contact high
god is not real
god is reality
god did not create anything
god is creation
god is not an entity
this is what the bible tells me
meanwhile, if it starts with w
it's giving me all sorts of problems
in it's absense, i am frusterated
"get me a beer," someone asked me.
i grabbed two beers from the cooler and came back. i held one out to my friend and i held one close into my body.
"here," i said. "i got you a beer."
"thanks," and my friend took the beer that i extended out to them.
"why didn't you take the other one?"
"what?"
"the beer that i held in close?" i asked.
"because you were holding this one out to me."
"that's plug in entertainment, right there." that's why becca is fucking andrew and not me.
why am i so pissed off about it? am i so frusterated that i havn't gotten a piece of ass in a while?
did i lose any respect for becca? i don't even feel comfortable saying that i have a right to respect her any less for fucking andrew and not me. andrew is a good guy. and after all, wouldn't it be a double negative? it isn't like my persuit of her has been a strait line, either.
all this confusion and frusteration just goes to show what a fucking schmuck i am. which of course, confuses me and frusterates me even more.
yesterday, i met my boss at the office. he told me he had afew problems with me. apparently, i havn't been marking the tickets correctly, which is bullshit. but then again, i also think it's bullshit that i hit so many signs. and when people provide the evidence, it blows my mind. none of it is real. it's all fabricated.
i am josh guerci's sense of rejection.
i am josh guerci's intense denial.
i am josh guerci's enflamed ego.
"we're going to have to let you go," my boss told me. "you don't have to worry about the dammage on the car, but we're going to let you go."
part of me wonders if there really is any car dammage. maybe the car was fine and maybe they're just using this as a front to get to me.
and last night, too. i was wondering along these lines.
"andrew, i think you're a tool," i said. "maybe this is all just an elaborate plan of becca's. she's just trying to get to me."
it's true. she's really gotten under my skin these past few days, but it's rather egotistical of me to accuse anybody of any conspiracy theories.
i am josh guerci's schitzoid delusions.
"perception is not reality," i told joe last night. "perception is a distorted reality. reality is actualy the accumulation of perspectives. contradicting, paralell and perpindicular perspectives. a void of universes."
yeah. i'm onto something here.
"if insanity is someone with a reality that doesn't mesh with anybody else's because they refuse to consider every one else's perspective. they are unable to see things any other way than their own," i said. "and an eccentric is someone who can, but often chooses not to. and sometimes, he can disregard his own perspective."
someone once pointed out to me that i spend too much time contemplating my psychological and emotional dissabilites. i think not. i'm not looking for excuses, i'm looking for reasons.
last night was so introspective. i got so stoned. everybody around me got a contact high.
i was on the front porch playing my guitar. i watched marty and andrew flex their egos for eachother. i watched david the landlord show up and display his discontempt and resentment. a fucking homeless guy poked his head in and requested me to play a different song.
most of all, i don't think he liked how i had been playing an a chord for nearly a minute strait, just pounding on the strings. i was so far gone.
"he's rockin' out, man," david said to him.
"get lost," marty said to him.
i just kept playing. i was thinking deep in my head about the interaction of conflicting egos, collected on the porch. i wish i could have remembered what was said, but i was in a dream state. it's almost as if i was sleeping while a subliminal tape was playing in the background.
"was that homeless guy talking shit about me?" i asked everybody.
laughter ensued. god, how long had it taken me to notice? a long fucking time, that's for sure. way delayed reaction.
music make sense to me. which is good, because nothing else does.
i got a phone call thismorning. the insurance lady told me that my car was worth $540. if i wanted to keep my car, i could pay them $50. so, i got $490 from the accident.
so, the universe just came and fucked me in the ass for no aparent reason. but this sort of shit happens. i have to accept it. move on. praise god that we're still alive. count your blessings and shit.
last night, after we were done on the porch, andrew told us all to get in the car. the plan was to go se becca roll around in red jello at a bar.
i called becca. she said she wasn't going to do it anymore.
"so why are we driving?" i asked, "where are we going?"
we drove by her house, turned around, and came home. she said she'd call us when she was in the area.
