Blame Monday.

Blame the ten cups of chocolate milk I just drank. Blame the half glass of wine that won't settle. Blame the Samurai Sam's dad brought home for dinner. Blame digestion.

Blame the promise ring I fashioned so that I'll never forget. Blame the red marks on my ring hand ring finger from squeezing my palm so that I remember.

Blame the dirt that will never was off no matter how hard I scrub. Blame the "birthmark" that has surfaced on my side in recent months which won't go away.

Blame the warmer weather for my drying skin.

Blame the new cut I seem to have acquired on the underside of my arm. Blame the cut that left its scar on the wrist. Blame my weak wrists.

Blame the hours upon hours of the musical stylings of Poe, Fiona Apple, Ani DiFranco, and the like. Blame the need to be beaten. Blame Silverchair's "Abuse Me": "abuse me more, I like it... keep on talking 'cause it's true..."

Blame oxygen for only existing in pairs.

Blame the two pages of bullshit I had to write to convince the bishop to allow me to be confirmed into a religion I don't plan to be exclusive to. Blame the sketchbook I brought to Confirmation class which holds most of my homoerotica. Blame L'Impiccato.

Blame Henna.

Blame Ms. Miller for killing everyone with her two-week research paper. Blame my need to turn this three page research paper into my college thesis. Blame Hesse for being so psychoanalytical.

Blame Hershey's for selling legal addictives.

Blame my imagination who seems to have died some time ago.

Blame my attraction to a certain boy in my confirmation class. Blame the absence of adoration in that attraction; I could care less of giving and taking emotional support, I want him in a corner now.

Blame GQ. Blame Brad Pitt. Blame all the pretty gay boys in Queer As Folk. Blame Abercrombie and Fitch. Blame Hot Topic. Blame Australia.

Blame Fortuna for her impeccable timing.

But don't blame me because I can't turn a blind eye.

. . . . . posted:||9:47 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I'm getting dizzy and I feel like throwing up.

. . . . . posted:||9:16 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Current mood brought to you in part by: that fanfic Karen directed me to.

Lately (read: the past month) I've been toying with the idea of domination and submission. Yes, this includes the act of BDSM, but also spills further into life outside of the leather strap. There are other forms of domination and submission which can be as subtle as attending public school. But... damn, I need to structure this better if I want to make sense.

I'm intrigued by people who are willingly submissive. There is an immense amount of trust involved in allowing others to dominate you. Yes, some people become submissive during sex play because they feel a need to be controlled. Evident by the many bondage clubs throughout the country. But there are those who are submissive against their will, and those who allow themselves to be dominated as a form of self-punishment.

Children are inheritly under the control of their parents, unless they are not disciplined to be so. From the moment which they are born, children are an adult's inferior if only due to physical abilities and mental capacity. It is a disadvantage that is not noticed until the child has become more self aware.

Then what of people who can think for themselves? To bring up this topic, I'll use several of the characters from the Utena series (which deals directly with this subject). Anthy, due to her status as the Rose Bride, must be very submissive to whomever wins her in a duel. She does so by playing the supportive role in life as much as possible; she makes lunches, cleans the room she shares with her owner, prepares the dueling champion for a match, occasionally gets slapped around due to her "disobedience", etc. In truth, she plays the part of the Rose Bride in order to keep the memory of the Prince she betrayed; she took the Prince away from the rest of the world and therefore perpetuates the Dueling Game which replaces the Prince's role. (Confused much? Think of it as a sort of Pandora's Box; the Prince is chivalry which cannot survive in the personalities of all people, and the Dueling Game is mere ceremony masking as the actual act.)

In this sense, it is not the will of one imposed onto another, but the submissive person's own mentality which causes them to be submissive.

...I guess you could call it conscience.

Not making any sense. Tried to keep focused, but then SG-1 came on the tv, and it was a good episode too!

. . . . . posted:||2:48 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Once again my parents' appalling mannerisms (and occasionally my sister's as well) is giving me cause and alarm to fear for my own health. I would strike them down for hypocrisy, but I have no energy today.

Wish I did though.

Wish I could go crazy on the keyboard and type my 100 words per minute heart away for no apparent reason at all.

This page needs an update. I need an update.

