you must know this profoud hilarity
03/12/2004 11:05 p.m.

profoud hilarity, but also some deeply-disturbing truths. pass it on.

http://www.mnftiu.cc/mnftiu.cc/war27.html

http://www.mnftiu.cc/mnftiu.cc/war30.html

http://www.mnftiu.cc/mnftiu.cc/war32.html

and so on.

my room smells like a hamster. why?

i didn't know you at all
12/26/2003 05:44 a.m.
be an adult be an adult be an adult; well, what when i don't want to, when i tell the people that are supposed to be family to eat their frustrations and complaints and walk out the door? what when i don't come back for eight months or so? be an adult. everything is telling me this; everything with a voice. it's the silent things that tell me to run. and maybe that isn't a wrong choice. maybe it's just the other one. i want to run. running to mexico, that's one of those releases that will keep me from really having a revolution of any kind. maybe this is good. running, even back to oberlin. but at least i stopped running from my thoughts, at least i talked to ryan and told him how it will be, knew that i was right, made him see, i know that i am right and there at least i feel free. in my life right now i am free despite money despite school despite family and people i dread meeting again. all this talk of freedom i keep hearing; i suppose i understand what it's intended to mean and i can appreciate that but i do hope nothing is read into this; and i'm listening to this one jeff buckley song and then i'm to bed to ward off this horrible headache with snow dreams. (i miss oberlin, even.) (i want to write letters.) (i want to recieve letters.) (i wish i didn't have to work. some people don't have to work and they can play all month long. i have to work. this makes me different.) (i want to write.)
I am listening to jeff buckley, "unforgiven (last goodbye)"

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ain't it good
12/18/2003 01:55 a.m.
i can't get alive again. i'm ridiculously miserable. i can't even feel my hands. why? this is obscene. i've got to get alive, i hate this. ....
I am currently Frustrated
I am listening to nothing, nothing, nothing...

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the writing is coming
12/14/2003 08:26 p.m.
but it won't be any good. ahh, naptime, teatime, music and lullaby warmth and where is someone?

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2:31
12/13/2003 07:28 a.m.
what's happening? my chest is becoming pieces...

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hm.
12/07/2003 04:46 p.m.
...h.m. i've gotta laugh. it's so much fun. then i've gotta figure out how to write. while i laugh...
I am currently Mean
I am listening to printers, clack

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right now
12/03/2003 03:57 p.m.
time to play guitar. frozen hands; it's too cold outside. wait til i get to mexico...
I am currently Affectionate
I am listening to clackclackclick...clack

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keep me searching
11/23/2003 03:04 a.m.
the haze abounds with bodies: warm ones, which don't disturb the fog. we can barely breathe but we have to run. what are we to do? that's what we do. most of the time. speaking with sisters, rehashing old years; these things bring us some cool air, some clarity. but all is fuzzy, still. all we want to do is to lie down.
I am currently Detached
I am listening to california stars - wilco and billy bragg

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downtown train
10/29/2003 03:59 p.m.
ah, but where am i...? back in the fog of words, the clear fog, as it may seem? who am i now? someone who has had all barriers broken, who has been forcibly calcified, who has become raw? i drink myself to sleep some days. i smoke more than i used to. i don't write for myself. it's odd to note that it's me doing these things. but i don't know what the driving force is, if it's real or an emergency psyche thrown up by my system as a reaction, as a way to keep breathing in the absence of what i thought i understood to be real and myself. i suppose no one ever knows; but i feel wrong these days, a little off. there isn't the same impending sorrow and tumultuous confusion. in its stead there is physical clenching and pain, drinking and smoking, self-destructive longings unattached to any real emotion. i am an automaton, in many ways. at least it's something, who the fuch do i think i am, saying these things? it's bullshit, it's all crap and i can't fathom words more vain...but these are all i have. these are what comes from me. so, vain. fuck it, that's fine, i'll be vain, and i'll sit in this pool of anger and hurt like an amphibian soaking it through my skin. fine. that's fine. i'm going to check my mail.
I am currently Disillusioned
I am listening to the tom waits in my head

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hodl
10/16/2003 06:07 a.m.

"i can tell you're feeling better now..."

need a cigarette, methinks. disgusting. need a cigarette and my fellow crazy-goer. he's a good companion for the maddening mad times. a good companion in general, if a little crazy. [how ironic.] "you're too high to come down..." yeah, i need to write this paper. it's my midterm exam, it's due friday. pfft. i don't have to be up at 8:30; of COURSE not. i can sit here ALL NIGHT if i like, using janine's computer and drinking this foul pbr and if i want going out to smoke cigarettes cause it really honestly isn't that cold. and i wish justin would come over here and be insane with me. it's rough, being insane alone. it was nice when my friend stopped by here earlier. we had a nice conversation. i enjoyed it immensely. i am too attached to people and their existences.

my mother says not to worry about the money. i can't help it. it's impossible. i can't help it; this is all too ridiculous. i can't help it. i hate this place, for all that i do want to be here. i suppose i want to belong here but it just isn't happening. maybe; give it some time, she says. and i will, because it's a good idea. but there are insanities yet to be rained upon me by clouds that are myself. insanities and trust. it's all one, anyhow, isn't it? i still trust him though i'm sure he...no, i think he might trust me though i'm sure he thinks he shouldn't and it's a bad idea. that would be because i am trustworthy and he can sense it. i wouldn't hurt someone on purpose. and i'm not unintelligent. things happen, they do. people can still be good people; they can still be worthy friends.

i hope justin comes.

i'll just drink this disgusting beer and think about not writing my midterm paper until he gets here. maybe get in bed or somesuch thing. we'll see. adios.

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