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notes to self... violence   
12:34am 11/02/2006
 
mood: drunk
is what lives in actions from thought.

what is thought, but sensual experience resolved to memory, recalled? nothing. every thought is something you've already experienced. every feeling is as fake as a duplicate. every feeling you've ever had. if someone dies, and you don't know how to feel, it's because you haven't felt it before. the pain is an inability of your thoughts to coalesce into any recognizably comfortable summation of feelings.

are you thinking about violence? you've felt it. it's the answer. it's so simple. need for retribution by its apparently sensed success in the past. revenge. fuck you.

you know better. your rational mind, which has sensed that better can come, that little good can come from such bad, and that ignorance is no excuse for not doing well. fuck you.

life can be better. you're not living it. you're running from it. you're not doing what you need to do. you feel guilty about it. you've felt guilty before. not a good feeling? not a good thought? fucking stop it.

get with life. get with who you are. be who you are. the apparent success of the latest fashion, or some apparent success of someone close to you with some irrational method... it's all bullshit. you know better. you sensed success. you, much moreso, have sensed this.

learn to live. this is now. it's halftime. how have you played your first half?

if you're not, to yourself, saying 'fuck you'.... then you've played well. but you are.

just in case, fuck you.

live.
 
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harmony   
12:28am 21/11/2005
 
mood: contemplative
so I'm searching for something that relates to depth in poetry and music. the internet. i can't find a god damn thing. everything is so non-reflective.

life can infect you with misery, it can be less than you could see,

i'll try to make this perfectly clear, i'm so reflexive, i'm like a mirror,

time is lost and auric, surrounding what's all. we are like tears in the rain...

lives lost in time.

some sound echoes, that makes you feel so lost and sad. never heard exactly so before. maybe... but nothing but it, if this before.

take me to biloxi. when taking in my surroundings, nineteen hours is too long.

wider beaten paths will make me feel at home.

but I am calm. harmony is acceptance.

I am.
 
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so we all must know   
11:08pm 01/11/2005
 
mood: angry
justice is a lie

a fucking lie. no child should be put in prison.
no one who is 18 wasn't before 16. and 12. and 4. no one who is 18 is anything but a 18 year old child. by induction, no one is anything but an X year old child.

fuck you, american justice system.

fuck prison. there's a reason people are there. it's because people like you run a fucking joke of a system which places people there. there's a reason people do 'wrong' they didn't see it as wrong. something was more important.

we have to fix it. we have to stop punishing people. for anything. imprisonment, violence, or any kind of punishment is simple misunderstanding. the law doesn't 'see it' the way someone else does. Fuck you, law. Fuck you, piece of fucking shit american cock-faced justice system.

fuck you.
I fucking hate you.
die of gonorrhea and rot in living hell.
 
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met on the second   
08:39pm 01/11/2005
 
mood: awake
wed on the third

and she's dead on the fourth
i'm dead wrong


absurdity is threadbare.
avarice. republicans.
 
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I guess the white sox...   
12:28am 27/10/2005
 
mood: tired
won the world series. I don't care about baseball. not major league baseball. I used to play baseball, and it's a fine, fun game. fuck the corporate ownership of a sport though.

I think i'm going to stop caring about anything. not worrying.

i'm still going to do the work that I need to do to make grades and money and people mad, but I'm not going to worry about what goes wrong. ever. what could be the point? nothing.

stop worrying about shit.
you're going to die anyway.

this is a damn good beatles remake. Wal-Mart is full of shit.

sometimes I become reflective of myself. i'm not so well talented with writing as to be able to explain what I mean. you might know anyway. dreams of grandeur are all I have.

life is nothing.

and I'm sick of people being nobody. if your un-logo'd non-descript clothes, look, and outward personality don't identify you, then who the fuck are you?

grow a god damn beard. and I don't mean facial hair.

join a band or make some ridiculous mark on something. be whatever you imagine.
be like someone you want to be like, but better. and as different as you like.

being "fake"? who cares. if you're watching "Laguna Beach" and liking it, that's fake.

starting a death metal band and screaming your lungs out might not be so fake. it's been done before. but instead of watching something, you're doing something.

