Well there goes my tomorrow.
five am. wide fuckin' awake. Awesome not possum. Maybe I can sleep. My mind races refuses to stop.
Things I wonder about not worth wondering about. That's usually how it is. Turn out the light, turn off the music. Lay there.
But then it starts again and I am back again and I am bored again and I cannot find you.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Forget the papers, forget your musical dreams.
I think I'm growing again. I'm suffering from the same fatigue that happened the last time. A fatigue that nothing but sleep can help. I wake up with random parts of my body hurting--yesterday my shoulders, two days ago my biceps, my legs, elbows. On back it goes. And it's hitting me at the very wrong time. Right now I feel like I could crawl in bed and sleep for three plus hours even though I just slept for seven and had a solid cup of black coffee. When I wake up, I am still in some deep area of sleep, where my brain is repairing and my body is working. So deep that it is hard to move when I do have to wake up. So deep that my day begins in anger at myself for going through this again. I was beginning to be content with being five foot eight and now I'm going through the growing thing again right before finals.
My hands feel bigger, too. My body aches and I am not sick. I don't like this. I wouldn't mind if it had occurred during the summer, when I can sleep for longer and not have to worry about missing much.
Though, speaking of summer, I have applied for as many internships at Movie Houses that I could find. MGM, Fox, Sony, RSA Productions. So we'll see if any of them respond. That would be a cool thing to do this summer. Much more acute to what I plan on doing than working at a Target or a Borders.
My hands feel bigger, too. My body aches and I am not sick. I don't like this. I wouldn't mind if it had occurred during the summer, when I can sleep for longer and not have to worry about missing much.
Though, speaking of summer, I have applied for as many internships at Movie Houses that I could find. MGM, Fox, Sony, RSA Productions. So we'll see if any of them respond. That would be a cool thing to do this summer. Much more acute to what I plan on doing than working at a Target or a Borders.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
My phone has been on the fritz ever since I got back from Spring Break. Not sending text messages, not receiving them. And, today, it's beginning to overheat unless I plug it in. the battery's completely shot to hell, I hate technology. It'd probably help if I weren't dropping it all the damn time, but what can you do--I've got butter fingers (on the note of butter, when I was little, I used to actually lick the stick in the fridge when no one was looking. Sorry family.).
On another note, I've been struck with this great idea for a movie. I've begun outlining it but I won't state it here because of my paranoia. You know how it is. Tentatively called the Coma, though that's a bit non-subtle.
I had an interesting dream last night about watching this movie where this guy was caught in a pyramid scheme, trying to sell another guy chocolate. And then, later, you see him with bad acne, and I turned to Kelley and said, "He's just been eating the chocolate!" My dreams have become more vivid and paranoid as of late. It worries me because that means that there's something churning inside me that I'm scared of. I know this because last time dreams like the current ones happened, I was getting ready to come up to Humboldt. But, now, I don't know why they're happening. There's something going on and I don't know what it is. Maybe finals coming up, maybe the research paper or the other paper I've already finished. Who knows. I'll figure it out and get back to you.
On another note, I've been struck with this great idea for a movie. I've begun outlining it but I won't state it here because of my paranoia. You know how it is. Tentatively called the Coma, though that's a bit non-subtle.
I had an interesting dream last night about watching this movie where this guy was caught in a pyramid scheme, trying to sell another guy chocolate. And then, later, you see him with bad acne, and I turned to Kelley and said, "He's just been eating the chocolate!" My dreams have become more vivid and paranoid as of late. It worries me because that means that there's something churning inside me that I'm scared of. I know this because last time dreams like the current ones happened, I was getting ready to come up to Humboldt. But, now, I don't know why they're happening. There's something going on and I don't know what it is. Maybe finals coming up, maybe the research paper or the other paper I've already finished. Who knows. I'll figure it out and get back to you.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
The winter's overr
So.
