quintessential

Thinking you can is half the outcome.

You will succeed far greater at what you love to do.

Become an expert at whatever you love to do.

People like you more when you boost their self-esteem and self-confidence.

Positive thoughts and feelings only make you faster and stronger.

Become the best at something you’d be proud of.

Concentrate more on what you have, then what you don’t have.

Do shrooms, at least once.

800

Let me count the holes in your foundation. Let's remove the costume you escaped in. Hold up your legacies, I'll tell you which ones my favorite. Hold up your vernacular innocence. I'll teach you about the perks of patience in seminar format. This tailor made scrutiny ain't suitin' me. And it's getting brisk, brick as fuck. My skin ain't thick enough. I learned to walk with an anchor in my back pocket. I read palms during even the most brief handshakes. Well, I'm wallowing, following my little, lost, princess to the promise land. Hollerin my potent slogan, hell, if Nostradamus can...
conquering these open roads with throttle pin to floor, because I plan to win right after I finish these chores.

I think the greatest harm done the human race has been done by the poets...they keep filling people's heads with delusions about love...writing about it as if it were a symphony orchestra or a flight of angels...

maybe it ain't healthy, but sometimes I'd rather burn than let you help me

I boogie for the raindrops, for the purity, the anger, for my childhood recollections, for the comic book in my heartthe mocked intentions, the clarity, passion, seclusion, for those cool summer nights, for the mark emerging across the street selling me stoges at half price, for the mights, the maybes, the nauseating pitfall, my girl, my friends, for the fact my window opens towards a brick wall, for the three legged dog I saw dragged on a leash, for the homeless man who walks my block in rainstorms with plastic bags on his feet. See, I throw away the tenders over one shoulder, and walk across broken glass through every wicked world to kiss tomorrow's morning ass. Not for nothing but you'll drown in a pool of your crooked morals.

motherfucker, did I sound abstract?

I took this photograph soaking wet, after an 8-ball cataract. He wrote his own eulogy with cocaine hands, heroin arms, novocain undies. I've been at OTB with a stub and a heart murmur, a flask and a fanny pack.
Daddy needs a new Megatron, baby.
A train wreck waiting to happen. Spelled out in refrigerator magnets:
G-R-O-W-N-A-S-S-M-A-N
I don't have grit, it's all teenage poetry.
I'm a martyr without a cause.

I have to remember to pay the corner stand guy the 25 cents I owe him or else I'll never be able to get good coffee again. I like that the bagels are only a dollar, and that he toasts them on the grill, I think it makes them taste better. The coffee is too hot when you get it so you have to take the top off to let it cool but there's always the chance that it will spill which is the worst thing ever. I'm using the most bootleg mexican 1980s notebook its pretty radical. It has nice paper but it's embarassing to use in public. The weird black guy who lives in the house next to mine asked me yesterday whether or not I was sure about becoming a teacher. I told him that I was, of course, but the truth of it is that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

I think Easy Rider is showing tonight at the LES Two Boots, and I want to go but no one is around to go with me, which is kind of frustrating. I would go alone, but I'd like to go drinking afterwards, and that's only fun with Anders.

My father was walking around in circles yesterday talking to himself, saying, "I don't think I can do this anymore..." and then crying. This shit fucking kills me. I have this picture burned into my head of him crying and it just makes me want to fucking die.

don't be so hard on yourself

it's humiliation, and thanks for your admiration. I'm hung up on how it feels to be a ceramic, and now you know. It feels like when I wake up I couldn't be anywhere else but here, and all I want to be is somewhere else. Sometimes, maybe, sleep can cure it. But not for the past few days, I'm just stuck in this place, stuck in this time and this feeling. Chain smoking and whatever. I think I'm growing mold, or maybe I'm getting fat. I could pretend to be dead.

My iching reading today gave me chills. I got 16-Enthusiasm. The reading is as follows:

The Image
Thunder comes resounding out of the earth:
The image of enthusiasm.
Thus the ancient kings made music
In order to honor merit,
And offered it with splendor
To the Supreme Deity,
Inviting their ancestors to be present.

