Conversations Make Me Paranoid

They indeed do make me quite paranoid, almost every single one does. I try to choose my words with the utmost care but ususally end up screwing up anyway. Skill in the spoken sense does not come easily to me. And it is very easy for anything said to be used againist you in the future by anyone. Recording devices are getting smaller and smaller and doctoring techniques are getting more sophisticated. Talking to people in person is completely uncomfortable for me.


I've started recording again. Not anything official yet. (For those of you that don't know, I have a lo-fi music project called the Trudeau Solipsist Union that has created one album and a demo in the past two years). I really want the new album to be underway soon and to get people involved with it's creation. Associates are lazy fuckers. I still want to buy minor electronic drum system or the like. But the recordings so-far are showing new additions to the sound. I probably have most of the lyrics ready to go already. Contact me if you have any interest.

There is also another musical project I have that is in the works. It is a hardcore/post-hardcore band called The Omega Glory. So far there are only one other person besides myself who plans to be involved. Lyrics are already being worked on...Maybe I'll post them sometime. Quite a few were written at my job, so they reflect the boredom and frustration I had at the time.

Born of frustration.

Prayers on Fire

Once there was a night. The air was clear and nothing could be heard.

I wandered to the middle of the street and knelt down upon the asphalt under the streetlight.

The chalk in my hand touched the ground and there I drew a box around where I was kneeling.

That box commanded: "Disappear Here" and I labeled it such.

I know it lied to me.

That night air and streetlight were false prophets.

Oars of Fire

I fully admit to being a bitter, angry, misanthropic, hate-filled, nihilistic jerk at times...Most times.


But at least I am passionate.


And I have been listening to insane amounts of Lungfish recently and lots of other old Dischord stuffs lately.

Nature will whip your ass.

I'm quite cold right now, but I have a sweater on right now. The goosebumps on my arm are now gone but there is still that internal chill running through me. When it gets really bad I start twitching like mad, like the twitches I would have back in my freshman year. The internal chill just sucks the life right out of you and makes the Loneliness even more apparent.

I can hear my puppy banging and jingling upstairs. He is a noisy beast....But that's something entirely different.

Everyone has heard of the recent natural disasters in China and Myanmar (why can't it just stay fucking BURMA). Yeah...Sad and tragic and horrible. Natural disasters bring out one of the worst things of my character.
High body counts intrigue me. I like the body count to measure the range of the disaster, otherwise it just doesn't accurately describe what happened...All these adjectives people throw around "horrible", "catastrophic", et al. don't mean shit if it doesn't have the death count that goes with them. A huge-ass tornado comes and one 1 person dies, that's not a catastrophe...That's just some poor, unlucky bastard. Screw you, newspeople.

I root for the disaster...Always. Learn not to feel for the sob stories and root for the twister. Volcanoes are always the best.


Which brings me to the subject of the people on the news. There are reasons why I get my news online these past few years. I want to punch the newspeople. Their faces bother me, they stare too much, and they mispronounce and misenunciate their words. They look like the love-children of the Children of the Corn and the Stepford Wives. They don't blink like normal people, same with babies and Hilary Clinton. There is this one local newslady with reddish hair who I just want to hit for no good reason...She really freaks me out and her laugh causes me to cringe.

I have a mean case of writer's block going on for the past week or so. I blame my medication, I seriously do. Many times I think it would be better to be completely off and possibly dangerous while being madly creative than safe, stable, and frustrated. There might be more on this another time.

An Open Letter to my Ex (who probably doesn't read this anyway)

Dear________,

I have some good news for you. [I wrote this on a napkin at work and it has a grape soda stain on it]

I believe I have fallen out of love with you. I have come to my senses and realized no good could ever come out of a romantic relationship between the two of us, and that I deserve better [as do you, someone who isn't completely whacked out]. You have shown me this [because you're a poseur with a cold heart].

I hope I have not offended you with my bluntness...Or maybe I do mean to. But with your cold attitude over the past weeks makes it impossible to gauge a reaction anyway. I am not sure if this is how you treat all your friends or just me....I'm pretty sure it's just me [no shit, right?]. Mind you, you were the one who wanted to still be friends and I've being nothing but friendly.

Don't get me wrong, I still care about you [because I happen to be a nice person]. I am just sick of all the bullshit when that comes from putting in more than I will ever get. I wish you the best of luck and hope for future conversations between us [even though you are most likely high anyway and these days only talk about that subject].


I may be a bit bitter, but at least I am no longer delusional. I know when I'm being fucked around with and been mistreated in the past.
As the band Heatmiser once said: "What a monster this kissing disease".

Oatmeal

Yes, the title of this is oatmeal, as is the subject (at least for a while).

I like those Fruit and Cream variety packs of instant oatmeal. They pretty much always come in the same four flavours, no matter which brand you buy: Strawberries and Cream, Peaches and Cream, Blueberries and Cream, and Bananas and Cream. Bananas and Cream is by far the best one...Always. Strawberries and Cream kind of blows.