School is well, classes are well. I have a geology midterm tomorrow that I've been studying for all week so I'm none too worried about it. Paper due soon in World Religions, big fat greek research paper due in Hinduism at the end of the Semester which is sooner than you'd think.
Movies watched recently: The Boondock Saints, Platoon, the Darjeeling Limited, Groundhog Day, Back to the Future part I, Part II, Part III, Where the Buffalo Roam, Raging Bull. Follow the links to my reviews of said films...
I'm not too worried about much right now, everything is coasting along real well.
School is well, classes are well. I have a geology midterm tomorrow that I've been studying for all week so I'm none too worried about it. Paper due soon in World Religions, big fat greek research paper due in Hinduism at the end of the Semester which is sooner than you'd think.
Movies watched recently: The Boondock Saints, Platoon, the Darjeeling Limited, Groundhog Day, Back to the Future part I, Part II, Part III, Where the Buffalo Roam, Raging Bull. Follow the links to my reviews of said films...
I'm not too worried about much right now, everything is coasting along real well.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Yesterday fever, tomorrow Saint Peter
I find it interesting that, with each step we take, we leave a little piece of the sole of our shoes. That is why the tread wears down, we've left little pieces behind with every step and our soles can only take so many steps before they need to be renewed. Boy, no wonder sole and soul are homonyms. We step on both, we leave pieces of each behind in all places--those English-makin' folks knew what they were doing in this case.
Knew and new I haven't figured out yet. Or why there's two to and too. Or there their and they're. But the latter's connections are within context--and contexually fixed words aren't generally very meaningful by themselves. They're filler for their own devices over there in their little world they've created. But and butt is another one--one t means you've got something else to say and sometimes its bad. Butt means ass-end of something. Probably from buttock.
English is one fucked up language.
Knew and new I haven't figured out yet. Or why there's two to and too. Or there their and they're. But the latter's connections are within context--and contexually fixed words aren't generally very meaningful by themselves. They're filler for their own devices over there in their little world they've created. But and butt is another one--one t means you've got something else to say and sometimes its bad. Butt means ass-end of something. Probably from buttock.
English is one fucked up language.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Filmic Pulp
So, yea, I deleted my Dodgers blog and started a movie review blog called Filmic Pulp. That's a funny word, filmic. It's a synonym for cinematic. But more terse and just kind of weird.
Check it out. If you're a frequenter of this site then there's nothing new there since I just culled all my reviews from here and put them there, but there will be new ones in the future! And they will all go there... And lord knows what'll wind up here.
I love you all. And I've decided, officially, to take a hiatus from the Religious Studies program to see what the Film Minor program is like. So I'll be taking Film Making I next semester. W00!
Peace and love.
Check it out. If you're a frequenter of this site then there's nothing new there since I just culled all my reviews from here and put them there, but there will be new ones in the future! And they will all go there... And lord knows what'll wind up here.
I love you all. And I've decided, officially, to take a hiatus from the Religious Studies program to see what the Film Minor program is like. So I'll be taking Film Making I next semester. W00!
Peace and love.
Magnolia\ Ghost Dog
Magnolia
After I saw There will be Blood, I knew I had to see another Paul Thomas Anderson film. Blood was so beautiful and so rich that it seemed like Anderson had the potential to have other movies as great and effecting as that.
So my first venture into his older films was his 2000 film Magnolia, a three-hour film about the semi-intersecting lives of six people in the San Fernando Valley.
Usually, I don't enjoy films about semi-intersecting lives. To name a few, I did not like Crash, Babel, or Amores Perros. These were films that tried desperately to get you to see that all our lives are connected. To see that our actions effect the lives of others. We get it.