. . . . . posted:||8:37 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
You know... it's interesting to note that occasionally that boy makes sense. Celebrities, much like role models, can become metaphors for a memory, a mentality, etc. Unlike role models, one isn't urged to have only one role model and therefore adoration of several celebrities is possible. For instance, No Doubt and Sarah McLaughlin will always be synonymous with the summer of '95-'96.

On another note, I do believe that I've ticked Jyl off.

. . . . . posted:||7:22 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Hmm... knew that the actor who plays as Roger in last night's performance looked/sounded familiar. I've seen him play with his band Mezzanine before. Regardless, completely sexy man. (Funny incident with that saying. Sis and I were walking 'round during the intermission and discussing the show thus far. I was just making the previous remark 'bout Roger while we passed these two guys who were practically joined at the hip. From behind us, I heard: "And I guess that's... her boyfriend? Ha!" Irony rules the day.) Other actors to note: The ones doing Mark (an understudy) and Angel. Mmph!

Before RENT was Gameworks paid for by the Drug Reps (one of the perks of being the son of the doctor: when drug companies bribe your dad into using their product, you get to tag along) and saw Gabbo there. Didn't say too much though. More hot guys, including one who was climbing the rock-wall/mountain in the center. Sis and I enjoyed watching him in action.

Currently recovering from a day spent sleeping. Awoke, came downstairs, and noticed that the air in the house had become oh so stale. So, open are the windows now to clear away the unbreathable-ness.

Been going through all my old playlists (and I really should've made a few more thanks to recent events, but that can be chalked up to the semi-funk I've been in) and it's amazing all the good songs you completely forget about after you haven't heard them in ages. Like songs by Poe or Fiona Apple.

. . . . . posted:||5:50 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Yesterday I saw RENT. I had forgotten how incredible that show was, but half of the bourgeoise audience weren't so enthusiastic about the show. I wished that I was one of the groupies in the "Golden Circle" (three rows in the very very front) that screamed as if it were a rock concert (which it really should've been, ambience wise). The sound techie guy must've been drunk or asleep; half of the time there was a two second delay when he was suppose to turn on a certain character's mic.

Saw Christian, Lauren, and John there. And Lauren was right: "Christian, this isn't a play. It's a cute gay boy convention." This led to an entire discussion on the abundance of gay guys, their incredible height, and the fact that they were all coupled. ::insert a sigh from Christian and I::

General happiness for the rest of the day. Went to Best Buy later and stalked this cute boy through the CD racks.

Then went home and attempted to install some new anti-virus software onto the computer... which took 5 hours... grr.

Day 2 of a three-day weekend.

Score: 44

. . . . . posted:||9:22 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Hmm... contemplating pulling something like the "Warning" musicvideo (read: scream at the top of my lungs at 10:24am to signal the apocalypse) or just scream for no apparent reason.

Saw "Grave of the Fireflies" in Japanese... for the sixth time... not as sad as it was the first time 'round. So I just read from the Japanese Slang book the entire time.

Waited for Marcy to show up to do our photoshoot. She couldn't get out of her class, nor did I have Christine's blade-cane. So I sat and worked on homework instead.

Thankfully Mr. Millet wasn't in today, so Algebra was easy enough. During lunch there was mentioning of Mikey's preference for objects up his ass... followed by histerical laughter.

Printed in Art. Three more colors. Lizzy's back, but depressed.

Piano sucked.

RENT is tomorrow.

Welcome to the weekend.

. . . . . posted:||7:41 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Nothing much of consequence to write.

Saw the "Rumors" matinee. Wonderfully acted, with only two momentary hickups. I applaud my classmates.

General apathy reigns. And no, not everything about life is shite.

Oh, the challenge is on. And I will prevail.

Score: 48

. . . . . posted:||10:47 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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It's been one of those days.

Japanese: Easy as hell. Boring as hell. Only interesting thing to note was that Kimi wore a skirt.

Photo: Printed. Then helped Lauren a bit with her English homework which everyone is getting killed by (including me). Found out I got an honorable mention for the photo contest I entered.

Algebra: Test.

Lunch: Ackward discussions and a spilt bottle of Diet Pepsi.

Art: More carving and printing.

