| humpalump to the lemonheads |
[Aug. 13th, 2005|01:42 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  drunk | ] |
| [ | music |
| | something that i cant remember i hate | ] |
and im slightly drunk, not to mention that the cab driver from the wendys commercial from 1984 looks a lot like emo philips when he smiles
you know that youve had a bit too much when a song comes up that you dont like but yit takes you until the last 30 seconds of the song to remember that you were going to change the song in the first place... whoops, the songs over... what a night |
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| Impromptu Free Write |
[May. 8th, 2005|02:33 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  dirty | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Amelie | ] |
For my Free Write here, I am going to use 4 objects Currently in my hand: a Wendy's Bag, a Slurpee, My old Wallet, and my new wallet from the 70s (as thought inspiration only).
Ahem.
How do I ever keep living like I do? What is it that will ever keep one like me going? Sometimes the misunderstandings of people can get so hard, especially as it has always been difficult to organize my thoughts into speech. Ive been left indefensible, no, that's not it. The way that my lack of speaking ability has left me can best be described as to never having the correct words to say in many situations. Life can be hard when you are posed with questions to defend yourself but are unable due to the fact that you talk faster than you think and feel much faster than you can talk. I guess the hardest thing to be is passionate about something, but unable to share it with anyone, much less to talk about how you had gone through a terrible day.
Now for the real hamburger:
Did you know that the hamburger started simply enough from a three seat diner? If you did not, you'd have to be full of cocaine and at a loud disco in order to miss that fact. going on, though, it needs to be established that everything that exists always starts out simple. Anyone can drink a drink that is the size of a raindrop: simple; however, who can drink an ocean? A myriad of violent raindrops together established in order that they may exhibit the power of many raindrops and time; yet, to stick to context let it be known that although the paradise to a seven year old, an ocean of Pepsi would be quite scary and undrinkable in mere instants. However, simplicity is not based upon the topic of insane soda manufactured in America-Colored cans. Rather, simplicity is the main goal that is achieved in the sense of an endless daydream of our modern English speaking society, one that is truly stuck in the Lingua Franca modality of mind. But, then again, regarding the fact that we are the speakers of the current Lingua Franca, let us not march down the paths that were marched down by Aramaic and Koine Greek; I say that as long as we can keep this all simple, we can ensure our survival.
However, not all matters can stay so simple, and not all matters after becoming complicated can grow infinitely. Like a latex balloon, so are the many facets of life. Watching out for what may hurt us next, we must not overinflate, as the mere thought of overinflation can lead one to the mere nightmare of overcomplication
Comparing the lost art of Spandex Disco to the found art of the Spice Girls, it can be seen that too much domination can result in disaster. To speak of this disaster, there must be a preset limit to it. Lightly, let it be seen that in an ideal world, one's measure of sustainable power and simplicity may be measured through means of one's character, such as the sucesses and failures of James Dobson, Adolf Hitler, and Marc Summers. However, in the case of James Dobson, Adolf Hitler, and Marc Summers, such a given rule of success is not so. Dobson may have risen to power through conservative means, which may or may not be the ultimate in morality, depending on one's view; sadly, Spongebob suffered much less than James in recent times due to the outstretching of Dobson. Hitler may have risen to power, only to have his power and his syphillis become complicated and then result in his demise, but today he lives on in followers who may even be more charismatic than those of sixty years ago. Finally, there is marc Summers, host of Nickelodeon's Double Dare from 1986-1994. Unfortunately, despite his great characters as well as suits with tennis shoes (a fashion TEN POINT BONUS by today's standards), good old Marc Summers has departed from the limelight only to result in a thought-research that spouts the foul odor and rankness of a thousand dead shrimp.
To finish, let it be known that I have bought a new wallet for free at a garage sale at my school. Rather, as my old wallet has grown complicated with its many credit cards and receipts, there has been a need for a fresh start, for soemthing that is new and healthy in every way that it exits, that need fulfilled and solved by my new wallet. And wallets are a wonderful way to crash one's train of throught, so let it be known that throughout the province, everyone is singing the praises to Chris Burns' rendition of the Mickey Mouse club. WALLETS! |
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| sfvd gbdgn gdnbgngd |
[Apr. 11th, 2005|03:49 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  hopeful | ] |
I can't sleep anymore on some nights. The memory of you is too strong. Picturing you all these years later sends every part of my body to a screeching halt. Thinking back, the most incredible memory is that you were there, present. I didn't have to dream like I do now. I didn't have to dream the hope of ever seeing you again, just the knowing that I would see you walking by that next morning, as I tried to cover my grateful smile. When I saw you face to face that summer evening long ago, my heart stoppped completely because I knew exaclty who you were.