I laugh at the non-memorable not-fun not-exciting, not-edgy, not-real times all of those guys on that lame show have. I sort of feel sorry for them. they're fucking teenage girls, have no real hobbies or interests, have no fucking testosterone, and have no sense of earning anything. and the girls are whores. OH WAIT... any girl can be a whore. I almost hate them for having the money and time that they seem to have free to do anything they wish. And then they do the most ass-ridden bullshit I've ever seen. whatever the school or families have set up for them. wow, they're really breaking out of their molds there.

wake up and do something different. or do something at all. exercise. go somewhere, get to know someone you don't know. do something you didn't know you didn't want to do. who the fuck cares? I hope you care enough not to like Laguna fucking Beach. what a joke.

whatever.
25% of the world's human population has round or ring-type worm parasites, badly. do you? think about it.
 
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i watched you change   
11:42pm 12/10/2005
 
mood: drunk
to a fly, and when I walk away and look back, the world is on fire

where have I gone, and why am I here?
things didn't turn out like I thought. I am not who I thought..

drowning in vodka now. what matters? do we live to make life?

what am I doing? I cannot fulfill tasks, the likes of which I consider akin to child's play.

wasting space and catalyzing carbon dioxide(g)'s prevalence. as I walk alone,
I see others doing just the same. some are walking, and others are in the car. they're all alone. all fucking alone. every street is empty, with people traveling alone. empty. the light of the sun on my face is my only brightening.

no. that's lightning. the rain seems to drown the silent cries of everyone I see. but it has been raining for days. for years. life is love. what do I love?

a girl, some friends, all people... what is love? I wake up here, writing. love isn't real. it's something that we do. biological destiny. hate is too, but love certainly is. why do we do it?

reproductive hormonal instinctive actions guide my life. they guide yours. they start wars. they fuck whores. all day. I'm a passenger riding in my car.

I'm a passenger riding with my traveling instinct. I'm alone. the only friend I have is this news. people are fucking dying. I have no money. violence works into tendencies I've never had.

roll the window down. i can yell to someone walking...

no one can hear me.

it's still raining.
 
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darwin   
03:10am 30/09/2005
 
mood: tired
if I were to give a prize for the single best idea anybody ever had, I'd give it to darwin, for the idea of natural selection. ahead of newton. ahead of einstein.

because HIS idea unites the two most disparate features of our universe.
the world of purposeless, meaningless matter and motion on the one side,
and the world of meaning and purpose, and design on the other.

he understood that what he was proposing was a TRULY revolutionary idea.

indeed.
 
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the chicken or the egg   
12:43am 30/09/2005
 
mood: tired
the egg. invariably.

and I liked wicker park.

fuck the details. live. hard.
 
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all I can think about   
11:31pm 22/09/2005
 
mood: high
is my car. I think about what I'm going to do with it, driving it, I imagine myself to be in it all of the time. I'm fucking obsessed. Why must I wait until spring? I hate money.

last night I had a dream that I slit my own throat. Twice. The second time was 180 degrees around the front of my neck at the adam's apple. I woke up with a sore area exactly where I thought I slit my throat, and had to check in the mirror. I've never had such a dream.

out of control.
 
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among life's subtleties are that   
09:04pm 20/09/2005
 
mood: mellow
which I feel when I lay alone on the grass, as hundreds pass by, and though the clouds are white and the sky is blue, the wind blows as if it were to be stormy. This world is a masterpiece, I can only think. This is not something which I think can be real.. I see nothing but solid color in the sky, and nothing on my eyelids at all. Dreams will take me, but their ill intentions pervade. I cannot sleep now. I have life to do. Reality is. To not 'face' it is to not realize this. It will be, and is to be only the better, when you know. Life is misery which we spend our lives making happy. It will not be. The action that life is is what I do. The misery of life is what I cannot. I can not play with my dead friend, and I cannot fly away. I can not fix the world's wars, but tomorrow, I will try, my own way.
 
