dear love,

i'd like to find you again,
if you'd let me buy you dinner,
or cook you something,
or pick you flowers,
or maybe just go for a walk.

i dream big.

i sat down today at a table at the farmers market reading "hot water music" by bukowski, and an older couple sat down across from me, and the woman bought offered to buy me a cup of coffee.

looks like there still are kind people in the world.

too bad i spilled the coffee all over me before i even got to drink it.

...

i've come to realize that there are some people who i cannot convince. this is okay, because having the power to persuade everyone, even of the truth, would be too much control. having control at all in the first place tends to always end up bad no matter how good it may seem... my advice to myself and everyone else - if you can't get something good back, just be thankful for what it was and don't ever let that go. forgive, if you can, but don't forget. things are going to be okay.

to quote -

"you have to die a few times before you can really live."

how it's gonna happen.

plans for life -

- go to school
- become a teacher
- go to japan
- marry this woman:

Living Saints - Polar Bear Club

I cut my fingers on a broken picture frame
The welling up waxes and wanes. It's not fair and it hasn't been
All my friends are living saints. Been killing me for weeks
A garden weed that cracks concrete. It hasn't been fair for long
Growing up isn't moving on.

Do you miss our broken reason or the nights spent treating
Troubles and normalcy to bottles and comedies?
You forgot your necklace upstairs on purpose
It was you golden ticket scam and it always made us laugh
Do you see me as your acquaintance, your death by time, age and long
distance?

Broken picture frames
The welling up waxes and wanes. It's not fair and it hasn't been
All my friends are living saints. Been killing me for weeks
A garden weed that cracks concrete. It hasn't been fair for long
Growing up isn't moving on

All my friends are living saints
Broken still but never breaking ties

I never pictured this, disperse in fall and don't reminisce
See it's just not fair, not everyone moved on

highlights -

"hello, are you this evening?"

"good, now that you're here to check us out."

"um...i hope you found everything okay."

"found you didn't we?"

dis is how i get money.

...

it's funny how life works. you think you know somebody, get really close to them, share special moments with someone, and then the next thing you know, they don't want to share that anymore. they don't even want anything to do with you anymore. they call you up or show up on your doorstep telling you that things just aren't the same anymore, and that one of you or both has changed. and you want to think it's them, because you know it is, but as part of being modest and a good person, i guess, you have to look inside yourself and see what's changed, too. okay, so we all make mistakes - we fuck up, we say things out of spite or out of being hurt that in turn hurt the ones we love, because, let's face it - we're going to hurt a lot of people while we're alive, but the ones we hurt most will always be the ones that we love. or used to. to each his own, really. and then, to escape doing so, people begin to lie. everyone does it. whether it's in big doses or small doses, people have lied and continue to do so. it's human nature, i guess. this doesn't really have to do with one person in particular, but it can go out to anyone i can ever say meant anything to me - i love you all, still. even if you've fucked me over or hurt me beyond i'd ever let you know - which tends to usually be the case.

i choose not to acknowledge the fact that i'm hated by some people who i could never have the stomach in me to hate, myself. the people who meant the most to me over the years, despite fallouts, remain close to me in some way. i always know that if there was ever any sort of true, actual friendship, they'll come around again...i hope. and i realize that now there's probably you, or some of you, who tell their new friends about what a piece of shit i am or how much of a pain in the ass i can be.

that's fine, because it's true.

but i'd never do that to you.

Look,

to be honest, with everyone -
i am not posi 24/7. in fact i'm usually pretty depressed and cover it up with a big smile and hugs. in this sense i feel like i am like most people except for i'm just smiling all the time. i don't hang out often because i feel uncomfortable around most people and it's easiest for me to get to know people on a one-on-one basis. i trust almost no one and i believe that almost everyone is lying to me or has at some point. this means in no way that i'm not happy. i'm actually very happy. i also make no sense. if i don't like someone i want them dead, and i don't care if they have someone who will be upset about it. this is the most selfish part of my being, i guess. luckily i don't dislike much more than 2 or 3 people, but honestly, i feel like the world would be better without them, and not just mine. i have no idea where this is going.

basically,
i love you all.

The splinter is gone but i can still feel it's sting.

I really hate that I've become so used to hating people, especially when it's people I barely know.

Stop being so shitty, you fucks.

HEY GUYS

Gage and I started a blog just for writing, not really blogging. I've copied my favorite stuff that I've written over to there and will post most of my short stuff over there from now on. If you wanna hop on and share stuff, you can, just comment us somehow and let us know, we'll send you an invite.

http://reasonstohateyourlife.blogspot.com/

I'd Rather Smile Than Write Well.

thank you
love and happiness,
for
making my heart flutter
and my mouth curl upwards
and
my poetry
dull

Stoplights.

i sit at the
stoplight
with you
and wait for the change.
it glows bright red
in the dark
of the night.
some cars
pull up behind me
and wait
too.
and we wait.
and we wait.
and we wait.
and a bicyclist
rolls on through
and ignores
the stoplight.
and a man
crosses the street
walking his dog
and ignores the stoplight.
and i look at you
and you look at me
and we look at each other
and we ignore the stoplight.

and everyone just goes around us.

All About Ari.*

Ari took a long last drag from his cigarette and then dropped the butt on the ground. He stepped on it with the end of his boot and smeared the ashes into the sidewalk. It looked as if he had stepped on an insect or small animal of sorts, only instead of blood there was just black burned leaves and paper. He adjusted his scarf around his neck, and pulled it up to cover his mouth. He put his hands in his coat pockets. He walked along the edge of the sidewalk almost teetering into the street. It was cold out. Trees that grew out of holes in the ground were bare and gray. Crows sat perched on the branches and occasionally cawed and fluttered their wings. Ari kept walking. He walked and walked and walked and then walked into a diner. He sat down at the bar and ordered a cup of coffee and a basket of french fries.

"Lemme get a cup of coffee and basket of french fries," he said.

The waiter standing behind the bar was fat and hairy and wore a white apron stained with grease. He looked at Ari and snorted and scratched his ass and then rang up Ari's order without saying a word. The whole exchange - Ari sitting down, Ari ordering, the waiter ringing up Ari's order, took less than a minute. There was no need for someone to bring Ari a menu; he knew what he wanted. No one needed to walk him to a place to sit; he knew where he wanted to sit. He didn't even need to wait for the waiter to come and take his order. The waiter knew what his job was and he knew that it had to be done so he did it. If he didn't do it he didn't get paid and he wanted to get paid. They had never met or even seen each other before but during that minute they both lived in the same world where waiting wasn't necessary because both of them knew exactly what they wanted.

The waiter brought Ari his coffee first and then his french fries and then asked him if he wanted anything else. Ari said he didn't want anything else and that if he did he would ask for something else. It was the first time since Ari had walked into the place that he and the waiter had spoken directly to each other and still they had already communicated so much. But now there was an uneasiness between them that they both sensed but didn't say anything about. Then the waiter walked away and Ari drank his coffee, black, and ate his french fries with some ketchup that was already waiting for him in a bottle at the bar. He thought about the ketchup and felt glad that it couldn't feel anything like emotions, because he thought it must be awful to be a bottle of ketchup - always in one place, waiting for someone to come and turn you over use you until you're all used up. Then gets thrown out. It could takes weeks or it could take days, and if it never happened it'd still get thrown out anyways, only completely full and completely wasted. It would be a terrible way to live. When he finished his coffee and his fries he put a few bills down and then just sat there. He looked at the waiter and then sort of spun around on his barstool, looking at everyone else. He saw an old couple eating burgers at a booth, 'cept they ate their burgers with a knife and fork instead of their hands. He saw a young couple sitting and holding hands across the table and looking in love. Then he saw a girl sitting alone at a booth reading a book. Ari studied her with his eyes. She sat up straight in her seat and held her arms out straight in front of her, resting the book on the table. There was a cup of coffee sitting on the table too. She was pretty. She had long black wavy hair that hung down past her chest. She wore a knit cap with ear warmers and tassles that hung down and rested on her shoulders. She had freckles on her cheeks and her cheeks were rosy and full of life.

