i feel it's not that bad

when i realize i have some people i can, and do indeed, talk with forever without ever knowing when to stop.

i must have been a bit crazy not listening to the ramones everyday

i have to record this moment, at this late night or early morning, in this shitty weather, with millions, well actually three, things to accomplish before this very morning, that i just want to smoke kreteks and eat some dollar menus, and then listen to the ramones on the way to a beach or anywhere far from this suburb and yadda yadda yadda.

grey sky grey water

i blame the internet.

my generation has failed to communicate as human beings. we do our roles as friends with occasional posts on their illusive walls. one way broadcasting of twitter, despite what they would argue, seems more appropriate when you have a bucket of acquaintances. then we txt to avoid a need of immediate responses that a good old phone call brings. all together, we stop understanding how human beings really communicate. holding down a good conversation seems to be an impossible reach, at least in this town. awkward moments and sarcastic remarks that i love. i was once told that she couldn't understand anything i said because i was being sarcastic a little too much. we may have forgotten how to interact with strangers - could i no longer just say hi. no, i am not asking you out. dating interwebs encourage short cuts to the art of all that funk. we now feel instantly connected to our friends by just browsing their profiles, behind our radioactive screens. and in all that, we all became tamed, kind, and normalized. stop being so nice and polite. i only feel more of a stranger to you. instead of talking about the deepest secrets with beloved ones, i, for one, spit them out right here. on the internet

snowballs

"America is a clinically insane society; the universities are just agar plates where it all begins."

yes i am bipolar

i dont quite know what i did wrong. but things went astray and this sour taste remains. in fact, nowadays everything seems to be slightestly off. i have lost my mojo eons ago and now i am desperately seeking an excuse for permanent hallucination of better days. i feel like a gerbil on a wheel -- in a dirty cage, home alone.

with you, i cant wait for the summer.

this early spring sprinkle, today's sixty fahrenheit high, accidentally sleeping way into this afternoon, that first friday night on chapel hill, saturday mornings in wilkerson street, another sunday morning phil plainly asks me if i want to drive to charlotte -- this is all a dream we dreamed one afternoon long ago