All these years later, I still go out, knowing I'll see you around the next corner. |
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| Has Time Passed that Freaking Instantaneously? |
[Mar. 27th, 2005|09:26 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  content | ] |
| [ | music |
| | "Gut Feeling" Devo | ] |
"Alas the home environment has made Blubber suicidal."
Well in the words of Mark Mothersbaugh... oh never mind...
AHOY THAR AIR MATIES! I BE FIGNOOT THE BROWNBEARDED AIR PIRATE AND YOU BE ME MATIES! Well it must be declared that 2004 is the year of the FREEDOM... that is, the freedom form entries in my journal! So here's a little update...
-Got my pilot's license and then got dumped the next day.
-Remember 2004? I don't!
Anyways back to recent news me maters! Yar be continuing me voyage after me trip to Seattle to finish up with me Break within the Spring in thar field of watching some fine movies, all made form the years 1977-2004. For a quick list steer thy ships over to me port...
Short Circuit
Amelie
Spinal Tap
A Mighty Wind
Napoleon Dynamite
Star Wars
The Empire Strikes Back
Return of the Jedi
Titanic
Jurassic Park
The Simpsons
Top Gun
Apollo 13
Men In Black
Rat Race
A Goofy Movie
Six String Samurai
UHF
Killer Klowns From Outer Space (Pending)
Anyways as I continue the joyful record of being the only non-Brit to watch titanic since 1998, I must award myself with a deviled egg...
TIL NEXT TIME SPUDS! |
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| Beefheart: The Beefy Struggle of Billy Beef |
[Oct. 11th, 2003|03:08 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  weird | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Captain Beefheart "Lick my Decals off Baby" | ] |
hello im undating my journal for the first time in forever ho is everyone? good eh? well thats great to hear. are you all kickin too? yeah? well that sucks but dont worry cuz im updating so that means i can finally stop talking to myself so someone please message me! you will? aww thanks! |
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| The Rotundity of the Jocundities of Santa Claus |
[Feb. 7th, 2003|11:07 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | Reminiscent | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Nothin' but The Pixies | ] |
The Rotundity of the Jocundities of Santa Claus
by
Michael James Wiley
"There aren't enough ways to be jocund about the rotundity of Santa Claus."
Dedicated to all those who have too much free time in their lives and to those who draw in class. May you live your lives in true, unforced creativity to imagine and create and show everyone what only makes sense to you.
There aren't enough ways to be jocund about the rotundity of Santa Claus was the answer I put on my english final on that unnecessarily hot June 13th, 2002. With that I was out of the door and on my way to something I had planned for months. But wait! There was soemthing i needed to take care of before i left.
Dan! There he was. He had borrowed a pencil from our German teacher a few days before. 'Newberg Teachers Association' it said, to which i changed to somethign slightly more foul. Just remove 'berg', 'teachers', and 'ociation and youll see waht i mean. Anyways we thought we were in the clear, that subconciously this was our pencil, our work of art to be enjoyed by only us. We were wrong. Our teacher eventually came to us asking if we had her pencil. It was valuable to her, but we just said we didnt know. We couldn't let her see what we had done to it. We just didn't have the heart, so for some strange reason we sped down River Street in his ranger and down to the marina, and we threw the pencil in the river, in such of a murder mystery teen horror slasher flick sleeper film style. But, the pencil wasn't enough. School was over. We needed to get rid of things. So in went our textbooks. We were both poor so we just threw in the disposable ones. But, the pencil and the books met the same fate in the intakes of the mill. God bless ya, little school supplies, may your fate be painless even though you both caused me much pain.
Running back to school we said goodbye for the summer unless we hang out sometime and went our ways. It was only 11 and my mom thought i would be at school until 2:15 but my math final had already been completed and i was free to go. So what does a guy who just finished his junior year who has a half-loaded 1993 Subaru Legacy station wagon with a burnt out engine that leaks like huggies? Drive to Hagg Lake shirtless. I needed the distance, the space to realize my potential for summer, and i needed to be alone to realize that. Besides, a few high speed laps around the lake never hurt anyone, except those that got in the accidents. So i sped out of town at 70. Cops have never pulled me over to this day and back then i was never afraid of them, nor am i today, only afraid of how they underestimate those who drive station wagons as non-speeders. So i drove to the lake and as far on the way to the beach as i could go. This was a trip to spread out, to realize how far i could go. Sure to be honest my mother was coming along but i was a stone-hard seventeen year old, unhurt by the world, and even today at eighteen and a half, still rock hard. Voting and porno and the lottery and getting drafted and finding college were only a month away, and i would only go for finidng college, but it didn't matter. This was a time to get crap scared and RUN!