Ari got up from his seat at the bar and sat down across from her. He didn't say a word but instead sat up straight like she was and put his hands in his lap and waited. A few seconds that seemed like minutes passed and the girl said something.

"Hello."

"Hello. What are you reading?"

Ari saw perfectly well what she was reading but decided to ask her anyways. The girl spoke without even so much as glancing up from her book.

"Oh. This? This is a book my friend let me borrow. He says it's very good, swears by it. It's about some guy who kills some guy and then goes to jail and then in the end realizes that his life is all pointless and that he doesn't matter and that no one cares about him."

"Hm. Sounds like you already know the whole story, so why read it?" Ari asked.

"Just something to do, I guess. Thought maybe I'd get my own perspective on it, you know?"

"True," Ari said.

"So what's your name?" The girl asked.

"I'm Ari. You?"

"Fran. Call me Franny, everyone else does. Or Steph. It doesn't matter."

"Well, Franny, it's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Ari."

Franny finally looked up from her book and looked into Ari's eyes. He noticed that she had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Bright blue, big. He felt like he could spend forever just looking into them.

"I hope you don't think I'm weird, just coming over here and sitting down across from you like this. You just looked lonely."

"Oh no, it's completely fine. I suppose that's why I would choose to sit here anyways. Just me, across from an empty seat. It would be rude for you not to sit down, if you saw me, I think. Most people are rude though, that's the thing. They see a girl like me sitting here alone and think 'oh, she's lonely, we'll just leave her like that then' instead of thinking that maybe I left the seat open because I am just waiting for someone to come sit in it. Like you, Ari. I suppose I was just waiting for you and that's why I chose to sit here."

Ari smiled and nodded. He didn't quite know what to say but he felt that it didn't matter whether or not he did or didn't say anything. Then he said something.

"No problem."

Franny smiled and then kept reading. They both sat there not saying anything for a few minutes until Ari got up suddenly. Franny looked up from her book. He looked down at her.

"It was very nice meeting you Franny. I'm going to go home now."

"Oh, yes, it was nice meeting you too Ari. I hope maybe we can meet again sometime?"

"Maybe. Probably not, but maybe."

Ari turned around and headed towards the door without looking back. He could feel her eyes upon him and he smiled a bit but then walked out of the diner. The cold winter air stung the tip of his nose. He walked along the edge of the sidewalk teetering into the street a bit. He lit a cigarette as he walked and held it between his lips at the side of his mouth. He put his hands in his pockets and thought about Franny and how pretty she was and what she was reading and what she had said. He thought about the waiter with his grease-stained apron. He thought about the old couple eating their hamburgers with a knife and fork and the young couple in love.

Then Ari went home and hanged himself.

You know what I'd really, really like?

For my birthday, that's a week away?

Something that getting older isn't going to give me.

Something that only I can make happen.

Hearing Loss.

I thought I was going deaf.

"What?"

Almost every time anyone would talk to me, I'd respond with the most annoying word in the English language when you're trying to talk to somebody.

"What?"

But I wasn't going deaf. There was no way I could be. I was only seventeen. And sometimes, everything sounded fine, but then sometimes, I couldn't hear shit. I tried to blame the problem on Ashley because oftentimes it would emerge when I was with her or right after. But this just made her mad and sometimes violent towards me. It continued like this until one day I came to realize that the problem was only occurring in my left ear - which meant that if I was going deaf, it was only in that ear - not both. So I wouldn't be deaf, really, anyways. But of course, I still didn't completely believe that was the case. So Ashley, being the more sensible of her and I, somehow quickly figured out the problem.

"It's earwax," she said. "It can build up in there real bad and then you can't hear. You're gonna have to clean it out."

To which I responded,

"What?"

"There's these drops that I have that you can put in your ear. It'll break up the earwax, and then there's this thing that squirts water in your ear that flushes it all out."

"What?"

So one day she laid me on my side on my bed and dropped these little drops of stuff into my ear and told me that I couldn't move for ten minutes. It sizzled and popped and burned and I didn't move for ten minutes, although I really wanted to. It's very difficult for me to stay still at all, so ten minutes was torture. The whole time Ashley had to pet my head, like I was a kitten or something, to keep me still. Then when ten minutes were up she stuck a cotton ball in my ear and walked me to the bathroom, where, conveniently, I for some reason already had a little blue ear-flusher-cleaner-outer thingy in my medicine cabinet. She took the cotton ball out of my ear, threw it away, and filled up the little blue thing with warm water. It made a slurping sound as it sucked up the water. Then she made me hang me head over the bathtub, left ear down, and she shot a blast of warm water into my ear.

"OH MY GOD. OH MY FUCKING GOD," was the first thing I heard.

And then I saw.

Little yellow bits of earwax sediments on the floor of the tub beneath my ear. Some yellowed water around them. Ashley's hand holding the blue-flusher-thingy, covered in the liquid. Ashley looking disgusted. And I secretly thought it was hilarious. But I didn't say anything. I valued my life, you know.

But I still couldn't hear.

And then she repeated the process. Again. And again. More chunks of earwax would fall out into the tub and more of the nasty liquid would get all over her and her arm and occasionally my shoulder. It was warm. It was wet. It was sticky. It was awesome, in a way. She must have repeated it about five or six times before I decided I could hear again. I figured that any cloudiness of hearing was just water still in there. I thanked her repeatedly. She deserved it. I really don't think I'd ever met anyone before who would have done such a thing for me and I probably won't. Maybe my mom. Maybe anyone's mom. My mom wiped poop from my butt when I was a little kid, so I guess she gets a gold star for dealing with gross bodily clean up. But if I asked my mom to wipe my poop up now she'd probably just kick me out. Anyways, the point is that what Ashley had just done was disgusting, and I knew it was disgusting, and that I now probably owed her a really fancy dinner or something. Which I'll get to, when I have money. Shortly after everything was all cleaned up she said good-bye and went home, leaving the little bottle of drops with me, 'just in case'.

So the next morning I expected to wake up and be able to hear just fine, like I did a few weeks before.

But I didn't.

Instead I woke up and I couldn't hear shit out of my left ear. Still.

Godammit, I thought.

I looked at the clock and saw it was only 8:30 am. Way too early to ask Ashley, or anybody for that matter, for help cleaning out my aural orifice. So I decided to try it myself. I got up, put in the drops, laid on my side, waited for ten minutes, then went to the bathroom, stood over the sink, filled up the little blue-flusher-thingy with hot water, and shot that mother fucker as hard as I could into my ear. Immediately, there was a metallic, ringing sound, and I could hear everything. Then I looked into the sink and there was dark yellow liquid everywhere, and a huge chunk of earwax, about the size of the nail of my little finger, next to the drain.

Gross, I thought.

But I could hear again.

It was awesome.

A Story To Kill The Night.

i cannot sleep
or eat
or breathe
or so much as
speak
until
i am gone
so
i close
my eyes
forever

This Is Not A True Story*

*Not for me, at least.


You could almost feel something.
You could close your eyes and for a second maybe you could feel something.
Maybe.
If the ability to listen wasn't so tough then maybe I wouldn't be like this. But I need more, man. I need more. I spend hundreds on this shit a week and I tell ya, I just need more.

