uh.

Where did my profile go?

Can I Write a Check?

I love Yao Ming. He caught a halfcourt pass, crossed over a guy behind his back,
dribbled down court, and one-handed the ball. My life is complete-- for tonight.

Fuck Calculus

Tonight I will sleep with the clouds.

Sudafed is a boy's best friend.

Exuse me while I fall twenty million miles into your arms.

Check me out ma, I can dance just like that boy.

Cheez-its blow Cheese nips out of the water--with a double shafted bazooka (what?!).

I've proposed a petition to allow for the walls of this building to be removed.

Allow me to introduce myself as someone you'd like to meet.

My goal is to buy the Bloc Party CD before you.

Stop touching yourself. Really stop.

Exhaust me

Being tired gives you an exuse to drool, act like a buffoon, and strip down to your underwear
on these blue, blue sheets. My head tilts to the right when I sleep, by the way.

I lost my beanie today, or more like a part of me just died and flew away.

I think I swallowed a bug as well, which could have crawled into my macchiato.

Must...sleep...impartial...to...bright....light....must...dance....to...

bloc

....party
...eyes

....dialating


....weird.

whoa.

Okay.

I apoligize. Emotions seem to be running high this weekend. Pumped through my veins and triggering sense after sense, a break is needed from this seemingly neverending crash-of-a-ride. I crave for any sort of addiction. Let me have your addiction, let me breathe in deeply and allow me to roll my eyes into my head. Deep into my sockets-- just let me. Give me a bottle, stick me with a needle, pop in your porno, or just let me write for awhile.

Snap

I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not going to sit here and write a bullshit ridden page full of lighthearted activities and all that other charades shit. When I hang up I can't help it. I really just can't take it for much longer. Let me whine, because it's my turn. Ignore me because this is really for you to glance over and for me to pretend that you really care.

Just another Friday Night

I want to scream.

But my lips are glued together. My lungs are holding in-- but I don't know how much longer.

I want to destroy.

But my hands are drawn in string. My arms are belted to weights welded with whatever shit comes out of your mouth.

I want to cry.

But my eyes are dry from the salt that you left on my brow. The water is sucked out from underneath my fingernails and slipping through slices in my skin.

I want to hate.

But I'm held back by what may come to be whatever this bullshit may feed me in my sleep. And I can't sleep too long for not to awaken what other nightmares seem to creep these halls at night.

Sing it to me. Let me scream it in your ear. Let me bite and bite and bite my lower lip till it falls off and I give you this constantly flipped grin-- the grin I meant to give to you in the first place. Because you can't help me, only this addiction can. Let me indulge in what senses are left and which portions of my brain still believe in what my soul may be like. Fight these urges to run back, but slow me down because I can't lose to your demands--demanding me to demand these demands that throw these demons around these crooked corners because you can't help me. Let me slip into a chair made of arms; let the arms draw me closer as I breathe so that every breath gets harder. Let it be cold because I want to pretend to breathe smoke.

Welcome home.

chick rock

I seem to be very into bands with girl lead singers lately. Eisley seems to be my band for the week.

Goodnight, I'll be in Sugar Land tommorow.

Dinner consisted of a bag of chips and apple juice

What defines you? You, me, whomever.

Is it your smile? Is it that look of gliss? Maybe it heightens one's sense of attraction--enhances another's perception of their attraction to you. But what more can a smile say than the dental insurance he or she is paying, or what teeth you still have clicking in your mouth.

Or is it scientific? Like the fact that you are nothing more than a mass composite of wavelengths. Your face is reflected light. Your foot is reflected light. Your crack is a dark contrast to the amount of wavelengths shining off your tan pastry ass. Even when you say "Hello," all you are doing is vibrating pitches and tones off of your voicebox, over your slippery tounge.

Coffee break.

What defines you--to me-- is your laugh. To me, it's what allows me to know if you're genuine-- if you would stand me for five more minutes than would you have to. It lets me know that you appreciate me, and you would laugh with me when everyone else was frowning. Not just in private, but on the beach, the moon, and wherever else a chuckle could escape.

It lets me know that you're real. It lets me know whether my definition of you is savvy, lackadasical, smart, and cute. Or just the opposite.

It lets me know that you'd laugh with me, if I laughed with you.

So my question is: what defines me from you?

Maybe.

Being lonely like this shouldn't be healthy.
Is this a cry out for help ?
Maybe.

Listen to my nonsense.

Sometimes I need to let go. Sometimes I need to hold on tighter.
Sometimes I forget to look foward. Sometimes I forget to breathe.

I know some of you are out there. I know you keep your secrets. I know you think its silly. I know you read this.

But I breathe for your attention, I am Grade A selfish. Selfish for your last bit of time, your last glance and your last word. I'll let you have the last word.

But only because you need to see me as perfect, because that is what I am not. But I promise you'll see it tommorow.

But you're not here.

You're far away.