The Lines
Six in the Fifth places means:
Persistently ill, and still does not die.

That's about where I went, what the fuck? It continues...
Here enthusiasm is obstructed. A man is under constant pressure, which prevents him from breathing freely. However, this pressure has its advantage-it prevents him from consuming his powers in empty enthusiasm. Thus constant pressure can actually serve to keep one alive.

well, hmm. I don't know what the fuck it means, but I know that just throwing some stupid pennies can make you think about a lot of shit.

weight

Through the darkness of future pasts,
the Magician longs to see.
One chants out, between two worlds,
fire walk with me.

oh ho ho good one old chum

TEXT: “I’m sorry, sir, but Dostoyevsky is not considered summer reading. I’ll have to ask you to come with me.”

buy me this t-shirt

the langauge is rap
my favorite color is math

voodoo

The feeling of pity in others is very difficult for a man to bear, and it is hardest of all when the pity is deserved. Hatred is a tonic--it quickens life and stimulates revenge; but pity is death to us--it makes our weakness weaker still. It is as if distress simpered ingratiatingly at us; contempt lurks in the tenderness, or tenderness in an affront. In the centenarian, he saw triumphant pity, a wondering pity in the child's eyes, an officious pity in the woman, and in her husband a pity that had an interested motive; but no matter how the sentiment declared itself, death was always its import.

A poet makes a poem of everything; it is tragical or joyful, as things happen to strike his imagination; his lofty soul rejects all half- tones; he always prefers vivid and decided colors. In his soul this compassion produced a terrible poem of mourning and melancholy. When he had wished to live in close contact with nature, he had of course forgotten how freely natural emotions are expressed. He would think himself quite alone under a tree, whilst he struggled with an obstinate coughing fit, a terrible combat from which he never issued victorious without utter exhaustion afterwards...

hoodoo

Arise black vengeance from thy hollow cell. Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne to tyrannous hate. Now by yond marble heaven, in the due reverence of a sacred vow, I here engage my words.

I used to think if I killed somebody I would want to go to the cemetery and apologize. That's not really what guilt is though. Guilt's a feeling you have towards people who are living. It's like everyday you're out there shaking hands, talking. But you, the guilty person, you know that it's all unreal. It's like guilt is this secret inside of you that destroys the fabric of everything, and then everything's unreal. You can't even have a life. But it's not necessary for it to destroy you. You just have to face it.

itchy face

Here's what's going to happen. I'm gonna read this, and you're gonna listen, and you're gonna stay on the line. And you're not gonna interrupt, and you're not gonna speak for any reason. Some of this you know. I'm gonna start at the top of the page. Meticulous, yes. Methodical, educated; they were these things. Nothing extreme. Like anyone, they varied. There were days of mistakes and laziness and in-fighting, and there were days, good days, when by anyone's judgment they would have to be considered clever. No one would say that what they were doing was complicated. It wouldn't even be considered new, except for maybe in the geological sense. They took from their surroundings what was needed and made of it something more.


good great wonderful

jack

BEEP BEEP. The car's already running and I'm running late. I've always wanted to be right on time, writing everyone off. If I dont let them touch me, how will they defeat me? I've carried more than my own troubles, how taxing. Don't mind the minor detail, this one's as big as a whale. Sit back, get comfortable.

I'maseventhsonofaseventhsonbawnwithacauloverbotheyes
andraisedonblackcatboneshighjohntheconquerorandgreasygreens...

You dig me, daddy-o?

There is no touching here. You've got to trust in me, but you were too used to it, you had to come back down. I thought I could keep it better. Together. Forever in debt to each other. And this is what I've learned: fuck the thrill of the chase, race is socially designed to bring you right back down. I thought I could keep it better. Together, forever.

my knuckles have turned to white

We're nothing short of invincible. Thanks, God. I really appreciate your sense of timing. Up against a wall, up against a wall. I've been cutting my hair and washing my face and it still doesn't make any difference. Gravity, levity, brevity. This time I'm nervous because I can't see your hands in front of me. I'm half way there, and it's all on me.