My mama gives me 50 dollars a week spending. Dad, too. They have good jobs. They drive nice cars. They send me to a private school that costs a lot so I will grow up to be a model citizen. I walked in on Dad fucking some woman who wasn't my mama, once. I told him I'd keep my mouth shut for a few more hundred dollars. So he gave me some money and I spent it all on the junk that will make you numb. I used most it all up in a few minutes. My friends said it was a bad idea. What do friends know though - they just lie to you and tell you they care about you. I don't need that. I have what I need and it's perfect 'cause it doesn't talk. It doesn't tell me anything. It doesn't need to. I don't have friends anymore.

The night after I caught Dad doing his fucking and I got all that money I got into some trouble.
I left my guy's house and it was 3 in the morning. Bitch black outside. Neighborhood had no street lights. Wore all black so I couldn't be seen. And I blended in perfectly to the night. I was a shadow that belonged to the trees and the streets and would die when the sun would rise. But then there was a light and it wasn't the sun. It was a car. And I thought to myself who drives around here at 3 in the morning? Cops and queers, that's who. I saw the lights and ducked down into a nearby bush. This could go one of two ways i thought - get stopped and get your ass beat or get stopped and get your ass fucked.

Next thing I know I'm in the back seat that car. It ain't a cop car and it ain't no queer car either. But I'm in the back and I'm all tied up and my stomach hurts. My head hurts. My whole body hurts. I want to be numb. I've got a bandanna tied around my mouth so I can't talk. There are two people in the car with me. One drivin' one sittin' in the passenger seat. They got shaved heads and sleeveless shirts. The one drivin' 's got three x's tattooed on the back of his neck. The passenger turns around and looks at me. All I can see in his eyes is hate. Why does he hate me? What did I do to him?

"Fuckin' junky piece of shit," he says. Then he lands me one real hard in the jaw. And I passed out.

When I came to I was in what looked like a warehouse. I was on the floor and still all tied up but that bandanna was gone so I could talk. I realized that my pants pockets were turned inside out and empty. Fuckers cleaned me out, it looked like. I looked around me. Wasn't really a big place, if it was a warehouse. On the walls there were some posters but I couldn't read em. My vision was all blurry like. Then I seen that guy with the x's on the back of his neck. And about ten other guys too. They're all standing in one corner talking. I hear them as a dull incomprehensible murmur.

"HEY! HELP! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" I yelled.

They all stopped talking and one yelled something out.

"Oh! Look at this! He's awake! About time, we were getting restless."

"...what?" I said.

I blinked my eyes and they were all on top of me. Beating me. Taking punches at me. Kicking me. In the head, in the stomach, in the groin. They cursed and swore and called me a junky piece of shit, over and over. Then it stopped. One of them was dangling something in front of my face.

Zip-lock bag. My zip-lock bag. Full of my junk.

"You want this?" he asked.

I didn't say anything. I was in too much pain. I just looked at it. It was beautiful. And I did want it. I wanted it bad. I wanted it now. I wanted it so I could get rid of the pain and then maybe feel strong enough to take on all of these fuckers. At once.

He asked me again.

"You want this?"

I managed to nod.

"THEN FUCKING HAVE IT!" he said.

Then he shoved the whole bag in my mouth. It went down deep and touched the back of my throat and I gagged and vomited. But the bag stayed in. I woudn't let it go. Not again. I gnashed my teeth and bit into it and felt it's contents on my tongue.

"Fuckers like you never learn..." he said.

"Let's get this piece of shit out of here."

I felt them kick me a few times in the stomach and then one of them picked me up. I couldn't tell you much more than than that though. I was slowly slipping away into someplace else, another place far, far away.

I woke up on the side of the road. The highway. There were two policemen standing over me. One was holding my bag. It was trashed. Covered in blood and vomit. But there was plenty of stuff left in it to do the job.

"An ambulance is on it's way," one of the policemen said. "But you've got some time you're gonna be payin', yessir. You fuckin' junkies pile up here on the side of the road here everyday and we can't just let you walk."

Then I heard sirens and I passed out again.

They did a lot of stuff to me at that hospital. Stitched me up real nicely. Put some stuff on my bruises. Gave me some shots. I slept through most of if. Every now and then I'd wake up and I'd see a hot nurse standing over me with her tits in my face. It was an alright way to spend a few days.

I never did end up doing time. My mama and Dad did some talking under the table before the whole thing could even become a case. They took away some of my things but they still give me money every week because "a boy's gotta eat". And I never did find out who those guys who beat the shit out of me were. Nor did I ever see them again. Not the next time I left my guy's house. Or the time after that. But I still think about it. I've got the scars to remind me of it. But if it does happen again, don't you think I'm gonna quit doing this. Don't you tell me that once was enough and I shoula done learned my lesson. Don't tell me it's not worth it, because, oh, it's worth it. One night of pain in exchange for a beautiful feeling of numbness that not even the Devil could feel. It's worth it, trust me. For me, there is no lesson to learn.

Fuckers like me never learn.

Recollecting.

I had dinner at with Ashley today.
She picked me up from my house at about 4:50 and we went to one of our favorite restaurants.
I didn't say anything the way there but I handed her little slips of paper with things that I wanted to say on them. I felt as if my mouth got me into too much trouble (usually) so I just decided to keep quiet.
We ate quiet and we breathed quiet.
We didn't need to say anything anyways.
I don't think we ever did.
I feel like we always knew what the other was thinking as long as we've been together.
We are connected in some strange way that I don't think two people who love each other usually are.
For example, today she told me that she kept losing hearing in her right ear. I myself have been having trouble hearing too - from my left ear. Or that her left hand had a strange, random pain - and the same happened to my right.
I ate lasagna and she ate hummus and chips and some other stuff. Or rather we shared both.
After dinner we went to the bookstore and looked at books and I read Where The Wild Things Are to her in the kids section and we looked at books with pictures of baby animals in them. The whole time we still held hands and we still kissed and told each other that we loved each other.
After that it was time for us both to go home.
Still, nothing is certain. Neither of us know if we'll get back tomorrow or in a month, or even at all. But I just want her to be ready, if we do get back together. Right now it looks very possible but if not I will understand. But I'm hoping that we can. Maybe even as a birthday present for my upcoming eighteenth birthday. But any day will do really. I will wish for it at 11:11 every day or every time I see a shooting star. And stay positive and continue to love her regardless. I feel almost as if this whole incident has made me fall for her even more. I can't explain it. It's something that can't be explained.

When she dropped me off at my house I kissed her for a long time and she kissed me back. I asked her when I'd see her next and she said we'll see. I said I loved her. And she said she loved me too. And then she said happy six months together.

And I said happy six months together, too.

For Ashley, who I love very much -

One week ago I was able to sleep. I'd make sure to fall asleep early as I could so the next day would arrive and I would see you again.

Tonight, I will sleep only because I am hoping that tomorrow will be a better day. That maybe I'll wake up and you'll be there to tell me everything is okay. Maybe right now I am just dreaming. Maybe this is a really bad dream, and you'll shake me awake. I will wake up with tears in my eyes and I will be cold, and you will hold me close to you and say "Shhh...it's okay." And you will let me kiss you and hold your hand, and play with your fingers. And you will promise me that it will always be like that.

"Baby. It's okay. I love you."

After 6 months of spending every day with you I have already felt closer to you than I have with anyone in my whole life. I guess you are right and everyone else is right. I am only seventeen years old. What do I know? I know that I still love you and I still want to be with you. And I am writing this and making it public because I want everyone else to know too. I want everyone to know how much I love you. I want everyone to know about the girl who I love very much and always will love very much. I wish I had been able to make you as happy as you deserve. Even now knowing that you are reading this is making me happy. I don't care what has happened. You will still make me happier than anything or anyone in the whole world.