APC: Getting fucking tired of the easily distracted members. DeeDee can really take charge of things... which she tends to do so much more often since Ms. President can't keep her in check, and it's been getting annoying... and I sometimes feel that we two are the only ones who can keep our focus the entire meeting... scratch that, her mind wandered a bit too.

Choir: Disappointed that Sarah wasn't there. Sang old songs.

And I'm within two seconds of being convicted with murder; sister's cause of death: strangulation. I have rope. I am close. So fucking close. She's completely ungrateful and, as much as I'd love to teach her a lesson on self responsibility, pop always steps in to cheer her up.

Serious doubts on her survival skills in the future. It's all because she's had it easy until we started school at LVA. She didn't have to suffer the torments of other kids in elementary and middle school. She didn't have to be strong. And now she's paying for it.

And I do too. I have to hear her bitching, moaning, groaning, etc. Come college I'll relish somewhat the tie I severe with her. I'm tired of favors. I really am.

Score: 47

just... fucking... stop.

or i'll be forced to stockpile arsenic again.

. . . . . posted:||10:52 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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(On a side note, a happy bday to ya!)

. . . . . posted:||9:38 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Hmm... I'm pretty sure that I've slapped some sense into him yet, but the boy does have a talent for being quite a blockhead. We'll have to see how things progress from this moment. But I'm feeling more like Dolly each time I repair or refract the correspondence between two people.

We had a Nazi Louis Anderson for chemistry today. He had the voice, references to gasing us with nerve gas, calling us by our class number, etc. I was expecting to look down on my shirt and discover that a pink triangle had been sewn on. Falvey dear didn't think too highly of him either; the first time I've seen her deliberately try to piss of a substitute. Taylor accidently played footsie with me again. Marcy's reaction to Lauren's old habit was one of shocked silence. Found myself glancing at Jason, then I remember that he has a boyfriend. Damn. There's Brady, but no chance in hell. There's Zack, and we all remember how that turned out. And that's about it.

Score: 44

. . . . . posted:||9:24 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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What the hell, I'm on a roll. The following was ripped off of D-Lo's (aka. Eric) OD.

Overanalyze the following words, and tell what they mean to you:

Beauty - Equilibrium. People who are beautiful (including the duality of physical and personal qualities) have attained a sort of balance and it is apparent in all that they do. Attraction goes without saying... but psychological beauty is harder to define. It's not something some one would say: "Oh, his analytical make-up is gorgeous!" Depends on one's taste concerning the different complications which create the individual human persona.

Change - Something I have far too much of. I have an entire bowl of 10 cent or lower coins that I don't touch because four of any doesn't give you enough to buy a soda at school. Sis had one of those Coke bottle coin banks filled, but then she took it into a CoinStar and got almost all of her $22 back. Several dollars were with-held for handling costs. Wish I had the perserverance she has to maintain such a menial task. Not to mention the very weight of the damned thing as she lugged it into the grocery store.

Music - A very potent catalyst. Perhaps one of the first signs of abstract thought and aestheticism developed by man. Unless one is born deaf, everyone will have a reaction to music. Be it strong or weak, negative or energetic. I could continue, but there're others.

Clouds - It still amazes me how interesting clouds really are. Not so much looking at them to try to find shapes and figures, but examining their movements; the near-liquid pattern of fluid motion as clouds tumble over eachother. On days where there are whisps of clouds, I always notice how I can see the smaller clouds as quick shadows across my pillow when the sun shines behind.

Death - Don't be concerned with the afterlife. We can never be sure. Death is not final. Memory transcends death not in the originator of thought, but in those whom they have influenced. Death is inevitable. Death cannot be escaped. "Death gives meaning to our lives. It gives time value. Without death, we would have too much of it..."

Sunset - Boulevard. Seriously, sunsets are nice and pretty (more so in AZ thanks to the thicker layer of pollution) but I look forward to the twilight.

Bricks - Industrial. Buildings of bricks almost give one a sense of temporary residence, or at least hasty construction. Not at all attractive. Tile, on the other hand, is a different matter...

Mirror - An instrument whose use determines the onlooker's attitude. Haven't shattered any or turned myself to stone, but my history with the pane of glass over a reflective surface hasn't been one of easy comfort.