But the beauty of Magnolia is that this film only uses those coincidental intersections for cohesion, not to show that our actions effect others, not to show that all our actions mean something. Instead, this movie is a character study about these people who are slowly descending into loneliness and madness. And, because of these intersections, the movie becomes a movie instead of six vignettes--instead of something along the lines of Coffee and Cigarettes. And the cohesion sinks deeper than accidents, it is a chain and a link that is evident through the characters' pain and their personalities. Their stubbornness to reveal the past (for example, we only find out about the past of John C. Reilly's cop character in the last third of the film), their desperation, their sadness. Each character has their own poignant scene that shows just what they are feeling. And what they are feeling is what the other five people are feeling. And maybe, just maybe, it's what someone in the audience has felt. That's how you make a connection--through emotion since we are all the same at the bottom of everything.
Magnolia hosts an all-star cast featuring the likes of William H. Macy, Julianne Moore, Tom Cruise, Alfred Molina, John C. Reilly (Surprisingly, only once I thought, "Dewey Cox is a cop?!"), and many others. No matter how much I hate his acting abilities, Tom Cruise's character was one that was so well-written to the person that it is scary.
Cruise's character is a sexual-motivational speaker under the mantra of "Respect the cock and tame the cunt." He's a hardass who's showing you how to get any woman you want. His character is a heartless, soulless, bastard... For awhile. See, that's where it starts to break down. During an interview scene, the character begins to crack and suddenly Cruise's acting abilities come into question. He is an actor who simply cannot show sadness. Blame it on L. Ron Hubbard, whatever. He's one who can do pensive, angry, and other emotions that one would associate with the color red. However, when he gets into the blue emotions--sadness, depression et al--Cruise begins to crack and his on-screen presence begins to pull you out of the film.
Luckily, he's only one-sixth of this film. And one-sixth of three hours is only 30 minutes. And he's only blue for about fifteen of them. So for the other 165 minutes, you've got other actors who can do blue and red swimmingly. And you've got a director who knows how to cull the best from most actors. You can tell that these people are genuinely sad and genuinely guilty and genuinely unfit for life.
But the problem with a film of this scope and length is that there's only so much sadness that a person can take before the apathy and the boredom sets in. And that's usually around the 90-minute mark. So what Anderson has done rather brilliantly, is to offset some of the sadder moments with music in the background--like a scene where William H. Macy is in a bar, drinking himself silly and bearing his soul to those who will listen. It's an effecting scene, but one that is overlaid by what is pouring from the jukebox which is typical barroom fare. By doing so, the watcher is allowed a bit of a rest from all the Kafka-esque deprivation and the spiraling towards hell that this film deals with.
There is so much more I could write about Magnolia, but it's so layered and so thick that to explain it would be like giving someone the bottom layer of a wedding cake without the wedding and without the rest of the cake. You have to see this film to truly appreciate its beauty and depth.
--
Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai
When I first heard of this movie as a senior, I was intrigued. But I never saw it. Why? Because I'm a lazy cunt when it comes to seeing films sometimes. And I also get obsessed with seeing only one director's films.
But I finally saw it. Forest Whitaker playing a black samurai mafia hitman with a score done by RZA of the Wu-Tang Clan. It sounds like a pitch for the latest Chris Tucker film, but this is a film that, much like Jim Jarmusch likes to do, allows for lingering shots of the emotion in one's face and the oft boredom of life.
Throughout the movie, we follow his character and are intersected with him reading sections from the Samurai for Dummies book Hagakure. What starts as a mafia film quickly becomes a revenge film. The mafia's out to get Ghost Dog but they sure as shit ain't gonna get him. They don't know where he lives because they've never followed the pigeons that he uses as his only contact with them. They don't know his real name. They don't know what he looks like except that he's black.
So they start killing every black guy on a roof wrangling pigeons, which is apparently only one. And I think it was the dad from "Family Matters".
Anyway, Ghost Dog realizes that he suddenly has to protect his master, his retainer, Louie, who they are going to kill because Ghost Dog was his guy and Ghost Dog fucked up.
And by protecting him, I mean taking out the entire goddam mob in "The Industrial State."
