Wednesday, April 29, 2009

I'm Waiting For The Night To Fall, I Know That It Will Save Us All.

I'm so restless right now. my hands are really dry and even when i wash them with soap they become even drier than before. and i don't got no lotion. or satisfaction. the hand problem mixed with my neck hurting, no book to read, and getting a game over in my video game and knowing i'm gonna have to do a dunguon i almost completed all over again, i'm just in a bad mood.
god, the beginning to Halo by Depeche Mode is so 80's and so good! the whole song is good actually. So one of my friends is getting shipped off to Arizona, and i'm bummed. that's a lie, she's already there. she won't be back for nine months, and she can't even mail letters. luckily she can receive them though, but only on rare occasions. i wrote her an eight page letter last night (hand-written) but i want to write more, or maybe draw her something. i don't know quite yet, i got till may 8th to finish the letter.
I don't think i would mind being imprisoned for life, but only if it were a little more comfortable. replace the 8x8 cell and replace it with a 20x20 cell with work out equipment, a desk/typewriter/infinite amount of paper, a really comfortable bed, some music instruments, and all the books in the world and i would be happy. hell, i think i would be fine minus the music instruments and just a few books. oh, and a coffee machine. gotsta have my coffee.
i was with my friend roughly three years ago, and we were in his mom's car and the three of us were driving in traffic ridden downtown san francisco. i brought my cd's with me, and i popped in some miles davis and his mom tripped out. she instantly was like, "no no no no no, i don't like jazz, it stresses me out." i am still confused.
i think if i could change one aspect of my life, i would change the fact that i didn't beat up enough kids when i was a kid. enough being absolutely none. i've never been in a fight, and it peeves me. i would never fight anyone, and violence is the last resort of the incompetent, but i wish i didn't believe this and that i could make someone bleed (Asimov). PARENTHETICAL CITATION!!! i'm of course lying, which is most of what i do on this blog anyways. i hate when authors say that, so much. what's there to believe in this world anymore!
i have to write a satire in english class and it's so lame. whenever i hear the word satire i think of human goats, which i believe are called satyr, but if these are some other animal from the waste down it doesn't matter, cause i think of goats regardless. i don't have anything ironic or informative to say about anything, and i don't want to think of anything. here's satire for you, suck my dick! ahhhh, that would be so great to turn that in to a teacher. it would have to be in the biggest font possible that would allow you to put it on the whole page, and then you would have to staple that page inbetween two pages that look legit, and are filled with regular sentences. the look would be priceless.
Clap Do Your Make Hands Say Say Think Yah!
goodnight.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Tigers Tigers Tigers Tigers. Cadydid And Cadydid.

