theory that we all just don't exist. And that scares the shit out of me. We just, aren't. Anymore. Can you even fathom that? We just, stop being. Everything we know in our minds fades (actually, it blinks) out of existence.
I hope there is something after life. Even if I had to spend that time in a Hell-esque location, I'd do it. Just to remember the people that I knew, the experiences that I've gone through, and the general love that I encounter, from friends family and loved ones. Those were amazing moments, so why should I want to forget them?

But let's say, when I'm an old man, decrepit, or however I should be, that I discover, suddenly, that I've lived an amazing life. I have no regrets, and can remember everything with clarity.
Maybe then, hopefully, I'll be happy with dying. And then not being. Because I've experienced a life that is unrivaled. Maybe I haven't experienced the world, but hopefully I'll experience emotion, which is more remarkable than any location could be (For me).

I have no idea. And that's what scares me. I suppose that I can't dwell, because the more I dwell, the more that I stay up at night listening to the old Britney Spears albums, trying to numb my thoughts and get to sleep.

Edit: I've gone back and read the first paragraph. Bad ties at home are like ghosts. They haunt the shit out of you. And I have no idea how to rid myself of them.

Cont: So the fine lady that I talked to had the idea that you just can't be. Which then lead to me proposing my idea, wherein we just said "Bleh let's eat" and sat near some average jazz dancers, who I could out-jazz-hands any day (Any fuckin day)

There's no real end to this post. Because there wasn't a true beginning.
So, how bout a poem?

Clocks (Wrote it a while ago)

The clocks on our walls
Tick away this very day
Telling us that time
Doesn't take breaks for breaths
Doesn't take breaks for heartaches
Doesn't take breaks for us.

The clock is like the ocean
With repetition repeatedly ravaging our shores.
And these hands
Keep moving
They never hold on
As time just slips away.

But with you by my side, these clocks
Can tick away until doom is day,
For your heartbeat is the only sound that sways my soul.

Wither Away

2009-09-11T16:01:00.000-07:00

So, my plans blew up in my face. I tried to find a metaphor to explain it sufficiently, but to be honest, I couldn't be more disappointed and less inclined to just not care.

This was my last thing. My last thing while I was here, and it was junked.
I guess it shows what level I was on people's radar.

Maybe they had a legitimate reason as to why it collapsed like a supernova. In a supernova.

Either way, it's hard not to feel shitty. I mean, the last event that I wanted to share with good friends, who I want to stay close with, was discarded. So it's hard not to feel discarded.

"Every plan is a tiny prayer to Father time."

Wow

2009-09-11T00:13:00.000-07:00

So

It's turned out like I thought.

Disappointed. Frustrated. All together, the morale of my mind has been reduced to a minimal amount.

Note/Poem whatevs.

Given up

So everything's right on this side of the planet.
But the plane's going down
And it's close to impossible to land it.

The zeal of our azaleas are broke
Standing on the edge of the water
It's not the water, but the air that chokes

Heavy and thick with thought
As every path I run through in my mind
Winds up with me sleepless and distraught

Cutting up the photos we never took
Walking on the shore and my feet sink into the sand
Wasted out my mind but I'm still feeling shook

Hand in hand with my own hand
As they stay tied behind my back
Taking paths that weren't desired but certainly were planned.

I wish that you would hear me out
But your ears are filled with voices
That are empty, but they mute my shout

Life could be better than it is now
We could have run through loud crowds and clouds
Never questioning where or when or how.

The single set of steps that I leave behind me
Washed away daily by the tide
As my pride dies like a fallen tree.

And as I reach the beach of Dover
My mind is filled by the ebb and flow of woe
As your beauty, like this beach, is over

My feet slip as I climb jagged rocks
Covered in salty water that hasn't come from my eyes
No one helps as the star over my head mocks me

I can see you look as my ship is sinking
My fate sealed as you don't change
The last thing I alive is just standing and thinking

You walk away without a glimmer in your eye
No concern nor do you seem to mind
As a man that loves you is about to die

Gone she is, from the docks so close away
Hopeless, I cross my arms and close my eyes
And pray to heaven, so close, to do what it may.

Warning

2009-09-09T21:25:00.000-07:00

"And when the snow melts from the hills and the sun and stars stop fighting in the sky, we might find a day when it would work. Maybe, maybe when you stop walking on toes here, and when you take the time to realize the all people you've hurt, you'll realize. You'll realize just who I was. The person I was to you.
Take a step back, and maybe you can turn this all around. You really could. Really. Or maybe the wheels of this dying machine will keep turning and sparking until the end of days, and repent, for you, is just out of reach at the eleventh hour.