"that was so creepy," i said. "i feel so creeped out that we just drove by her house without knocking on the door."
i was stoned. so stoned.
we came back and sat around the house for a while, waiting for something to happen. i sunk into the beanbags, watched the cigarete smoke twirl around my head, and listened to the music. modest mouse. ween. everything.
meanwhile, andrew and joe were looking thru brian's book, a course in miracles like it was a deck of tarot cards. they'd ask the void a question and then point to a random passage and read it outloud. of course, there was a creepy synchronicity in everything. you might not want to give it a try.
do you know what i hear over and over again? seattle women are fridgid. andrew, marty, joe and everyone. and slowly, i'm starting to believe it. or maybe we're just a bunch of bitter out of towners.
"a true friend calls you just as often as you call them," they would say. "and in seattle, nobody ever calls."
i don't know. i've delt with this feeling my entire life.
that's why i make dates with more than one person for the same time. because i know for a fact that one of them, if not both of them, can potentialy cancel at any time.
we went to ihop to smoke and drink coffee. imagine that!
"the night ends as it began," andrew said, defeated. he really was starting to believe that he wasn't going to hook up with becca ever again.
"the night's not over," i said. "becca's going to call you. and megan is going to call me."
i am rather amazed by my indifference over megan. she had a gorgeous face, but it was probably mostly make up. and when i looked below the neck, i started to get confused. she was beautiful above the waist, although a little bulky. and she was beautiful below the waist. but when you considered the whole package as a cohesive unit, it just didn't work. out of perportion.
it's bad grammar, i say, when a girl has a velumtuous upper body and popsicle sticks for leggs. like an egg on toothpicks. yeah, that's sexy! whatever. pack your bags and get out of town. you're not only manipulative, but you're also ugly to look at.
sure enough, becca called. and andrew rushed off to do his little taxi service while joe and i finnished our cigaretes and coffe.
when we returned to the house, becca scared the shit out of me. i was still feeling rather manic from the marijuana. i wasn't high, but definitley manic. everything was brilliant, in my mind.
we watched some joe cartoons. i played afew songs on the guitar. becca came in and listened to me. she really wanted to get another guitar and play with me.
i'm frusterated because nobody can really play with me. they want to play their own thing, i think. and they don't really know what their own thing is. not like i know my own thing. really, i wish i could just split in two so i could have a band with myself. nobody else really understands me.
oh yeah, talk about deep. really, i think most people want to date extensions of themselves. and when they realise that their partner isn't an extension of themselves, they get frusterated. they try to change either themselves or their partners in order to find that ballance. but that's not ballance. that's putting all your weight on one side of the sea-saw.
"a friend called me up and told me to be careful," becca said. "she said that she had a dream about me dying."
i loved the hell out of this idea. death is a beautiful thing. i am in love with the concept of death. everyone, right now and always, is continuously dying. our new self grows out of the carcass of our old self. death and rebirth. continously.
"maybe you are going to die tonight," i told becca. "but maybe it isn't a bad thing."
i love how i say things like that. out of context. in another language. i don't even try to explain myself. fuck you, anyway. you're just a bitch. you don't understand how i think, and i don't want to take the time to explain myself. you're a wasted effort!
wow. obviously, i have some pent up agression. could i turn the volume down a little bit? fuck no.
tonight, i'm suposed to play a show on vashon. i invited becca and stefanie. really, i should have invited meg, too. truthfuly, i will not be dissapointed if becca can't go. i'll just be dissapointed if i go by myself. there is a possability i won't even do it, if i have to go by myself.
and i'm almost indifferent about megan. she totaly didn't call me last night, even tho she told me she would. and i don't care. she's just a random bitch we met at the bar.
fuck.
"maybe you shouldn't do psychodelics," brian has said to me from time to time. "you're way too unstabe, still. you tried to kill yourself last time, and i don't really think you've improved since then."
and it's true. i've been flipping like a coin for as long as i can remember. my emotional universe is represented by a nail, standing on end. i am on top, running around, trying desperatley to keep the whole thing ballanced. i can't slow down or stand still until i move closer to the center of gravity. shift my weight towards the middle.
turn my attention towards the inside? as if i havn't supplied myself with enough introspect to solve the mysteries of the universe. what's missing is the discipline. and i just can't find it.
god is reality
god did not create anything
god is creation
god is not an entity
this is what the bible tells me
meanwhile, if it starts with w
it's giving me all sorts of problems
in it's absense, i am frusterated
"get me a beer," someone asked me.
i grabbed two beers from the cooler and came back. i held one out to my friend and i held one close into my body.