Flower - Innocence. "Pretty." A vagina. Blame the V-Day programing for that last one.

Dream - Wish I had more. Or remembered more. Dreams have power. Not so much those dreams which only the unconcious have the key to, but also the Dreamers with imaginations. Dream is a synonym for imagination. Afterall, one's life dream is often times the single motivation they will receive in constant measure throughout their life.

Eyes - If I had the courage to peer into them more, I may have more to say. But I do not.

Laughter - Essential. Those who do not laugh are not human. Even if it is the sadistic, cereal-killer cackle, any laugh is still better than none.

Water - Womb. Main reason why I enjoy swimming and long showers; the feeling of warmth and the reduction of energy needed to maintain one's posture. Baths... I have issues with bathtubs. Mainly that they are all too small... Obscene references to Dune, the "Water of Life" and all, or the product of the Vagina Monologues? You be the judge.

Sign - Horoscopes? Not really into them. Driving signals? Essential. Signs are short cuts to understanding. Instead of memorizing exactly when to turn, we can look to a streetpost and read the sign that tells us where we are.

Stars - Too few in this city. The lights of down town literally drown out all the small ones. Only in Sedona, on a school camping trip, was I able to see what a true cluster of stars in the sky looks like. And streetlights.

Sand - Mainly the beach, although I don't go very often. But also the progression of time as grains proceed to fall from one end of the hour glass to the other.

Dogs - They're pets. Potentially cute, potentially annoying. Not needed per se, but welcome flavoring to the meal of life.

Life - A chance to feel emotion.

Bridge - I remember how the year that the Bridges of Madison County won an Oscar, I stopped looking to hollywood for absolutely all of my filmss.

Feather - ::insert incessant references to FF8-10::

Voice - The core of human communication. A tool and a skill with the most potentially efficient means of transfering ideas short of telepathy.

Blue - Blue's Clues, Steve, and wonder where he went. Or one of Picasso's "periods."

Knowledge - "You go to school to get the joke."

Snow - Wish I had more. The only snow I've ever seen fall were hard and coarse, almost hail. But soft snow is amazing.

Glass - Transleucent. You can trust its contents, but not necessarily its presentation. (i.e. the mirrors in fun houses)

Pride - A virtue and curse I'm reluctant to admit. But thanks to PA, I hear Pride and I think something GLBT-related.

Age - Only a marker for progress. Actual progress is not noticed.

Friendship - As Eric said: "It's like two inner-tubes in an ocean. You can hold on to each other, but still float away without control."

Lobster - Expensive dinner. Can't say elegant because the consumption of lobster requires one to get down and dirty with the meaty tail.

Tree - Strength. Not completely sturdy, but not rigid enough to cease growing.

Heat - Comfort, familiar, sanguine. My oven-temperature room puts me to sleep everytime.

Difference - It keeps life interesting.

Pillow - I have too many. Six regular pillows (two of which are extra fluffy) and a body pillow. I need my cushioning dammit.

Hill - Under the stars, overlooking some portion of the neighborhood, and there's a picnic blanket on the cool grass. A blanket over us too, but we were able to keep eachother warmer.

Mom - The propaganda technique of using the mother to familiarize a product works. Mom = Home.

Love - A word too often taken for granted, impossible for the impatient to find, and the word whose meaning has been raped beyond comprehension.

. . . . . posted:||11:47 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Hmm... I guess Tori Amos was right. Being alone and locking ourselves into our rooms "is wasteful of our time here."

I didn't stop thinking about him and our time back in the summer of '95 to realize that I had idolized and altered his image to that of the perfect lover. Yes, he was that. He was also considerate, polite, reticent but not to a fault, attractive, romantic, and very smart. But, after our last recent encounter, I had forgotten how complex he really was (especially concerning his family's involvement in his life) and how much he shielded me from the troubles he was going through. Whether that would've made a difference back then... I cannot be sure. Ever since I took a moment to wonder how life would be had I a chance to live it over... and so many things may have developed differently that I'm glad I've lived life the way I have. Even if I've made too many mistakes.

I still haven't thrown away your necklace. The one you put on me that magical night, dancing under streetlights and stars. But if I want to keep on living life at a calmer pace, I need to forget the false you I created. Sorry, now we've grown so far apart you're as good as a stranger to me. And I don't know whether the good traits that were merely exaggerated in my mind still exist in their lesser states.