I hope you'll find someone great. I'll knock on wood, because if, quite possibly I can say when, you fail, as a result of your auburn anger, you can't blame me for jinxing you. No, I'll be long gone, with all my ties, even the ones of my shoes, are cut. Done with you.

And, wait, you wanted me to change? To mold and adapt to you? To wrap myself, or maybe envelop...No, drown myself, in your need for friction?
Well, I've changed. I've changed for good, maybe for the better, but definitely for good. And all I wanted to say is, do you feel the cold? Do you see your breath in the summer air, telling you to warm up to the idea of love, and believe that not all of us are out to get you? Because it can be a romantic idea, without the flowers, without the rings, without the picturesque family photos and the house and the children.
It can be the now. It can be us. It can be you and I, as we lie upon a field of dying grass, floating barely off the ground. And we could have had fun, the moment before we hit the ground.

But it's gone. And I'm gone. I wish you well, even if I should wish you hell. I wish you well, with all the pieces of my shattered heart."
-Just wrote this to practice

What do you get

2009-09-09T01:30:00.000-07:00

So, it's 130 in the morning, and I'm typing a follow up post. Bah, get ready for some nonsensical shit coming out.

I left off with the question,"What benefits do you get for being the nice guy?"

None. Nothing of immediate value.

I tell my younger friends, who I see are in the same position I had been in at their age, to not fret. They show girls how to drive, or help them with homework, take their time that they could spend doing things for themselves and use it on that special lady.

And then she says "You're such a good friend!" And leave.
He turns around and tries to cut himself with a go-gurt.

Oh, the awkward early teen years. I miss them. Only because I could play Mortal Kombat and still be intrigued.

Yet, I digress.

What are the benefits? I'll tell you.

1. You get to be the fallback. Not like, the fallback rebound boyfriend that gets used to get back at a shitty ex, and then the ex beats the shit out of YOU, alongside his football friends and golf friends and faculty friends. Fallback as in, you help her come back from her problems, and you get to hear every, single example of a bad boyfriend. A bad guy. And take notes.
Oh, take note.
Because, this leads to step 2.

2. Later in life you will win!
Yeah, I'm still not at that point. It's mostly when you turn 25, and everyone outgrows their "Badass" desire/phase.

I always believe in Karma. I don't believe in it, from a religious aspect, but I think that the natural divinity of the university, and the fact that chaos has a form, that those who allow the positive to envelop them, will eventually win out.
Of course, saying that chaos has structure, when the definition of chaos....nvm. Just beliefs, and beliefs need no logic.

So, how does rule 2 and 1 intertwine?

Here's what I believe: If you are that nice guy, and struggle through the hardships and the torrents of anguish that you will stumble and crash upon the fallen, shattered glass of your own broken heart, well, you'll find that in the end, the ones that matter will appreciate your kindness to the utmost extent.

That's what I keep telling myself.

That's why I trudge on, withstanding the hardships and blows to the midsection. The metaphorical blunt objects to the back of the head in the study by Ms. Xxxxxxx Xxxxx.
Because I believe that my resolve to stay a nice guy, will pay off, somewhere.

I still smile to strangers, give my coat to a friend that's cold, buy lunch for a friend that might not be able to afford it. And none of those things will ever get me a monetary or tangible object. It won't get me anything. Maybe, even, I'll get a cold shoulder from the stranger, or a non-thank you from the friend, or even a lack of appreciation by the friend that could afford the lunch.

But in the end, it doesn't bother me.

Because I tried. And if I try, it gives me self-appreciation, which is sufficient enough to continue on in this life, and beat on, sails against the sea, waiting for the end that waits for me.

Washed up

2009-09-08T23:19:00.000-07:00

So
I'm going to try to be funny on this post.
Which invariably will mean that it's not funny at all. I'm pretty sure by the end of this, you'll either be offended, or say "Fuckin...That was stupid as shit. Ih8u"

My friend said that, in Korea, he has been violated multiple times on a train or some sort of public transportation. He didn't mean he was violated like those videos of buses where a group of guys straight up detain and rape a girl while nearby passengers read their Time magazines and keep conversations while it occurs.
But he said that he's gotten more action on a bus in Korea than in America for 20 years.