I will always think about you and I. About all the things that have happened between us. Like my dad's birthday trip. Falling asleep on your stomach. Picnics at nighttime. Watching the stars in the park. Or just sitting around looking at each other as if there was nothing else in the world. All those times replay themselves in my head and I can't help but smile but I can't help but shed a few tears.

I am not writing this to make a scene, or even to win you back really. But more so as a tribute, or a dedication, to what we had and what I hope we can still have - love.

I will always love you, Ashley Bettinger. Don't ever forget that.

i'm wide awake
but my eyes are closed
and i'm dreaming
of a different day
when the sun still shined
and people would look outside
and smile.
and dreaming,
of a day when
the sun will shine again
and people will smile again
and everyone will be happy
again.
but for now,
i am just dreaming,
and
when i open my eyes
i will see
darkness.

Fucking Metal.

He was the strangest person I had ever met. The most annoying, too.
His name was Jonathan. I met him my first year of high school, when I was all the more vulnerable to weirdos like him. He was a senior, and I, a freshman. I'm pretty sure I was one of his only friends, maybe only, and I wasn't even his friend. I was just nice. Kind of.

I first saw Jonathan during summer school before entering the 9th grade. I was standing outside the 200 building (which mainly housed language arts classes) with my friend Logan when I heard a loud "ROAR" coming from inside. Logan heard it too.

"ROOOOAAAAR!"

"Uh," I said.

"Buh..." Logan said.

And then the doors to the 200 building bust open and this long-haired beast of a kid, at least six foot four, ran out, with one hand in the air with his two middle fingers down, making a gesture I thought you only did at a Slayer concert, and swinging his hair in a windmill-esque motion. Then he stopped in front of Logan and I for a second and we made eye contact.

"ROOOOOOOAAAAR!" he said.

Then he ran off swinging his hair and doing that thing with his hand.

That afternoon when my mom picked me up I saw him standing at the bus stop in front of the school and he was still doing the same thing.

I didn't see him again until a few weeks into the school year. I was in the bathroom. I think I was pooping. I never pooped at school but for emergency occasions, so if I was pooping I must have really had to go. I could have been peeing. Either way I was in a stall. I used stalls when I peed because my parents had opted to leave my dick looking like an ant eater when I was born, and I always had a fear that if I used a urinal someone would see my ant eater dick and scream. It was also for this reason that I was pretty sure I would never have sex.
Anyways.
Whether I was pooping or peeing, I was in my stall, thinking I was alone in the bathroom, when I heard one of the most terrifying sounds I had ever heard in my life.

"SATAAAAANNNN!"

It sounded just like the roar I had heard during summer school except it seemed a lot scarier now that it had the Dark Lord's name attached to it.I finished what I was doing and just stood still for a moment. Then I opened the stall door, carefully. It was him. Jonathan. Except I didn't know his name was Jonathan yet. I just knew that he roared. He roared 'Satan'. He was standing at the sink, leaning forward, hands on the counter, looking intently into the mirror. He was making a face that looked kind of like a mix between constipated and angry. Then he roared again.

"SATAAAAANNNN!"

And he kept looking at himself in the mirror. I knew he saw me because through the mirror we made eye contact. I just blinked and said,

"Uh."

He didn't move at all but he talked. Loud.

"HEY. WHAT DID YOU THINK?"

"Uh. About what?"

"MY VOCALS. MY METAL VOCALS. PRETTY EVIL SOUNDING, AM I RIGHT?"

"Uh. Yeah. Pretty evil."

"MY NAME'S JONATHAN. WHAT'S YOURS?"

"Dylan," I said. I wanted to get out of there. Even if it meant not washing my hands. So I started walking out. And he did too.

"WHERE YA GOING?" he asked.

"Back to class."

"ME TOO."

"Back to my class?"

"NO BACK TO MY CLASS."

"Okay."

I walked out the bathroom and down the hallways and up the stairs and he followed me the whole way. And the whole way he talked to me.

"YOU SEEM LIKE A REALLY COOL GUY."

"How can you tell? I don't know you."

"YEAH."

"Uh."

"DO YOU LIKE METAL?"

"I guess. Some."

"I LOVE METAL."

The whole time he was talking he kept sucking his teeth. He walked with his chest out and his chin up and his arms at his sides bent slightly as if he was flexing.

"This is my class. Bye."

"BYE."

I opened the door to my classroom and went in and Jonathan walked away doing his metal vocals. Then I realized that some guy I had met in the bathroom had just followed me to class.

That day at lunch I told Logan was had happened. He thought it was really funny and I do now but at the time I just thought it was creepy. We sat eating our cafeteria pizza that tasted like vagina-asshole-dick-shit and then Logan said he had to piss and asked if I'd come with him.

"I have to piss. Want to come with me?"

I said yes so we finished our pizza and started walking towards the nearest bathroom and on the way we got stopped by a voice.

"HEY."

Oh, fuck, I though.

I looked at Logan as if to say 'Let's go, NOW." But he didn't get it at first and by the time he did, it was too late. John had walked up to us.

"HEY DYLAN. IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN. WANT TO COME SIT WITH ME?"

He pointed to an empty table behind him.

"No, I'm alright," I said.

Johnathan looked at me and then looked at Logan.

"HI. I'M JONATHAN."

"Logan."

"WANNA SIT WITH ME?"

"No, it's cool."

Jonathan looked at Logan and blinked and then went back to sit at his table without saying anything.

Logan and I kept walking. A loud "ROAR" could be heard behind us. This kid is fucking weird, I thought, but part of me felt bad for him.

As the school year went on Johnathan became more and more frequent in my daily life. He'd see my in the hall and try talking to me and at first I tried to gradually be more friendly and hold a conversation with him. I figured something wasn't "all right" with him and that everyone deserved a chance. But that thought didn't last very long and it wasn't too long before I tried my hardest to avoid him.

One morning I was at school early waiting for Logan where I usually waited for Logan, when Jonathan appeared out of nowhere and flicked me really hard on the arm.

"OW! WHAT THE FUCK MAN?!" I screamed.

I looked at where he had flicked me and the flesh has turned bright red. It stung really bad.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He double over laughing.

"I GOT YOU!"

"Not cool man. That really hurt."

I was rubbing my arm and giving him a face that was supposed to express pure hate. He just laughed and then got really serious looking.

"DUDE," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I HAVE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING."

"What?"

"YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED."

"...Okay..."

"GUESS."

"Guess what?"

"GUESS WHAT HAPPENED."

"I give up."

I was getting impatient already.

"I GOT HEAD. AT SCHOOL. YESTERDAY. FROM A GIRL."

"Uh. Cool."

"I CAME. TWICE. IN HER MOUTH."

"Uh."

"SHE DIDN'T WANT TO DO IT. BUT I MADE HER, BECAUSE I'M FUCKING EVIL."

I felt disgusted to be standing near him. Here I was fifteen years old listening to this freak talk about face-raping some girl. And I'd barely kissed a girl yet. Just then I saw Logan walking towards me and we made eye contact. He read my eyes. Then looked at Jonathan. Then turned around and walked away.

"Gotta go!"

And I ran after him without giving Jonathan a chance to say anything else.

This one time, Jonathan showed up at school bleeding from the mouth. There was blood everywhere. All down his chin. His shirt. Bright, red blood. Or so I thought. He came up to me and in the morning and I stopped him right before he could flick me in the arm. I took one look at him and screamed.

"HOLY SHIT! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?! JESUS CHRIST ARE YOU OKAY?! WHAT THE FUCK?!"

He smiled real big, his teeth red, and said:

"HAHA, CHECK IT OUT."