One thing I have to say, though. You were still a great lover. Goodbye my muse.

And thank you, Matt. It feels great talking again.

. . . . . posted:||10:58 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
At this moment I'm learning about all the reasons why. And some of them I predicted.

"What is there about me that attracts so many people?"

He can't see it. How ironic.

I slit my wrist accidently while carving into my linoleum plate.

Anderson barred the darkroom today because she was creating contact sheets for the administration.

Michelle's scandalous erotica photographia.

This compromises everything I wanted to try in the studio with some willing models.

I was stuck in the classroom drawing and discussing the Genji Monogatari with Bobby.

Later, during lunch, he raped (read: stole and looked through) my sketchbook.

Justin has no idea about the specifics for the AIDS walk scheduled for Sunday.

Mother's reluctant to take the interview I have to give for Confirmation.

The beautiful Incubus concert experience and after glow has ebbed.

Score: 43

. . . . . posted:||3:33 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Concert. There's something to be said about Brandon Boyd, the plethora of slow songs on Incubus' latest "Morning View," group swaying, and resting against an extremely attractive boy with his body pressing back, arms resting on my shoulders. I'm happy.

Came home to find three new messages. Two were from Matt 'bout a last minute movie night he wanted to do, but by that time sis and I had already left. The third was just silence and then a click. I'm assuming that was him as well.

Now I have to go back to school tomorrow... Gr.

. . . . . posted:||12:54 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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I'm happy to say that I got into John Mayer before his video started getting heavy rotation on MTV and VH1... albeit that was only four months before his video debut (not much of a timespan) and the main reason I caught his name in the first place was looking for a particular Sarah McLaughlin CD when I happened to spot a pretty face on a nicely-designed CD cover.

Yes, I'm one of those people that actually do judge by the CD cover first. Who isn't? But, it isn't the guy's nice looks that held my attention; he has talent with the guitar and voice. Something Will would have (and be all the more sexier) if he had the lung capacity to belt out some notes. Or be as much of a cunning linguist against the strings of a guitar. And for once, I'm not ticked that he is getting popular.

Hmm... Three good artists (DMB, Ben Folds, John Mayer) all produced by the same guy... Figures, I guess.

I've been progressively cheerful today (despite... everything) so I might actually call people tomorrow. Given that a) they haven't left for lunch or church and b) I haven't left for the Incubus concert.

Signs of recovery from slump: drew back the shutters in my room to let the sunlight in, made my bed, took two showers even though I didn't plan on going out, cleaned up the mess on the dining table (sis and I converted it into our pseudo-painting studio) complete with wood-polishing, cut some roses from the mass of bright colors in the backyard garden and arranged it into some sort of spherical shape, completing the French/antique theme of half of the living room, played around with a red-colored light bulb.

Plausible causes for recovery: Incubus concert at Mandalay Bay tomorrow, including Hoobastank, so I'm a happy camper in that respect, John Mayer specials on MuchMusic and VH1, the heavy rotation of Our Lady Peace, John Mayer, and figuring out "Kissing You" on the piano. All music related.

Now all I have to do is clear off the coffee table and I shall be fully contented.

Can't help but feel a bit guilty for feeling better while several of my friends are feeling worse. (::sends a hug down Karen's way::)

Parents brought home some Jack-In-the-Box (note: never ever get the ground beef selections, but the chicken's always safe) and spoils from the new Filipino store the parents found recently.


Cracked up on an episode of "Who's Line is it Anyways?" During a game of 'Who's Line...' Colin, in all of his gladiator mystique: "And we will go out into the arena where the emperor will come forth and say... 'Hi, my name is Bill and I like tight panties'... Well, put them on."

Helped sis take photos for her own self-portrait assignment. Currently setting up Marcy's own photo-shoot as Artemis. There's an Advantex camera still wrapped in its silver packet on the kitchen counter for tomorrow. Everything is photographic at the moment.

Still need to touch my sketchbook for an idea or two that's been dancing through my mind. Or possibly a new layout.

