Have You Forgotten?

2002-02-20T13:14:00.000-08:00

i don't have a plan anymore for anything. i thought i had it all figured out. but i don't. i don't have anything, it's really, really pathetic.

2002-02-20T13:13:00.000-08:00

i'm in this state of nothing. just fucking nothing. and i'm really tired of it all.

2002-02-13T20:43:00.000-08:00

mogwai. mmm.

i wrote a song just now called "grr". i'm content with making pretty music for the rest of my days. i asked henry to play piano in my "band", he said it sounds like a great idea. will on cello, henry on piano and me on guitar. that'd be interesting, right?

oh right.

2002-02-12T23:31:00.000-08:00

"a man without any friends becomes a cannibal to himself"

- sir francis bacon

2002-02-12T23:30:00.000-08:00

hey. tired, procrastinating still...

i'm considering starting up smoking. so i'll die faster. any thoughts?

2002-02-11T13:49:00.000-08:00

i've been writing a small series of short stories lately. whenever envy.nu comes back up, if it every does... i'll put them there.

2002-02-11T13:45:00.000-08:00

i've been listening to a lot of absorbent music lately. if that makes any sense:

mogwai rock action
sigur ros agaetis byrjun
my bloody valentine loveless

and then there's always my loves...

iggy and the stooges raw power
the jimi hendrix experience axis: bold as love

...yeah. they've been keeping me company.

...i hate sounding dramatic - at work steph, one of my many managers, asked how i was doing.
i'm okay, i said.
just okay?
yeah. just okay.
and it got really quiet. the sad kind of quiet. i wish it didn't come out that way, but that's just how it was.
and how am i now?
i'm feeling good. i just ate a sandwich and yogurt by the beach. can't complain there.
i'm trying so hard to kill my fucking procrastination. sometimes i don't understand the point of school at all. especially during algebra. it's like, "i've been doing this shit since the eighth grade, is all of this really necessary?"
unfortunately, yes. months of your life summed up on a transcript in bold black ink. better make it count.
then you go to a nice big school, so when you try out for a career, a person in a desk can look at that bold blank ink and approve with a slow nod. i'm sooo optimistic, i know. but that's what i've been dreaming about lately.

2002-02-11T13:38:00.000-08:00

or sooner than that, heh

2002-02-11T13:23:00.000-08:00

... so that pretty much means i'll be back tomorrow.

2002-02-11T13:22:00.000-08:00

i fucking give up on fucking blogger. everything gets erased. i'll be the one with his nose in his notebooks.

2002-02-05T12:07:00.000-08:00

yay for school. i've got some hours to kill.

2002-02-04T22:32:00.000-08:00

Enron (from Moby-Online.com)
2/1/2002 - New York City

i'm sorry to end the week on a negative note, but as details of this enron
scandal emerge it's starting to make me feel ill.

did you know that the chairman of enron gave george bush a jet to fly around
with during his campaign?
and that enron and haliburton (dick cheney's company) were given the energy
contracts in kuwait by george bush senior?
and that the chairman of enron was involved in picking the bush cabinet
members who were going to oversee legislation that would affect enron?
and that almost every single person in bush's cabinet has dirty ties to enron?
some were on the board, some were shareholders, some were ex-lobbyists for
enron...
it just goes on and on.

george bush affectionately used to refer to the chairman of enron as 'kenny
boy'. they were great friends. and then when enron went belly up and the
media asked him about kenneth lay (chairman of enron, one of bush's best
friends)bush said 'ken who?'

this whole thing is making me ill. it just goes on and on and on and on...

it's so fucking creepy. i'd rather have a president who sleeps with interns than a
president who lets the ceo's of energy corporations determine american energy
policy.

ugh. it's so gross...
ok, have a nice weekend.
moby

2002-02-04T22:15:00.001-08:00

i love the naked chef.

2002-02-04T22:15:00.000-08:00

i've been on this art binge lately. painting, writing, drawing, playing, just this unstoppable urge to be productive...

what does dave matthews call it when he's talking about music? musical poop? cortney at work is getting me into them. well not really, she's just sooo obsessed with them. obsessed is a mild word for her i think.

2002-02-04T22:09:00.000-08:00

sigh. i'm an idiot. this is what i get for staying in my room.

2002-02-04T22:07:00.000-08:00

i'm not sure what to say to you, really. you need to give me something.

evie's going to dye my hair. i'm just letting her because she wants to, i just like being around her. i don't feel uncomfortable. that's it.

2002-02-04T13:49:00.001-08:00

glynnis typed that italic thing on her page. i've been trying to say that for months.

2002-02-04T13:49:00.000-08:00

gah. i wish i knew more about computers, so then i could make this look prettier and type with a prettier font. but what can you do. i'm at school now, typing away aimlessly and fighting a sore eye... that's right, a sore eye. i don't think i've ever mentioned this before (as i talk to a computer screen) but i sleep with my eyes open... it's a heritary thing. i spelled that wrong. so i wear this goofy eye mask when a sleep, or whenever i do sleep anyway. last night i actually slept at 12:30, which was nice. fought off the urge to download music for the rest of the night. so records. i'm really into the ramones and ...the place is filling with people. must leave now.

"i'm so tired i can't move and so lonely that i don't want to leave my bedroom. sometimes i just lie on my bed and stare ceiling, listening to music or to rain. i feel safe in my room. it's slow and i don't have to worry too much about keeping up with things. in there i have my blue walls and blue-green sheets. they swallow me and keep me from sinking into anything too distracting. it's just lots of lying in bed, things like pillows, books, mix tapes, and candles.

when i'm too sad to lift my pen, a phrase pops into my mind. writing does that to you: the moment you *don't* want to write,
something strikes you, and your inner-narrator clicks on and starts writing stories and lines and poems without your consent. your inner-narrator is your parallel, your unbiased self that watches from a distance and knows precisely how to describe the lighting. it boots up like a noisy hard drive just before you close your eyes, and phrases drown your first-person thinking."

2002-01-27T23:04:00.000-08:00

yeah i just wrote a huge thing and it's gone. i think computers hate me.

2002-01-26T01:36:00.000-08:00

sleep good. yes.

2002-01-26T01:34:00.000-08:00

hi lindsay!

2002-01-26T01:30:00.000-08:00

yeah. so. this is where we begin.

2002-01-26T01:28:00.000-08:00

meep. ack. hoo! hoo. hoo? hoo.
the cat sat on a hat while holding a bat and shoutin' this and that.