02.June.2003
go fix my head, create some wealth
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put my neurosis on the shelf
Do you ever have those moments where you're happily cruising along the Compaq keyboard, absorbing various bits of knowledge and information online pertaining to planets, bisected women, the continuous squandering of fossil fuel, et al, while your skimpy headphones are lodged religiously and securely into your ear-canals when it dawns on you sometime during a drunken stupor, you downloaded DMX?
I do not wish to be greeted after the pseudo-punk-infused-folk British rock of Gene with, "I'm tryin' real hard to choke out a rhyme, up in he-ah, up in he-ah!"
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I heard Radiohead's "There There" on the radio, and I hollered out the window at 80 mph onto Northwest Expressway. I then went Night Swimming(tm), and REM accompanied me.
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I have a tendency to become insecure in any kind of relationship when I'm nearing stagnancy; that dawned on me approximately two hours ago. I shift to a point where dependency blooms, and to rectify the situation, I withdraw. I believe it's nothing personal. I can't blame it on Lithium; I blame it entirely on the fact something substantial is missing from aforementioned relationships. I require introspective space, much like I require two jobs, multiple orgasms and red meat.
That being said, come the reasonable morrow, I will apply to at least ten different jobs. My goal is to attain at least two. I have too much time to be destructive; the results are less than stellar. In fact, they're bromidic and equally operose for all involved. My desire is to separate sans frustration, so I may finally build a place for myself without doubt.
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The Beast stated that if this were 1996, I would be a coffee-house misanthrope. It confounds me, for I don't loathe humanity; if I honestly mistrusted all of humanity, I wouldn't hand myself to others. If all of this were the case, I wouldn't leave the house and communicate with strangers. I wouldn't exude compassion toward others. I don't appreciate skewed evaluations from those whose opinions are important to me. I don't appreciate the importance of this particular opinion.
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By the end of this year, my scapulae will be lethal, I will have money, and hopeful prescience tells me my brain chemicals won't adopt the emotional frenzy of a fourteen-year-old girl.
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My brother said, "You're an emotional wreck."
I said, "I'm just recklessly emotional."
I felt under negative pressure. The greatest pressure I wish to experience is the pressure of being crushed sexually beneath the weight of aching hips.
It's really quite simple.
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time & machine