I told him that he should visit China.

He asked why.

Response to him:"Imagine Korea. And then take a house. Put Korea into that house. Now, imagine that ALL of you are rushing to the chair to watch Friends, the episode where Ross says Rachel's name at the altar instead of his British fiancee's.
Now, you made it to the couch, but you placed 4 millionth person on that couch.
But, instead of watching Friends, they all want to give you handjobs. That's what it feels like on a bus in China."

I think that could be my best explanation of anything, ever.

What's hilarious is that just now, my dad is making plans for the days immediately after my departure for college.
Dad: So when you leaving?
Me: Uhh, 12 days from now
Dad: What DAY is that
Me: The 20th
Dad: Oh. So that means I can't make the volleyball game the 21st.
Me: Yeah, you kinda are moving me in. In Irvine
Dad: Well, I guess I can go...OH SHIT. Cal Versus Stanford on the 25th. fuck yes.
Me: Yeah, make that one. Hey, what day am I moving?
Dad: Before the Cal Stanford game.

I'm pretty sure he was joking. But it's alright, I'm just glad that he'll find something to do after I leave. He needs hobbies other than watching All My Children soap opera all the time.
He's had 25% of his Tivo, which tapes 60 hours of television, filled with All My Children. And he clears that shit in a day.

Oh, I'm moving to Irvine on the 20th of September. And I'm pretty damn glad I'll be meeting new people. I'll miss hella people up here, really. The interactions with GOOD friends have been incredible. I've met so many great and beautiful people at UCBErkeley recently, and I'm so glad that I have.
But the SHITTY people involved with my life have made me flee for my life from here. Hoooooooshit. I've been had, done dirty, and whamboozled all in one sitting by some individuals. And it's killer.
I've questioned what benefits we get from being nice. The nice guys.
The ones that let women through the door first. The ones that talk to you about ALL of your problems, and when you sign off or hang up or leave, we don't mind not talking about our shit.

But when you get killed, metaphorically on the inside, and your voice is hoarse like you've had a hand shoved down your throat and removed your heart without detaching ligaments, the Venacavas, nor the Aortic blood vessels
Your resolve for staying that nice guy, and the reasons for staying the nice guy, all seem to be inconsequential.
But when it happens multiple times. Man. I'm truly surprised that I haven't given up at all.
When you edit a short story for a friend for a class, tell them what's wrong with it, what's so great about it, and they get an A on it, and then help them convince the instructor to give them an A, well...That sounds like a nice guy.
But when you get a text 'thanks' and they MIA from then til now, man, you wonder why you try so hard.
And when you get the reasoning for not starting a relationship that could become the most epic since Gilgamesh and Enkidu, just because "You are too nice", BAHHHHHHHHHHHHH the nice guy in you dies a little. Or, a lot.
Let's just say, the nice guy wore a bright red jacket, holding roses, standing at your doorstep of your red house, and you live in Crip Territory. And a gang war just started. With the nice guy.

Yes, the "you are too nice" reasoning is psychological in that the person doesn't want to be treated well because of some self-esteem problems and need to be put down for some reason (Textbook from my psych class) BUTSTILL. Science and psychology eludes me when I'm sitting at home, up at 4 in the morning, listening to Gwen Stefani's "4 in the morning" and my eyes need Visine in order to keep working. It's just a killer.

And I try to reason with myself, like the 5 stages of death. In this example, I'm in the "Well, let it be their mistake for not picking me" aka the Mom Response. The response that your mom, who believes you are the bestest boy in the whole entire world, will say to you as she stuffs your fat face with cookies, hoping to drive any future woman out of your life so she can have you all to yourself.

But really, you want that woman to yourself. Now. And maybe forever. You see her with another asshole, and you know he's an asshole because you see him at parties with his trucker hat on backwards finishing a beer almost to completion, and dumping the rest out on the floor.
And it's not his house.
And she'll oogle at him like he just saved a baby, kitten, and puppy from a burning building, while carrying her on his back.

While you stand there, with the towel, ready to clean up the mess because the host is passed out drunk in his bedroom with sharpie drawn penises on his face, you really contemplate "What am I getting out of being the nice guy?"

I'll answer that in my next post. I'm going to watch Scrubs at Midnight, the episode where Cox's wife's brother dies from leukemia, and I cry like a bitch.

When did your heart go missing?

