(no subject)
oh hi there.
internet doodads have progressed without me and the result is a bunch of crap on an input page surrounding these words. well i guess it's the same crap. but there is more crap, and it looks different. there's no point in writing here but it is kind of wonderous & hilarious that the beginning year of the calender is 2001. i started high school there. it would actually be rather cute if anyone were still reading or whatever - you get that when you do something fanworthy that isn't the writing itself though i think, when three kids know your band and you resurface with an esoteric post and the little telephone line blinks on the radar of their brains and they rejoice. blar blar blar
i should maybe invest time in goin' through and saving all the years of this lil' piece of shit maybe; it's really fucking daunting every time i think of these endeavors. i have a lot of scribbles scattered in many places. at least most of it is in a trunk right next to me. i have a lot of noize scattered as well, i don't know if that's the tougher thing or not. both include a lot of crap. jesus it's hard to sift through the crap you've produced in some years to get to the core beauty you every now and then lit upon.
i don't even really write at all, in any measure. i kind of can't anymore. i don't have anything to say. not true at all but it goes through me too quickly now, and it blows by visually, verbally, sometimes too intangibly to know what to do with. also i've reached the summit of a certain climb in life at which point drama, passion and everything but cautious levelheaded ambivalence subsides. which provokes a decline in .... i don't really know the word for here. it becomes so exasperatingly unnecessary to try to say to yourself this about yourself. i don't know, i have been doing it here and there, over the summer a few things, but it is all very different than it used to be, and better probably yes probably better in some fashion but of course the normal thing is that now i have real and saucy and terrible life i could write about, but don't. it's as if once the harsh and insane finally knock at your door with a skinned fist you lose the ability to describe it for all the shock it renders. pens and keys dematerialize when you touch 'em and tools you knew well become foreign because you are shoved and what you had been saying before is revealed as fantasy. fantasy is not comparable to the ugly things breathing your same air. in any case it's also from not having an audience. there is sure as fuck little point in writing on my lines to myself (little, not none) so i've lost some of the knowledge as to how, and i have no one else to write to presumably. i don't know, i stopped "documenting" some time ago, because it was too boring telling myself what i already knew or more precisely what i could tell anyone. you know like here is what i did today here is what happened i like cake. i know i could say those things and often i begin with that intention and yet i can't bring myself to do it. it's simply i can't fight against the excitement of the unknown. it's so much more colorful to pour something through the fingerprints and not know its name and not even be able to name it until some time in the future and maybe never. than it is to state shit that is going on now. plus i just have issues with stating shit that is going on now. apparently. it is too surreal. it's like someone else talking about me. and i never know what will happen so i shy away from stating what is happening. because maybe it isn't. i dunno if i'm this much of a nutball to actually be around.
also saying hello to the...word they don't have for what it is you're talking to when you write....is so awkward because it really isn't familiar with your characters. you have to introduce it. fuckin' paper does not actually read your mind, your own monologue doesn't even know you - people get mistaken about that. but anyway life has been some more trauma and confession and now rests in a semi comfortable state which is a nice change of pace but who knows how quickly it will go to hell when classes start in a few days. i've said the most utterly vulnerable things to the person they concerned - i think a creature inside literally holds an electric razor to your nerves when your brain begins to wrap your voice around those words and trickle them out of your mouth. i had never been so at the end of my rope with someone though, and i've only recently learned how much suffering can at the least be shared when said. (ha. how cruel.) at least i have someone and at least i love her. i don't have sex ever but at least i have someone. i might be getting to be a drummer or something for some friends of mine. it's kinda crazy, andy said he'd like..buy me some drums if i would drum for them. which would be...necessary. otherwise i would have to play spoons for them or something. i actually have people in my life now who both know a shit or two about music and instruments AND care. funny that. there are way too many fucktards who sit around riffing and doing nothing with it. all these friends are boys, which is fine and sucks. because i don't really care, but i do sometimes because i miss girls and because it's retarded that there are never any girls who know a fuck about music. i mean, around me. it's just sad. it's what reinforces guys' elitist behavior. stupid flower shaped pink guitars do that too. i get nervous around guys. i get nervous around girls too, i don't really know what the fuck i'm talking about but ok i think my point is playing music with another person can be very intimate, very intertwiney and i wish i could experience that with a girl. because i'm more confident with girls, sort of. i'm kinda shootin' air out my ass now cos it's really late.
