Today has been good. I spent time with a close friend. We sat at a local internet cafe drinking coffee while I read about problems that seem a million miles away, so far away that the aftershock of the bomb's explosions don't quite reach me. I drove through the streets, smoking cigarette after cigarette, without a worry or a care, I was just there. Observing things as I drove by, without obligatory interaction, just taking it all in. It's nice to just be sometimes, and knowing that that is perfectly fine.

Lately it seems I have been spread thin, strung out on melancholic thoughts and invading memories. But today was good. In fact it's been good since last night, when my friend and I went out to dinner with my sister, aftwards retreating to driving, smoking, driving, and eventually ending up at the theater, where we saw Ocean's eleven. A decent and attention engulfing film.

Things are good.

My god I have been loathing today. I woke up to a barrage of christmas music coming from the living room room, where my mom was playing with my sisters kid in-between runs to the kitchen to check up on her sweet creations. I drank my daily dose of coffee and immediately went to work packing my belongings in to boxes.

Life seems so fragile when you can pile it all in to boxes. Particularly when the contents of the boxes are all that you can take with you.

I found all kinds of things I had forgotten about. Many wonderful notes from my ex-girlfriend, old empty bags that at one time had held copius amounts of marijuana, old keep-sakes that I had forgotten about. And it all felt like I was being stung by a giant bee, and it hurt badly. Its over. Everything I have known up till now will only be a memory, put in to boxes, just like my possessions, to be placed on a shelf and looked at occasionally. But I can’t touch them.

I can be such an inverted drama-queen some times. To stop the flow of constant recurring memories, I took moments of recess. I even resulted to watching daytime television, which is the most horrible thing EVER created. If I ever turn in to the guy who watches tv all day, somebody please kill me. But, for the most part I played my guitar and did a little net surfing. Everything is going so fast. I don’t even have enough time left to see all of my friends, which means I will probably never see them again. I just want to run in to the wall and punch myself in the face, while listening to horrible eightees music. That is the only other thing that could make me feel the way that I do right now.

sigh. This is just a bad day. I’ll be better tomorrow.

my pretentious thoughts for the day
The strange and surreal aquaintence of a lost pre-paid friendship. The complexity and complacency surrounded the room. Shadows attempt to break the bonds of friends and lost empires surrounded in gold and saphire. Empty thoughts drain in to the sewer where they can be forgotten, whisped away in to the sea of lost dreams. The month is october, and it's cold outside. The sky was black when I stepped out to the hard concrete sidewalk. Walking directly on the line, patches of grass desperately trying to break through the seams of the cement, put there to gag and mute the bothersome weeds. Sidewalks are frozen, I stair at the ground while walking, opening them only at the sound of an on-coming car, to watch the frozen and buried souls of the passengers driving to the funeral.

I never knew how much my surroundings were hindering my creative and expressive freedom. When I was in the city I was full of words and sonnets, I couldn’t escape them actually, at one point I almost bought a pen and paper to write them down, but decided against it due to time constraints. Now that I am back here, it seems like words escape me and I have to dig deep for any morsal of creativity. I try to remember what it felt like in the city, to bring back some of that energy that had filled me with a tidal wave of words, but to no avail. I remember the feelings, but only as a memory, nothing solid to grasp on to and feed from.

Here I go again. Relishing the past without looking toward the future, even though my future begins in eight days now. Oh well. I suppose one time can’t hurt.

One winter when I was a kid we had a lot of snow, in fact its accumilated amount had a height that surpassed my shortlived, short body. My step-father, at the time, had dug a series of walkways throughout our front yard, which was a little over an acre. He had also built a ridiculous, yet fun provoking sledding hill that started at the top of the railing on our front porch and ended up at the ground. We would get on our inner-tubes and fly down that hill, it took a mere 3.1 seconds but it was worth it. Its amazing the things you remember, things that at the time were nothing of significance, or so it seemed. Its the little things that I remember the most. Like when my mom would bring home a pizza and a case of big red soda, even though she was desperate for cash and couldn’t afford it. Or when my mom would put a little note in my lunch bag so that I would open my lunch and be incredibly emberrassed by my peers. Or that short drive to the bus stop, where everyone was silent yet there was a connection that could not be explained.

