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