Here's the issue:
Why the FUCK don't they ever sell the Bananas and Cream in their own box?! I would sure as hell eat an 8-pack box of that. It pisses me off that I can't find it anywhere except for two measly packs in the Variety box. I know it's a goddamn marketing conspiracy...Fuck you, Oatmeal People.

There are some more issues that I will touch upon briefly, but I'm still annoyed over the oatmeal.



Ever see the movie The Last American Virgin? It's an early 80's film that wasn't as big as the others in it's genre, probably because it didn't have a happy ending like John Hughes' movies did...But not everything turns out all nice and dandy like a John Hughes movie. Nice chaps really do finish last. I feel like the main character Gary, probably now more than ever...Heartbroken, lonely, and confused by the end. Unrequited feelings are hellraising bastards.

And the movie Say Anything creates a loathing in me. It was such a lie, such a damn lie. For Keeps bothers me too. I think that was the thing that killed Molly Ringwald.



For a long while I couldn't see the stars at night in my neighbourhood. Trees, clouds, bright streetlamps, and vertigo would always prevent me from seeing them and this went on for a few years. Sometimes I like to shine my laser pointer directly into the sky and wonder where the beam hits.
...Sometimes I like to freak out drunk people downtown with my laser pointer.

I wrote these on a napkin while at work today.

I come here and there's a church in the lobby...Well, the remnants of a church. Some young couple (who obviously run it) and their kids are standing around deciding how to take things down. Why is there a church in the lobby? Why is this the first time I've seen or heard of this. One of the older kids is teasing his little sister. I'm not awake enough to be dealing with this, especially not on a Sunday morning. Velvet Underground is playing in my head.

The guy who runs the nail salon next to us looks like an Asian version of one of those Italian gio-sleazeballs with his open shirt, silver bracelets, and fancy cell phone. He drives a shiny, black Escalade with fancy rims and perpetuates the stereotype that Asians can't drive by running over the curb in his fancy car. It is not even 11:30 AM yet and I've been asked if Iron Man is playing here. I don't want to be here and I certainly don't want to be awake on a Sunday morning.

I'm tired. My back hurts, my stomach hurts, and my head does as well. That stupid Escalade is right dead center in my field of vision. Earlier the nail salon man walked past screeching a tuneless "la la la" and banging on my counter as he passed. Some creepy-looking church-y dude (who looked like a cross between Tom Waits and young Santa Claus) just bought six tickets for Expelled...Ew. Something that has been bothering me thus far: Why do people pay with credit cards for a $7.50 ticket?!

Let's Rationalize Human Sexual Relations!

This is something I've been thinking about for about 4-5 years now:

The Psychology Behind Sex. My peers engage in it and it seems to be a big deal to them, most sexually developed humans seem to engage in it and it seems to be a major aspect of life and conversation. I've read the theories of Fritz Klein and Alfred Kinsey, seen Woody Allen films, read books and diagrams. But as a socially-retarded person, I only understand the science and machanics and not the human factors.

What first put all this in my head? The answer is simple: reading "Flowers For Algernon" while in 4th grade (for recreation). Charlie has sex with Fay, which is merely just fun, educational pleasure. Charlie also "makes love" to Alice, which he describes as being much more than the using of another's body for pleasure.

Honestly, I don't get it. I understand the difference between pure desire/lust and love-desire, but I don't get how it translates it into an activity like sex. An orgasm is an orgasm, right? If the conditions are right, then the results are the same.

I've been going on language cues to divide the act of coitus into three different categories.
1. Fucking: Apathetic, angry, or with slight malice. Ex: I fucked that bitch good.

2. Sex: Apathetic, almost medical, not particularly special. Ex: I don't know, I guess we did have sex last night.

3. Making love: Romantic, passionate, special, involving strong bonds. Ex: (from "Flowers For Algernon") This was the way we loved, until the night became a silent day.

What are your feelings on this?

Infection

A friend of mine asked me in the hallway how I was. In that moment, I really wanted to say, "I want to get drunk and scream Baudelaire poems", but I shrugged instead.

My stomach has been acting up again...It must be the school. The school inspires dread, fear, and hatred within me and all of that proceeds to settle in my stomach. As a result of my return to that environment, my eating habits have decreased because of the pain and nausea. I only go to school for 3.25 hours every other day and 2 of those hours I am an aide, I still come home worn out, lonely, and with the air of stress. Maybe that ulcer they thought I had last school year is finally starting to develop. Damn stomach problems.

That place is full of anti-intellectual brutes who consider mere sex (or "fucking"), drink, and marijuana to be the highlights of life and experience. Such is their nature and they will never surpass that nature of themselves.
[“The more a man cultivates the arts, the less randy he becomes…Only the brute is good at coupling, and copulation is the lyricism of the masses. To copulate is to enter into another—and the artist never emerges from himself”-- Charles Baudelaire]


I often wish the school had a clocktower and I had a sniper rifle.