I spent the rest of the weekend and up to monday evening packing. 2 Shirts, 9 pants, 15 underwear, 9 socks, 2 deoderant, 1 toothbrush, 1 mouthwash, forgot the soap and rememebred the washcloth, 1 tent, 1 bodyboard, 1 guitar, a 48 pack of mountain dew, dr pepper with 'exciting stuff about the new spiderman movie', more mountain dew, coca cola, fruit, a cooler, other things i dont remember, and just more of my moms stuff. I'm not a good packer, not organized enough, too spontaneous. The packing crowd shuns me from them, but thats ok because just like how i threw my clothing in the bag without counting, so i throw my clothes at them.
Tuesday morning, June 18th, 2002. This was the third summer in a row that i start soemthing new on June 18th. 2000: wrestling camp, 2001: Drivers Ed., 2002: Cross Country Road Trip. My summers are always eventful. But I'm too lazy to reminisce, even if i'm reminiscing right now. Reminiscation is just a waste of time, but so is this on a cold, bleak February 7th 2003.
I was ready to go, but with one difference, i had to make a little delivery... |
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| lonely night |
[Jan. 11th, 2003|09:27 pm] |
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just had a breakup... feeling lonely and with nothing to do which poses the question... IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE??? |
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| Spencer Shotgun and die Frau in Rot Issue 1 |
[Aug. 17th, 2002|11:47 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  creative | ] |
| [ | music |
| | John Lee Hooker "Boom Boom" | ] |
Damn! I ran outta my victory gin at 4:30 that night, same as the police who ran outta clues as to th removal of Lia industries. I was about to break the bottle on the door when all of a sudden i saw a long dark leg step in my office. Trouble again, but not from anywhere around here. I like to travel, but I like it better when the travelling comes to me, in this case a German dame. She was a short dame with half her hair draped over an eye. My heart did flips but that was because it was dodging the bullets it thought she was shooting at it. Either way she was one spicy schnabberschmittfellen.
"Schpenser! Eet es you! I hov heerd soo mooch!"
She said it nice enough, but I knew this was going to be trouble. Before I replied I took notice of her red dress, red necklace, red shoes, red lipstick, and red car. This wasn't a dame, in fact this was worse than a dame. This, was; a lady in red. I knew she was gonna figuratively break my heart. But still, the red sent me stupid like a dog when it sniffs its own keyster. By that I mean this dame was gonna hurt me and i was gonna like it.
"A lady in red, I know your kind," I said. Futile words, but I needed to arm myself. This was gonna hurt, bad.
"Boot Schpency, I will noot hoort you. I'm on your schoide."
"Enough small talk, evil dame. All I want to do is help you, get my money and live, more preferrably live."
"It is a schimple case, Herr Shootgoon. My hoom hass bin ranschacked. I hoord aboot your case mit der Mateemitician und I thoot thisch may intress you."
She handed me something that was even more trouble than her.
"But how??"
BUT WHAT??? That is the question that we'll answer next time I write for the NEXT episode of SPENCER SHOTGUN!!! |
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| Spencer Shotgun: Issue 4 |
[Aug. 14th, 2002|12:04 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  cynical | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Cab Calloway "Minnie the Moocher" (helps the atmosphere) | ] |
After a long road trip, a trip to the beach, and many other wholesome times, we join SPENCER SHOTGUN surprisingly as he returns to town everything is in the SAME PLACE AS BEFORE!!!
My first business was finding clues to this new chapter in this cursed mystery. I had a feeling that this all tied to Lia Industries. Seeing as I trusted Kristen 'Trouble' Lia as much as people living in the desert trust a weather report of rain, my best source would have to have be Emil 'I' Lia. She would sit there talking about herself, but I could possibly find what i needed to from her.
I got to the offices. Surprisingly they were still sitting there with their lights on at 3 in the morning. But whether 3 in the morning or in the afternoon this city is always dark as midnight. Only problem is that the doors were guarded. It was dark, I could sneak, but sneaking isnt my business. My business was a private eye, which meant I had to argue my way in with the searing hot sting of lead. BANG!BANG!BANG! My debator had made his srguments and had won. Strange, the guards looked like the ones I saw taking away Betsy 'The Dutch Clutch' Bogers. But, I couldn't tell. I soon saw a tall figure coming down the stairs. I knew i had to hide my befundled goony friends, but through a silhouette in the window apparently Emil had something to hide. But, all was forgotten when the doors swung open.