You're right next to me.

But you're allergic to me.

I'm wasting my time, but only for your approval. I'm wishing for that one moment, but you made it happen yesterday. Moments are lost in the traffic.

I know you have no idea what I'm talking about.

But you know that I'm talking directly to you.

The blond, the brunette, the thick, the thin, the friend, or the foe. Everyone except for you.

If you've read down to here, I've finally gotten your attention.

P.S. By the way, don't by vain. This isn't only for you.

Dig Deep.

1/22/04

Invisble,
I crawl through this dream.
Only touch is my guide because my eyes are like animation.

Silent,
I slide through this hole and out the other ear.
Only I am deaf and your thoughts are like black and white movies.

Surreal but dead quiet.

Today's Headlines

Step inside.

It was 177x10^6 degrees in Metro. 

My brother is such a pimp and a half. 

J-Dash fights cookie to protect offspring. 

Cookie. 

Your presence is enough to shock me. 

The traffic yields to our aura. 

Emo Di is all the rave nowadays. 

Pi = awesome^2

-A single negative integer can cause massive chaos and rip a tri-fold amount of holes in the area of your brain that allows you to give a shit.

-I really hope one day that my double integral solving skills will give me the key to a more successful life.

-One day I will calculate how long it takes for you to trip and fall. Not to mention the particular velocity and the exact parabolic dimensions you took during your quick downward flight.

-In some time ahead of today I will create a way to eat Pi. A never ending supply of numbers racing through the back of my skull. Topped with whipped cream but no nuts.

-In the year 3010 I will kung fu chop a building at the exact points of impact where the force will allow for a total collapse.

-One day I will stop writing numbers and live a life without sense.

By the way Beth, Taco Shack man is back, but his taco bowls were confiscated at customs.

Welcome back to this ______.

So I've caught up.

I'm living the dorm life again. No shirt. Lack of socks. Athletic shorts a must. Enter a dirty little ditty and you've got yourself a softcore. Swallow that for a welcome back message.

Break was a barrage of idle fun, hispanic-town adventures, and four on four foosball action. It was also a reality check of sorts. A look back at what was once a part of my life, but now is behind me. Thinking of the days in my high school halls is a bit nostalgic and gagging. A quick five minute stroll through the cafeteria (last Thursday, sorry I missed you) gave me that feeling you get before your turn on the roller coaster-- a bit fearful, a bit excited, a bit tempted, but always queasy. So kill me, I loved the last two years of high school. But would I do it all over again? No.

I appreciated you Mr. Clements, we played a good game of catch--now leave me the hell alone.

The break also let me step back from this blog. But now I'm back.

So hi.
So ho.
So he.
So long.


P.S. Are you really reading this? Anybody?

Break my foot in your mouth

It's almost all over.

I left metro and my Iced Cafe Mocha for two good reasons:

a) This humidity compiling inside the place was getting unbearable.

b) the grease from slices and ices made me want to take a big shit

This will be the last time anything will be posted for a week. Spring Break is a well awaited rest for me. During these next nine days, this site is dead to me.

I find myself constantly describing everything that happens around me. While walking back, I had a sort of soundtrack tune in the back of my head and a voice describing the silent footrace that was occuring unknowingly between myself and the female next to me. Like some weird Austin Geographic documentary. It cracks me up, on the inside at least.

At slices and ices the manager said to me, "You look like you need a good night's rest." Do I really look that bad? Have I been slowly wasting away? When you look at yourself everyday, you don't really get a chance to see how you have changed, in appearance I mean. Each week I find that my belt buckle can reach another hole. That should be a bad sign. I'm going to go work out and then study and then shower and then study and then sleep and then wake up and then destroy my test and then leave and then rest.

See you in a week digital friend.

Dinner consisted of a cheeseburger.

I felt lightheaded.

Instead of walking on the sidewalk, I stepped through the gravel. I looked at the ground while walking away, oblivious to what was in front of me. Sounds took a linear path through the right ear and out the left.

Can you OD on caffeine?

That red bull made my head feel ten times larger. My brain felt saturated with B-12 vitamins, doses of guarine ,and, of course, many milligrams of caffeine. It was my nerves that were screaming at me, but their voices were muffled-- they were drowning. During the test that was 5 minutes behind me, I could remember that Tryposonoma sp. caused African Sleeping Sickness, that it was a parasitic Kinetoplastid, a member of the Euglenozoan clade. Yet, my brain let out a big, fat fart when it came to the simplest question-- the mercy question, the one you're supposed to get.

I sit in my room and I watch a sitcom. I smile. It's now 1 hour and 45 minutes behind me, back there with the caffeine high, the cheeseburger with ketchup and mayonnaise, and the African Sleeping Sickness.

I'm almost home with you.

Caffeine+Journey+You=Adventure

Take a step.

Take this moment to think real hard. 

Caffeine and up top. 

