tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31136742009-08-15T21:30:13.185-07:00kill your tvjoshnoreply@blogger.comBlogger404125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-69513851775694270282008-12-15T14:54:00.000-08:002008-12-15T14:59:19.597-08:00I'm waiting for the trainThe subway that only goes one wayThe stupid thing that will come to pull us apartAnd make everybody lateYou spent everything you hadWanted everything to stop that badAnd now I'm a crushed credit card registered to SmithNot the name that you call me withYou turned white like a saintI'm tired of dancing on a pot of gold flake paintOh, we're so very precious, you and IAnd joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-45454287819892657552008-11-30T18:43:00.000-08:002008-11-30T18:49:06.701-08:00Fuck, I forgot how painful it can be. I forgot how fast it can come back and like a black blanket of death, envelope me and suffocate me until there is no resort but grenades and bombs and weapons of heavy warfare that I let free to kill all the death in me. Im sick, always have been. At its worst I cannot think of anything but death. The guilt, like a 1000 kilos of human emotion weighted on me -joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-40083160984437275272008-01-06T10:15:00.000-08:002008-01-06T10:18:27.321-08:00Ahh, the new year, christmas is finally gone, I've had my dose of family. Things feel fresh, green, everything in it's right place. This state has always been the precursor for change in my life and I await it with open arms. Give me change.joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-37153413215867405452007-11-28T19:05:00.000-08:002009-02-23T21:42:37.716-08:00It's been almost 3 years and 5 months since I last posted here. Here was my haven and my hell, like a drug I suppose in a lot of ways.But I've moved so far from that spot, where I was 3 years and 5 months ago. For those who dare venture or remember, they were troubled times chronicled by the manic. Life is better now. I'm happy. I have a scooter. I have a great job. I have a great wife. And I joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1088627765197254412004-06-30T13:31:00.000-07:002004-06-30T13:40:58.086-07:00My opposition to war is not based upon pacifist or non-resistant principles. It may be that the present state of civilization is such that certain internation questions cannot be discussed; it may be that they have to be fought out. We ought not to forget that wars are a purely manufactured evil and are made according to a definite technique. A campaign for war is made upon as definite lines as ajoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1088626937814712252004-06-30T13:21:00.000-07:002004-06-30T13:22:17.816-07:00hi. joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1088130769704501592004-06-24T19:05:00.000-07:002004-06-24T19:35:39.473-07:00I mash my palms against my eyelids, clenched tight. The colors swirl and atoms and molecules and tiny planets are created and I never opened my eyes again.
The bureaucratization of the imaginative mind is the bane of mankind. You stupid fuckers are looking in the wrong direction. Wake up you salty fool. Your exposed wounds are nothing. They do not exist. There is no form, only function that joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1087618008614014252004-06-18T20:59:00.000-07:002004-06-18T21:07:12.956-07:00I finally read some Hemingway. People are always surprised that I never read him in High School but its true. I read The BFG by Roald Dahl in third grade and it changed my life. I love that book. But no, I never read hemingway.
Anyways I read one of his lesser known works, published posthumously, called A Moveable Feast, which is his account of life in Paris during the 1920's. Amazing. Then I joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1087274607169498502004-06-14T21:40:00.000-07:002004-06-14T21:44:44.946-07:00I put a portfolio together for a class. It's not totally done and I don't have the time now to finish it. For at least a couple weeks or so. So I'm posting it now. Here.
joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1086971823216775052004-06-11T09:35:00.000-07:002004-06-11T09:37:03.216-07:00Hold your children and your money tight. Prepare for the attack. Stick your head between your legs. Consider as you do this that you will die now. You’ve never had this feeling before and it feels kind of itchy like death feels like. Your last thought is the most precious thing you have.
You check your pocket like you always do. Slowly reaching your right hand first to your belt line, counting joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1086487297119949852004-06-05T19:01:00.000-07:002004-06-05T19:03:28.343-07:00I want to tell you what the sky has done to me but I won't and I hope you can imagine. I believe that people die because of nostalgia; the thought of their tricycle from kindergarten is like a gun in the mouth. Your first girlfriend is the noose around your neck. You remember the smell of Christmas and you feel the razor across your wrists.