"What's all that racket?? Spencer Shotgun! I knew it was you somehow. Come in," Emil said kindly.
"Thank you ma'am. I'm solving a mystery for your bad sister. You might have heard."
"I did. A shame that girl, always getting into trouble. You can depend on me though, Spency."
"Now's not a time for warming up to me, loony dame. I need answers to some questions," I said, getting down to business.
"What do you need to know?" Emil asked.
"What does your business do?"
"We make math supplies. I make the calculators, Kristen makes the math quizzes," she explained.
"Math, my biggest enemy. You don't know a crook named 'The Mathematician'?" I inquired.
"No, Spency."
"Well thats all i need to know," I said standing up.
"Have a good night. Be careful. I wouldn't want anybody to do anything bad to Spencer."
I walked off, but on my way out I noticed an odd thing. A math test! A C+ was the grade, but the name made me nearly jump out the window. I saw a Greg Lub- on it but it was packed in a bag. So when Emil wasnt watching, I snatched the bag. I knew this was the key. As I walked out I heard a muffled scream followed by a deathly sound enough to wake up the dead. I soon returned back to my office. After going through the bag I came across a shocking truth! This C+ test was done by 'The Mathematician' Himself! I did the math with my own calculator based on his work. The answers were correct that I got. Then I noticed something else; his grades through school and a receipt for a Lia Calculator. This test he took shortly after he bought a Lia calculator. Soon I read his journal. "Death to Lia Calculators!" it said over and over. I then looked in the mirror. The imprint from his calculator slap said "Lia." Soon walked in a large figure.
"YOU! YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL MY REVENGE!" said the Mathematician in a loud voice.
"There's no court that wouldn't use this as evidence against you for a slow trial, but my court promises a quick and speedy trial with no evidence," I countered.
"You and what court?"
"Me and my special hot lead judge," I said. And with that three sentences brought 'The Mathematician' to the ground.
With 'The Mathematician' gone, I was free to take care of some other much needed business. It may have been my only source of work, but I had to reward Lia Industries with a present, a long red friend with an explosive temper. BOOM! With that my only customers were gone, but still, they were biting me to pieces. And with that rolled a bottle of gin to my feet. I knew what to do now. Sit back and be ready for my next case when the gin breaks.
Case Closed.
Little did I know that new work had arrived on the other side of town and I would have to break the gin fast. I could sense there was a Lady In Red on the horizon, but I also sensed bratwurst with that. Before later I may have to deal with "ein Frau in Rot."
Ein Frau in Rot? Looks like Spencer can't call it a peaceful city yet. Tune in when Mike stops being lazy again and writes again. |
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| Midnight Boredom |
[Jul. 9th, 2002|12:13 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  bored | ] |
Ok so I had nothing better to do and then I looked in the Friends page and saw the NES comic and was feeling stupid... |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 5th, 2002|12:45 pm] |
Mr. T. Goes Pee: By: Mike Wiley
All along one fateful night,
sat Mr. T. in all his might,
remembering his long past prime,
he felt it was his potty time,
he got up off his chair,
him and his crazy hair,
walking down the hall he went,
he tripped and fell on his dog Kent,
"you crazy foo!" Mr. T. said,
sadly now his dog was dead,
but Mr. T. was motivated,
he had his new bathroom renovated,
he tripper over a plant,
stepped on an ant,
made it to the room,
but had to break the door with a broom,
in the bathroom he went on in,
to describe what he was doing in detail would be a sin,
then he accidentally broke the sink,
as he cursed Plumber fink,
but all this can be said that Mr. T. in his might,
he forgot to turn on the light. |
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| spencer takes the weekend off |
[May. 25th, 2002|08:39 pm] |
our friend, Spencer Shotgun has taken the weekend off but just for stupidity I decided to write some humorous poetry. Enjoy!
Love: By: Mike Wiley
love on the river is fun
a dove on a liver is its pun
but if you have love on a sharp-rocked rapid river then
my friend that kinda love is no fun
love in a field is fun
a dove making a yield is its pun
but if you have love while being trailed by a pack of wolves then
my friend that kinda love is no fun |
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| Spencer Shotgun: Issue 3 |
[May. 24th, 2002|04:29 pm] |
We join our hero, Spencer Shotgun as he awakens from his encounter with 'The Mathematician.'
When I awoke I was in a dark room that was dark as hell would be if someone pulled the fire alarm. All of a sudden in walked a big figure. In his hand was a calculator. He gave me one swift whack with it and sat down in front of me. Obviously I was being interrogated by 'The Mathematician' himself.
"So now I finally get to meet Spencer Shotgun," he said.
