it seems that nowadays that all i ever do when im not in the library studying or writing a paper i am in my room reading and writing. other than to go to class/library or go to eat i dont really leave my room (oh, or to get coffee). but the wierd thing is the lack of content or amount of writing i have done. i stay up late every night and find that i 
have done nothing productive. usually ill search around for hours online and gain nothing from it. i check my gmail and statcounter like every five minutes, expecting my inbox to say atleast 'Inbox (1)' or for there to be atleast one more visitor to my blog. niether of these situations occur very often.

in regards to what i write on; i journal everyday so i atleast get some writing in everyday. then everything else i write on normal 8.5" x 11" computer paper. i have a big stack of paper with poems, beginnings of stories, names of authors, books, movies, or music artists, ideas for poems or something to write about, potential poem titles. i need to get a notebook to write all this in. i think it would be more 'convenient' and easier to keep together. i try not to waste paper so i fit in as much as i can on a single sheet of paper so they are all over the place and sometimes i can't find things that i have written. i think i will get a molskine notebook for this purpose. i will probaly get a couple of the small bendable, pocket-sized ones to carry around with me so that i can write down ideas at all times. i think this is a good idea. another thing about my writing is that i have barely anything typed on my computer. that is why i have not posted very many things i have written. i'm not sure if it's because i am lazy or not, but i think it has a lot to do with the fact that i feel anxious about reading things i have written. when i write i usually have an idea that sparks in my head and goes only so far as a couple lines, then i kind of just let my mind take it where it wants to go from there. a lot of times it turns out bad. so i get nervous about reading it after i have written it and to type it up i feel that it
makes it 'concrete' or 'official.' there is no turning back after that point. i am doomed for eternity for writing something so bad. i realize that i am a bit paranoid and self-rightous, i think, for saying this, but it is just that way. 

i only have one more week of school until the summer. i am exciteed. maybe i'll get an extra hour or two of sleep.

this is something i wrote a couple of weeks ago. the title is from a list of potential poem titles in brandon scott gorrell's poetry book, during my nervous breakdown i want to have a biographer present. 
i really liked this book alot.


i want to take a bath in 13 gallons of warm coffee


i take a filter and hold it underneath the faucet.
it’s brown.
the bathtub is filling with a steaming hot liquid.
it excites me to look at it.
i stare at the quickly filling tub.
it will soon overflow

there are 13 gallons of coffee
lying stagnant, waiting for me to enter its warm, wet environment.
i strip down to nothing but my flesh
i slowly step into the inviting brown murkiness
it is delicious to the touch
it warms every inch of my body as i enter it completely.
i feel the caffeine seeping in to my pours
it still allows me to relax for a short moment.
it does not simulate my nerves too soon.

i lie there for an hour,
soaking in the runoff of the grinded, roasted seeds.
it is only barely, still warm.
i can now feel the caffeine flowing through my veins.
i can no longer lie still.

i stand to find that i look like a brown, leathery ogre.
all i need is my axe and a few bulbous warts.



this is something else i wrote that i sort of liked:


paper of inquisition


academia
strain on the mind
things learned
things lost
i touch the white keys with little grey letters on them
electricity is conducted through my skin
i loose my train of thought
i am exhausted
my fingers are frozen
they are numb
i no can no longer feel them


comments and criticisms are welcome.

exhaustion

exhaustion has reered it's ugly head inside my soul. i have the urge to post something but i sadly cannot concentrate enough to write anything right now so for the sake of posting im typing this for now. i think i will post something more later; maybe a poem or two.

Dream/Submittal/Blah

i was talking to the lovely kendra today. she has got me to thinking. i never considered submitting anything to any online or print mags before but now there is a possibility i might. 
still thinking about it but what's the harm right? i guess. not sure where to start. 
she suggested pineapplewar and no posit for starters. don't know much about either of these places but if anyone has any suggestions that would be great...

i have found stephen daniel lewis' blog today and read some of it. i am attempting to edit 
his crap story he calls continents. just kidding. i like it. thats why i am messing with it. i am also working on various other things. among my school work and editing sdl's story i am in the process of semi-writing two stories that i have no idea the direction, tone, length or any sort of crap that they will involve. one i have like 20 lines for. the other is like 2 pages single spaced, maybe. i don't know, i havn't typed it yet. i think i have become more optimistic about my ability to write

i am listening to casiotone for the painfully alone's toby take a bow. i like this song.

ok so this is one of the dreams that i had a couple days ago, saturday i think. i might post the other one later. not sure yet. it isnt written particularly well written,  i don't think but i like it well enough and it is pretty accurate from what i remember, maybe.