And that's definitely something I noted while watching one scene where license plates are changed: the states. In the film, there are two of them: "The Industrial State," and the "Highway State." So we're set in an alternate reality which allows us to dismiss the police for the most part--which is good because otherwise I'd be wondering why they weren't doing dick to stop these guys.
So that's one difference from a typical, cliche, mafia film. I made a list of some others:
Jim Jarmusch did an excellent job with this film. The way that it was edited and shot allowed for the room of emotions. It's not taut and ready to burst at the seems with what wants to go on. It allows for the movie to act for itself and to think for itself. And that's the sign of a good director: an autonomous film like this one.
After I saw There will be Blood, I knew I had to see another Paul Thomas Anderson film. Blood was so beautiful and so rich that it seemed like Anderson had the potential to have other movies as great and effecting as that.
So my first venture into his older films was his 2000 film Magnolia, a three-hour film about the semi-intersecting lives of six people in the San Fernando Valley.
Usually, I don't enjoy films about semi-intersecting lives. To name a few, I did not like Crash, Babel, or Amores Perros. These were films that tried desperately to get you to see that all our lives are connected. To see that our actions effect the lives of others. We get it.
But the beauty of Magnolia is that this film only uses those coincidental intersections for cohesion, not to show that our actions effect others, not to show that all our actions mean something. Instead, this movie is a character study about these people who are slowly descending into loneliness and madness. And, because of these intersections, the movie becomes a movie instead of six vignettes--instead of something along the lines of Coffee and Cigarettes. And the cohesion sinks deeper than accidents, it is a chain and a link that is evident through the characters' pain and their personalities. Their stubbornness to reveal the past (for example, we only find out about the past of John C. Reilly's cop character in the last third of the film), their desperation, their sadness. Each character has their own poignant scene that shows just what they are feeling. And what they are feeling is what the other five people are feeling. And maybe, just maybe, it's what someone in the audience has felt. That's how you make a connection--through emotion since we are all the same at the bottom of everything.
Magnolia hosts an all-star cast featuring the likes of William H. Macy, Julianne Moore, Tom Cruise, Alfred Molina, John C. Reilly (Surprisingly, only once I thought, "Dewey Cox is a cop?!"), and many others. No matter how much I hate his acting abilities, Tom Cruise's character was one that was so well-written to the person that it is scary.
Cruise's character is a sexual-motivational speaker under the mantra of "Respect the cock and tame the cunt." He's a hardass who's showing you how to get any woman you want. His character is a heartless, soulless, bastard... For awhile. See, that's where it starts to break down. During an interview scene, the character begins to crack and suddenly Cruise's acting abilities come into question. He is an actor who simply cannot show sadness. Blame it on L. Ron Hubbard, whatever. He's one who can do pensive, angry, and other emotions that one would associate with the color red. However, when he gets into the blue emotions--sadness, depression et al--Cruise begins to crack and his on-screen presence begins to pull you out of the film.
Luckily, he's only one-sixth of this film. And one-sixth of three hours is only 30 minutes. And he's only blue for about fifteen of them. So for the other 165 minutes, you've got other actors who can do blue and red swimmingly. And you've got a director who knows how to cull the best from most actors. You can tell that these people are genuinely sad and genuinely guilty and genuinely unfit for life.
But the problem with a film of this scope and length is that there's only so much sadness that a person can take before the apathy and the boredom sets in. And that's usually around the 90-minute mark. So what Anderson has done rather brilliantly, is to offset some of the sadder moments with music in the background--like a scene where William H. Macy is in a bar, drinking himself silly and bearing his soul to those who will listen. It's an effecting scene, but one that is overlaid by what is pouring from the jukebox which is typical barroom fare. By doing so, the watcher is allowed a bit of a rest from all the Kafka-esque deprivation and the spiraling towards hell that this film deals with.