Lately, I feel. Bulimia, I'm frail. Salting the back of a snail. This is worship and this is tribute. Am I crumbling, ripping or failing?

Hey, asshole, you can't roll a blunt with a cuban cigar, they're not made for that shit, if you tried to crack a cuban it would fall apart in your hands. you're not a fucking baller because you smoke cubans either, so go back to that fucking trash dump, staten island, and never open your mouth again.

kickin' abstract

My grandmother went to the hospital this morning, she's not breathing, so they had to put her on a respirator.

My poor mom has to deal with all this shit, because no one else is around to do it. When I came home and she told me, she added, "You can't make this shit up..."

I hope she's ok, she's the only relative who I really appreciate and admire. I want to do the Grand Central Station thing with her, where you go and interview someone in your family and then they give it to you on CD and a copy gets stored in the Library of Congress forever. I want to ask her about being a communist and making art and doing drugs and growing up in the city and speaking Yiddish and how to cook potato pancakes...

Can a rapper be socio-philosophical, and still effect y'all, is it possible?

I cleaned my room yesterday and took a bunch of morphine which consequently made me feel really sick after it made me feel good. Even this morning I felt so fucking awful I felt like I was going to die in class and on the subway. It took 3 cups of coffee and a few cigarettes to make me feel better, I couldn't even do the crossword puzzle. I think I'll stick to pot from now on...

no words

www.myspace.com/weirdal

white and nerdy is the best thing I've ever heard.

THEY SEE ME MOWING, MY FRONT LAWN
I KNOW THEY'RE ALL THINKING I'M JUST TOO WHITE AND NERDY

booah

where I am and where I want to be

I wish I could scream loud enough.
You're a flower.
Wake up, bastard.


Take apart every piece of this machine.
I'll stammer drunk and hollow, to your doorstep.
Don't you dare.
I'm headed to the coast, so I can check out all the beaches.
PS: mom, I love you all the way to Jesus
I cut the ground and cracked the earth, a hole in december is worth the work.
This is how it feels to know, everyone's got something their running out of.

old tunes for old wounds

Looking back into my diary, what makes me say those things? What causes my laughter at anothers disaster? I guess it's the bastard in me. Absence makes the heart grow still. Abuse the hunt; confuse the kill. We just might work out fine because I love you enough to let you give me the pain that I want. Once upon my night stand lied letters piled in columns, postmarked Middle Island, out east in the country of Solemn.

Blessed are the sick. Children shiver in the river. Where is our God now? Does he watch over all in El Segundo? Demons in, demons out. Cry for dawn. Gratis. Bored. I'm the matador of the children's ward. Beggars wed choosers. Red sheets. Bed sheets. Boozers. I'm the head fan. Blessed be my bed pan.

I'm digging a hole. I'll shut out the world. I'll shut out the world. This is what it's like to be alone. This is what it's like to be alone. This is what it's like to be alone. This is what it's like to be alone. This is what it's like to be alone. This is what it's like to be alone.

Why does monday even exist?

Paratheo-Anametamystikhood

Fnord is evaporated herbal tea without the herbs.
Fnord is that funny feeling you get when you reach for the Snickers bar and come back holding a slurpee.
Fnord is the 43 1/3rd state, next to Wyoming.
Fnord is this really, really tall mountain.
Fnord is the reason boxes of condoms carry twelve instead of ten.
Fnord is what you see when you close your eyes
Fnord is the blue stripes in the road that never get painted.
Fnord is place where those socks vanish off to in the laundry.
Fnord is an arcade game like Pacman without the little dots.
Fnord is a little pufflike cloud you see at 5pm.
Fnord is the tool the dentist uses on unruly patients.
Fnord is the blank paper that cassette labels are printed on.
Fnord is where the buses hide at night.
Fnord is the empty pages at the end of the book.
Fnord is the screw that falls from the car for no reason.

"If organized religion is the opium of the masses, then disorganized religion is the marijuana of the lunatic fringe."

Mario Savio: Sproul Hall Steps, December 2, 1964

fuck your shit, this is what it's about.