2009-09-08T22:53:00.001-07:00

No...No.
I can't believe I just titled a post with a Rooney song...

It's a good song though. If you look past the Jonas Brother-esque tone of their music, stupid hair, and sex appeal that is aimed at the 13-17 year old crowd, and really listen to the lyrics, they are actually pretty decent. Meaning comes from the listener, not the composer.

So I gotta talk about someone. God, I have to say that I haven't said anything to anyone about her, but I know that when I do, I'll be like a fat kid whose mom says that they're going to the candystore, but in fact, smothers him because she has Munchhausen syndrome.

I won't say a name. Because if I do, I'll be jeopardizing my chances, like I typically do.
BUT

She's amazing. Like, really. I can say with full belief that I'm correct in my memory, but I have to say that I don't think I've ever said anyone was truly amazshing. But she is. Really is.

The one thing about her is that she makes me laugh. I've had a hard time finding that anywhere. Her sense of humour is literally one of a kind. And the thing is, that it goes along with mine.

Not like the gay jokes I make, like "I want to suck Sisqo's hot dog" Which I found hilarious, but the group of white church go'ers found it unfunny (Probably because they didn't watch the thong song video, with the hot dog. Remember?)
We are able to make fun of one another. Not the shit when two people in a relation say "You're a faggot" and the other says "You're a stupid bitch" And they find that fulfilling.
No
It's stuff like "You playing shmasketball?" It's just stupid shit. I haven't found someone that loves stupid shit while being serious at the same time.

But I think I'm tired of writing about failed relationships and relationships that are about to fail.
Blurg

What the Fuck

2009-09-02T17:59:00.001-07:00

Sorry for the vulgar title, but I'm going to post an experience I recently had, and it definitely deserves a what the fuck.

Preface: Met up with my friend Alex, whom I was planning on taking to a party out in Berkeley. Going to be a small social event, a little drinking, smoking for those individuals that smoke. Went to his friends house, planning on picking him up.

6 o clock: I get a text message from him: Ey, dude. Can my friend come. She's wanting to party.
I agree and go to her house, where he is located.

6:05 pm: I knock on the door. He opens it up for me, and lets me in. We do the handshake and say what's up. I am then led to the living room, where I find the equivalent to the white Jabba the Hut sitting on a couch, with Lady Gaga's "Poker Face" playing on the tv, but through a computer connection, which means it buffers every couple seconds and sounds like a drunk five year old is trying to dj the song.

6:07: "Hi, my name is Sean!" She says something. I notice that she is smoking weed while on the couch. She takes a deep inhale.

6:08: "DUDE, She's shaking!!!"
My friend says: "Oh, that happens to her a lot. She gets seizures when she smokes."
To myself: You have got to be fucking kidding me. I'm not taking her to the party.

6:15: She wakes up.

6:16: "Man, I don't want her coming with us." " I know, but she's bringing the alcohol you wanted."
FUCK.
6:16.30: "Fine."

6:20: She gets up off the couch.

6:30 She smokes. Seizes. Falls onto the couch. I use the bathroom.

6:45: "Man, we gotta go, the party starts soon." "Aight."

We eventually get into the car by 7:30. I don't know why the fuck it took so god damn long, but it did.

7: 45: Arrive at party

7:50: Enter house

7:51: I enter first. "Heyyyy, what's up everyone! This is my friend Alex (Guy) and Jabba (forgot her real name)"

7:55: Beer pong begins. I clean the table up with their futile attempts at beer pong. The guy sits outside and drinks. Jabba sits on the couch that's already full. Small asian girls look uncomfortable. Five get up from their seats. One unlucky soul stays with her. I pray.

8: 25: By this point, Alex and Jabba have smoked themselves out. They haven't passed out, but they are definitely fucked past point present. My friend Justin recommends going out to the frats. I concur. Justin, Alex, and I with a couple other sketchy people go out.

8:35: "Where the fuck is Jabba? (Fyi I don't call her Jabba, I say her real name.) Oh shit Alex, we fucking lost her! I said I didn't want her fucking coming!" Whatever. We hit up a frat. Meet up with some girls. Dance. Walk around.

9:40: Alex and I head outside. Sit down on a couch that looks like two apes fucked on it and then thought it was prey and destroyed it. Classy fraternity.

9:41: Sketchy Amsterdamian guy: "Hey, any of you want some molly (e)?"
Alex: "Hell yeah!" Alex buys the molly. Snorts it. I sit there, stunned as hell.