There is so much more I could write about Magnolia, but it's so layered and so thick that to explain it would be like giving someone the bottom layer of a wedding cake without the wedding and without the rest of the cake. You have to see this film to truly appreciate its beauty and depth.
--
Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai
When I first heard of this movie as a senior, I was intrigued. But I never saw it. Why? Because I'm a lazy cunt when it comes to seeing films sometimes. And I also get obsessed with seeing only one director's films.
But I finally saw it. Forest Whitaker playing a black samurai mafia hitman with a score done by RZA of the Wu-Tang Clan. It sounds like a pitch for the latest Chris Tucker film, but this is a film that, much like Jim Jarmusch likes to do, allows for lingering shots of the emotion in one's face and the oft boredom of life.
Throughout the movie, we follow his character and are intersected with him reading sections from the Samurai for Dummies book Hagakure. What starts as a mafia film quickly becomes a revenge film. The mafia's out to get Ghost Dog but they sure as shit ain't gonna get him. They don't know where he lives because they've never followed the pigeons that he uses as his only contact with them. They don't know his real name. They don't know what he looks like except that he's black.
So they start killing every black guy on a roof wrangling pigeons, which is apparently only one. And I think it was the dad from "Family Matters".
Anyway, Ghost Dog realizes that he suddenly has to protect his master, his retainer, Louie, who they are going to kill because Ghost Dog was his guy and Ghost Dog fucked up.
And by protecting him, I mean taking out the entire goddam mob in "The Industrial State."
And that's definitely something I noted while watching one scene where license plates are changed: the states. In the film, there are two of them: "The Industrial State," and the "Highway State." So we're set in an alternate reality which allows us to dismiss the police for the most part--which is good because otherwise I'd be wondering why they weren't doing dick to stop these guys.
So that's one difference from a typical, cliche, mafia film. I made a list of some others:
- Aside from narrations, we don't hear Ghost Dog speak directly to anyone until 35 minutes into the movie. He talks to a little girl in the park who he later gives the Hagakure to (which, along with one other character, definitely allowed for Ghost Dog 2).
- All the Japanese references. Rashomon parallels and the like.
- The fact that Ghost Dog is a fucking samurai. How awesome is that.
Jim Jarmusch did an excellent job with this film. The way that it was edited and shot allowed for the room of emotions. It's not taut and ready to burst at the seems with what wants to go on. It allows for the movie to act for itself and to think for itself. And that's the sign of a good director: an autonomous film like this one.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Pocket Map to Heaven
I had a revelation in Vietnam last night.
While I was watching Apocalypse Now (easily one of my new favorite films), I realized that I really do want to try out the film minor. So my RS major will be on a hiatus for a semester while I see what I like or don't like about it.
And if I realize that I miss the religious studies program, then I can always go back. It's just an experiment. And I'll be taking on more Journalism classes so that I can even things out if I choose to go back to the RS major.
It's been something I've mulled over for a little while. I talked to my mom about it. And it finally hit me that it's something I want to try. I want to see what it's like to be introduced to how to create a movie. I want to know what to do and all that jazz.
It just seems rather strange to me that I come up here for the Religion program and I immediately abandon it. It almost seems wrong. But not to my soul at the moment. I want to find out, I want to know, I want to be certain that Religious Studies is what I want. And maybe it's not. Maybe this filmmaking class is something I really enjoy.
Life is well. I found a room mate and I will be moving off campus next semester. Wahoo! Things are looking up and my previous depression was a direct result of me wanting everything in a now-fashion--the fashion of my generation. But patience is key in life and baseball, so that's what's happened. Patience. Peace. Serenity.
While I was watching Apocalypse Now (easily one of my new favorite films), I realized that I really do want to try out the film minor. So my RS major will be on a hiatus for a semester while I see what I like or don't like about it.
And if I realize that I miss the religious studies program, then I can always go back. It's just an experiment. And I'll be taking on more Journalism classes so that I can even things out if I choose to go back to the RS major.