In Clutched Hands

they stood there hunched against the wall
they didn’t move
they only mumbled words of power
i couldn’t understand what they were saying
but it sure didn’t sound like anything i had ever heard before

i never really thought much of them before
they seemed to be a part of the environment
as if they were intertwined with the substance and presence of their surroundings
there were three of them
all looked the same
they looked like, at full stature, they would stand at about seven-foot tall
their bodies were entirely black
a black so dark it seemed to absorb all light around it
although they were lanky and nothing but skin and bone
they exuded power in a different sense than physical
a power that we shouldn’t have messed with

their foreheads and cheeks were sunken in
their eye-sockets seemed to be void of what they were formed to hold
the darkness of their bodies were contrasted
by the small, pale, beige loincloth that loosely hung around each of their waists

in their clutched hands
each of the three held a small golden idol
one was angel-like
one, bed-like
and the third, book-like
they looked as if they were made of sand
and they would crumble at any moment
but still, they held them so tight

before i had never really noticed them
but now i increasingly grown weary and cautious of their presence
they began to speak louder than before
it made me nervous

i spoke to Anya and Luke about them
who’s room the other two occupied
we all agreed that something should be done
we decided to try crushing the fragile figures
that were clutched in their bony fingers
we each chose one
Luke would crush the bed
Anya would crush the book
and i would crush the angel

we stood next to them and held our hands out to crush them

1

2

3

we each pinched the figure between our index finger and thumb
they crumbled to dust
instantly the creature i stood next to stopped mumbling
it jerked its head violently and stared deep into my eyes
it felt like it was stealing a part of me
the next moment everything dissolved into emptiness
and i found myself laying on a walkway of cement next to the road
i was disoriented but managed to stand
next to me was Anya
i fervently searched the surrounding area but saw no sign of Luke
i had no idea what happened or where he was
i didn’t even know where i was

i realized Anya and i were standing on the sidewalk of quaint suburban neighborhood
it looked oddly familiar

it was where i had lived through half of elementary school
through the beginning of high school

i grabbed Anya’s hand
we had to move
i could feel them coming.

On my Toilet

i wrote this tonight while sitting on the toilet seat. it is from my journal.


Sunday April 13, 2008


i am sitting here on the toilet, writing.

poop

i think that being in a different enviornment than normal while writing is good.

my enviornment influences and sometimes sets the tone for my writing.

i feel that if i write in the same spot [my desk] all the time,

that i will produce the same shit over and over again.

i will be like a robot

citing statistics and random facts, that nobody cares about.

and people will get mad and say "that robot is really annoying.

it's just saying the same shit over and over again. let's kill it."

but they don't know how to kill him so they just leave.

they will post a sign that says 'stay away. 

this robot just cites statistics and random facts that nobody cares about.' 

it will be in large, bold, red letters

and will say 'CAUTION'  at the top.

the sign will turn people away

the robot will be left all by himself.

more people will grow agitated and iritated.

but the robot can't stop speaking.

he no longer has control over his actions.

he reluctantly goes on speaking. 

he can only speak statistics and random facts that nobody cares about,

he writes down on a piece of paper. 

it says 'i'm sorry. i can't stop.' 

there is no one there to read it 

because no one will go near him. 

they have now erected a steel chain-link fence 

around him in a 100yd radius.


*I want this book > Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa
i was looking through some past posts of Tao Lin's and in one of them he mentions this book. i want to read it badly.

Hmm

Right now i am feeling rather exhausted. Today i spent 7 hours at the library working on things and i feel like i got next to nothing done. i think i will  be there tomorrow as well.

Being anywhere but my room helps me to think. i feel like being in the same place all the time makes me lazy and kills my brain. 

i have done almost nothing this week. i have so much homework and crap that i don't even have time to read. i have about 6 books sitting on my desk staring at me, waiting for me to pick them up, flip through their pages, and be fully atentive to what they have to say.  

i have about 2 1/2 weeks left of school until i am finally free. Then i will be working for about 3 months straight. Trying to save money.

[my friend that lives down the hall from me just showed me i little bag of cocaine that was lieing on his roomate's desk. i laughed]

i had multiple dreams last night. i only remember two or three i think. i will post them later once i write them down. they were rather interesting.

i think that is all for now.

