inreaction

this is my 50th post here and i’m done with this for now.

all that’s necessary for life is the elimination of nonessentials–be it people, feelings, or problems. there’s enough ways to contact me if you actually want to take the effort to be friends. if not, i’m out of here. if i see you in la, i’ll say hi. bye.

breaking from hw.

thirty things.

1. life is about happiness, but living is about dealing with disappointment.
2. i really really really like hash browns (not hash brownies).
3. i’ve been continually tired for about three months and i don’t know what it is.
4. i’m on a mission to gain weight, but i refuse to waste my life in a testosterone hole called a gym.
5. i decided i will go to the beach / laguna beach at least once every two weeks.
6. i need a partner to go to sunsets and the like and accompany me on my picture taking sprees.
7. i really want to study abroad–either in spain, rome, or paris.
8. i’m taking a cluster of courses called “the history of modern thought” next year.
9. i’m becoming more and more accustomed to the idea of leaving “all this” behind.
10. we all say we’ll “keep in touch” but i doubt it. maybe only two people will remain close friends w/me.
11. i’m cautiously pondering writing abook but i’m really afraid to.
12. yes, i know it won’t actually be published–just for fun.
13. i saw three black cats today.
14. i need to organize my school work in the worst of ways.
15. i think i open up too quickly to people who simply play the listener without any attachment.
16. i don’t want to go to prom.
17. i’m really looking forward to relay for life.
18. it’s hard not having someone i can call whenever i feel like talking about nothing much and everything important at the same time.
19. thirty is a really big number.
20. i want to have a dance party in my civic.
21. school is actually pretty easy and not really that stressful.
22. the other musings that we continually consume ourselves with make the simple tasks of the day seem insurmountable.
23. you will always have blood on your hands if you try to mend a broken heart.
24. i have this yearning to try and design clothes, but i hate the fact that i can’t even draw silhouttes.
25. i learned this weekend that i can actually understand about 70% of spanish!
26. rereading the stranger is at once the most depressing and fulfilling thing i have recently done.
27. it’s been about a year since i’ve hung out with jaydee.
28. i heard an accident occur today…reminds me of a dane cook.
29. i’m going down in history like american bandstannnnd ;)
30. no no no.
31. don’t flatter yourself.
32. we should all really be much more comfortable with the fact that we simply won’t like some of our peers.
33. farewell.

good god this is amazing. my favorite book of them all. albert camus – the stranger.


“The scorching blade slashed at my eyelashes and stabbed at my stinging eyes. That’s when everything began to reel. The sea carried up a thick, fiery breath. It seemed to me as if the sky split open from one end to the other to rain down fire. My whole being tensed and I squeezed my hand around the revolver. The trigger gave; I felt the smooth underside of the butt; and there, in that noise, sharp and deafening at the same time, is where I tall started. I shook off the sweat and sun. I knew that I had shattered the harmony of the day, the exceptional silence of a beach where I’d been happy. Then I fired four more times at the motionless body where the bullets lodged without leaving a trace. And it was like knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness.”

“As if that blind rage has washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, I that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself – so like a brother, really – I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.”

i hate starting. initiating, inspiring, causing–these words were built for people who did not grow sick with cautious grief and dastardly affection.

originality and creativity were always words left misssing in my profiles. i suppose i am effective in masking what you already know with words and phrases, but to truly look inside is to face fear–introspection is my phobia.

but some days will rain on you no matter how much you despise water. supposedly i am crafty with english, but it’s odd–i can only think of idioms in other langauges tonite.

life often reaches this awkward pinnacle–you reach the summit and trip. it is not so much the fall that frightens me–it is my apathy: i know i’m falling but i fail to admit it. admission is another fledging aspect in which i am remiss. if you were to look back you would see i most commonly reference quesitons. questions, it seems, quell my fear of internal doubt–they turn my fear of introspection into your interrogation. i fear admitting my “feelings” because this time is not quite an honest one. friendship is alwas relative–relayed through lay natureofthetimes actions. friendship is never unconditional–even more rare is purity and intent.

confrontation is both an addiction and a fear. i write–so often–things that i would never dare share. and yet i claim to pride myself on my tellitlikeitis. but no one tells it like it really is–we gripe about things that don’t really bother us, we cry about menaningless triublations, we vomit over infatuation.

again i’m walking the line of being honest with myself and i can certainly feel how far into myself this could take me (i generally write about a paragraph every 15 seconds, n omore than a minute a page. but once i actually start digging into “pain,” the pauses and scratchouts begin).

alas writing may be all i have. i want to script a description of the agony that comes in an absence of necessary pain. these days i find myself feeling as though i’ve just jumped off a bulding–and frozen. i feel the anticipation and that first moment of sickening fear (when you realize you’re falling, when your throat jumps far too high)–but i fel it for weeks. there are no tears, no screams, and few breakdowns. often the only outward expression of this quandary is the force with which i strike the steering wheel and push on the gas when a song comes on. but i wonder if this instantaneous yet infinite knowledge of impending, present, and passing hurt is worse than the pain i see others display.

realize it’s rare for me to speak in specifics (to speak in logic), but i can’t cover anymore. there are two people who i have allwed to tear me apart. life’s ultimate irony is that they are, perhaps polar opposites. i would not be daft enough to name them, but my confusion and melodramatic nature make trivial subjects as prom seem momentous conundrums for which i shall find no peaceable solutionh. and while i avoid both people with my weakest attempts, i crave their presence. i know that my interactions with one could exponentially hurt the other, but there comes a point where all one has is his ability to hurt, to hurt, and to repeat.

thursday – the dream

as i sit by myself
ive come from so
so far away
in such little time
i have killed
my soul
my mind
ive tried so hard to find
is this what i must do to get by
and i ask myself why?

why dont run
why dont you call me
out to you

ill find my way
or will you help me
help me share

wish you understand me
listen to what i say
turn her back on my dreams
watching
waiting
find my way out
turn your back on my dreams
so strong
so weak
but so disused
is this what i must do

decide
why
i know

why dont run
why dont you call me
out to you

ill find my way
or will you help me
help me share

ill find my way

so as i was walking by the mausoleums, i realized i was passing some people who we still remember quite vividly. i passed walter mathieu (sp?), marilyn monroe (suprised it didn’t say norma jean), dean martin, rodney dangerfield, and jack lemmon. i realized that some people may not be present in our lives anymore,but that we will always be affected by their presence. this distinction is both comforting and distrubing. i find it somewhat unsettling that we place ourselved in shelves of concrete in hopes that our placards and faceplates will remind those that are living of the events of our lives.

a cemetary is not a place that we go to to be remembered–it’s a place we go to remind others that they too will die. it’s morbid and a complete and utter truth. the particular cemetary i visited today (on the anniversary of a loved one’s death) is nestled on wilshire blvd. i was shocked at how peacefull–how silent the place was. to most people this will seem sick but i’ll probably come visit the place when i go to la for school–it’s a microcosm of calm in the bustling madness of a city all-too-bent on materialism.

i don’t have much else to say right now–i have to go be with those suffering from an ebbing but never ending grief. if you have a minute or two to call me i would be much obliged. i hope all is well with all of you–i hope you can smile without noticing you are–i hope you can cry without being afraid to. our worries (such as not having a prom date and falling into a cycle of like and dislike) seem to shrink when juxtaposed to the grief of a lost love. then again, it’s all we have.

call. you have the numberrr.