We have an autocracy which runs this university. It's managed. We asked the following: If President Kerr actually tried to get something more liberal out of the Regents in his telephone conversation, why didn't he make some public statement to that effect? And the answer we received, from a well-meaning liberal, was the following: He said, 'Would you ever imagine the manager of a firm making a statement publicly in opposition to his board of directors?' That's the answer! Well I ask you to consider: if this is a firm, and if the board of regents are the board of directors, and if President Kerr in fact is the manager, then I tell you something — the faculty are a bunch of employees! And we're the raw material! But we're a bunch of raw materials that don't mean to have any process upon us, don't mean to be made into any product, don't mean to end up being bought by some clients of the university, be they the government, be they industry, be they organized labor, be they anyone! We're human beings! There's a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part, you can't even passively take part, and you've got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you've got to make it stop! And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all!

so I just...

listen to Pac's best and try to be not stressed but how can I not stress the fact that I'm not rich, I'm living in poverty plus I'm a minority plus all my priorities are fucked, in this economy rap music is probably not the best career you could choose but here are my views like hearing the news.
that's the reason little kids get hit by strays
because mother fuckers can't act their age
before you learn how to shoot, better learn how to aim
but I shall never hold my tongue, before that I'll roll my blunts and load my guns, give a kiss to my daughter tell my mother I love her and blow the brains out some dirty cops undercover.

I went and sold my childhood at some store near my house. And by childhood I mean my super nintendo that barely works. The guy kept asking me if I was sure it worked and all the games were good, and I just smiled politely and told him everything he wanted to hear. Who knows, the shit might break in an hour. I could give a shit less, those dirty Arabs deserve whatevers coming to them. I won't lose any sleep over it, not a fucking wink.

Things is lookin' up, nah means? I have a meeting with the Dean of Student Services tomorrow, and I lucked out because my classes are safe and sound, they're not getting rid of me that easy. So I'm taking your advice and motivating.

two and a half

fuck it. although I doubt a lot of things, I'm so wrong most of the time it's not even an issue. where's the reasoning? not in my head, for sure. ok. so I'm wrong, I get it, it's my fault and mine only. why is it so hard for me to admit it to myself that someone else is right? the answer might be at the bottom of this bottle. I AM FALLIBLE. I AM NOT PERFECT. I MAKE MISTAKES. I WILL NEVER BE RIGHT ALL THE TIME. I guess it really is up to me.

it's almost friday

when the music meant something to someone

God. Those Scary Stories books always scared the shit out of me. I couldn't sleep for days after reading some of those. Especially the one from above. It's fucking creepy how the girl was totally awake when the spider babies came out of her face. Oh, to be young again.

Well, hell. Yes, hell. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, no?
Drinking on an empty stomach is not advised, I'm gonna go dry heave and listen to Simon & Garfunkel, that song America is so good. So is Bobby Darin, who, amazingly, graduated from Hunter College, just like Vin Diesel. I must have died, and this must be heaven.

Let us be lovers we'll marry our fortunes together
I've got some real estate here in my bag
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner's pies
And we walked off to look for America
Cathy I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh
Michigan seems like a dream to me now
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw
I've gone to look for America
Laughing on the bus playing games with the faces
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy
I said be careful his bowtie is really a camera
Toss me a cigarette I think there's one in the raincoat
We smoked the last one an hour ago
So I looked at the scenary she read her magazine
And the moon rose over an open field
Cathy I'm lost I said though I knew she was sleeping
I'm empty and aching and I don't know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all come to look for America
All come to look for America

DROP

I just want to sleep. I didn't go to class this afternoon and I slept for most of the day, but I'm still tired and I still feel awful. Everything is so terrible, it makes me sick to my stomach. I haven't eaten anything substantial in 2 days; some chips here and there, I had half a croissant this morning and about 200 cups of coffee. I've smoked well over 2 packs of cigarettes, so now I'm out and I'm going nuts. Maybe I'm dying. Maybe these are just the first stages of death.