He then reached into his pocket and to my astonishment, pulled out a packed of powdered red Kool-Aid, ripped it open, and poured the contents in his mouth. Then he started drooling profusely and red Kool-Aid blood went everywhere. What the fuck, I thought.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK?" he said. "PRETTY EVIL, HUH?"

"Yeah. Pretty evil."

Luckily since Jonathan was a senior his school year ended earlier than mine, so the last few weeks of school I didn't have to deal with him. Then, on the last day of school I saw him hanging around outside the school at the bus stop. He was swinging his hair like he did the first day I saw him. I was walking over to the smoothie place across the street to wait for a ride home from my mom, and there he was. Just standing there. I raised my hand to my face and tried to make myself invisible but it didn't work. He saw me and ran up to me. Fuck, I thought.

"HEY MAN. HOW'S IT GOING?"

"Good. I'm going home. Just waiting for my mom."

"SWEET. HAHA. YOUR MOM."

He said the last two words with added inflection.

"Yeah."

"MAN. I'M IN A BAND NOW. YOU SHOULD CHECK US OUT."

"Oh yeah?"

"YEAH. SINISTER ARCHITECT. FUCKIN' METAL."

When I heard this I tried not to laugh. I really did. But I may have let one slip out. Sinister Architect? Really? What the fuck is that? A mean guy who builds houses? Really fuckin' metal. Just then my mom pulled up. I had never been so happy to see her.

"Bye!" I said, and quickly got in the car.

Then my mom drove me home and I never saw Jonathan again.

Merry Christmas, Fucker

I was under the impression that it might be fun. You know - meeting relatives I hadn't yet met, swapping emails and phone numbers, eating food, and getting Christmas presents (mmm, greed). It was brought to my attention the night before, by my mom, of course, who only tends to let me know of big plans at the last minute.

"My cousin Betty Jean is having a family reunion Christmas Party at her house tomorrow. You and your brother are expected to be there."

I was thrilled. The only relatives on my mom's side of the family that I knew were my grandpa, my grandma (although by then deceased), my aunt, and my uncle. And my mom's aunt. And her son. And his wife. And their kids. Look, for a family of the South - which is indeed what my mom's family is, that is a relatively small number of people. I didn't really know much about families but I knew that them Southern ones were big. And a family reunion would bring them together. All of them. It would be the only time I'd really get to meet any extended family, I figured, because my dad's even larger family still mostly lived, and still does live, about a day's flight away in Thailand. And didn't speak my language.

But the next day came around and I came to realize that this group of Nascar-loving hicks didn't speak my language either. Or at least most of them didn't. They spoke some weird dialect using words like "ya'll", "yeehaw" and "GITERDONE!" I walked into the family reunion and not a damn person beside the aforementioned people I already knew had any idea we were related. I could just tell. My mom walked in first, smiling her usual beaming smile like she usually does when she's in a social situation, and then my brother and I. And everyone just stopped, and looked. More likely at me than at my brother, because he looks a lot more like my mom than I do although we're twins. At the time I thought they were probably just thinking that I was adopted, but now I'm pretty sure their thoughts were all along these lines -

"Hey! What the fuck! Where is the Chow Fun?! We ordered Chow Fun! Did he just leave it at the restaurant or something? Oh fuck, he's looking at the cat. Oh my God, FUCK, hide the cat! HIDE THE CAT!"

I smiled my usual nervous smile as I walked in and closed the door behind me. And I knew that these people did not want to swap emails.

I decided that I was not going to introduce myself because I did not want to admit to them or myself that we were related. A few people came up to me and told me their names and most of them I didn't like but a few of them I did. I sat down and talked to my grandpa for a bit, which made me happy, but mostly I was just waiting for the night to be over and for Santa to cum in my chimney or whatever the hell he does. I kept overhearing talk of Nascar and Jesus. Sometimes in the same sentence. "Dale Jr. don't got shit on Jesus, no sir." Or something like that. This one guy about sixty or so was all decked out in Nascar gear. Nascar hat. Nascar shirt. Nascar watch. Probably a Nascar tattoo on his dick, but I didn't ask to see it, because I was pretty sure it was there. And he wouldn't shut up. At that point I was about ready to blow my brains out, moreso than usual. I thought, There's GOT to be a hunting rifle in this house somewhere. Right next to the musket.

I decided that it was all too much for me and that I had to step outside to take a breather. On my way out I saw my mom's aunt's son's wife. I can't ever remember her name but I know she's involved in some church. Her and her husband. Good people.

"Dylan!" she yelled while I was about to step out the door. She knew my name, wow.

"Yes?"

She smiled at me but I knew immediately that she was about to try and talk to me about something important.

"I have to talk to you about something important", she said.

Fuck.

I followed her to this little room off to the side where no one was. I thought for a second that maybe she was going to try and have sex with me but then I thought about it again and I realized that these people weren't that backwoods and no one would do that with me anyways. I sat down on a sort of bed thing and she sat down in a chair across from me and looked into my eyes, deeply. It was creepy.

"This is important," she said.

"Uh huh."

"I have a question."

"Okay"

"Do you believe in God?"

My jaw dropped to the ground. So I bent down and picked it up. Then I looked at her real hard and didn't say anything but then I said something.

"No."

"I'll pray for you."

"You do that."

Then we got up and walked our separate ways and I thought about looking for that hunting rifle again.

I went outside and stood there for a long time looking at nothing in particular. The moon was full. There was a cat in the lawn. There were a few pick up trucks in the driveway and across the street. I thought about how much I wish I hadn't of come, and about tomorrow was Christmas and how last Christmas was the last time I ever saw my grandma. I think I cried a little but I'm not sure.

When I went back inside it was time to eat and everyone stood around in a big circle and prayed. We all held hands and I held hands with some guy I didn't know and my mom, and we prayed to Jesus thanking him for our food, but I was sure that everyone was really praying for the atheist in the house. Save him, save him. Then the food came out - spare ribs, fried chicken, ham, roast beef, mashed potatoes with beef gravy, grapes - I ate the grapes.

"BOY! WHY DON'T YOU EAT SOME O' THAT MEAT? SOME O' THAT HAM! SOME O' THAT BEEF!" Nascar Man commented.

I simply laughed and said "No thank you, I don't eat meat. These grapes are fine."

Nascar Man almost spit out his food at this.

"WHAT?! YOU DON'T EAT MEAT?! YOU ONE O' THEM VETERINARIANS?!"

"No, I'm vegan."

"YOU'RE WHAT?!"

"I don't eat meat."

"WELL HAVE SOME CHICKEN."

"No thanks."

And I walked away with my grapes.

After dinner it was time to exchange gifts. My brother and I sat on the couch and watched. So many gifts were given and received - fishing rods, kitchen supplies, digital cameras, gift certificates, Nascar hats, money, clothes, and everything that everyone thought that they needed to have. By the time it was all over, everyone had gotten something - everyone except my brother and I. Seeing this, someone piped up and said "Oh! I think we have two extra movie passes!" And my brother and I got two movie extra movie passes for Christmas that year.

By that time it was almost midnight and everyone started heading home. My grandpa left and I said goodbye to him and then shortly after it was time for me to go home too, so we headed out and my mom said goodbye to everyone and my brother and I didn't say goodbye to anyone. We just went out and sat in the car and waited.

On the way home my mom asked if I had had a good time and I lied and said I did. My brother said he did too but I don't know if he was lying or not. Then my mom said that we weren't celebrating Christmas this year. Always letting me know at the last minute, as usual.

The next morning I woke up like I do every Christmas morning and went out to the living room and looked under the tree. Nothing was there.

At least I was happy about my movie pass.