"You could have just wrote," I countered.
"Sorry but I just wanted to say hello in a way appropriate to me."
"Let's get down to business, 'Mathematician.' What is it you want from me?" I asked.
"These days are hard ones for people like you. Miserable times for me too. Especially when I can't run my own crime syndicate. But it's also the days of survival of the strongest. That's why I have to terminate people like you Mr. Shotgun, and what better way to do it than to put you to sleep with the fishes." He explained.
"I see. But before you kill me, what is your real name?"
"If this were a situation in which you could escape, I would never tell you. But in this situation, we're 50 miles from the shoreline, so I will tell you. My name is Greg 'The Mathematician' Lubowski."
"All I needed to know," I concluded.
Little did 'The Mathematician' know i had done a few dances with the knot behind my chair. I was up in an instant and had Mr. Lubowski say hello to my five-fingered friend, Mr. Fist. In an instant I was out of the building like diarrhea in a goose. On my way out I picked up a .38 and dashed for the ferry. The fare wasn't much. Just 38 cents per hired goon.
Finding the city wasn't hard at this time of night. Just follow the lights on the horizon. My case may have seemed like it was through with, but I still needed confirmation. Right then I caught some hired goons dragging Betsy 'The Dutch Clutch' Bogers while she screamed loud enough to break the 9th street bridge. I caught a quick glimpse of the car driving her away and noticed it wasn't anything related to 'The Mathematician.' This meant something. Twice the case, twice the money, twice the gin, and twice the heartbreak.
Twice the heartbreak? Tune in tomorrow for the exciting continuation of SPENCER SHOTGUN! |
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| Spencer Shotgun: issue 2 |
[May. 23rd, 2002|09:20 pm] |
The case called of a missing employee of a company. Just another case which would involve the spiel of the villian and the twist and the romantic resolution. Not for me, though. I'm Spencer Shotgun. My romance was a long time back, the name I wont say, but let's just call her Minnie the Moocher, not for what she was like but what I can't remember what it felt like because my next romance with the Gin helped with. Either way the more me and Minnie got closer together, the next day we were ten steps apart. Soon she mooched me out empty and left a mark 3 inches from my heart.
To get ground on my case, I needed to get word of it in The Street, not the concrete one, but a low brow speakeasy in an alley that had been damned years ago. I got in and immediately went to get word from bartender Joe "Big Ears" Paltacni.
"Hello, Joe," I said.
"Come on back, Spencer. I got the stuff you want." I immediately followed him into the back room which was the famous "Club Room."
"What's the score?" I asked, getting to business.
"There's a new guy in town, has something to do with the Lia's," he said grimly.
"I knew it was Kristen! That dame not only has gone into crime but so has her flunky, 'Shakespeare'!" I said angrily.
"No, not this time. The new guy has something to do with math, or at least thats what I heard. His nickname is 'The Mathematician'. I dont know what his real name is, but you can get it from his dame, Betsy 'The Dutch Clutch' Bogers." He reported.
"'The Dutch clutch??' I remember her. Mad sexy dame who killed my brother. I thought she was locked in the joint."
"Not anymore. She isn't after you no more. She came and asked about you and told me she'd give you some information if you came to the docks." Joe concluded.
"Docks, eh? I think I'll check it out. Better bring my colt to keep from sleepin' with the fishes. Thanks Joe," I said as i walked out of the club.
I had just got out of the club when i felt a large whack on the back of my skull. I was down in an instant, even before I could draw my special friend out. I felt the world spinning and draining out of my head. I heard math equations being muttered. Before I slipped out of consciousness I knew I had met 'The Mathemat...ic.............i....'
stay tuned tomorrow for the NEXT exciting issue of Spencer Shotgun! |
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| "Spencer Shotgun" part 1 |
[May. 22nd, 2002|09:26 pm] |
The clock broke past midnoght as my empty bottle of gin broke against the wall. Businesss was bad. The city was bad. In the distance i could hear the sirens of the futile rollers which were soon sent to sleep buy a few distant pops. I'm spencer shotgun, gumshoe. A lonely detective who's had my heart nearly broken 3 times. Those 3 times all lodged in my chest. I was about to close down for the night when trouble walked in.
I could tell this dame was nothing but trouble. I already knew who she was. Kristen "Trouble" Lia. She had a record in me a mile long. Evil dame. Yet, she always took control of me when I tried to get outta the yoke. She was the kind of dame that would make you want to look both ways before crossing the street and still end up getting hit by a vegetable truck. Her evil Italian brown hair spoke of shooting yet another near broken heart into me; but not the romantic kind, she was already givin' that to her flunky, Chris "Shakespeare" Lortman. The kind of near heartbreak she had for me was the kind more related to hot lead at 1000 miles an hour.