9:50: I get up and call Justin, wondering where he's at. Alex gets up and runs down some stairs. I hang up fast and run after him. "Dude, what the fuck are you doing!?"
"I gotta get some smokes!"

9:51: Fuck that, I'm not going to have you AND Jabba get lost. Ask some people around here.

9:52: After a triple faded Alex gets his cigarette, his phone rings. Jabba is on the line, screaming and crying like Jabba the Hut would if he was....I don't want to say anymore. I really hated this person.
Alex: "Where the fuck are you?"
Jabba: "I'm on a street!"

9:56: After screaming and arguing, I say fuck this and let her get lost. It's her fucking fault. Alex agrees. I find Justin, we go back to his apartment.

10:02: Alex comes to me, says she's on Piedmont. "Fine, I'll fucking get her. But you stay here!" He stays.

10:05: On Piedmont, in the middle of a circle. "JABBA! JABBA! Where the fuck are you!"

10:05.55: "OVER HERE!" I run over. Jabba is being held up weakly by a man and woman.

10:06: In Irish accents: "Aww thank you so much! She just wandered into our house and drank some of our Baileys and we tried to help her find her way back. Thank ya vellly much!"
I take her, not saying a word, and bring her back to the apartment.

10:11: To Jabba: "Stay the fuck here, on this patio, on this chair. Got it?"
She moistly agrees. I use moistly because...it's really the most accurate way I can describe the way she nodded. Honest to god.

10:35: After I stop worrying about her, I apologize to the entire party individually, saying that I didn't know this would happen and it won't happen again. I meet a cute girl, name is Jxxxxxxxx and we apparently go to the same---
Door opens
Jabba walks through.

10:37: What the hell do you think you're doing? I told you to stay on the patio!
Mumbled words. She turns back outside.

1038: Spitting game and destroying beer pong.

11:15pm: She stumbles through the doors. I'm on, talking about nothing to everyone, enjoying my time. " ME...WANT...FOOODDDDDDD" She walks to the kitchen area. I turn back around and roll my eyes.

11:20: *CRASH!*

11:20.01: WHAT THE FUCK! Me.

11:20.12: Look at the mess she created, as she dropped a bottle of beer on the floor.

11:20.34: WE'RE FUCKING GOING! NOW! I'M TIRED OF THIS BULLSHIT!

11:24: Myself, Jabba, and Alex leave. Get in my car.

11:44: On the way back, Alex takes out more molly. Takes my cd, lines up the molly on the cd, takes a ten dollar bill, and snorts it. Puts cd back. CD now skips on the track "Boom Boom Pow"
I am pissed.

Epilogue: We all yell at each other on the way back home. I yell at the Jabba because she fucked everything up that she could have fucked that night. Alex is a drug addict that I used to respect. And Alex stole Jabba's drugs. So, basically, it's a carclusterfuck of yelling.

Lesson: I'm really not taking people to parties anymore. Really. Especially giant girls that outweight me and have seizures when they smoke weed, and tell me how underappreciated of an artist Lady Gaga is. I fucking know that already.

Waiting

2009-09-02T17:13:00.000-07:00

Keeping up with W appearances, I really have nothing to do. I'm waiting for the laundry to finish, so I decided to post some of the text message conversations that I've had in the past that are memorable.
Note: Not fully accurate, since they were long long ago.
Names: First letter of their name. Since I didn't want names to be mentioned. Not like anyone reads this shiot.

Text Message Convo 1:

A: So, you didn't call last night
Me: yeah, busy.
A: Busy doing what
Me: Basketball. I have practice every Friday night.
A: Soooooo...
Me: Sooooowhat
A: You couldn't call me? Really?
Me: Yeah, busy. Playing basketball.
A: Why not call, before. Or After
Me: Because I didn't think you wanted to talk. (Real reason: Didn't give a shit)
A: Why don't you think I want to talk? Of course I want to talk. Why the fuck wouldn't I want to talk?
Me: What the shit are you getting angry about. My practice was at 11 at night. You had work at six in the morning.
A: Well just call me to say goodnight you stupid fuck. You're such a shitty fucking boyfriend. Go fuck yourself. Really, take a basketball and fuck yourse *end of text
Me: K
A: DON'T YOU JUST FUCKING K MEYOULISTENT OME YOU SHIT. I'm the best girl you'll ever find you snot nose shit. Go find a skank whore to fuc *end of text
*Twenty minutes pass. Taking a shower.
**Phone rings. Beep signifies a voicemail.
***Get out of shower, eat an ice cream bar. One of the healthy ones with no sugar. Throw half of it away. Listen to voicemail:
A: Ok, I'm going to be calm. I'm on my time of the month, so... I'm trying not to FUCking over react, but you piece of shit, why don't you fucking call me. I love you so much baby just call me once and WE DON'T HAVE TO FUCKING YELL AND SHIT YOU FUCKER. Love you!