the "alt" button came off on my computer keyboard. now all there is is the little black, plastic nipple surrounded by now useless plastic. stupid "repair shop," ruining my computer.
it was one o'clock in the morning, and i had brushed my teeth and done all the prep for going to sleep, but once in my bed i was too restless to actually go to sleep. so i just listened to the whole entire Sung Tongs album by animal collective. then it took me thirty minutes to finally go to bed after that. what was weird, is that i was listening to the album, and when it ended i still could hear the music playing. it must've been at least three minutes until i realized i wasn't actually listening to anything, and all the music was coming from my head. i've had stuff like this happen to me before, like when i'm on the bus and the music ends and i don't realize that the music has stopped, but all the times like this i just thought it was taking a long time for the next song to load. last night though i actually came up with my own unique music, though i don't remember at all what it sounded like. i feel as if i've been exposed to a side of animal collective no one will ever even be able to experience except for myself. it's odd.
i can't help but looking at 10-14 year olds like humbert humbert does. i finished Lolita a few days ago, and it's changed my whole view on young girls. it's extremely disturbing. i'm convinced more than ever that pedophilia is wrong, and i know that i would never ever do anything to little girls or anything, but i can't help but think, "i wonder if that girls a nymphet..." i hope this habit fades, cause whenever i do it i feel really perverted. it's amazing how much books influence me.
in my government class my teacher has a few famous quotes by famous people above his white board, and one of them especially stuck out for me. Aristotle said it, and it goes like this: "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." and i think it's very true.
i don't think rape is that big of an offense. this might be becuase i've never had sex, so i don't know how "meaningful" it is, but it's just using our body what it's made for. it's definitely a bad thing, but i don't see, at least on a purely physical level, how it's any different from someone beating you with his/her fists. you can use hands to create, or you can you use them to destroy. when you use them to destroy, such as beating your wife or another person, i'm not sure, but it's my impression that you might only go to jail for under a few years, and that's only if it's really bad. but if you use your penis destructively you can go to jail for multiple decades, and you'll probably be killed by prison inmates for doing it. it's bad, horrible, terrible, whatever, i get that, but is it SO much different that if you compound rape with murder you run the chance of being put to death? that doesn't seem right to me.
i don't do this much anymore, but back in sophomore year, and the first semester or junior year, i used to imagine me sneaking a gun into school and shooting people. have i already talked about this in my blog? i forget. if i have, and you've already read my talking about it then you can just disregard the following paragraph. whenever i would imagine myself with gun (usually a handgun, though sometimes a shotgun) i would think of how it would affect people. for example, i was in the farthest back seat in my history class and i would consider things like, "if i shot michael in the head at this angle where would the blood splatter? probably all over Ali, but of course Ali wouldn't die. would she need to go to therapy? would she tell her children about how she actually had a class with the kid who went into a murderous rampage and killed numerous kids at harbor high?" or i would think about what angle i could shoot myself while still keeping myself alive, and i would think of how it would affect each student, and how much publicity harbor high would get, and about the detectives who would try to figure out why i would kill msyelf, and about the detectives wife, and how she never gets to see her husband because he's obsessed with his work. i would create these elaborate stories and scenarios and exaggerated reactions, but they would always start with me and a gun in class. i did this just to kill time (no pun intended) but i wonder if anyone else thinks these kinds of things.
i think there are two things that separate young adults from children.
1. when you're a child everything is a mystery waiting to be discovered, understood, and integrated into our lives. when you're a young adult you realize how disappointing humanity is, and how little satisfaction you actually get from discovering new things, and how disgusting some of things you found out are.
2. when you're young you actually think you're unique, and that all the feelings and experiences you're going through have never happened to anyone but you. when you're a teenager you realize that's impossible to do anything but conform. (as a side note, this is why i hate pretentious, punk-as-fuck douche bags. don't you understand that ALL of you have dirty hair, ripped pants with patches, and biased hate towards democracy!)
i was in L.A. at Venice Beach with my friend over spring break, and i saw a small group of kids, and every last one of them was all decked out in American Apparel. i looked at myself and i had pretty much the same clothes on that they did. it reminded me of a brief conversation that i had with my sister's friend Tosh. we were talking about how all the hipsters have American Apparel, or i should say he was talking about it, and i commented that he had one of their sweatshirts on to which he snidely replied, "Nope, i found this one at a yard sale, and it's [not american apparel]." i smiled and said nice, or something like that, but once i got home i realized how stupid that is. if anything you're worse than all the people who admit that they like to look similar to hipsters, because you are simply a fake imitation of what you despise, and you can't admit to yourself, or simply have the courage, to just go and buy an actual american apparel sweater. psshhhhhh. i'm tired. rired. fired. knired.
NEways, time to end this too-long-of-a-post/big-waste-of-time/blog-that-no-one-reads/blah-blah-blah

Monday, April 20, 2009

Hey There Mister Blue, We're So Pleased To Be With You.