Been gone

i was gone this past weekend. i went home. i had no access to a computing device so here:

here are a couple of things that are awesome:

1.Coffee [especially hazelnut and caramel iced soy lattes. mmm]
2. books i am reading >> Venus in Furs by leopold von sacher-masoch, Bed and Eeeee Eee Eeee by Tao Lin (also his e-books), In the Cities of Coin and Spice by Catherine Valente.
3. the Silent Years, especially this video here
4. Battlestar Galactica


These are a few things i wrote over the past few days


Thursday April 03, 2008

I went to a free screening of the ruins tonight. I sat byself. There were kids there. It was rated R. Vines killed people. Flowers mimiced voices and cell phones. Everyone died but one. I went to the bathroom after fighting my way on the battlefield. Some guy pulled down his pants and his tighty witeys and went on about the movie. Wow what a great movie eh. The man next to him awkwardly grunted agreement. Man that was scary! he said. This guy is retarded I thought. I'm getting that movie when it comes out on DVD he said. That is definetly a movie I'm going to add to my DVD collection. The man next to him again awkwardly grunted approval. I washed my hands and left. Joined my friends outside and deposited my body in the car for an adventure.

Friday April 04, 2008

I went to a sushi restaraunt with my mom. i got a spyder roll. she got a combo meal. she said "i'm getting married" with a serious look on her face. i said nothing. a few seconds later she began laughing hysterically. i still said nothing. about 10 minutes later i looked at my mom 
and said "i'm moving to new york. Do you wanna come?" I had no intention of moving. She looked 
at me and said "why, so i can do your laundry? no thats ok." i said ok. We finished our meals, 
i my sushi, she her combo thing, then we left.   

Mondays
Today is not monday. It is Friday. One of these days it will not matter.
I write often. I write what I think. I write what I feel. Sometimes i write and I feel sarcastic. I think 'why did I write that? I don't think that way, so why did I write that.' When I write I also think 'this has been written before.' I think 'where did I read this?'
The title of this should be originality because then I could say, 'I have wriiten originality' and it will be true. Right now
it is not. I think when I read I absorb certain aspects of these stories, poems, or what ever the hell it is and I then regurgitate it onto my own page. but then I think 'that looks disgusting. It looks like a bear took a shit all over this
.005 cent piece of paper.'

couldn't sleep

couldn't get to sleep last night so instead of rolling around in bed for 7 hours i decided to get up and write a little. here is a sample of the fruits of my midnight labor.


can’t sleep

slumber comes and goes without warning

it doesn’t stay

when i touch the concrete wall

the roughness hurts my fingers

i imagine falling out of bed and hitting the floor

wondering if anyone would notice that i am there

lying in a puddle of my red hot blood

i am a clone

i was created in a test tube

my exact copy lies in the bed next to mine

we were an experiment

unlike me he has found his forty winks

the hum is intoxicating

the gentle sound of two fans running to keep themselves cool

the lights outside are dim

they barely pierce the darkness through the blinds

i can’t see a thing in the gloom

a mountain of kitties

kendra gave me this idea.

they never stop
meow
meow
meow
all day long they
meow

they roll over each other
climbing
climbing
all in the corner of my dining room
they don’t do anything but pile on top of one another into a mountain
they never tire
they are self sustaining
they need not food or water
only climbing

i will make this an attraction
i will charge $4.71 for people to see it
people will come to see the flowing mountain of kitties
they will come from Uzbekistan
they will ask ‘where do the cats come from?’ in an accent i can barely understand
i will say ‘i don’t know’
they will take more pictures
then they will leave


after everyone has left i cover the mountain with a sheet
i am tired of looking at it
i go to sleep

the next morning i pull off the sheet and look to find that the mountain is gone
where did they go? i question myself

i hear a knock at the door
i open it
the tourists from Uzbekistan are standing at the door
they demand to see the mountain of kitties
i tell them that it is not there anymore

they become angry
i tell them i’m sorry
they do not want to hear it

a small girl from the group runs at me screaming
she is holding a knife
i don’t move
she runs me through with the blade
but i’m not bleeding
not blood anyways

the girl pulls out the knife
i hear meowing
suddenly a cat drops to the floor
i look around wondering where it came from
another cat drops to the floor

suddenly i look down to see that the cats
are coming out of my stomach
i am going to be sick
so that’s where the mountain of kitties went i thought

the tourists pull out their cameras and snap some photos.