internet doodads have progressed without me and the result is a bunch of crap on an input page surrounding these words. well i guess it's the same crap. but there is more crap, and it looks different. there's no point in writing here but it is kind of wonderous & hilarious that the beginning year of the calender is 2001. i started high school there. it would actually be rather cute if anyone were still reading or whatever - you get that when you do something fanworthy that isn't the writing itself though i think, when three kids know your band and you resurface with an esoteric post and the little telephone line blinks on the radar of their brains and they rejoice. blar blar blar
i should maybe invest time in goin' through and saving all the years of this lil' piece of shit maybe; it's really fucking daunting every time i think of these endeavors. i have a lot of scribbles scattered in many places. at least most of it is in a trunk right next to me. i have a lot of noize scattered as well, i don't know if that's the tougher thing or not. both include a lot of crap. jesus it's hard to sift through the crap you've produced in some years to get to the core beauty you every now and then lit upon.
i don't even really write at all, in any measure. i kind of can't anymore. i don't have anything to say. not true at all but it goes through me too quickly now, and it blows by visually, verbally, sometimes too intangibly to know what to do with. also i've reached the summit of a certain climb in life at which point drama, passion and everything but cautious levelheaded ambivalence subsides. which provokes a decline in .... i don't really know the word for here. it becomes so exasperatingly unnecessary to try to say to yourself this about yourself. i don't know, i have been doing it here and there, over the summer a few things, but it is all very different than it used to be, and better probably yes probably better in some fashion but of course the normal thing is that now i have real and saucy and terrible life i could write about, but don't. it's as if once the harsh and insane finally knock at your door with a skinned fist you lose the ability to describe it for all the shock it renders. pens and keys dematerialize when you touch 'em and tools you knew well become foreign because you are shoved and what you had been saying before is revealed as fantasy. fantasy is not comparable to the ugly things breathing your same air. in any case it's also from not having an audience. there is sure as fuck little point in writing on my lines to myself (little, not none) so i've lost some of the knowledge as to how, and i have no one else to write to presumably. i don't know, i stopped "documenting" some time ago, because it was too boring telling myself what i already knew or more precisely what i could tell anyone. you know like here is what i did today here is what happened i like cake. i know i could say those things and often i begin with that intention and yet i can't bring myself to do it. it's simply i can't fight against the excitement of the unknown. it's so much more colorful to pour something through the fingerprints and not know its name and not even be able to name it until some time in the future and maybe never. than it is to state shit that is going on now. plus i just have issues with stating shit that is going on now. apparently. it is too surreal. it's like someone else talking about me. and i never know what will happen so i shy away from stating what is happening. because maybe it isn't. i dunno if i'm this much of a nutball to actually be around.
also saying hello to the...word they don't have for what it is you're talking to when you write....is so awkward because it really isn't familiar with your characters. you have to introduce it. fuckin' paper does not actually read your mind, your own monologue doesn't even know you - people get mistaken about that. but anyway life has been some more trauma and confession and now rests in a semi comfortable state which is a nice change of pace but who knows how quickly it will go to hell when classes start in a few days. i've said the most utterly vulnerable things to the person they concerned - i think a creature inside literally holds an electric razor to your nerves when your brain begins to wrap your voice around those words and trickle them out of your mouth. i had never been so at the end of my rope with someone though, and i've only recently learned how much suffering can at the least be shared when said. (ha. how cruel.) at least i have someone and at least i love her. i don't have sex ever but at least i have someone. i might be getting to be a drummer or something for some friends of mine. it's kinda crazy, andy said he'd like..buy me some drums if i would drum for them. which would be...necessary. otherwise i would have to play spoons for them or something. i actually have people in my life now who both know a shit or two about music and instruments AND care. funny that. there are way too many fucktards who sit around riffing and doing nothing with it. all these friends are boys, which is fine and sucks. because i don't really care, but i do sometimes because i miss girls and because it's retarded that there are never any girls who know a fuck about music. i mean, around me. it's just sad. it's what reinforces guys' elitist behavior. stupid flower shaped pink guitars do that too. i get nervous around guys. i get nervous around girls too, i don't really know what the fuck i'm talking about but ok i think my point is playing music with another person can be very intimate, very intertwiney and i wish i could experience that with a girl. because i'm more confident with girls, sort of. i'm kinda shootin' air out my ass now cos it's really late.