december eleventh, nineteen ninety-eight
"Just for a moment" were only a few of my last words before being dumped out on to my ass. Only 17 years old. He could have been that poor kid who just died. I'm glad he's happy about it. I heard he didn't deserve it. I don't know.
I didn't actually know him.
Lao Tse said that. Well, he may not have said that, since his books were destroyed in a fire after he died. But it was written that he said it by someone else.
Anyways...
I've come to realize that the past not only repeats itself, but what is repeated is the worst definitive parts of the past. Funny how these things are so badly paraphrased while drinking coffee in a diner, observing the cute girl sitting at the counter to the right of me. (*br*)

I had something to say four minutes ago, but now I forgot. "Screw you, buddy," says a guy at the counter. Maybe that is why the past is always repeated, because nobody can remember what they don't remember. They either make it up or say fuck it all together. By the way, no one is at the counter, and the hot chick moved to a booth, see what I mean?
Why can't I rule the world, you ask? I am not motivated, and the part of my brain controlling motivation was removed, due to a freak marijuana smoking accident. And who the fuck in their right mind wants that job anyways? On the by and by it's pretty fuckin cold for a midsummer's night dream. Pretty fuckin cold for any dream if you ask me. Oh, you didn't ask me, forget it. Lord Buckly or one cat said "Life is a garden and it has been a pleasure pollenating your flower." Oh, he didn't say it that way, I'm paraphrasing again. So long and thanks for all the fish, I am a vegetarian you know. (*jj*)

There's something to be said for political injustice in the lower middle class. I don't know what it is though. There's a lot to be said for a lot of things, but nothing is ever said. Why should I speak up if no one is going to get my back? I suppose fear is a powerful master. I find myself succumbing to it every day. What would I do if I were to talk to that hot chick sitting behind me (the one who was previously at the counter) or the hot chick at work, or any hot chick? I've found that my fear of women stems from my paranoia of my girlfriend thinking that I am unfaithful. I must admit, however, that my penis still has eyes, and for the time that it can still see, I will not be able to help but look.
What really makes me feel dirty is any form of contact with these women (or as I like to call them, "Hot Chicks") is maddening, sending my hormones into overreaction. But I still laugh about it and speak of it to my girlfriend (who I love dearly) as a joke, still knowing, subconsciously, that it is, indeed, truth in fiction. (*br*)

Why is truth, in almost all cases, stranger than fiction? Except for that movie that we watched at the above named girlfriend's house. But back to the point (half ass point). It being that fiction, no matter how old or twisted, strays from the truth no matter how boring or straightlaced. The truth about girlfriends, or all of mine anyways, is that they are all evil maniacal death bitches that suck the life out of you and move on to the next unsuspecting victim, awaiting to have their spine removed in the most painful of manors. In fiction, they only exaggerate and mess up the order of the life sucking and spine ripping. But on the other hand, you have to look at the other people's point of view, however their view is wrong and sucks. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Most of them say that women are wonderful creations, and the truth of that is exaggerated so fully that if you partook of this opinion, you would worship women and the tampons they you know on. Well both things I have said are badly exaggerated to the point that they are no longer sane. My opinions are black and white, but I see in a shade of grey. (*jj*)



december eighteenth, nineteen ninety eight
"Let me touch your face / look into your eyes / and read into them"
It's strnge how a lyric can define a feeling at a certain time in my life. I guess that's easy for me to find though. My life is, after all, based on music.
Maybe it's the human mind that intrigues me, but I honestly think it's the female mind that draws me in the most. Even the most simple of female minds is more complicated than my own. But I only ever discuss these things over a cigarette... with myself. Maybe it's infatuation, but that would involve sexual undertones.
This, however, does not.
It could be the blueness of her eyes that draws me in, but then again I could be wrong, as I so often am. I don't think there is anything that gives a reason for this intrigue. Maybe it's just because it is uncharted territory. Maybe it's my ongoing quest to understand everyone. Maybe it's just because she's beautiful. Maybe...
Or I could just be overtired. Maybe that's it.
The strange thing is, I have no sexual desires for her. My heart throbs even when I am within ten feet of her. My eyes widen, my jaw drops, I begin to stumble through sentences. Love? No. Infatuation? No. Low self esteem? Doubtful. She now has my most emo-est of sweaters. I miss it. A lot.
I am confident that this installment doesn't keep you on the edge of your seat.
"Why am I waiting for you / to see I'm alive?"

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