Denial and isolation: "This is not happening to me."
Anger: "How dare God do this to me."
Bargaining: "Just let me live to see my son graduate."
Depression: "I can't bear to face going through this, putting my family through this."
Acceptance: "I'm ready, I don't want to struggle anymore."

I'm not in a very good place right now. I know you don't care either, I mean he knew my dad was sick, how did he know? Whatever I don't think I really care I'm just trying to pick fights. But theres no compassion, no warmth. I'm just talking out of my ass here, but you probably could care less. You assume it's for attention or that I'm confused or not smart enough to understand. Well, when you don't have any money to eat with, and you run out of cigarettes, drugs, and booze...Shit yeah I'm confused and stupid and attention hungry, no one gives me anything. I am completely cut off from the rest of the world. I avoid everyone I know. I think I'm going to throw up. I feel like this will never go away, that I will be stuck in this filth forever. Why won't something just happen already. I'm in a constant state of departure. I think my bones are falling apart, along with the rest of my body. It's like The Metamorphosis, I'll just hide under the couch with a sheet, with a rotten apple stuck in my back and everytime my sister comes in I'll hide and I'll never speak to my mother or father and eventually I will just die. I guess that's kind of how it is anyhow. No one wants to be around me. No one can do me any favors. I tried to register to vote today and they gave me a whole instruction sheet in spanish. I felt like crying for no particular reason. I lit a cigarette and I thought it was going to crumble in my hand, but it stayed lit until the end. I'm so unhappy.

english muffins

Why is it that the fattest, ugliest, most ghetto fabulous spanish chick has to sit RIGHT in front of me in EVERY class. I mean, seriously, your hair doesn't need to be that large, and no one thinks you're some sassy bitch like Queen Latifah. It makes me want to not go to class, dealing with people like that. And this goddamn AZN goku-looking mother fucker kept kicking my chair and then apologizing. What the fuck are you thinking, honestly? Your spikey mohawk must be seriously fucking your brain up, all that gel can't be healthy.

I don't even have enough money to get to class, what a waste. I'm just so tired. And will you please shut your fucking dog up. Everytime I go to have a cigarette it barks its ass off, and it drives me fucking batshit.

hey now, Moscow

check it...

www.myspace.com/unisonbeattown

listen to soundnetworks, it's pretty hot, honestly. if you can find their other stuff, they've got some dope instrumental shit, like the song Hinterkopf. whatevs, it's Austria.

this house is not a home

Early class, again. It burns me up to know that I'm going to have to do this for the next few months. I really don't want to do it anymore. My pink cloud has faded, as they say. I'm so bored. I really thought I was meant for bigger things. God, is this what my life is going to be like from now on? I feel like a lemming. Maybe I should move somewhere far away, where I don't know anyone. I can change my name and open a bar. That probably wouldn't work either. There's nothing left to do, anyhow. Everybody has done it already, and if not, someone's thinking about doing it.

I can't believe it's been 5 years since 9/11. I saw massive gatherings of cops and firemen all dressed to the nines. I just keep feeling like I'm going to get out of the subway, and someone will be yelling about some bomb or some attack. It's always in the back of my head, even if I don't notice. This place stinks. The coffee is all burnt and all my food is contaminated with mercury, even the water. I'm going to lose my mind if this keeps going the way it's going.

I'm experimenting with wind. I open different windows specific amounts and then smoke and see which way it goes, to try and get the best combination so the smoke goes straight out the window and not further inside. I notice that if I close the main door, the wind is pulled from my room to the adjoining room. If I was to leave that door open the pull would be lessened substantially because there would be a place for the air to go. But because all the windows are open the air simply circulates from room to room to outside back into my room. The fact that my apartment is high up also has something to do with it, because there are less structures prohibiting the air direction and intensity. Funny how things work. If I do this same thing in my stairwell, and open one window, all the smoke goes back into the hallway of my floor, like some immense vacuum. I should take a class on weather patterns or something, maybe. Nah, that would probably be really boring, but there's definitely a reason as to why and how wind moves, or it would not move at all.