. . . . . posted:||10:59 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"There is something foreboding about that door down the corridor. It’s dark, encased in years of dirt and mud. Fluorescent lights above cannot illuminate its blood-rusted hinges, as if the light was a fog, not the herald of recognition. But, that door is so much farther down the corridor. I can walk along that pathway, peering into the key holes of some locked doors while others are flung open before me.

The door behind me now, the first, is warm but not unbearable. It is comfort, sanguine, familiar, and ignorance. The key hole has already been painted over, and I cannot peer into it anymore. The farther I walk from the first door the greater the absence of warmth upon my back, or my face if I look to it again. Some of these doors, like the first, are painted and concealed, but I can still feel their heat with my palm against the wood. Some of these doors aren’t even wood; cold steel with large metal bolts; but some are. Protective oaks, timber of the strongest kind, to a paper screen, all can be found here.

Most of my time is spent looking through keyholes, but not all. I could view those doors not yet locked, not even closed, and I can see. Some lead to a corridor identical to mine, except at some point several of the doors have been boarded with beach wood or smelted, scarred like a stitch.

There are doors like that in my corridor too. Some have been marked with a cowardice of yellow; caution tape. Others have chalk outlines, contoured limbs, twists of agony, playing along its hinges and carpets. Several times, out of curiousity--or the screams of hinges turning as doors slammed shut, and I needed silence--I open these doors. Cut through the tape. Turn the knob. Something rank would fall from the ceiling, or already on the floor.

The door in the end of the corridor is in front of me now. That door is always close to me. Such is its nature.

Do I turn away?"

The English assignment concerning imagery I finished this morning. Finally Miller's assigning work that I enjoy. The scheduel she gave us concerning the last seven or so weeks of school, specifically the section on our research papers (which I have accumulated thirty-some resources... now I am in need of a pen to strike out half of them) is going to leave me much tired.


Much badness is in the air at the moment. For a lot of people I know.

So I put on the headphones and listen to the love-theme of "Romeo+Juliet" at full volume.

Sometimes I feel like him. Too often.

. . . . . posted:||1:58 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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I'm tired. Boku wa tottemo tsukareta yo.

Japanese was... interesting. In-class reading assignment, Language Fair video-viewing, questions on the time scheduel for the day, Charles' butchering of a good Glay song, Robert's book of Japanese Street Slang (specifically the section on "gei boi" and "shit/enema play"). Also, the poking and prodding of Ben.

Photo was disappointing. I left half my negatives at home. I printed, and the photos were beautiful. But I needed the other set of negatives to complete my assignment. For half an hour I followed Flayve to the Rumors set and witnessed her helping Mr. Born with the banister.

Algebra was boring. But, with Proficiency Testing over, I actually had to pay attention while taking notes.

Spent my lunch staring at Dolphin with DJ. Well, not so much staring but looking at him in a casual, side-ways out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye manner. The boy was almost directly next to me afterall. And I think he knew very well who we were talking about.

Came back to Algebra after lunch to discover that the topic of Mikey and Dolphin's beautiful children had been brought up... huh?

Spent all of Art working on my color-reduction plate. A relief sculpture of the Virgin Mary with the "L'Impiccato" card over her head and "Il Matto" tucked behind her. The first one to finish in my class, so I'm almost ready to work on carving my plate.

At 5:45pm went to the Congressional Art Show reception. Sis didn't place in the top three. The first place was taken by a first year student who has immense talent. I'd be jealous... but I saw his black and white "Manchine" painting. The boy is good with charcoal though. Had some nice Belgian coffee and sat on a bench under a faux London streetlight. Sis said I looked like a snobby aristocrat; I had worn all black for the occasion which was really more casual than expected. I guess expecting caviar and champagne was too much in the first place.

Want to know the reasons why? XY:Raw. The latest Issue. Page 101.

I'm tired.

. . . . . posted:||9:37 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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"You see, that's the thing. People who are 'hot' never last. 'Cute' only lasts a little longer. And 'beautiful' lasts for a long time." -Falvey

Today was wrought with unrest. Technically speaking it began at 12:00am last night where I attempted to go to bed. However, much twisting, turning, contemplating, etc. deprived me of precious unconciousness. Only had two hour's worth of sleep once the panges of aches in my head stopped. And the twisting and gnawling of the sheets.