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's being annoying.
Perhaps it's the fact that I'm always too caffeinated, or perhaps I have undiagnosed ADHD - which I don't believe actually exists in the first place. Or may that part of my brain is still six years old.
I do try to control my behavior, but when I try to be calm or not jumping all over the place, my mental state usually reduces to "depressed" or "creepy" - creepy, as in, I just get creepy quiet. It's certainly a flaw of mine, but everyone has flaws and everyone wishes that they could do something about them, but I do realize that it's just who I am and no amount of pretending it's not will do anything about it. Me trying to be nice or kind or sweet just ends up being me being a hassle, and then I feel guilty for being a bother to who I love or care about. I apologize constantly for any of my actions, which in itself becomes an annoyance to others. But that could just be how I was raised. I've always been into thinking that everything is my fault because someone has always been there to tell me that it is. I could be convinced that Armageddon will come because of me fucking something up and it wouldn't seem too far-fetched. And I know it could also seem possible to some people that I'm the exact opposite of what I'm stating now - that I'm actually very antisocial and don't talk enough. I know there's been enough friendly people who have tried to have a conversation with me in which I've walked away or seen me around while I pretend I don't see them to - but I do. I just have a fear of saying something stupid or doing something stupid, that takes control of me too often.
I am not writing this to make anyone feel bad for me. I am simply trying to tell who I am, and yes, apologize for some of my more annoying personality quirks. Or maybe I'm just trying to understand myself better as well. Things are so much easier to understand when they're written down on paper, or in this case, typed at a computer.

So, sorry.

Gozu

Jesus Christ, it had been so long since I've seen this movie, but while organizing my room the other day I came to remember that I own an import copy. Gozu is a surrealist/horror/comedy/fucked-up cult flick from Takashi Miike - the director of the very well known Audition and Ichi The Killer. I like Gozu though because it's such a departure from Miike's other films - or anything at all. There is no other movie like it. It's a mash-up up yakuza thriller, traditional japanese horror, black comedy, and a lot of sexual metaphors. I reccommend everyone with a penchant for the bizarre see this - where else can you see the birth of a full-grown man?

my hate for you is a reoccurring dream.
just disappear from my thoughts, please.

ocd

I recently decided that, after about 8 years of not wearing any, with a new school year on the rise, and my newfound love for reading, it was time for me to get a new set of frames for my eyes. So I went to Optical Outlets, picked out a pair, had my eyes checked and they sent me my tortoise-shell glasses in about a week. They've made reading a bit easier and I feel like I'm reading faster, but I'm probably just losing my mind. I've gotten into the bad habit of wiping the lenses with my shirt all the time to clean them, which is an especially bad idea for me, always focusing on little, stupid, unimportant details, because now there's a billion (really about 5 or 6) scratches on the lenses from the fibers and dirt on my shirt. Fuck. However, I can't see them when I'm wearing the glasses, only when I'm being obsessive and holding them up to the light, which I do, because I have some serious issues. Anytime I get something new I do the same thing - I want whatever it is to be in pristine condition. Give me a few weeks, and I'll stop caring. I hope. Here's a picture of them:

Now I can pretend I'm Tyler Legacy and/or pretend I'm good in maths.
Sweet.

3 books in one school week. No heart problems. Good grades so far. Life is swell.

I am impatient.

i saw a dove with a broken leg today. it dragged it's leg along the sidewalk as it pecked the ground looking for food. for a moment, time stopped then and there, as i stood helpless and watched the beautiful bird. there was nothing, nothing but me and that dove, and a bout a million people unknowingly responsible for it's broken leg. a million people too careless to think about their actions and the world around them. i took a step forward, and the dove and it's broken leg took flight, into a sky above millions of careless people, a solemn reminder of the selfishness and absolute carelessness of human beings.

Sometimes I wish someone would beat me up so I could just go home.

Japanther?

in my Orlando?
It's more likely than I thought.

I got my glasses today. Turns out they're not black frames like i thought, they're this weird marble/turtle shell pattern when you examine them. Not quite what i wanted, but they're paid for and shit now, so it looks like i'll have to deal.

To the kid who just tried to sell me hydrocodone - GO FUCK YOURSELF.

The weight of the world is love.

This is my daddy.

Do you see a resemblance?

I loved you before I even knew you existed.

She's gonna hate me for this.

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

I woke up this morning and went straight for my phone. It's always the first thing I do when I wake up, as pathetic as that is. Only, this time, my phone wasn't there. The charger was plugged in, emitting it's annoying bright, flashing blue light as always, but there was no phone plugged into it. Then I remembered. That's right, I left it at Ashley's house last night. I had taken it out of my pocket while watching this documentary on Hunter S. Thompson - Gonzo. It's pretty sick; you should check it out some time. Anyways, I had left her house thinking it was in my back pocket but upon arriving home realized that my back pocket was actually inhabited by my bike light - which, I'm not sure how ended up there, but, things work in strange ways sometimes and I've by now accepted that. But now here I am, waiting for her to wake up or at least for a decent time to go get my phone from her. I start school in 4 days and I'm not feeling ready at all. It's my last year in high school and I'm taking harder classes than I had planned. I'm supposed to have Hound Of The Baskervilles and Naked Economics read by Monday. I haven't started either. Instead, I just finished Catcher In The Rye, which I enjoyed despite everyone else telling me it was awful, and I'm currently reading Ham On Rye. I'll probably finish my assigned reading in one evening or just hit up Sparknotes like any good student would. And by assigned reading, I mean Hound Of The Baskervilles, as there's no way in hell I'll read Naked Economics. It just sounds gut wrenchingly boring. I'll probably watch Coffee And Cigarettes today with Ashley when she wakes up. Or something like that. I just want to enjoy my remaining summer days, without the punishment of procrastination.

Havin fun isn't hard,

if you've got a library card.

Well, it's really my mom's card because I have a 40+ dollar fine or some shit.
And I just got movies to watch.

Dees:

Ponyo is probably the cutest movie i've ever seen

Thinking.

i used to work as a bagboy,
at the grocery store.
and i would bag groceries
for some very strange people
like,
for instance,
this old woman with drawn-on eyebrows
who would just by cat food
or this old man,
who used a walker,
who bought KY
or this tall black guy
who would always ask me
to walk him out to his car
and called himself
"versace don".
i was only fifteen,
and in my first year of high school,
and terrified of everything,
like old people,
or walking out to strangers' cars.
i'm still terrified of everything
but no longer enough
to quit my job.

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

sometimes,
i think about dying.
not
wanting to die
or wishing for death,
but just thinking -
what would it be like to be dead?
i know
that my heart will stop beating
and my brain will cease thinking
and i'll shit myself
like a big baby.
and all my memories
and all my thoughts
will become nothing.
and then i think -
what was it like
before i was even alive?
or even when i was a
little baby,
shitting and pissing and puking everywhere?
i don't remember
what that was like,
so maybe dying
is just just like not being alive
yet.
and then,
dying doesn't seem so bad.

I woke up at ten thirty this morning. I was the first time I had slept in in years. I feel groggy, uncomfortable, and drained, but I still like that I just wasted a few hours of my day by not opening my eyes. Last night I had some friends (Chris and Lindsay) over, and we went and saw District 9. It was a lot better than I expected, and I am not really into sci-fi. It was very well-done and put together, and not super cheesy like I expected. After the movie, we came back to my house and called up some more people to come hang out - Elliot and James. Also, my mom's friend and her daughter, Amber, were staying at the house for the weekend, so Amber joined us too. It was my first time meeting her and I feel like I've made a new friend. When James and Elliot arrived, Lindsay had to go home so she went home. Anyways, we didn't really have much to do so we took a walk downtown, picking up Kathy along the way, and Chris got a pita at the Pita Pit. We walked around a bit more and then went back home. The weather was nice for summertime in Florida, and it made me look forward to the upcoming cold months. When we got back home we decided to take turns shaving Elliot's head. It was a bad idea, considering we only had a small clipper used for trimming beards. It took away an hour and we did a really bad job. Before we knew it it was 3:30 in the morning and everyone went home except Chris who slept in my bed. As much as I hate staying up so late, it was good fun with good friends, and a way to keep me occupied while Ashley's away. She comes back tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to seeing her as always, because while the company of friends is always nice, there's nothing quite like being held, sometimes.