AND HEY WILL SHORTZ, MONDAY IS SUPPOSED TO BE EASY, STOP FUCKING AROUND.

something like Dorian Grey

if I had a hammer, I'd build a city on stilts
so my feet would stay dry when God's wine glass tilts
if I had a shovel, I'd dig a hole in the dirt
and I'll be hiding when his drunken stupor lands upon earth

I smoke cigarettes down to filter, smoke the filter down to space
now I'm gonna roll this question tight and smoke that shit up in your face
now if you were to alter masks every time fame circus approaches
do you really think your maker wouldn't notice?

mechanism

I wish I could really say what I mean. I find it so difficult to be articulate. I wish I could just say that I'm just so insignificant. I wish I could prove it. I wish I could show everyone how smart I am. I was raised to believe that I was so unique, and that I had the whole world at my doorstep just waiting to be let in. The people who taught me these things were ideological liars. I am no different from anyone else, and I am certainly not smarter. I am just as lazy and mentally obese as the next man. My brain is no less saturated with garbage.

I wish I could sleep for days and days.

If there is a constant balance between right and wrong, some godly and beautiful scale in the heavens where everything was weighed...Things must work somehow, or things would not work at all. Think of a joint. It burns properly because of the properties of the paper and the substance inside it. They burn at an equal and even pace, resulting in the ability to be able to breathe through the joint. This same basic principle could be applied to mostly anything. Think of molecules. To use another drug metaphor: The difference between cocaine (illegal) and ritalin (legal) is only a few molecules, and with this significant difference our social and personal perceptions change so that we understand, "Illegal is bad, legal is good." If hydrogen didn't weigh the exact amount that it does, our sun would not burn the way it does. If gravity was just a little more or less in our atmosphere, everyday objects that we rely on would not function the same. Without all these little things to add up to one big thing, almost every social convention we take for granted would not work.

We have developed our thoughts and beliefs based on the rules, both physical and emotional, that govern our world. Without these rules there would be no solidity and life would fall apart. Millions upon millions of years went into making what we have today. Without every moment of those years, we would not be able to live the way we have become so accustomed to living.

Every single person is totally individual from one another. There is no connected human consciousness; no invisible bond that binds us all. It is a dangerous fallacy to believe anything else. We move along our paths as they have been defined from generations past. We follow our ancestors blindly, and we rebel because it is human nature to be self-destructive. Every few million years we wipe ourselves out and are reborn in the image of our Creator. Our memories are stored in some vast quantum realm where we will never be invited; our thoughts are lost and we leave no imprint. Pluralism, in all it's glory.

Say as he says, or we shall never go.
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel.

I'm supposed to be a rapper

I just saw The Illusionist, and I didn't really like it. I thought it would be way more interesting, but it seemed rushed and the story was unbearably cliche, I knew exactly what was going to happen in the first 15 minutes. The popcorn was good, and the previews were all of movies I want to see. There's a new Daron Aronofsky movie, The Fountain, with Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz which looks insane, and there's a movie with Justin Kirk called Flannel Pajamas, that could be really good.

There was a really loud and drunk homeless man around the corner from the movie theater laughing and singing, "PLEASSSEEEE GIVE MEEEE MONNNNEEYYYYYY! PLEEEASSEEE PLEASSEE PLEASSEEEEE GIVE ME MOONNNNNNNNEEYYYYY!" It was amazing, and I wish I could sing like that guy; it didn't even sound like English.

The woman who wrote the huge article in The City section of today's NYT is awesome and I hope to be able to write with such eloquence someday. And I wish the Sunday Crossword Puzzle was a little bit easier, because honestly, I can only get about three answers before I'm stumped.

My teachers won't respond to my emails fast enough, so I just keep sending them. If I can piss them off enough to at least send me one saying, "Please stop sending emails." Then I'll know I've gotten through to them.

This wine I'm drinking is really good.

crack in new york '86

Two cannibals are eating a clown.

Cannibal One says: "Does this taste funny to you?"