Came to school only to face a tedious math proficiency test. Second one finished, didn't even have to touch the provided scratch paper. Giving me... 80 minutes of free time. Free time with the restrictions of sleep or reading. Boredom.

Quick World History class. Mainly the packet for the chapter with questions, helping Lauren cope with her hunger/caffiene pains, witnessing Joey turning Eric a bright shade of crimson.

Half of chemistry was spent trying to figure out exactly what we were suppose to be doing. The other half was spent not paying attention and passing "general knowledge" trivia tests to eachother across the table. Yes, it's hard to pay attention to a teacher I don't respect much.

Art was spent trying to manipulate my tarot cards, a relief of the virgin Mary, a Neko Cat, and Mah Jong tiles into some feasible composition. Finally, sans all except the Mary and tarot, I was successful.

Brief NHS meeting afterschool followed by a disappointing APC meeting. The club means well, but a) president Mica is as easily distracted as everyone else b) the plans for an Asian Pacific Festival afterschool sounds a bit over-the-top and pretentious. I tried pursuading DeeDee that the small quad area in Knapp was more than enough space, but she was adamant and stubborn per usual.

Got picked up, ate at Buffet Asia, went home, got ready for choir practice, fell asleep, woke up generally apathetic with the urge to be handcuffed.


. . . . . posted:||8:55 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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I had a bizarre dream just now. I dreamt that I went to school with this shadowy figure, only to find out that it was festering with the undead, and my dad had set up shop in one of the offices. While running away from the horde of the dead, I decided that it wasn't worth it, took out a gun, and shot myself. Suddenly I wasn't with the undead anymore, but instead the halls were filled with children and their imaginary friends. I ran outside of the main building to find sis and friends outside. For some reason I run up and give her a hug, and she says that she didn't recognize me at first. Then she realized that I had died and ran off crying. At this point I start feeling bad, so I use my ghost powers to go back home and began typing up a letter of apology to everyone I know, when I realized that I could type on the computer and decided that I could still communicate with everyone through cyberspace. So I hacked into the school website, only to find out that they had set up a page for me to type in (which strangely enough was labeled with DJ's screenname). I start typing as lilies and goldfish swam across the screen, until my mom and dad came home from one of their dates. They take one look at me, see that I'm dead, and go out again. Several hours later (don't ask me how I know it was later) they come back and make a new body for me out of sponges. After that, I wake up to see Marcy and Jyl sitting beside me and I discussed how I was sure that I had had that dream before, and they disagree with me because they weren't in that dream.

And about that time I truly wake up. Happily alive, to say the least.

. . . . . posted:||6:17 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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So yes, the winds today reached as strong as 90mph. One particular intersection, flanked in three corners by vacant lots, was caught in a particularily strong gust of wind producing a visibility of five feet and a pillar of dust reminiscent of the biblical pillar of fire. And yes, we had to drive through it.

Today was lack-luster at best, but what else can one expect on a monday? English was spent taking practice proficiency tests in preparation for the next two days of testing. World History found me nodding off while being kept awake by Claire's continued poking and prodding. Chemistry was wrought with disturbing images of Mrs. B scuba diving, questions about seeming normality, Taylor accidently playing footsy with me, and Marcy's offer to pose for a photo shoot. Lauren was absent for all because she herself was being photographed for a senior art student's compilation of erotica photographia. During art I became frustrated with my chine collage and promptly take it out on Lizzy who, to my frustration and partial annoyance, has grown progressively needy and eccentric. Normally eccentricity is something to be applauded when there is some sort of code of action... but Lizzy has more or less none. I was a lil bit ticked at her earlier when she erased Hesse's name from a quote I wrote on Hoffman's board and put her's. Insulted? Yes.

Tomorrow my scheduel is completely awry.

Currently trying to design a new pattern to put to henna on my hands. Yes, I know I should be in bed at this moment.

I'm happy for Sarah. She and her boy seem to be very blissful, and I envy her luck. Yes, you must introduce him to us sometime.

Travis, political enemy of Justin and Nick, has been expelled from school. Hopefully the clique dynamic of PA won't be drastically shifted. I've been more or less successful in preventing association of myself into any of the given sides (I've already clearly stated that the club is more important than who runs it) and, without Travis' strongly voiced opinions, nominations for officers for next year seem to be almost one sided. A bit dictatoral if you ask me... yet I'm a bit afraid of the opposition and possible nasty situations if I do decide to run against Justin for President. Damned group politics.