At loving hut. Fuck. Yes.

I don't talk much about things that have affected me.

Stuff hipsters hate:

http://stuffhipstershate.tumblr.com/

When I was in seventh grade, I met a man named Mike Rossi.
Mike kind of sort of lived in the house behind me and was the husband of my mom's friend who also lived behind me. I say kind of sort of because he still had a home in Troy, Michigan that he was very attached to. Mike taught me to play guitar and how to sing, kind of. He was in his mid fifties and had all gray hair. He was a recent cancer survivor.

One day, I was driving to the guitar store to buy some strings with Mike, and he turned on the radio and U2 was on. I was wearing a beanie because I thought it looked cool, and Mike pointed at me and said I looked like the guitarist from U2 because of my beanie. I asked him why he thought so many old musicians wear beanies all the time, and he told me it was because they were hiding their bald heads. I thought it was funny but useless information.

A few months later while I was on another trip to the guitar store with Mike, he had to pull over from stomach pains. I figured he had eaten something bad. The next day he left back for Michigan.

I was sitting on my bed playing guitar when my mom walked into my room and told me that Mike's cancer had come back, even worse, and that he only had six months or so to live. It was the first time I had cried over someone dying.

I saw Mike a few weeks later and he seemed just fine. Occasionally he'd duck out for a few minutes but then he'd come back and continue talking about Bob Dylan as if nothing was wrong. He'd even pluck a few chords on his guitar and make up a song about how he wasn't really dying. We had several meetings like this, and in between he'd fly back up to Michigan to be where he felt the most at home.

One day while he was away, his wife, Suzanne, told me that things were getting really bad and that I may not see him again. She was going to fly back up to Michigan to be with him. Before she left, I dug through my dresser drawers and pulled out my beanie. I remembered what Mike had said about balding musicians and figured he might need it, so I gave it to her and told her to make sure he got it.

She was right. I never saw him again. Michael died a couple months later.

After that, Suzanne came back down to stay at the house behind me for a while. She was going to move out and move back up to Michigan. One day my mom went over to see her while I was out, and when I came home my mom said that Suzanne had some things from Mike to give me.
I went over to her house behind mine later that day, and received Mike's guitar and my beanie.
She told me that he was glad that I remembered.

Convinced I'm Wrong

Don't try and sound right, just hope your honest
Trust you'll end up somewhere
That girl that made you promise
she says "try not to care"
I don't know if I'm good, and everyone knows it
You ever feel you were meant to be alone?
Because I saw a play and and a character said
that he was destined to never feel at home
Don't go tonight, I'm looking for salt in a snow globe
Because what I had is slipping fast.
Dr. Howe, Please call back
I'm not sleeping in, I don't care
I'm singing loud but no one hears
I'll wake up tomorrow and still feel wrong for these days
What I had is slipping fast
Dr. Howe Please call me back.
What good am I to anyone like this?
It's been a hard couple months I'll admit
After tonight I'm not so convinced that I'm wrong
I feel at ease with my lows, and I'll take it.
Lord knows I'll take it.
Tonight they're explainable, far from extraneous.
Always expectant
I seldom discover or turn flaws into questions.
Great questions of the times.
I guess I'm an artist who's confines brought him luck
choked by second guessing
I know that's not enough

Yesterday I went to my school to pick up my schedule for this year.
Upon receiving it I immediately became stressed, finding out that I am to take three AP classes this year and I cannot change that. I was hoping for an easy senior year but it looks like I'm fucked. Also, this year students are required to wear their student IDs in plain sight at all times for "security purposes". I left the school with a stack of books that weighed more than I do and a frown on my face.

I can't remember if this really happened.

When I was about twelve years old, I met an old man named Jim.
Jim Staffinson.
Jim was a lonely man who lived in a nursing home. His children had put him there and then moved away to other states, and rarely kept contact with him anymore. That was okay though, because Jim didn't really remember that he had kids, and he didn't really remember that he ever had another home, either.
I can't quite recall how I met Jim, but I remember learning his name from an old woman who told me how lonely he was, so I decided to talk to him.
We had a long conversation about his life and about my life, and he smiled and laughed like he had not a care in the world. When I think about it, he probably was just amused that a young kid like myself would have any interest in him. When it was time for me to go, he made me promise to call him or come back and visit him or write him a letter. I promised I would and had full intention of keeping that promise.

I never spoke with him again.

About a year later I saw his face in the obituaries.

My bike pedal makes a clicking noise. Help?

This weekend.

Wow.

-thumbs up-

Except for a couple things.

I'd prefer not to know some things.

All my music

is gone.

Horseshit.

I woke up this morning at five o'clock.
My mom was sitting on the edge of my bed talking to me like she always does on mornings when she wakes me up way too early.
The first thing I remember saying was "Go away."
She told me she was going away for the weekend. My brother was going to an anime convention. I had an empty house all to myself.
And I'm sick.
I remember thinking that I have no life because I knew I wouldn't do anything with my empty house. No one would visit me. Ashley was sick. My bike had flats and someone stole my pump months ago.
I went back to sleep.
I woke up alone this time.
I had a terrible headache.
I went to the kitchen and made coffee and thought about how if I was still in 9th grade I would have gone through my mom's alcohol and drank enough just to make me type funny and fall back asleep.
But I'm even more boring now.
I drank two cups of coffee and called my dad. I wanted something to do.
He let me drive his van around and we decided to make an appointment to finally get my license next week. While I was signing up for the appointment I decided that I was a terrible person for driving. Now I have an appointment on the tenth at ten-thirty.

I saw my cousin today. She told me I looked nice. I saw my cousin's girlfriend. She told me I looked nice. We all talked about food and my cousin gave me a cookie and I told her I loved her and she said I was a freak. I realized that my shoes matched my shirt and I felt strange. Then I left my cousin's apartment and Dad and I drove to his house in Eustis.

We ate at a Chinese buffet in Apopka. The food was bad. It made me nauseous. I'm pretty sure the vegetable spring rolls had chicken in them but I'm not sure. It was a big place but there were only about ten people eating there. My dad asked the waitress "Do you ever get busy?" "Oh yeah, always busy." I've been there three or four times before. It's never been busy.

I was supposed to mow the lawn tonight but I don't feel well. Dad said he'd pay for it so I could have money to take the misses out to Disney on Wednesday but now I still only have about five dollars. I thought about mowing the lawn in the morning but then Dad mowed it himself. Now I'm sitting here thinking about Mickey Mouse and dollar bills.

I have a 99.5 degree temperature, and I'm reading a new book.
I have company visiting me tomorrow and I'm hoping I'll drop this fever by then.
I'm watching the clock waiting for the right time to take another Motrin.
I just want to take an ice bath and fall asleep.

5 people read this blog. I love all of you.

I love being broke. Today my kung fu shoes ripped. Yesterday my vans also got a lovely ripped lacehole (is that a word?), that was actually previously ripped but i had thought i had fixed. Nope. Maybe it's time i invest in some new shoes. I'm so needy, i swear. Perhaps that makes me a bad person. Too bad i can't invest without money, so if anyone has a pair of size 9 shoes they don't want then HOLLA. I love you, help a brotha out. I go back to school on the 24th. Damn.

I am a social networking slut.

Fuck life.