-Ok, ok, you might think this is an exaggeration, or an over reaction. But this is almost accurate to what happened. Let's just say, when April Fools day came around, her idea of a hilarious prank was to say that she was pregnant, and then not say April Fools until later that day, and then blame me for getting angry, and say how stupid I was to not know it was April Fools day.

Text Message Convo 2:

L: Hey, how are you doing?
Me: Oh, I'm just fine! Guess what, I wanted to tell you something.
L: What's up? : )
Me: So, Like, I know that we can't see each other this week, but I couldn't wait. I have to do it over text... Will you go out with me? I'M SO SORRY FOR BEING CORNY, BUT I JUST COULDN'T WAIT!!!! hahaha
L: Haha. Well, you know, I don't know if I'm ready yet...Really, just give me time. Really! Just a couple days!
Me: Oh, ok. Yeah, no problem.
*Four days pass. Date: 03/06/09
**Text message received while watching The Watchmen (Because I watch the watchmen)
L: Guess what! Today is 369 let's go out! It'll be a fun and cute way to remember how much we love each other!
*I do a blurt of "What the fuck?" The moment after the blue penis hits the screen. People laugh.
Me: What? You waited a couple days just for the day?
L: Lol yeah, had to!
*Had to?
L: Love ya!
*Whatever.

Text Message Convo 3
L (Not the same L from before, a "See me in ten years" Girl):What's up?
Me: Not much, just chillin. U?
L: Wondering what you're doin
Me: Naaaathin. Anything going down with you?
L: Well, it's Thursday, and I don't have shit to do.
Me: Same Same.
L: Did you want to hang out?
Me: Yeah, sounds good.
*Drive to Berkeley. Have a great ass time. Play basketball.
**Text rings
S: So, what are you doing?
Me: Playing basketball
S: Are there girls there?
Me: Yeah, a few
S: So, are you fucking them?
Me: I'm in a gym. Of course I'm fucking them.
S: Hahaha, Are you fucking yourself at the same time?
Me: yeah
S: Lol you're a shit head.
Me: Why do you care, we're not even going out. We haven't even fucking met.
S: Fuck you
Me: ; /
S: Fuck off
Me: -_-
S: Seriously, stop harassing me
Me: Lololol
*Blocks phone number.
906 area code: Did you just block my fucking phone? I called you nine times already, and you didn't pick the fuck up. You're a piec *end of text
906: Serious, you shit head. Answer me.
Call. Voicemail. Call. Voicemail. Call. Voicemail. Call. Voicemail. Call. Call.
906: Please pick up. Please please please please please.
Me: ......................playing basketball
906: Go fuck yourself.
Me: K! \/~^_^~\/

Lesson: Don't get the sugar free ice cream bars. They're not that good, unless it's for your health, then really, try and alter your diet to include those without fats also. Usually the sugar free products have a higher percentage of fat in them, because they want the products to resemble the original great tasting food. But it's better to not eat them at all, get your blood glucose level back to normal, and enjoy a long life.

Women

2009-09-02T15:46:00.000-07:00

Fact: All of my posts have begun with the letter 'W'. I have no idea why that is, but it's just what I did. Because I'm retarded, or a rapist that kills prostitutes in my car and dumps the body in the river upstate while wearing their clothes.

Women...

I guess we all have girl problems, except for Jay-Z. But to be honest, it's not because I have a girl that I have problems, but that there are just...so many. So many women that stress the shit out of me.
In my life, I have classified them into four groups, and will analyze their character type and how they are related to myself, while also classifying myself:

Myself (Sean): Nice guy. Opens doors. Laughs at unfunny jokes when needed. Pays for dinner a couple times. Nice guy even moreso.