I don’t know. I am sure there are a million memories waiting to come true. Its just nice to look back at old ones occasionally.

I love the city. Especially at night. Travelling the freeway above the city, looking at the giant buildings and monoliths that protrude from the ground like a quiet display of mans civil and advanced society. Cars run through the city like blood through throbbing veins, bringing energy and excitement and culture.

The city is beautiful and I can’t wait until I get there. The apartment I found is about ten minutes from downtown, just a short bus ride to the center of everything. I am really excited about it. Coming from an incompetent town in decay, moving to the city where life is everywhere will be a great thing. I was amazed at the energy I feel in the city, its everywhere. I can feel the life and culture running through me like water running through a filter, and I absorbed it all.

I went to a theater in the city to see vanilla sky, a surprisingly good movie with an amazing soundtrack. Behind me in line were a guy and his girlfriend. They were about my age. And for the first time, even though I wasn’t a part of there thriving diad, I felt like I belonged somewhere. I listened in, not because I was intruding, but because I was genuinly interested in what the people-my-age were interested in. There conversation switched from topic to topic, peaking on subjects of interest in the counterculture. For the first time in my life, coming from a town which sways with the latest trends, I heard people discussing interests of mine, mainly Radiohead. I don’t know if you know, but Radiohead has quietly and swiftly become my anthem. Every song and every note seems to run through me, circling my mind, collecting all of my thoughts and spitting them back out in a beautiful and symmetrical masterpiece made for me.

I picked up a couple of books, arthur nersesian’s “the fuck-up,” is a wonderful piece of literature. I have never read a book so fast in my life, I started it yesterday and I am on track to finish it before tonight. I just can’t put it down, he writes so honest and brutal and beautiful that it strikes a chord with me. I only hope that one day I can write like that. I very highly recommend that book. So, go get it now.

When I got off the airplane last night, I started my ‘89 ford bronco and headed for home, a three hour drive. It was two in the morning when I stopped at the gas station to pick up some essentials, caffeine, nicotine, and a corn dog. These three combined have the power keep me awake for days, if nothing else because they make me feel like I will die if I fall asleep. I headed in the direction that I thought was home, which turned out to be the complete opposite. So, after some detouring I managed to head in the right direction, only adding 45 minutes to my three hour trip. I had my friends along for the ride, belle and sebastian and the velvet underground. It was great. The sky was black, tiny white beads hung high in the sky, like a reflection of each persons soul. Some brighter then others, some in constellations with others, some alone. I wonder which one is mine. I guess I can just pick one and call it my own.

There is something beautiful about airports. The way everyone is intermixed, without the cliques and clichés that plague other places of meeting. I love to sit and watch people, you see every kind of person at airports. Big, small, brown, white, gay, strait, everyone has to go to the airport at some time or another. Its nice, because differences are set aside, bias is overlooked, and I think, for the most part, prejudice's are withheld, creating an environment where everyone can coexist.

On the airplane, one row ahead, across the aisle, a woman with brown hair was reading a book entitled, "The Pleasers : women who can't Say no-and the men who control them. Sitting in the seat to the right of me was a man, his wife adjacent to him. He was reading a Tom Clancy novel, slowly getting drunk, kissing his forty-something wife intermittently. A genuinly happy, married couple. Directly across the aisle from me was a woman in her mid twenties, short brown hair neatly perfected to portray the latest mussed trend. She was anxious or nervous for some reason, she tried to sleep on several occasions, only to toss and turn. She often leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her knees jumping up and down like a coke fiend at her peek.

And it was beautiful, because these people would never be associated with each other in there normal everyday lives. The sad thing is, I think they went about there trip oblivious to it all. Maybe I am the only one who notices these things.

but anyways, I am back. I will right more about the trip later. I just had to get this out of my head before It slipped away like 95 percent of the thoughts that enter and exit my mind without getting a chance at documentation.