8:19PM

I miss my daughter. I do that all the time.

12:43AM - the religious and the moral

I go through this process again and again. I should only sleep with people I like.

1:07AM - The Idiot

New internet policy: I will feed trolls, but not idiots.

1:56PM - the archies

Women know nothing about men, but no one comments on it because it doesn't matter.

12:17AM

If life gives you shit, make lemonade?

11:59AM

Happy anniversary of God's suicide by cop.

1:49PM

I was wishing we had our own forest of suicides when I found out that the Golden Gate Bridge may in fact be the most popular location for suicides in the world.  America - fuck yeah!

7:00PM - Via Daily Kos: The Problem with the Mortgage Deduction

8:29PM - lupercalia

One room, candy and cheese dip,
the other is alcohol,
a generation separates us, but not much more.
(But much more.)
I’m sick and she’s sick.  We can’t stop.

I miss my daughter and I feel betrayed. 
My father’s trying to get in touch, and I don’t know what to do.
Unemployment accentuates a lack of worth,
     made more difficult by the other missing connections.

And sex:
Sex isn’t what I’ve been pursuing
like I’ve been pursuing . . . .
It’s a lonely day - it’s the wrong pound of flesh.
Or the courses are in the wrong order – yes I’m one of those.

2:39AM - post positive posits

Stage in cycle: rememberances
Nevermore thinking "What if?", but now "What learned'?
Fear hits hard, crippling like a hit from a man six times your weight.
To change is hard, to change is eternal.

The nature of the beginning was quantum, only at that time could we develop in randomness, or apparent randomness. 
The older we get, the more predictable.
I have to get small again.

2:00AM - craptonumbicon

Continuously I become
Charles Crumb.
Run the cycle, how not to repeat?  Think.  Routines need regulation, where is my sweet homo professor to realign me before each slipping of the gears?  (Test me, faggots.)
Arch, ache, watch the mind run out of proper hurts.  Having television means that all I do is watch Action Bastard and Psycho Dad.

In seriousness, a return home means a return to homeliness.  This place is the insurmountable chaos, sand which one cannot pretend is stone.  I really want to cut again, which I haven't felt continuously for a good long while.  This is accompanied by a general disgust with what I've already done to myself.

2:08AM - Left ten / left in

1) I miss caring in a way that meant I thought there was a long term long enough to long for long term things.
I have an unnatural and unhealthy optimism.  Not the kind that makes me think I can do things, but that makes me think that things will turn out okay regardless of getting up, going, doing.  Said before and believed again.

2) Slumdog Millionaire is so so so overrated - there are two good parts - they light Muslims on fire and they dance, if the two happened simultaneously it might have been a little better.

3:43PM - Updating isn't my thing.

* I have moved to Florida.  Tallahassee for the moment.  Weeks ago.

7:31PM - être fort; set it on fire

A phone call awoke me from a dream where I was reading comments on livejournal.  I found this particularly depressing, as afterwards it was impossible to fully return to the dream, to argue one side in an issue I knew nonexistant, but also to know that I did dream of such, that my dreams were of things that generally one would not find impressive in reality, and that I genuinely did want to return to this argument if possible.  I know this doesn't really encompass everything I dream of, otherwise I wouldn't so fear going to sleep, wouldn't panic as sleep approaches, but that thought doesn't comfort me much either.  Most often when I wake up I am depressed and uninspired.  If enabled, it is only enabled to be self-destructive, to take what few pieces of inspiration I maintain and deride them as crap or simply to point out the rest of my life - that I am alone and unemployed and unlikely to change in either aspect in the immediate future.  If I had pursued art at least I would have found this somewhat expected, to be a little fucked up as an element of character, and unemployed as an element of the industry, but somehow I thought myself being very capable of being a very perfect cog - something I am failing more and more in as the social becomes emphasized over the now meaningless academic.  I wanted very much to be a cog, because I'm not good at getting up in the morning unless I know where to go and that I to some degree have to go.  I should write, even if it is derivative, even if it only proves my inability to write, but I'm very afraid of the point at which I prove to myself that there isn't a better me inside that I've been hiding, that I've been holding back, that all it comes down to is idiocy, incompetancy, and the latest generation of insanity. 

Surely it's time however to no longer just take comfort in being better than my art school neighbors.

5:35PM - mixed up

10:49PM - World Series Champs!

Sister's in the hospital from an overdose.
I've lost another job.
That's how things are going.

4:34AM - Impressive

Little Big Planet Calculator

11:59PM - trails

the emotional engine
runs
pumps
sticky and pink
cotton candy

use it,
don't let it use me,
drug them, not drug me
wear a mask of jolly colors,
the kind of thing
that can only be made
fake.

Underneath,
a
more clever by years;
each
amor, a weapon.
Don't work your way blundering
- for each that falls
heavy
for true sentiment,
falls hard
for manipulation -
weren't you
evidence?

Never have regretted sex much,
never for long -
sure sometimes it was
a symptom
but . . .

1:37PM - abortion really brings out the kid in you / I'm voting for Willie Horton

4:27AM - It's karma for killing woodlice, for we're dying in the same fashion.

Perhaps, all I really needed was to drunk dial on mushrooms.

I need to connect with God, ask him what he thinks about the fags in my life - we weren't all Jung at some point, but I was, and it's time to requestion discarding my jouth.
I am homogeneous-phobic.
People don't differ, they only collect in pools of typical differentiation.
I actually want to play a part, but the part seems to be more theoretical than actual. Me and i, we share a role. I am sure ze feels very much alone too.

I don't like boring people. I like people who you always feel should be accompanied by Wagner's accompaniment on angel trumpets and devil trombones.

I want my blood, a X on my black heart. I hurt, and I only loving hurting because it separates me. I want to find a place to call home.