"Hi, Spencer," she said.
"What do you want of me now? Still getting into trouble. Why don't you just be more like your sister, Emil "I" Lia?" I countered.
"Don't you realize it isn't me getting myself into these pickles?" she said.
"Don't give me that. If business weren't better I'd say no to the messy case you'll throw me in, but in this case I just have to say yes," I admitted.
"Good to see you'll help. My case is a train lost on the whacko line."
As she gave me her panicked spiel of dead clients of her business, I remembered word on the street being of her business being attached to the local crime syndicate. But I got in on the same about her sister. Either way, this case was gonna kill me if i wasnt even careful at the assignment itself. |
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| transition |
[Apr. 26th, 2002|10:39 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  scared | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Today's Music. Will it bring memories 2 years from now? | ] |
5 minutes after finishing my entry as the music changed to more mdern stuff, i was transported back to today. my mind has now been freed of those odd memories and by coldness. wierd! |
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| No Sense at All................................................................. |
[Apr. 26th, 2002|08:44 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  nostalgic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | "Adam's Song" "Fade Into You"...memory music that summer | ] |
I sit here... confused. I knew i could write something just yesterday, but it poured itself out. Maybe the words will come to me as time goes by, we'll just see. Either way i'm in a deep blue funk. Life is tired and stale and bad times seem to be coming. It's something that makes me write. But my writing is not to make me feel better. Its a way to organize myself. The odd thing is when it seems to organize others. I've gotten compliments from many, but the odd thing is that i never know what i am writing about. It just flows... no sense at all, but it's an art or an edge. But, what is an art? Whoever knew that good on paper could have the same effect as simple words.
Back to the context though. Tonight has been bothering me on a subject that i can't even get myself to remember well enough or to write about, even though it has value for literacy. But, as i have discovered through thousands of compositions and millions of words spoken, thought, and written, the mistake i made was that the summer that i only know the feelings of cannot be described in a story. There are too many thoguhts and a monotone subject matter. It all makes sense to me, but would it to anyone else? No. Hence those thousands of compositions in which i tried to fit 3 months into a short story would only stay as they are, mere entries on a private diary, along with the millions of words to remember that have not been written down.
But, why do i write about a time that means nothing? I've changed so much since then. Maybe that's why i do. Maybe my past history disturbs me and then only way i can straighten myself is by writing about it. Maybe... it seems so that i can. Change is odd and sometimes the past tries to terrorize it. Although i've changed i still get haunted by a htousand nightmares. Maybe i'm a pansy for being afraid of people or myself, but one person's fear is their fear, their personal hell. Everybody has one, thats why its personal, because only they kow it and fear it.
Mine, however, is a time of confusion and hanging on by a thread; definitely, not soemthing that i enjoy. The odd thing is although it's a world away there are still reminders. Earlier yesterday i heard a song that didn't ever mean much to me, but in a second stirred my mind of thoughts; that strange lonely song was Adam's Song by Blink 182. I don't know why... i hate the band as well as the song, but it brought back a time and odd memories on a lonely drive.
But what can I say? It doesnt matter what we can say now about the past, except celebrating the good moments and apoligizing for the bad. But this odd song that plays brings back memories neither celebrated nor forgiven. Only written.
Looking back i remember a summer that started off of surviving a bad school year and only got worse from that on. It was a confusing time to be alive. I didn't know what my friends would become or what i would become. I didn't even expect the strange sightings and mental flashbacks of a barely known girl. So with that who knew that a summer that changed me would change me back before it was over?
The first half was, ruled, so to say, by my now long ex-girlfriend kylie. The time i spent with her was not in the mood it was when i first met her before we were going out. Rather, the time was spent with my 15 & 16 year old hormones taking over me and making me a horny monster. That was one of my crimes, but also through the summer kylie became her own monster as drugs began to take over her.
Drugs were one of my enemies. They still are today. That summer was one where i lost many friends to them. I became a loner in that case because i never wanted to do drugs and at that time i watched all my friends do nothing but drugs, or thats how it seemed. It scared me. it seemed odd how one of my friends would go one toke over the line and then they were hooked, especially kylie, who it seemed became super dependent on marijuana to even sleep. Drugs had taken over her life and, even though i never did them, they took control of my life too.
Life was bad then, but never so bad that i ever considered suicide or anything bad like that, which is funny, especially that a song about suicide would bring these memories back. But life was precious that summer, despite death threats by people and the 4th of July explosion that still leaves scars on my knee to this day and the depression faced at times, as well as the odd moments of happiness thinking about a girl i barely knew.