"here," i said. "i got you a beer."
"thanks," and my friend took the beer that i extended out to them.
"why didn't you take the other one?"
"what?"
"the beer that i held in close?" i asked.
"because you were holding this one out to me."
"that's plug in entertainment, right there." that's why becca is fucking andrew and not me.
why am i so pissed off about it? am i so frusterated that i havn't gotten a piece of ass in a while?
did i lose any respect for becca? i don't even feel comfortable saying that i have a right to respect her any less for fucking andrew and not me. andrew is a good guy. and after all, wouldn't it be a double negative? it isn't like my persuit of her has been a strait line, either.
all this confusion and frusteration just goes to show what a fucking schmuck i am. which of course, confuses me and frusterates me even more.
yesterday, i met my boss at the office. he told me he had afew problems with me. apparently, i havn't been marking the tickets correctly, which is bullshit. but then again, i also think it's bullshit that i hit so many signs. and when people provide the evidence, it blows my mind. none of it is real. it's all fabricated.
i am josh guerci's sense of rejection.
i am josh guerci's intense denial.
i am josh guerci's enflamed ego.
"we're going to have to let you go," my boss told me. "you don't have to worry about the dammage on the car, but we're going to let you go."
part of me wonders if there really is any car dammage. maybe the car was fine and maybe they're just using this as a front to get to me.
and last night, too. i was wondering along these lines.
"andrew, i think you're a tool," i said. "maybe this is all just an elaborate plan of becca's. she's just trying to get to me."
it's true. she's really gotten under my skin these past few days, but it's rather egotistical of me to accuse anybody of any conspiracy theories.
i am josh guerci's schitzoid delusions.
"perception is not reality," i told joe last night. "perception is a distorted reality. reality is actualy the accumulation of perspectives. contradicting, paralell and perpindicular perspectives. a void of universes."
yeah. i'm onto something here.
"if insanity is someone with a reality that doesn't mesh with anybody else's because they refuse to consider every one else's perspective. they are unable to see things any other way than their own," i said. "and an eccentric is someone who can, but often chooses not to. and sometimes, he can disregard his own perspective."
someone once pointed out to me that i spend too much time contemplating my psychological and emotional dissabilites. i think not. i'm not looking for excuses, i'm looking for reasons.
last night was so introspective. i got so stoned. everybody around me got a contact high.
i was on the front porch playing my guitar. i watched marty and andrew flex their egos for eachother. i watched david the landlord show up and display his discontempt and resentment. a fucking homeless guy poked his head in and requested me to play a different song.
most of all, i don't think he liked how i had been playing an a chord for nearly a minute strait, just pounding on the strings. i was so far gone.
"he's rockin' out, man," david said to him.
"get lost," marty said to him.
i just kept playing. i was thinking deep in my head about the interaction of conflicting egos, collected on the porch. i wish i could have remembered what was said, but i was in a dream state. it's almost as if i was sleeping while a subliminal tape was playing in the background.
"was that homeless guy talking shit about me?" i asked everybody.
laughter ensued. god, how long had it taken me to notice? a long fucking time, that's for sure. way delayed reaction.
music make sense to me. which is good, because nothing else does.
i got a phone call thismorning. the insurance lady told me that my car was worth $540. if i wanted to keep my car, i could pay them $50. so, i got $490 from the accident.
so, the universe just came and fucked me in the ass for no aparent reason. but this sort of shit happens. i have to accept it. move on. praise god that we're still alive. count your blessings and shit.
last night, after we were done on the porch, andrew told us all to get in the car. the plan was to go se becca roll around in red jello at a bar.
i called becca. she said she wasn't going to do it anymore.
"so why are we driving?" i asked, "where are we going?"
we drove by her house, turned around, and came home. she said she'd call us when she was in the area.