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genesis of genocide   
01:54am 06/09/2005
 
mood: annoyed
we possess it inside

our minds it's greed, mislead the people
use the steeple to sell


fuck republicans..


i want to stay up all night
 
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so while   
12:21am 31/08/2005
 
mood: annoyed
Mike doesn't want to help me, dave couldn't, and I'm dry...

I'm left to reflect on how much Vodka I need to be the same.


the sane.


whatever.


classes are on. and fucking easy. Life is easy. kind of lame.

wow, my picture makes me look gay or emo. I'm not sure. I'll fix it.

I made a kid to a burnout for my parking spot. I'm going to do it again tomorrow, and bring a camera for a picture...

I need more friends, too. I'm too loosely social, and don't have enough close to me. Sarah, where are you? and nate. nate probably has what I need.

nevermind

©cpray 2004: 'jesus fucking shit'
 
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this SM course   
04:38am 14/03/2005
 
mood: depressed
Why nothingness pervades is nothing to me..
though wish it not.

I worry of man's lifetimes and tendencies of leave..
though wish them not.

Without one lap through cones grown of diamond..
I wish it not.

I see these cones laid soft atop the black.. though melt and grow they have.

As I approach closer, to left about one, it is sturdy and rigid. Hit it with this car I may,
and die, or not drive anymore.

tension and decision and malaise and open thought have made this cone so hard.

and though here I corner it, it seems as though I need turn more than other cones before.

Downshift.. but fuck, the bushing's dropped, a nightmare of times past...

the clutch is limp and to the floor, but without it I will shift.

match revs... 7 first grind down... now.. still no power steering. why?
ebrake to start the oversteer, thirty now, I hold myself..
this cone seems inlaid with iron pure, not diamond now
but much less clean..

second comes as revs drop, wheel spin, turned into the turn, right... then left when oversteer is done

though out this window I can almost touch this cone, this hurdle, this pain of mind


why so big and hard to turn.. others before hadn't this trouble minutes before..

press on to bounce at second gear's height... and again a cone, much greater
than the last. why life's cones grow and find their way to mind I do not know,
though I wish I could so see it as all others, orange and soft.

I would not fear that cone, now though I can't shift I don't care so much..

I don't need a fucking clutch.

I can rev match anyday. fuck this course. no one will do it as well as I.

ever.
 
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when i'm looking   
06:04am 29/09/2004
 
mood: tired
out my window, I can't help but wonder

what it will look like so soon when the moon's white light is competing

with this Dayglow.



the TL in number 9 shines white from the gleaming lunar mass, whose light is from the sun

anyway..... fuck.

Even if you're doing well for yourself,
maybe the light you're shining isn't really yours..


don't fucking lie to me.

yourlipsdeceive.

that sounds familiar.
 
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a warped incision   
08:08am 26/09/2004
 
mood: anxious
I can stay afloat here, it's what's above I'm afraid of, getting older where time flies, and avarice is threadbare.

I can see beneath a gang of those mournful
of better times they never saw..

I will keep swimming...

but not too much.
 
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I am gone   
03:53am 23/07/2004
  ....beyond the fires veiling cold, in the sea,
I thought all of time was old,

how much lower could I be..

Everyone to me is different, and I know no life ahead,
but to think of me as living.. more accurately dead

to those who do not know me, or should think my voice is thin
I can only say, without much weight, I cannot now begin

this time with you is over now and I've gone on, but I can swim
I wonder though if anyone out there still thinks of me as 'him'

and though I don't know where I'm going, I wish you'd all give me your love,
or maybe now all we've in common are the sky and stars above..

I miss you all and I'll be back one day as I once was,
but for now I have to be away, remember, just because

nothing in life is forgotten if it means my life to me,
and everything I've done with all of you keeps me afloat at sea...