Nostalgia is so pervasive that, in fact, despite thejoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1086287275699913882004-06-03T11:10:00.000-07:002004-06-03T11:27:55.700-07:00I am nearly offended by trite and pretentious bullshit now and it is my cause to avoid producing said bullshit. Therefore, I should never emit a note from my mouth, or even move a part of my body, because every gesture suggest pretense. And, with a full frontal shock and awe assault on all things bullshit, at least as far as is my control, I will avoid any thoughts dealing with this thing or thatjoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1085785012188649802004-05-28T15:49:00.001-07:002004-05-28T16:34:57.346-07:00Everything is here. I wont read it but I will let you as long as you leave me be. This is psycho-babble: The chronicles of my early days in alaska to when I said fuck everything and fuck fuck fuck god damn and stopped writing. I get crazier as I go.
I know there are some good things that I wrote but I also know that a lot of it is shit. The kind that gets stuck in your shoes and wont come off joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1085697327025757862004-05-27T15:33:00.000-07:002004-05-27T15:35:27.026-07:00Remember that time you killed someone? Yea, you did.
You said you were sorry but things happen. You said things didn't feel right. You told me that life is like a shit sandwich, and that you want all the bread you can get. You said that life is like a bowl of cherries but you only got pits. Remember that?
You seemed alright until, well, you know. You said things were starting to get to youjoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-1064339716492761522003-09-23T10:54:00.000-07:002003-09-23T10:55:15.856-07:00hello my name is youjoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-958784592003-06-20T16:45:00.000-07:002003-06-20T16:45:11.470-07:00hijoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-892517292003-02-17T10:27:00.000-08:002003-02-17T10:27:54.633-08:00I think I'm afraid to tell people what I'm thinking. I have no idea why this happens, and I wonder why it is only now that I am realizing this.
I am for the most part expressionless, excuse the fits of laughter and mania that occur in my apartment, my comfort zone. I hate being read, but I read everyone I meet. And yes, I know.
I stare at the ground while walking mostly because I don't want tojoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-891954242003-02-16T10:49:00.000-08:002003-02-16T11:38:43.000-08:00So I wonder why it is only nostalgia that I feel lately. I have been of relatively good spirits as of late, really, but I can't seem to shake this feeling. That melancholy feeling that seeps in when you are looking the other way, yea, that feeling, I haven't had that. I am thankful for that.
But Nostalgia is a strange feeling as well.
nos·tal·gi·a A bittersweet longing for things, persons, orjoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-891501232003-02-15T10:01:00.000-08:002003-02-15T10:01:02.486-08:00I'm spent. I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I'm sleepy. I'm bored. I'm burned out. I'm overtaxed. I'm enervated.
I'm captivated.joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-891204502003-02-14T16:46:00.000-08:002003-02-14T16:46:57.780-08:00It's valentines day.
Happy valentines day.
I got my girlfriend frogger for gameboy.
She likes it.
Oh and I got her an Orchid. It is white,
and exotic.joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-889582912003-02-11T22:01:00.000-08:002003-02-11T22:25:28.000-08:00I woke up screaming the other night. I don't remember the entire story, but just before I woke up their was a being above me. It had no tangible features, it was more of a feeling I had. Like when you close your eyes and imagine a person in front of you. You should try this because it works.
I was in my bed and they were walking around. They had no destination that I could tell. They just joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-888894772003-02-10T19:18:00.000-08:002003-02-10T19:18:24.866-08:00Has anyone else noticed that the music industry is complete and utter shit? And also, have you noticed that every new band is not only redundant and over-produced, but just plain shitty as well? Yes, they are.
I'm holding up in my room with my old Elvis Costello and Talking Heads records, I'll come out when MTV doesn't make me vomit.joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-886842112003-02-06T19:17:00.000-08:002003-02-10T17:54:26.000-08:00Why is it funny when people say bling bling? And why is it only funny when I read it versus hearing it? hm.
Amenjoshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-885129062003-02-03T20:26:00.000-08:002003-02-03T20:29:15.000-08:00This really bothers me. In fact it pisses me off.
link via metafilter.
joshnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3113674.post-883716832003-02-01T01:42:00.000-08:002003-02-01T01:42:50.113-08:00I was at the sleater-kinney show last night with I think every lesbian in Portland. You should have been there. Really.joshnoreply@blogger.com