FAYGO! SINCE 1907!
(they now make energy drinks)

good morning, new york

I woke up this morning to find my parents still in the house, surprising considering they were supposed to leave this morning at like 8. My father just can't get better. He's so disgustingly sick. The color of his skin and the sounds he makes; he can't talk much. It just makes me want to throw up. But I don't know if I really care that much, it's just something about sick people that makes me really queasy.

The poor guy, he's like Ivan Dmitrich Gromov.

I hate picking up my dog's shit. Especially when it's fucking watery and soft. Ugh. No matter what I can't get away from filth. I have dust bunnies on my floor and I vacuum and they just hide and come out when I put the vacuum away. It's nice out today but, of course, the only thing you can smell or see is filth. Phonies and crack heads, business men and mothers.

field research

let's post as much as we can (loser)

I don't think I wanna think about it
How the fall is coming down
The light is leaving and it's hard to breathe
Buried in this pile of leaves
We don't wanna ever change
We don't wanna make mistakes
We don't wanna be the same
I am the finger to my fate
It doesn't know me and it cannot see that far
The nights get so long and cold
With fewer places we can go

AND IN OTHER NEWS!
http://www.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/story/0,22049,20372915-5006003,00.html
FUCKING GROSS!
ONLY IN KUALA LUMPUR, AM I RIGHT?

fuck you, God, it's friday

I'm being followed. I know I am. Everywhere I go I see a flying insect of death, with some huge stinger and a terrifyingly intimidating demeanor. I always think I'm going to be attacked in the face or something. I'm not being paranoid.
(1) On the bus ride home from Ithaca there was a yellow-jacket on the dashboard, I was sitting in the first seat.
(2) Very early this morning, in my room, a wasp was crawling around on my window, and every time I got too close it would fly out a little; telling me, "No funny business, pal."
(3) On the subway, after class. Yes, on the SUBWAY. The New York City subway. Some huge fucker with a stinger an inch long. It just walked across the ceiling of the train and looked at me. I guess bugs gotta take the train too, sometimes.

I saw my art teacher, Carol, from my Junior High School. She looks exactly as I remember her, and I bet you if I had said something she would have remembered me. She used to say, "Five min-ooo-toooes, darlingggs!" at the end of every class. We made things out of clay and drew things we would hang on our refrigerators.

Tell me why your hearts been sick
(Mixed messages)
Tell me why my arteries cease to work
Show me to the sharpest
(The right one to plunge in)
Strike out the fiercest memory
Could someone please be, more of a mother to me
Clean the scum off my face
Help me tidy up my verses
And show me I'm wanted, every night
I'm so sorry...
(You already know that it's true!)
I'm so sorry...
(You already know that it's true!)
I'm so sorry...
(You already know that it's true!)
...For who I am.

Go buy the new Park (Building A Better _______) album, and while you're at the record store pick up the new Matt Pond PA (Several Arrows Later) album too, they're both fucking rad.

too many good pictures

get off my elevator

"Sometimes, yo, I just wanna punch the people who don't live in this building. You know what I mean? They come to visit their friends and they treat me like shit, but this is my building and my elevator."

The wisdom from my doormen never ceases to amaze.

I wish I didn't have class so early, I couldn't even open my eyes for the first 5 minutes of being awake this morning. My mom was nice enough to get me some tea, which is more than I can ask for at such an ungodly hour. I can't even eat this early, I don't even feel hunger. I just get up and do this stupid routine and get on the same fucking train and see the same fucking people in the same fucking places...

I bought McDonalds breakfast and that (plus the thai-stick I'm smoking) is the highlight of my day, and this probably won't change until I go back to Ithaca.

I've managed to impress most of my teachers, but my bullshit is impeccable. I'm still smarter than all these other misanthropic jerks.

My room smells like stale pot and dust.
I'm getting better at the NYT crossword puzzles everyday.
My back hurts from slouching.

I watched Half Nelson last night, and I was pleasantly surprised. Ryan Gosling is an incredible actor and Shareeka Epps was fucking AWESOME. It's a pretty depressing movie with a lot of pretty, albeit cliche, cinematography and dialogue. It sort of reminded me of The Basketball Diaries. Whatevs, I recommend it.

