'You're gonna need someone on your side'.
Bah. There's a pretty significant amount of time passing me by and I'm doing nothing about it. While wearing a fictionsuit the other day I realized that I've quite unhappy, these days, specifically for the past ninety days or so, compared to how I used to be. I'm not entirely sure what can be done with this kind of allconsuming unhappiness. Except to gracefully concede that it's just a whirlwind of hyperbole and I've nothing to be unhappy about.
So tonight I'll be sitting at home, knitting and reading Cryptonomicon and wishing I were somewhere else, or something equally loser. (My loud obnoxious neighbors are smoking pot and reminding me of my sweet little froggie pipe, wasting away without me) And I steadfastly remind myself that there's little to mourn. I suppose if I feel that the last three months have been wasted, I can always cheat myself a few more at the tail end. Those months of merry incontinence and flailing will be lovely. (Or maybe I'll just wait a few more months before sending myself into some godforsaken suicide mission)
"You stole five minutes of my life and I want it back! nevermind. I'd just waste them anyway."
-sexy sexy hans
Two more weeks here. I'm going up to SLO this weekend, go throw potatoes at the swallows and have a nice, brief respite from all this.
I've got like two friends down here, I've called them both and neither are availble. I was too shy to make eye contact with the nice looking young man who works at Wild Oats. My inanity (sic... no, wait, that's entirely correct) is just as strong and forceful as it's always been, but tempered with a strange sadness -- an awareness of how wasteful I am.
I think that a large part of why I feel this way is because I'm almost regressing back to maybe five or six years ago. I've become so comfortable, surrounded by friends and lovers, sex and hilarity all of the time. Of course after a while I came to the realization that many men are ... adequate,disposable and forgettable. It's not misanthropy (I can't think of a word that specifically refers to males - many women are too, but it's not as pointed in my mind right now) but it is a forceful binary. At a certain point - I know exactly when and it is not for your delicate ears, dear reader, but let it be known that there was vomit involved - that was transcended. But to come from that tentative understanding and from the constant stimulation of loved ones and homies to just... sitting at the computer all of the damn time, this expectant taste bitter in my mouth and yet unfulfilled -- it's awful, really.
My phone just rang. Wrong number. Bah.
To summarize, I'm sitting here looking very attractive and feeling quite sad and in many ways I simply want to retreat from this shell-world and hide (again the alientation-leading-to-fantasy leitmotif), a desire fueled by my inability to connect, affected by my awkward desire to do so.
edited: The idea of '23' as a meme -- to some, a kind of sigil -- which represents an awareness. 23 does not occur randomly in nature and has no special signficance other than the awareness attributed to it by 'believers'. For good, or for awesome? DISCUSS!
Bah. There's a pretty significant amount of time passing me by and I'm doing nothing about it. While wearing a fictionsuit the other day I realized that I've quite unhappy, these days, specifically for the past ninety days or so, compared to how I used to be. I'm not entirely sure what can be done with this kind of allconsuming unhappiness. Except to gracefully concede that it's just a whirlwind of hyperbole and I've nothing to be unhappy about.
So tonight I'll be sitting at home, knitting and reading Cryptonomicon and wishing I were somewhere else, or something equally loser. (My loud obnoxious neighbors are smoking pot and reminding me of my sweet little froggie pipe, wasting away without me) And I steadfastly remind myself that there's little to mourn. I suppose if I feel that the last three months have been wasted, I can always cheat myself a few more at the tail end. Those months of merry incontinence and flailing will be lovely. (Or maybe I'll just wait a few more months before sending myself into some godforsaken suicide mission)
"You stole five minutes of my life and I want it back! nevermind. I'd just waste them anyway."
-sexy sexy hans
Two more weeks here. I'm going up to SLO this weekend, go throw potatoes at the swallows and have a nice, brief respite from all this.
I've got like two friends down here, I've called them both and neither are availble. I was too shy to make eye contact with the nice looking young man who works at Wild Oats. My inanity (sic... no, wait, that's entirely correct) is just as strong and forceful as it's always been, but tempered with a strange sadness -- an awareness of how wasteful I am.
I think that a large part of why I feel this way is because I'm almost regressing back to maybe five or six years ago. I've become so comfortable, surrounded by friends and lovers, sex and hilarity all of the time. Of course after a while I came to the realization that many men are ... adequate,disposable and forgettable. It's not misanthropy (I can't think of a word that specifically refers to males - many women are too, but it's not as pointed in my mind right now) but it is a forceful binary. At a certain point - I know exactly when and it is not for your delicate ears, dear reader, but let it be known that there was vomit involved - that was transcended. But to come from that tentative understanding and from the constant stimulation of loved ones and homies to just... sitting at the computer all of the damn time, this expectant taste bitter in my mouth and yet unfulfilled -- it's awful, really.
My phone just rang. Wrong number. Bah.
To summarize, I'm sitting here looking very attractive and feeling quite sad and in many ways I simply want to retreat from this shell-world and hide (again the alientation-leading-to-fantasy leitmotif), a desire fueled by my inability to connect, affected by my awkward desire to do so.
edited: The idea of '23' as a meme -- to some, a kind of sigil -- which represents an awareness. 23 does not occur randomly in nature and has no special signficance other than the awareness attributed to it by 'believers'. For good, or for awesome? DISCUSS!
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