It first happened on the last day of school. There she was. Standing there looking oddly sad. Right then a song was brought up in my mind that i had heard, but didn't remember the tune to or even the name... strange. Then one day i was up at the coast. I was with my sister driving in the car when all of a sudden, Fade Into You by Mazzy Star played. Then, there she was in my head. Then as i got to the restauraunt in the gift shop i saw a shirt she had been wearing one time i saw her at school. Odd moments... a sign? maybe... at the time i didn't know, and honestly i don't now. Then one day i went somewhere thinking about her, and there she was, saying hi to me the most enthusiastically. That was the most we had ever said to each other that night. The feeling i felt that time is long gone and she is far in the past but still i'm haunted in dreams by a summer with so many coincidental signs going to waste.
Going to waste was what that summer went. I went in one way, survived the creamy middle full of pain and treachery and made it out the end the same way i started. I don't know why it happened the way that summer did, but i don't know why i made it through.
Although i made it through, many memories have been left behind. All that makes me remember that time is the emotions i felt and even then it takes my only memory drug of music to do that.
Whoever knew that music could have such an effect. The only way i even CAN remember my emotions is through music, but now im going off on a tangent.
I sit here changed, a refugee of a past i'd rather forget, but in my case, all i can do is face my fears. Maybe that's the only way i can look back on this whole time. Somehow though i finally have got it all off my chest what i remember. Summers and memories come and go, but emotions are sometimes the thing that gives them energy. They are also the things that last the longest, even after were straight senile.
In this case of a hard summer, I havent survived at all. I am 100 miles away from who i was, but still i am attached by memories that i try to escape from. The biggest challenge of that summer was not going through the problems, but dealing with the aftermath. As you have read it's still there, but my writing is something that chisels it off one small bit. Writing and art in general are, to me, not a way of expressing myself, but a way of dealing with something so i can then express myself. That doesnt make much sense, but as i said, neither does any of the stuff i write make any sense to me.
The summer of 2000 was an odd time in which good times were expected, but which turned out disasterous, with many twist and turns of danger. Nothing can show anyone exactly what it meant to me, but it was a bad time is all i can say. I waited for the end of it, and it came, and that was all i needed to happen: my return to a savage normalcy. |
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| music and thew time of day |
[Apr. 9th, 2002|08:56 pm] |
okay this is probly one of my odder entries but its worth trying out... its a list of chord progressions to describe times of day
Morning:
The key of C:
C F Bb F C
Fast Strumming(actually it sounds like 'she runs like a river by U2)
C:Glorious Sunrise
F: That great moment of stretching in the morning
Bb: When the sun hits the valley
Noon:
Am Bm
Same Rhythym as 'Light my Fire' by the Doors
Am: Burning noon sun
Bm: Crowded lunch and cooling noon wind
Mid Afternoon:
D A Em G
Much like 'Here Comes Your Man' by the Pixies
D: Fading sun
A:End of day memories
Em:end of the day sadness
G:figuring what to do at night
Early Evening:
A E Bm D
Much like 'fade into you' by mazzy star
A: last moments of day burning away
E: if indoors, sun reflecting off walls in orange
Bm: thinkin about the ladies
D: relaxing
Late Evening:
D Bm G A
D: purple dwindling sky
Bm: airplane landing(i dont know...)
G:meh
A:meh
okay one of my stupidest entries ever but just listen to the songs mentioned at those times of day and youll see what i mean |
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| Prom... and its aftermath |
[Apr. 7th, 2002|09:09 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  sad | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Pixies "Cecilia Ann" mmm... late 80s surf music | ] |
herei am writing my prom in the narrative style that i SO enjoy:)
I picked her up at 6. The day had been filled full of preparation. Waking up at 7 after going to bed at 2 had left me drained. My preparations started with vacuuming the car. Those of us who are slobs can't use the average vacuum to clean a car. We need more power. This was found in a shop vac. A file Sears Craftsman that really sucked. After i had vacuumed the car I took it to the flower shop, my low energy from lack of sleep making me drive like a mescal addict. I picked up the corsage and the rose i give to the mother, or as i like to call it, the "brown nose rose." I got the car washed and drove back home. The next 2 hours were spent trying to kill time and waiting for Brenda to get back from Seattle. She did, and i took my shower and got ready. I shaved with a blade for the first time in 6 months and used shaving cream with added good smells. My cold prevented me from smelling it but i was sure any girl would like it. Then came the AFTERSHAVE! IT WAS LIKE MY FACE HAD BEEN LIT ON FIRE WITH ICE! I WANTED TO SCREAM BUT THE PAIN WAS TOO GREAT, but so was the smell. This date had beeter be worth aftershave at least. Dating wasnt my thing. I was always the type who never danced, but tonight was my night. Tonight i had rhythym. I felt like Tom Jones. The phone range the next minute. Brenda called and gave me directions, but ones i didn't understand. No matter; i would find my way, i hoped. I got in my tux and zipped out the door, but forgot my corsage. I then got lost and called her on my cell phone. I found the house, but was it the house? Would i be visited by some stranger? Luckily it was.