Stare for awhile 

Tonight is a blur 

Tonight is a dream. 

You make me fall apart 

Give me a...

Rope.

I need a rope so I can pull towards the end of this [hideous!] week.

I won't bore you with details of these shot [hideous!] nerves.

Or how about the extrapolated number of [hideous!] hours--divided into minutes--divided into seconds--divided into nano-seconds-- I spend looking at mindless words in books that have minds of their [hideous!] own?

Oh blah, blah, blah-- I feel like riding a bike in my neighborhood. Just like good old times.

By the way, radiohead makes you smarter.

Last Night

I remembered a dream. Only a bit--few seconds to be exactly exact.

You were in it.

But I didn't tell you.

REM cycles are too weird to think about.

2

I have a deep, dark secret.

But I won't tell you.


Because you won't tell me yours.

Itinerary

-My brain has expired

-I missed the winning shot

-My eyes deflated

-You pretended to really smile

-I missed your call

-I slept outside

-I dodged the bullet

-I wrote your autobiography

-I stole your last dollar

-You punched me in the face

What else is new?

Half and Half

You keep me up.

(I went to two parties)

It amazes me that you can be as polarized as you are.
Two sides of the story: One anti-climactic, overtly pompous room, where the smell of rank sweat and half smoked cheap cigars fill the smuggy air; another, lackadasial, hipped out, danced out, past-tipsy, like an addictively redundant laughable catch phrase, where everyone seems to know your name past the second red cup.

I attended both. One had the usual friendly's, and a hand-picked bunch of attractive features, although the couchs were occupied with those who already knew each other enough to lay shoulder to shoulder. The other was a hodge-podge of late night crashers, with the thirst for a keg and the disappointment of warm beer; a pespirating lake of strangers who connected themselves with the red cup in their hand. At least they had comfy couches. But the music sucked-- kissed the ground of your high school bathroom floor kind of sucked.

A dichotomous night, a dichotomous brain, this pair of dichotomous eyelids.

Just this dichotomous feeling.

Lacking. Caring. Off.

I don't wake up with songs in my head anymore.

I really don't.

I've never been able to remember my dreams. When I moved to Texas, for some reason they decided to stay in California--maybe the weather was better. I don't have recollection of what went on in my dreams, but I could always tell the mood of those late night escapades-- I would wake up with a tune in my head. Whether feathery and light or damp and recluse, I always knew the tempo; I always knew how it blended together. It's like the soundtrack to a movie, take away the sound to Alien and you're left with a run down, fantasy 80's rave with DJ Weaver as your host. But lately, they've been gone.

Maybe I don't dream anymore. Maybe this lack of sleep is causing my brain to hide away, letting my spinal cord have a go.

Straight nerves, imagine that.

Maybe my head is dark, vacant, not there when my body shuts off. Maybe I'm just on recharge.

I've just realized that I haven't used the word drowsy in years.

But drowsy is an understatement.

I'm exhausted. I'm drained. If you find grammatical errors in this post-- I apologize in advance, or in pretense, or....whatever.

This is my nervous system writing by the way. My brain died a few hours ago.

Clarity.

Just to clarify for anybody who didn't really get the 2/28 post, here you go:

Your memories are only based on what deals a greater stress onto you than you body usually encounters. There is both good stress(i.e. weddings) and bad stress(i.e.whatever sucks), depending on the particular situation. Therefore, really only the bad memories and the good memories are imprinted in your brain. I guess another term for memories is moments, if that helps. Between your good and bad moments, there are stretches of time where nothing really happens-- your in-betweens. If you try to think back, your memories are almost completely void of these stress lacking moments-- not to say you won't remember any of these times, i.e. sitting, being bored with your buds. But the claim is that your life as you perceive it is through your good and bad moments, and if you could remember everything else other than those, what would it be like?

Would your head explode?

Hope that helps.

There you go *cough Di* everybody.

Feeling this.

It's that cold morning toliet seat feeling.

It's that feeling you get when you know you should've brought your jacket.
It's that feeling you get when you drop your ring down the drain.
It's that feeling you get when you just forgot the most important part of your speech.
It's that feeling you get when you close your eyes and it's 3 hours later.

It's that paper cut between your fingers feeling.

It's that feeling you get when they run out of it just before you get there.
It's that feeling you get when you know everyone is noticing.
It's that feeling you get when you scratch the surface of your birthday watch.
It's that feeling you get when your favorite CD starts to skip over and over again.

It's that bathroom floor of the pool feeling.

It's that feeling you get when you're in a public restroom and you suddenly realize that there is no toliet paper in the stall.
It's that feeling you get when your intestines start to cry out in the middle of the most important test of your life.
It's that feeling you get when you miss the keyhole of your car door and you jab your paintjob instead.
It's that feeling you get when you know that the relationship is over.

It's that feeling you get when you know you should be asleep but you can't because you have to write this down.

Calculus can blow me. You've taken my sleep.