Alright, now for the four groups of women I have dealt with. Here we go:

1. Women that are wayyyyyy too attractive for me. Aka "Out-of-Reachers"
-This type of lady is a woman that doesn't even try. She knows how damn attractive she is, and has the entire package. Great figure (Not model status, but fine enough to where we still look twice... and then once more.) Great personality. Her laugh makes us hold our breath, because goddamn it's so cute. Intelligent, past any mental capabilities we can attain. Comes from a great family, goes to a great school, will have/has a great job. Doesn't have a large amount of friends, but enough to be connected to every side of the city and get in to events that we, the guys that desire her, are obviously incapable of entering.

Relation to me: Good friends. Not great, because I don't hang around such an amazing crowd enough, due to the fact that I'm just not that caliber. Try to hit on her a couple times, but Jesus, is that quickly shut down by the statement "You're such a great guy, I'm glad we're friends, and I hope we don't lose contact, yeah?" *Laugh* I stare as she laughs. I: *oogle*
And yes, you people that are of that caliber will say "Just have the confidence and ask her! Don't be so passive!" Well, for some people, it's not that easy. We, who have entered here many times before, know where the friend zone is, and when you enter, you get this feeling that you're not going to leave. So it's time to move on.

2. Women that I really enjoy, but don't want to date Aka"See me in ten years"
They are the women that I should be going after. Perfect personality, intelligent, amazing individuals. They'll be the best soulmates/spouses later on in life: Love you until the day you die.
But I'm young, and really really really want the attractive ones.
These ladies aren't unattractive, by no means am I saying this. But...you just want to feel badass. They're the ones that are interested in YOU (Holy shit, someone showing interest in you.) But you pass them by for the out of reachers.

Relation to me: I meet a few of these women every year: I know I should, I know I can, but I know I won't, because on the horizon, there is that Siren of a female that I want to get with, and if I get tied down now, I can't get her.
It's like the difference between buying a Porsche and a Camry. The Camry is stable, take you places without the expenses, and will stay with you in the long haul. The Porsche however, raises your macho level by ten places, looks sweet as hell, and will get you noticed.
But you'll never get it.
Ahh, the hormones that desire the immediate satisfaction.
I wish they would fuck themselves.

3 and 4: The crazies and the shitheads. Aka "I will cut your head off because I hate my dad" and "I hate you because I hate my dad."

-I will put these two in the same paragraph because I handle both of these groups the exact same way:
I fuck up and date them.
Oh man, the crazies will ask you where you are at five in the morning, and if you're in bed, they'll ask you whose bed it is. And when you reply "My bed, you fucking idiot" They'll ask if you're saying that to someone else. Then they'll call you at seven at night (With thirty calls and twenty seven messages in between the two) and ask you where you are. Then you'll say "Driving home, you fucking idiot" and then they'll ask where you're driving home from. And if you reply with any name of a place that even REMOTELY sounds like it has a feminine undertone, such as Macy's or Sears....well, just get prepared for a shitstorm of psychosis. A Torrent of crazy. A tsunami mated with a clusterfuck of "What the FUCK are you saying."
These girls will insert hooks into the small of your back, hang you by your feet upside down, and spin you around while flashing lights at you until you feel like a POW in some Southeastern Asiatic country, forgetting your name as she transplants your identity with her father's, and you die a slow death in her Crush-porn incest fantasy.

Now....

The girls/women/littleimmaturegirls that will start fights with you just for sport. They will want you to come over, pick them up, drive them to the D's (McDonalds), buy them a kids meal (Which is weird as fuck. I'm not a pedophile. Really.) And then yell at you when the shitty beanie baby is in their bag. They'll yell, call you a fuckhead, throw fries at you, and when you try and clean them up, they'll scream at you until their face turns blue like the shitty Platypus beanie baby that no one fucking likes.
Then, they'll tell you about the shitty comments that your friends made on her photo on
facebook, myspace, twitter, and whatever else social networking site that she wants guys to pay attention to her with.
When you sleep with them, they'll tell you that you come second. In every way you can think. And don't you dare expect them to put anything anywhere near their face, because that shit is "fucking gross, you pervert fuck".
Yayyy!
And you better close your eyes, because she doesn't want you seeing anything, because you're not special enough. But don't you dare imagine anyone else. Don't you fucking dare. Or she'll call her dad and say you raped her, because she's his angel, even though she spit at him twice.