Also: Mr. Lif and Kool Keith are playing tomorrow and sunday at Bowery, I really want to go, but I don't have anyone to go with. See NYT today in the Arts section for a hilarious photo of Kool Keith.

Don't say this
Don't say that
Change your lyrics
Everybody's a critic
And it's getting kind of hectic

The facts are presented neutrally so that the public can make up its own mind.
Men act heroically to defend their country.
People are given what they want.

black jesus

There's this kid who I see all the time in front of the West building. I know him from some other places, but that's irrelevant. He's ridiculous, to say the least. He's always being loud and obnoxious, trying to draw attention to himself. I get it. I've seen this shit before. The kids who sit around him and think he's funny are always the same. I'm not judging him for what he looks like, or what music he likes, or the fact that he's a dirty, little weirdo. Real simple: cool your jets, broseph. It's too much, too often. He's not a bad kid, and he's not stupid either, just crazy.

There were better days before these.

Lovely Marine Biology

If you've ever been on the Wonder Wheel you get it.

MOON

I am in the mountains, lost amongst the trees and wet grass. There is garbage piled upon rocks, I am drawn toward the sound of water. It sounds like television fuzz. It smells like real air.

If it wants to be, it will be, right?

my room is dirty, I go days without tidying up but it doesn't bother me much. I just remember that I have drugs to take and classes to attend and food to eat...I smoke my cigarettes down to their filters and get my hands dirty. I can't stop all of this madness, it's inevitable, I think.

What you believe in expands.

keep all your brain cells warm

you'll never get the point
without knowing the spread
and it's a million to one
that I'm over your head

what did I do to be so [black and] blue

no free cheese in this rat race
with a majority there is, logically, an implied minority

you deserve the best, I just want to be a part of it
I made mistakes and I should've known they would haunt me with a lifetime of ghosts of what could have been
it stings when you're not around
I should've paid more attention
I should've took you out more and made sure I was with you everywhere but I didn't and I'm living with the choice
I want to prove that I'm not just a man, but your man
so to my girlfriend: I apologize for lying
you're my heart and soul
my stop and go

class was boring and I hate teachers who dumb themselves down, because I'm not 3 years old and neither is anybody else in this class so talk to us like we're young adults, not retards. and they're so politically correct, someone said "white people" and the white teacher freaked out and corrected the student with, "caucasian."

I am going __________.

ceci n'est pas ue planete

If moths had eyes, would they be happier?
How do they know they're not dead?
Cavemen hunting for food, but not before they style their hair on their head.
What would last longer in dinosaur times?
A blind man didn't stand a chance, not with all them rocks about;
I'd rather be a blind moth.

I watch the best Broadway musical
every day from the best seat in the
house and I am the author and the critic and the
audience and sometimes I'm on stage
too.

Tiger got to hunt.
Bird go to fly.
Man got to sit and wonder, "why, why, why?"
Tiger got to sleep.
Bird got to land.
Man got to tell himself he understands.

What's it matter if the truth is that their favoring breeze has the stink of nickel whiskey on it's breath, and their sea is a growler of lager and ale, and their ships are long since looted and scuttled and sunk on the bottom? To hell with the truth! As the history of the world proves, the truth has no bearing on anything. It's irrelevant and immaterial, as the lawyers say. The lie of a pipe dream is what gives life to the whole misbegotten mad lot of us, drunk or sober.

greetings from the gorges

I dwell in shining Ithaca. There is a mountain there,
high Neriton, covered in forests. Many islands
lie around it, very close to each other,
Doulichion, Same, and wooded Zacynthos--
but low-lying Ithaca is farthest out to sea,
towards the sunset, and the others are apart, towards the dawn and sun.
It is rough, but it raises good men.



Far Above the busy humming
Of the bustling town;
Reared against the arch of Heaven,
Looks she proudly down.



I was walking along a path with two friends—the sun was setting—suddenly the sky turned blood red—I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence—there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city—my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety—and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature.

Chicken Noodle Soup

this MUST be a joke.