It's been something I've mulled over for a little while. I talked to my mom about it. And it finally hit me that it's something I want to try. I want to see what it's like to be introduced to how to create a movie. I want to know what to do and all that jazz.
It just seems rather strange to me that I come up here for the Religion program and I immediately abandon it. It almost seems wrong. But not to my soul at the moment. I want to find out, I want to know, I want to be certain that Religious Studies is what I want. And maybe it's not. Maybe this filmmaking class is something I really enjoy.
Life is well. I found a room mate and I will be moving off campus next semester. Wahoo! Things are looking up and my previous depression was a direct result of me wanting everything in a now-fashion--the fashion of my generation. But patience is key in life and baseball, so that's what's happened. Patience. Peace. Serenity.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
This ship is taking me.
One of those nights.
I was ready for bed by 1130, wanting to sleep.
Turned out the lights, got into bed, and my mind was off to the races.
About what, you ask? The list: next semester, registering, wondering how my first semester up here will turn out knowing that my first quarters\semesters anywhere usually turn into shit because I'm trying adjust and find my place foremost and I can't help it when academics fall to the wayside but I have six weeks left in the quarter and the paper I'm most worried about will get some consulting tomorrow when I see the professor and what am I gonna do about my religious studies major? Do I still want it? Should I take Intro to Christianity or the Hebrew Bible next semester just to give it one last chance? I'm excited about the Cinematography course, but I'm also leery of the 6 hour filming sessions... Do I want to take photojournalism or do I want to take magazine writing? What the fuck is a Freshman Interest Group and why is it a prerequisite for one of the classes I need? Will there be a seat for me in either of the biology classes? If not, then what about botany? If not then how the hell am I going to fulfill that GE? Why is college always so hard for me? Even harder than sleep? What if I take radio production, have a radio show, what would be the first song I play? The pain in my throat that last timed manifested on my tongue is back but on my gum and it almost feels like a tooth is growing in for some reason. I'm not worried much this time around. I'm more concerned with my overall health. I eat too much junk food. I worry too much about acting suave and cool and trying to impress others when the shit should just come naturally and fuck the rest who don't enjoy my company. I think I'm a homophobe, in part, at heart. Maybe in the same way I'm afraid of Mormons--that they'll try and convert me and am I strong enough to say no? All of this adds and adds and adds and builds and builds and builds so I come clamoring onto the internet to read about the classes and email the teachers and try to go back to reading about Islam for my World Religions class. Paper due on the 25th. Housing lottery on this friday at 9AM. Wake up, stammer and stamp. Say I want a single because I feel bad for having a room mate when I'm awake at three AM hammering keys like some crazed man who meanders out of the building for a cigarette only to look over through the windows of the dining commons to see ghosts moving around, eating, talking. Then to see small cars down below moving around and returning from some night I'll never know about. Never know about it like this post won't know paragraph breaks.
I'm sorry for everything I've ever done and will do. It always feels like my fault. That I'm the one who started hocking shit around only to have it come back and bite me in the ass. I feel sick in the head, I need to see a therapist but I can never feel comfortable with them. I wish I could. And they rape your paychecks by saying to come back every week for twenty years. Even though I guess it's more effective than medication though most Psychiatrists only do med checks anymore. I miss my family. I miss my own room. My headphones cracked and I need a new pair. Probably from sleeping on the one ear bud. I don't know. Ever since I got up here, those headphones have been deteriorating.
And then there's the applicable question of why am I still a virgin? Would it solve some of these problems? Should I heed the advice of some of the younger guys around me and lose it to some drunk girl? Or should I wait it out for the perfect one? I don't know anymore, it's so frustrating when everyone else joneses for it and you have no idea how to relate in this jones fest. Maybe I'm just atavistic, anachronistic--from a different time, plopped into the 21st century on accident for a purpose.
And what if I die tomorrow knowing not the highest form of passion between genders? Knowing only the soul's highest passion of faith.