I hate the sun. what's it good for anyways? i mean, come on, those sea creatures that live off the thermal energy emitted from underwater volcanoes don't need it, so why should I? also, being a rogue planet (or asteroid, if you will) would be awesome. god though, it was so hot today! Tim always says i'm stupid for liking the rain and cold weather, but this is why. what's worse is my house doesn't have air conditioning. ugh.
I've learned one thing from Lolita: having sex with children is the bees knees. nymphet please. gross gross gross.
I'm in the music mood where i'll start a song, then twenty seconds later i'll be switching the song cause i'll get bored of the song instantly. this is how i keep myself up late at night, this and Facebook IM'ing, which is crap.
it would cost me ninety five dollars for me to give a local screen printing company my design and have them print for me twelve shirts. it's only five dollars per shirt, but there's a twelve shirt minimum. that doesn't count the money i have to spend on t-shirts either. would anyone be willing to pay me eight dollars to silk screen an animal collective design on one of their shirts?
a stupid mosquito is running into the light bulb above my computer. i bet you he's pretty happy with his life though. it's actually not a mosquito, but a mosquito eater, which in fact doesn't even eat mosquito. they actually only live twenty four hours. they are technically flies and there only job is to have sex and die. they don't even have stomachs, because they don't eat any food. the things you learn in First Responder class...
i want to type something here, but it would take too much time to write down exactly what i want to say, and word it correctly, so i'm just gonna cut to the chase (shouldn't it be: cut to the kill?); my video production class decided to do make a movie together, as in all twenty students, and we all came up with ideas and voted/debated democratically about which premise we should use for the movie we'll be making and eventually my idea was chosen out of eleven others. bitches.
Simple Pleasures: knowing that someone actually likes this silly little epitaph, farting quietly, correctly guessing which side a coin will land on, getting a complex math problem right the first stab at it, accidental alliteration, plugging electronics in the right way while in the dark, critical hits, preemptive attacks, level ups, secret weapons, extra dungeons, hidden treasures, solving a difficult riddle.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

give me strength, reserved control. give me heart and give me soul.

i have so many good ideas for movies, and i'm in a video production class, but all of them involve a good amount of effort that i need to put into movies that are actually required of me in the class. all the movies i'm making i have to work with someone on too. i hate collaborating. i don't need to bastardize my idea just because you think it would be better your way. think of your own idea before you critique mine.
i don't like coldplay's new stuff but i keep coming back to "a rush of blood to the head" and it's still so good. actually, i guess i haven't listened to viva la whatever, but i listened to X&Y quite a bit and i was unimpressed, other than the "fix you" and "speed of sound" songs.
i have been playing this new DS game i got called Etrian Odyssey ever since saturday, and i must've logged over 15 hours into it. the game doesn't have a timer on it, and i think it's for a reason. if it did have a counter, it would show that it took you (i'm guessing) 60 hours or more to beat one DS game (the average running around 20). it's just an RPG, but it's made for people who have been playing RPGs their whole lives. there are no tutorials, you get one shot by every miniboss in the game, you have to start level grinding on the first stage, you have to build every dungeon map yourself (which is crucial, otherwise you get lost and die), and you are in your first dungeon within three minutes of pressing the "New Game" button. i love it. it's intense.
two jumps in a week i bet you think that's pretty clever, don't you boy?
english class is so disappointing. the teacher never teaches anything new, she only teaches you everything you already know about how to write a persuasive essay. and we have to make posters. i'm an adult, i don't need to make an art project in my english class anymore, i'll make a power point if you need to me to present something to the class. there is so much potential for english teachers to make the class interesting, like the metamorphosis! we read that, but instead of doing something cool, like delving into what kafka was really talking about, we had to take six quotes from the short, put them in chronological order, then illustrate the scene described. i'm bad at drawing, if i wanted to draw i would take drawing/painting! i wish there wasn't a curriculum and that she would just talk with you about your individual free reading books, cause my english teacher is actually really poignant and interesting. oh well.