"Hi, Mike." She said nervously.
I only waved in recognition. It was just the way i did things when i was nervous. Luckily however, I'm always nervous anywhere I go, so its normal to see me wave. Personally i thought she looked great, maybe the reason i was nervous. Oh well, this is prom. A night of people's plans and dreams and for some, sexual stresses, all being tested. She got up, about to put the butanier on me. Then she handed it the lady that had done her hair.
"Can you do it for me? I'm afraid I'm gonna stab him," she said, somewhat cowering.
I gave a smile and went ahead with letting the lady put my boutenier on for me. Then I got out the corsage which completely matched her dress well. My mom has good taste.
Soon we had our pictures taken and were off.
We first went to Yamhill Grill, a slightly nice restaraunt in Newberg where people come to eat Yamhill County's finest food and drink. We walked in; obviously this was not a common place for prom, but it was still a good choice. I got a huge steak, she got a salad. I immediately saw the contrast, and me looking like a pig with my large appetite. My appetizer salad came and i had always been taught by my mom to never start eating until everybody was. The bread plate came, and so i tried successfully to get Brenda to eat some appetizer bread so i could eat my salad. My compulsory manners can sometimes be strange.
Our food came and we sat there, talking nervously. Me and her were only friends and this night was something that we hoped would at least keep us friends. I could tell we didnt know much how to act in this situation. That was okay. It was good to get out. Our talking had gotten nervous, too nervous. She was just talking when all of a sudden she said.
"Wow! For some reason i keep looking at the Texaco over there and I dont know why."
"That's O.K., I've been looking at the Star Mart." I replied in humor.
Obviously this date was pushing us to a point where we weren't ready. We had decided to go as friends in a large group. But several changes had set us to apoint where our group got a limo and me and Brenda got stuck alone. It was way too awkward as friends and we both knew it, and were putting up everything to tell each other "no" even though neither of us was even asking anything penetrating such as "what if."
So off we went, barelling down 99W into Portland. We talked more. personally i thought all our small talk sounded like nervouse people on a blind date, and thats how it seemed to me. Me and Brenda were never friends who thought we would be able to do this, and here we were, trying to impress each other. Odd moments were abound tonight.
We arrived at the prom and got in. We started looking for the group we would have gone with. We waited for an hour. I must have looked bored because every now and then she would ask me if i was bored. I think that kind of soured things with my look even if i wasnt bored. The other group of people came an hour later. The other group consisted of Brenda's good friend Kathy and several others. When they came, i remember me, and my friend Mike Smith, who was Kathy's date, standing around waiting for Brenda and Kathy in the bathroom.
Mike had been a friend i met in track my freshman year. A white rapper, he always was good to actually try to rap with. Our dates were too nervous to dance. So me and Mike decided to dance in front of them while they sat down. I never knew i had rhythym. My sister always did, but at that moment i found out i COULD dance. Geez, you never know until you try.
Slow dancing came and i knew Brenda was nervous, but she promised to do it at least once, so out we went to the dance floor. Her arms around the back of my shoulders, my arms around the back of her neck to some Eric Clapton song. We looked like a pair of parapalegic 7th graders trying out dancing for the first time. It was something we werent used to. I had never danced, it wasn't mything, but this time I thought I would try it out. But also this time, Brenda wasn't the type who'd dance. I could tell the the nervousness that had existed in the restaraunt had obviously carried its way into this moment, but this time we were reading phone signs to each other. Nervous, simply nervous.
We left the dance early because she had to go to her sister's house to get there not too late. The way home was odd, especially when I turned into a one-way street. Luckily I was able to turn around in time and find my way back to Newberg.
I got to her sister's house and walked her to the door. All the we had was a simple goodbye, nothing more. Another date, plagued by Awkwardness.
I drove home thinking. What was this date about? What would have happened if we werent nervous, or if we were in the group. Could it have been a better evening? The way the date had happened or the date itself had changed both of us and our friendship. I got home and went to bed knowing things would never be the same. |
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