Throw me some good bands. All types plz.

PPS - I still hate your guts and wish you were dead. I don't forget anything.

...

I'm getting really tired of always asking my dad for money. I feel really guilty about it although I know he doesn't mind. When it comes down to it, I just need a job. Over the summer, I've applied at a lot of places but to no avail. The school year is fast approaching again though, so having a job is going to have to take a backseat to academics for my senior year. Oh well. I'm so ready to be done with high school.

So far this summer, I haven't been very productive, although I can't say I've enjoyed it. Next week I finally will be getting out of Orlando, headed down to South Florida for my dad's birthday. I'll be sure to get him something he really wants - he deserves it.

In the past two days I've finished two books - Spiral by Koji Suzuki and Hot Water Music by Charles Bukowski. I enjoyed both of them, although they're completely different - Spiral being the sequel to Ring and Hot Water Music being, well, Bukowski. I've enjoyed pretty much every book I've read this summer, although that's not a lot of books - but more than I usually would read. So far it's been - The Stranger (Albert Camus), Battle Royale (Koushun Takami), Ring/Spiral (Koji Suzuki), Hot Water Music (Charles Bukowski), and Howl And Other Poems (Allen Ginsberg). I've got a couple more laying around to read but they all seem kind of depressing, and upon finishing the last two books, both which ended on a somewhat sour note, I feel it's time for something a bit more posi.

Not sure what I'm doing tonight. I'm blogging from Ashley's laptop, laying on her bed, watching her fold clothes and occasionally telling me I suck. I love her.

Kfuckyouguysbye.

PS - Don't forget, Beartrap at Uncle Lous on Wednesday, Republicorpse/Time To Die/No Qualms at the Social on August 3rd, and motherfuckin' Andrew Jackson Jihad at the Blackboxsux Corrective August 9th!!! Whoo!

I need to grow up.

I'm sitting here on Ashley's floor using her laptop, but i'm blogging from my phone. I love/hate technology.

Last night I dreamed it was Autumn,

and woke up to the summer's warmth.

Yesterday,

was nice.

A smile formed on my face and still resides there.

Jesus, I love you.

Not really.

If life was Facebook and today had a "like" button, I'd click that motherfucker about a billion times. Being lazy is nice, especially in stormy weather. All that's missing is some coffee, but I don't exactly feel like staying up tonight.

The only thing I'm not digging right now is the fact that the book (Spiral, by Koji Suzuki) I ordered off eBay a week ago still hasn't come in the mail, and I'm only a bit less than a hundred pages away from finishing Battle Royale. Dislike. If I finish Battle Royale before my over-awaited package comes in the mail I'll just get started on that copy of A Happy Death that Ashley lent me. I've heard it's good. Im liking this summer reading thing when it's not tied to school in any way. Fuck yes.

By the way, here's Davey Havok of AFI doing vocals for Ceremony covering Straight Edge Revenge by Project X:

Solitude.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Monday.

Does anybody like Mondays?

I didn't think so.

I feel the need for new stuff lately. New bands, new books, new movies. Stuff I haven't heard/read/seen before. I started downloading a bunch of music to listen to this morning but the downloads got cancelled so I just gave up. I'll probably go back and try again later. It was a random assortments of artists - Sigh, Girl Talk. Fall Of Efrafa, Mamie Minch, Gallhammer, etc. My eyes hurt. I can't hear out of my left ear. I'm pretty sure it's going deaf. Shit.

Gimme something good to watch.

If you ever feel like dying,

start living.

I love

The Loving Hut.

Even if I am convinced that there may be human in their food.

Goddamn, I cannot go in there and not smile.

It's been a good weekend. Friday I once again did not go to Critical Mass but Ashley and I went to Stardust afterward and met up with Brad, Fish, Hazen, and James, and then proceeded to get food at the titular restaurant. We also went to Barnes and Noble and were followed around my a creepy security guard who tried to hide his lurking by browsing the sex books. We loitered around outside a bit and then decided to part ways.

Saturday night Ashley, Hazen, Jackson, Chris and his new girlfriend Megan came to my dad's house. That was nice also. My dad has been very hospitable lately, and I really appreciate it. He cooked 4 different meals to accomodate to everyone. I feel the need to repay him, so tomorrow I'll be going to work at his studio with him.

Anyhow. I'm working on reading Battle Royale, by Koushun Takami. Some people out there may know that this book was turned into a controversial movie of the same name in Japan. While I think the movie was overrated, I am enjoying the book so far. I've actually enjoyed reading a lot lately, so if anyone has any recommendations send them my way.

Now I'm tired and I'm not sure what I'm saying.

Fuck.

Bad memories.

In my head.

Last night!

Was really fun. I haven't been out to a good show in a long thyme. Caulfield was amazing. No Qualms was also the shit! (Good job Ryan!) Other bands ruled too!

Anyone know who that little guy was taking pictures? With the big gauges and the septum ring? I see him everywhere, and I'm pretty sure he took some pretty sweet pictures.

Yes.

More than halfway through Ring by Koji Suzuki, I feel a renewed interest in Japanese horror. Oh, nostalgia.

Warren Oakes leaves Against Me!

Meh. I hope the food's good.

Seriously.

Ain't I Cool?

It's 10:31 pm. I've got Asheru (one of few hip-hop artists I appreciate) turned down low and I'm reading Camus, wondering if I'll ever get to the end of this book or if I'll just let it sit on my shelf and start something new, which I also won't finish. I've got wet, unwashed hair as a result of a quick shower, and I've got a flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up keeping me warmer than I need to be.

I am quite comfortable for the time being.

Today was pretty good. I spent some time looking for work, which didn't quite succeed, as I expected, although Panera said they'd possibly give me a call. I don't really care either way, too much. I spent most of my day with Ashley at her house, sleeping, eating, chatting, and whatever else. It was relaxing, and I'm finally starting to feel a bit better than I have been since last week. I'm feeling a bit more secure and I can maybe stop worrying, I hope. Maybe I won't. Who knows. Either way, I'm happy, and I'm in love, so petty problems don't bother me too much. I've always been one to kind of let things roll off my back.

Went to see Forfeit with Chris the other night, and had a pretty good time. I hadn't been out to a show in a while, and I can say I enjoyed myself although I'm not too familiar with a lot of the "hardcore" crowd besides the few kids I hang out with. Tomorrow I may go to see Republicorpse and whoever else is playing Wills, but I'm shit broke, so only if I can magically get some cash. Also, I'm thoroughly stoked for Trash Talk next week. Yes, I gave in and spent fifteen bucks on a ticket, but I just can't wait to see those guys again, especially since I give more of a shit about them now back than when I first saw them.

Anyhow, life is good. The only things that could make it better would be for a certain someone to drop off the face of the planet and for coffee to provide the once-great kick it used to. It's just not cuttin it anymore. Uh-oh...

I don't know how I feel.

A bit guilty, a bit relieved, a bit hurt, and a bit uncomfortable.

What happens next?

Only in thought is anything really fixed,

But I guess nothing was really wrong in the first place.

Perhaps I should stop thinking.

I always have something to worry about.

Note to self -

"pocket-sized" editions of books slip well into pockets void of money.

Why?

Rye?

Finally got my new bike.

Exactly the same as Tyler Legacy's. Will have pics tomorrow after makin some adjustments.

Sooooo stoked.

PS - I never thought I could hate someone so much without even meeting them, although, I'm sure the feeling's mutual.

Fucker.

Back o' my head

I opened the book to the first page
I couldn't read the words in front of my eyes
The first sentence seemed like a smudge of ink on the page
What I could make out seemed foreign,
Illegible
Still a thousand pages ahead,
Still a million words just like the first
I knew it was a good book though,
So I kept reading.