"that was so creepy," i said. "i feel so creeped out that we just drove by her house without knocking on the door."
i was stoned. so stoned.
we came back and sat around the house for a while, waiting for something to happen. i sunk into the beanbags, watched the cigarete smoke twirl around my head, and listened to the music. modest mouse. ween. everything.
meanwhile, andrew and joe were looking thru brian's book, a course in miracles like it was a deck of tarot cards. they'd ask the void a question and then point to a random passage and read it outloud. of course, there was a creepy synchronicity in everything. you might not want to give it a try.
do you know what i hear over and over again? seattle women are fridgid. andrew, marty, joe and everyone. and slowly, i'm starting to believe it. or maybe we're just a bunch of bitter out of towners.
"a true friend calls you just as often as you call them," they would say. "and in seattle, nobody ever calls."
i don't know. i've delt with this feeling my entire life.
that's why i make dates with more than one person for the same time. because i know for a fact that one of them, if not both of them, can potentialy cancel at any time.
we went to ihop to smoke and drink coffee. imagine that!
"the night ends as it began," andrew said, defeated. he really was starting to believe that he wasn't going to hook up with becca ever again.
"the night's not over," i said. "becca's going to call you. and megan is going to call me."
i am rather amazed by my indifference over megan. she had a gorgeous face, but it was probably mostly make up. and when i looked below the neck, i started to get confused. she was beautiful above the waist, although a little bulky. and she was beautiful below the waist. but when you considered the whole package as a cohesive unit, it just didn't work. out of perportion.
it's bad grammar, i say, when a girl has a velumtuous upper body and popsicle sticks for leggs. like an egg on toothpicks. yeah, that's sexy! whatever. pack your bags and get out of town. you're not only manipulative, but you're also ugly to look at.
sure enough, becca called. and andrew rushed off to do his little taxi service while joe and i finnished our cigaretes and coffe.
when we returned to the house, becca scared the shit out of me. i was still feeling rather manic from the marijuana. i wasn't high, but definitley manic. everything was brilliant, in my mind.
we watched some joe cartoons. i played afew songs on the guitar. becca came in and listened to me. she really wanted to get another guitar and play with me.
i'm frusterated because nobody can really play with me. they want to play their own thing, i think. and they don't really know what their own thing is. not like i know my own thing. really, i wish i could just split in two so i could have a band with myself. nobody else really understands me.
oh yeah, talk about deep. really, i think most people want to date extensions of themselves. and when they realise that their partner isn't an extension of themselves, they get frusterated. they try to change either themselves or their partners in order to find that ballance. but that's not ballance. that's putting all your weight on one side of the sea-saw.
"a friend called me up and told me to be careful," becca said. "she said that she had a dream about me dying."
i loved the hell out of this idea. death is a beautiful thing. i am in love with the concept of death. everyone, right now and always, is continuously dying. our new self grows out of the carcass of our old self. death and rebirth. continously.
"maybe you are going to die tonight," i told becca. "but maybe it isn't a bad thing."
i love how i say things like that. out of context. in another language. i don't even try to explain myself. fuck you, anyway. you're just a bitch. you don't understand how i think, and i don't want to take the time to explain myself. you're a wasted effort!
wow. obviously, i have some pent up agression. could i turn the volume down a little bit? fuck no.
tonight, i'm suposed to play a show on vashon. i invited becca and stefanie. really, i should have invited meg, too. truthfuly, i will not be dissapointed if becca can't go. i'll just be dissapointed if i go by myself. there is a possability i won't even do it, if i have to go by myself.
and i'm almost indifferent about megan. she totaly didn't call me last night, even tho she told me she would. and i don't care. she's just a random bitch we met at the bar.
fuck.
"maybe you shouldn't do psychodelics," brian has said to me from time to time. "you're way too unstabe, still. you tried to kill yourself last time, and i don't really think you've improved since then."
and it's true. i've been flipping like a coin for as long as i can remember. my emotional universe is represented by a nail, standing on end. i am on top, running around, trying desperatley to keep the whole thing ballanced. i can't slow down or stand still until i move closer to the center of gravity. shift my weight towards the middle.
turn my attention towards the inside? as if i havn't supplied myself with enough introspect to solve the mysteries of the universe. what's missing is the discipline. and i just can't find it.