Relation to me: HahahahahahahaIdatethem. The attractive ones pass me by, as my manliness passes the best ones on, and I get stuck with the shitty personalities that will give me a chance, but only on the terms that my life becomes a Chinese Water Torture experience for, oh, five months or more, depending on how long it takes to find my balls in her treasure chest of beauty magazines (which don't help, really, just stop reading them) and dirty clothes, because they're definitely not fucking doing their own laundry.
That's peasant work. Fucking duh.

LESSON:
Well, I guess there is no real lesson, because I know the problems. Either I'm too nice, and should be a shit head, which apparently a lot of the hot girls appreciate. Or I got to stop the badassness that I believe I have and appreciate the personable women that I have around me. And punch the shitty girls in the back of the head (Ref: Donkey punch).
But it won't change. Not for another ten years. I'm guessing.
But for your sake, I won't post another thing like this, because well, I'll just comment on this and say "Lolz I fucked up again. Don't ever drive to Red Robins, because my crazy girlfriend thought I had sex with the mascot that makes balloons for the children on their birthday."

Writing

2009-09-02T14:28:00.000-07:00

So, I'm an English Major at UC Irvine.
New information for you to know.

I enjoy writing. Quite a bit actually. Probably because the town that I live in chokes creativity like an Anaconda wrapping itself around a small baby whose parents let it play outside in the Florida Everglades while they smoked in the house while watching an episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter, which in fact was filmed next door live, because their neighbor ditched their parole officer for the second month in a row.

-Poetry, I'm guessing, is my forte. I've been told that it's decent poetry. Probably like T.S. Eliot without the opium. Yay.

What I love, though, is when I read poetry of the local kids whose parents have WAY too much money for anyone's own good, and they write about how shitty their lives are. I don't know whether to get angry because, well, they have money, and they're complaining about it.
Or if I should laugh.
I will give you an example. This is a summation, not a specific singular example, of the consensus of writing that I've read:

"I Hate My Dad

He makes me do chores
I want to be with my friends
I love Becky
She makes me happy : )))
We've been going out for thirteen days
We are going to be married.
But my dad : O
Makes me sit and do homework
I hate him!
I hate him! : X
I am going to run away!!!!!!!!!!!"
-Written after smoking weed, getting drunk, and doing ecstasy. Because they have enough money to afford it.

I don't blame them for trying. I really don't.
I guess I can't blame them for anything, since their dad was in Taiwan getting an Oriental massage from Xiayou Yin when they were graduating fifth grade. Which isn't good for building self confidence. Or morals for that matter.
So it's good that they're making an attempt. I think.

Why

2009-09-02T13:56:00.000-07:00

WHY did I create this blog...

I guess like every other person in the world, they want to feel as if their opinion matters. I mean, out of everyone that exists currently, we can say that .00002% of them actually get their opinion heard and recognized as legitimate. The rest sit on their couches as the .00002% tell them what to think.

SO

WHAT am I going to be blogging about...

I guess I'll write about things that happen, that don't happen. I don't want to go on epic tangents about pointless things that only myself, my father, a gerbil, a zucchini and a woman at the local grocery store can relate to. Maybe I will, but it'll have a point that more people can relate to.
Maybe.

WHEN will I blog...

Whenever shit happens. Which, where I live, doesn't happen much. So I guess I have to make shit happen to write about, like that Argentinian reporter that created murders so his show would gain popularity.
I want my blog to be popular.
My neighbors should watch out.

WHERE will I blog...

Well, that's not a very good question. I mean, I type at either my mom's, dad's, uncle's, friend's house. Or maybe at the local library. At the Starbucks that everyone who's around 40 years old goes because they want to maintain some sort of hipness without compromising the fact that their 9 year old son doesn't want you to reflect back on when you used to be the rebel generation, but in fact wants you to get them to school on time.
Get them to school. So they don't end up white trash.
Oh, and I live in the Bay Area, California. The coolest place in Cali, because we have to make shit up to do, because there's jack shit to do, that's why we die ghost riding and high siding.
Unless you live in San Francisco.
Lucky fucking SF kids.

WHO is even writing this shit?

Me. My name is Sean. To be honest, I'm not very interesting. I'm like every other person that has problems. Except I try not to openly complain that the world hates me, I'll just slide it by you in a subliminal manner, and the next time that you read your favorite romance-erotica novel, you'll realize "Wow, that guy was a bitch."
And you'll laugh, as you curl your toes and wonder what Jorge the gardener will do to Cathy in the exterior pool house as you flip to the next chapter. Ohhhh Jorge.........