Friday, April 10, 2009

You can rely on the old man's money, you can rely on the old man's money.

i've been putting off this blog entry for weeks. every time i do something interesting, or slightly memorable, i try to make a mental note to put it in my blog. now that it's actually time to write it though i've forgotten everything i wanted to remember. i guess it doesn't really matter though.
i hate saying the same story over and over again to different people, so i'm not gonna go in to detail: Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger is really boring (though his writing style is great), Lolita is great but perverted, Ratatat live was probably the best experience in my whole life up to this point, went to San Francisco with Payton and he ended up in the hospital due to food allergies, visited my friend in Los Angeles for three days, took three trains and five buses to and from home, listened to Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas To Heaven two times all the way through, learned that you retain more of what read while listening to music without lyrics than reading in silence, realized (yet again) that it's impossible not to conform and lastly, i beat Henry Hatsworth and the Puzzling Adventure for the DS (which was ridiculous and had a harsh but fun learning curve).
i hate things that are artsy just to be artsy...or movies that are about The Holocaust due to the fact that it's so easy to elicit an emotion when human dies just because he was born a certain way. i hate learning about racism in school. i wouldn't mind if we went over concentration camps of jews, japanese, the raping and conquering of the native americans (look at the verbs i used, school breeds contempt of mother country), enslavement of african-americans and whatnot just once, but we talk about it every history class it seems. also, we only talk about the bad things the "white man" has done. i'm not trying to minimize what the "white man" has done, but other people have been racist pigs too. even recently. around two years ago some Dutch man made a sketch of osama bin laden with a bomb on his head, and i believe it was published in a newspaper in a comic strip. well, this was cause for outrage and mass protests went under way. so intense were these protests that people actually died during them. these same people have strapped bombs to themselves, walked into jewish temples and blown themselves up, out of pure hatred and religious brainwashing. then even more recently Israel and Hamas agreed upon a ceasefire, which Isreal obeyed, but Hamas did not. Hamas kept bombing the Gaza strip, and after months Israel finally retaliated. guess who the media gets mad at? the jews, of course. but no, we must focus on all of the bad things we've done, we must feel guilty, dispicable, and bad for ourselves. we must curse ourselves for being white, for having the history of oppression. anarchists get mad at you while taking the 17 highway bus home after 10 hours in transit from LA simply because you can't feel her pains due to your skin color. i'm white, and i don't give a fuck. rant rant rant *sigh*
i enjoy reading and playing video games, but i hate making myself do them. even my nice hobbies and past times have become chores it feels like. once i have started it's fun, but i hate getting out of bed in order to pick up my book. i realize i'm lazy, but i think there's more to it. i think it all has to do with my recent superfluous-friend-hiatus. i don't want to do anything i don't want to do in my free time, and i think i over analyze even how i relax and waste my day away. now i'm analyzing how i over analyze :/
i'm gonna write a short story for you, my reader.

i'm going to kill myself tomorrow. i'm going to grab a knife and stab myself twice, on both insides of my neck. air bubbles popping and a soft gargling would be heard in the adjacent bedroom, if not i had the whole house to myself, just as planned. of course, you don't believe me do you? you realize this is a fake short story. you started reading this with your own preconceived notions, morals, and ideas about how a adolescent short story should play out. so it doesn't really matter what i write, it doesn't really matter what i try to convey, portray, or display. it's all a bunch of crap, because no individuality can be attained. everyone has a beating heart, everyone has gotten their ideas from their parents parents parents, everyone wishes their life was easier, and no one can say "i am what i am." and that's why i'm going to grab a knife and stab myself twince, of both insides of my neck.

i hate when you get dehydrated and the back of your neck hurts.
won't anyone hang out with me, i'm lonely. lies, people have been trying to hang out with me, and i've been doing a lot lately, i just want a girlfriend, but every girl i know i don't want to go out with, or has said no to me. i love to whine. wine, why-nuh,,,,,,
Simple Pleasures: nobody cares