I feel like I've wasted my life on precepts and I shouldn't have tried so hard for some things that never panned out. The apologies will falter the marksman's shot and the guillotine will miss by only inches, but you will still be alive and forgiven and placed among the holiest crowned and robed in purple.
--
And what, suddenly, was supposed to be a release, has only sparked more and more and more questions within my restless mind. I can't shut down. I hate this.
I was ready for bed by 1130, wanting to sleep.
Turned out the lights, got into bed, and my mind was off to the races.
About what, you ask? The list: next semester, registering, wondering how my first semester up here will turn out knowing that my first quarters\semesters anywhere usually turn into shit because I'm trying adjust and find my place foremost and I can't help it when academics fall to the wayside but I have six weeks left in the quarter and the paper I'm most worried about will get some consulting tomorrow when I see the professor and what am I gonna do about my religious studies major? Do I still want it? Should I take Intro to Christianity or the Hebrew Bible next semester just to give it one last chance? I'm excited about the Cinematography course, but I'm also leery of the 6 hour filming sessions... Do I want to take photojournalism or do I want to take magazine writing? What the fuck is a Freshman Interest Group and why is it a prerequisite for one of the classes I need? Will there be a seat for me in either of the biology classes? If not, then what about botany? If not then how the hell am I going to fulfill that GE? Why is college always so hard for me? Even harder than sleep? What if I take radio production, have a radio show, what would be the first song I play? The pain in my throat that last timed manifested on my tongue is back but on my gum and it almost feels like a tooth is growing in for some reason. I'm not worried much this time around. I'm more concerned with my overall health. I eat too much junk food. I worry too much about acting suave and cool and trying to impress others when the shit should just come naturally and fuck the rest who don't enjoy my company. I think I'm a homophobe, in part, at heart. Maybe in the same way I'm afraid of Mormons--that they'll try and convert me and am I strong enough to say no? All of this adds and adds and adds and builds and builds and builds so I come clamoring onto the internet to read about the classes and email the teachers and try to go back to reading about Islam for my World Religions class. Paper due on the 25th. Housing lottery on this friday at 9AM. Wake up, stammer and stamp. Say I want a single because I feel bad for having a room mate when I'm awake at three AM hammering keys like some crazed man who meanders out of the building for a cigarette only to look over through the windows of the dining commons to see ghosts moving around, eating, talking. Then to see small cars down below moving around and returning from some night I'll never know about. Never know about it like this post won't know paragraph breaks.
I'm sorry for everything I've ever done and will do. It always feels like my fault. That I'm the one who started hocking shit around only to have it come back and bite me in the ass. I feel sick in the head, I need to see a therapist but I can never feel comfortable with them. I wish I could. And they rape your paychecks by saying to come back every week for twenty years. Even though I guess it's more effective than medication though most Psychiatrists only do med checks anymore. I miss my family. I miss my own room. My headphones cracked and I need a new pair. Probably from sleeping on the one ear bud. I don't know. Ever since I got up here, those headphones have been deteriorating.
And then there's the applicable question of why am I still a virgin? Would it solve some of these problems? Should I heed the advice of some of the younger guys around me and lose it to some drunk girl? Or should I wait it out for the perfect one? I don't know anymore, it's so frustrating when everyone else joneses for it and you have no idea how to relate in this jones fest. Maybe I'm just atavistic, anachronistic--from a different time, plopped into the 21st century on accident for a purpose.
And what if I die tomorrow knowing not the highest form of passion between genders? Knowing only the soul's highest passion of faith.
I feel like I've wasted my life on precepts and I shouldn't have tried so hard for some things that never panned out. The apologies will falter the marksman's shot and the guillotine will miss by only inches, but you will still be alive and forgiven and placed among the holiest crowned and robed in purple.
--
And what, suddenly, was supposed to be a release, has only sparked more and more and more questions within my restless mind. I can't shut down. I hate this.
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