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27 november 2000
i look in my eyes Y'know, I'm not really as fucked up as I sometimes make myself out to be... At the same time, I tend to sugar-coat my life when writing about it... ~~~ Whaddya do when you find a friend's picture in the online personals? Do you ... a) ignore it, pretending you never laid (um, maybe wrong word choice there) eyes on it; b) call her up and say "hey, y'know, I saw your ad on blah-blah.com, wow, what a coincidence, hee-hee, etc," and hope you don't embarrass her too much; or c) set up your own anonymous profile, email her, and request a blind date? Why does my evil side inevitably come out late at night? Why am I sexually attracted to so many of my friends? Why am I sexually unattracted to those friends that are attracted to me? Rhetorical questions, yes. Answers? Hardly. Just remember that all that HarrySally shit is a myth, right? Uh ... right? Shit, right, write, I mean ... I can't write tonight. Nothing to write about. Seems I'm caught in a routine, wake, drive to office, sit at desk, stare into space, spend at least an hour earning my salary, drive home, drink, stare at the ceiling, it looks like cottage cheese, write about everything I didn't do today... I'm just laughing hysterically right now at my inability to form a coherent thought. See, I really can amuse myself sometimes... Maybe I should try automatic writing. Just type whatever comes into my head... hmm, maybe that'll work, OK, here goes. (um, wait, lemme get some vodka first) (ok, got vodka, and a little potato-colored stain on my upper lip, here goes...) roses are not always red like wine which i drink from time to time keeps flowing like a river that's alan parsons reminds of senior year high school crush on carrey that was her name in allendale in case you're wondering wonderful butterfly feeling in my tummy just thinking about that shit what ever happened to my innocence yes carrey was her first name she was so sexy in an innocent sort of way which i guess i'm still attracted to innocent as i am and always will be at this rate third eye blind is playing so trite and yet it works as pop music i wanna write a song like that makes millions of dollars so i can retire and hire a chauffeur to drive me around when i drink and smoke pot but not cigarettes because i quit that shit, remember, so while i won't get lung cancer i'll still have a bad liver and a lonely heart like sgt pepper, hey didn't the beatles release a new album of number one hits or something, dudes are like dead and they're topping the charts with forty-year old music, and here i am writing songs that no-one will ever hear, but i'll still write songs because it makes me feel like i'm worth something to myself, or something like that, and i have to ask myself why the hell i'm sitting in bed painting a vodka mustache on myself when i could be working on a new song... Hmm ... um ... gee-willigers ... er ... perhaps I should turn my head ninety degrees to the left, lower it to the pillow, close my eyes, and, well, ya know the rest. Sounds absent, a good thing, just praying for a double negative: no nightmares, or something like that, smirking myself to sleep. 27 november 1999: : on hiatus til december 27 november 1998: : didn't write 27 november 1997: turdsday : I briefly talked to Lomyl and she felt bad about me having to spend Thanksgiving by myself, which made me feel worse, because she really can't afford to waste time feeling bad for me. [ swim back | email me | swim ahead ] |