I miss my friends... call me after 10.. 607.237.2791 .. I've a phone now. anyone. call.
 
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this color..   
09:49pm 22/05/2004
 
mood: distressed
Before my eyes, a swirl of colors, dark and light,
flavors and dies, dull and very bright

I almost can reach to grab and hold,
the darkest colors are too cold,
for me to find and catch the brighter kind
whose beauty so well calms my mind.

I live for you, as everything you are to me is good,
I'd give you everything, if I could.

I know not how you give me reasont o be,
you've so become a part of me

through life, I love, with this light color, I live true
I do not know, if I could stay alive without you...

I love you so, of all the things in life I need, and so believe
please do not leave.
I know not that ever I would wish to even live
if with to my love, this brightness, I could not give...
 
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this path   
01:37am 22/05/2004
 
mood: tired
This path is lined with silver, shining and gleaming of sky so high and clear..

there is a rock by the path, whose hexagonal cleavage yields perfect intent to what lies ahead, if it has come from above..

the levels so high promise better life and such nicer things and people... all that glitters will be gold.

so I climb but my feet are so tired and worn, my spirit is beat, and my ego is torn...

this level is the same, but colder in the height, but the air is now thinner, I mourn


the loss of what lies behind, I'm going under now... I am more far from the base and less close to the top somehow... my vision becomes so much worse that everything is so far... and everything near is much too near.

The silver in the path made me believe that life high and clear was so close by
nothing else mattered...

now I can jump off of the side to be where I need... or I can continue to climb, and know not what is ahead.

no.

why


...
 
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And so..   
11:32am 19/05/2004
 
mood: melancholy
I lie here, knowing this lady who knows that all that glitters is gold,

she is right, but sees this world as her own to belie her spirit,
knowing not what she needs to find and see here, without me...

It makes me wonder.. as she sleeps, there's a feeling I get,
as I look to the west... and in my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke from
the planes

what dark clouds veil this blue sky, It's whisper that soothes me, but it impedes not on
the awful collaboration that prevents my will

from meeting hers, while if she could she would buy
but she wont' know, because I don't know

can you hear the wind blow? Your stairway lies on the whispering wind...

I will find you...

I will come soon.
 
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Death and Solstice   
04:48pm 06/05/2004
 
mood: melancholy
You talked to the stars,
And when they didn't save you,
You traveled out to them,
On vodka fumes and snow-white cocaine dreams.

Your orbit swung from pole to pole
Over a chaotic, conspiratorial world,
Where gods and devils drove black limmos,
Leaving messages on your answering machine.

At the center of your labyrinth,
You took false comfort
In colored glass bottles and primal screaming,
In trash collages and pizza-box poetry,
In prayers to the empty, echoing vaults of Heaven.

You reached up from your prismatic prison,
One time damned, twice condemned, still you touched us.
Your quiet miracles went unnoticed
By stars and Heaven and Mother Earth alike.
The few of us who could tune you in,
Through puns and garlic fumes,
Past the guarded doors and the tripwires,
Over sputtering phones and talk in riddles,
We salute you.
With empty hearts and grieving hands, we salute you.

And so, I hammer these words home, one by one.
I would say a prayer for you,
But I am so afraid
Of the echoes bouncing back
>From Heaven's cold and empty walls.
I'd light a candle for you,
But the flame will never keep you warm.

Did your world burst asunder, in a flicker of blasted astonishment,
Like the blood vessel in your punished brain?
Or did your soul, intact to the end,
Shatter at your feet like broken bones?
Or maybe it left your cooling meat,
Once proven, twice free,
To look down and cackle madly,
At the punch line of a trickster life.

As the Earth stands at the top of her shimmering path in the sky,
And slowly starts her ballerina twirl through zodiac,
I will loose these words upon the winds of Solstice day,
And I will draw a deep, clean breath of Life,
And I will bid you safe journey.
 
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