... I think I will go to bed now.

... oh? We're at #1100 already? My how time flies.

. . . . . posted:||11:51 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Hermann Hesse is by far one of the greatest psychological authors of this century. I share his views on the disbanding of political nations, the effects of psychoanalysis on a person, and the figures of popular subconscious, Jungian dogma as myths instead of direct equivalents.

"During the war we often heard it said that because of its sheer magnitude and enormity of the mechanism it released, this war would so frighten future generations that they would never again make war. This is absolutely false. Fear is without educational value. No war can discourage those who enjoy killing. Rational considerations play the most infinitesimal part in human actions. A man can be fully convinced of the absurdity of an action and nevertheless throw himself into it with fervor.”

“Revolution is nothing other than war; like war, it is a continuation of politics by other means.”

I need to obtain a copy of the book Reflections with some of his selected quotes.


. . . . . posted:||10:28 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Just when you think life's slowing down, the merry-go-round picks up speed and turns into something resembling the "Inverter" ride over at Circus Circus. In other words, the moment I start to figure things out, my mind short circuits and I lose all footing.

The worst part is that I haven't been able to do what I usually do and synthesize all this chaos into something worthwhile. Like my whole half-year stint as a poet, or my ongoing attempt at becoming a serious artist. I am in search of a muse... not necessarily someone that I'm interested in pursuing, but someone that can spark my need to express.

No, I won't label it "teen angst." I know I have problems, specifically those of trust. (although my suspicions are more or less confirmed whenever I witness the commenting system that OpenDiary operates on; half of my friends all have one, mainly the theatre majors) So I don't speak up when something upsets me. I just get quiet or laugh louder.

But I'll say this much, I'm afraid that I've separated myself from Matt so much so that I can't even tell him about whatever is troubling me. The last phone conversation we've had... which was about a month or two ago... still consisted of these steps: I hint at something which has upsetted me in an attempt to be subtle, he blatanly asks me about it, I shut up or start mumbling my answer, he urges me on, I try to explain but am affronted by further mumbling, he drops the subject eventually. So nothing is ever really said. And it's almost been a month since we've had any correspondence at all.


At least the numbers are going down... that still makes me feel like utter shit though.

To avoid being overly melodramatic, I'm keeping this small. Yesterday I figured that I should just down poison and kill myself faster than I'm able with what I do now. Today, while the rest of the family went shoping at Michaels, I took out the household firearm and contemplated the trigger sound against my temple. Funny enough, I contemplate suicide because I'm curious... don't worry, the chances of anything coming to fruitition are very slim indeed.

. . . . . posted:||12:55 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You are Yourself!

Gay, straight. These words mean very little to you. You are yourself and that's all you need to know. You fall in love with the same gender, but you believe that isn't all there is to you. Your lack of "traditional" gay pride is interpreted by many queers as internal homophobia, but in truth you just want to be your true self. Not just gay.

Take the what kind of fag are you quiz by PsychosisX!

. . . . . posted:||12:35 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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I guess I owe an explanation for the sudden, almost week-long absence. To myself, anyways.

Because sis hates to walk/wait-for-dad-to-pick-us-up alone, I had to stay after with her every single day save friday. I didn't necessarily have to stick around to see her rehearse (most of the time I was in the art room working) but it was still very very tiring. The bus ride home was another irritating factor. At that point I constantly feel like sleeping or at least contemplating quietly... but lately a bunch of assholes and girls with annoyingly high-pitched voices were with me and that was completely counterproductive. The assholes for being... well, just that. The girls because their voices were giving me a headache; I could have cared less about their mundane conversation about nail polish. Then there's the research project for Miller's class, which has given me eye strain to an extreme extent. While reading at the UNLV library, for instance, I was mid paragraph when I started seeing dark spots. Luckily, they passed.

I've been avoiding a lot of people and have neglected to say a lot of things this past week. In fact, this entire past week I dedicated to escapism; listening to music, reading, drawing, feigning joy, etc. when I really should be working on schoolwork. The extreme researching I've been doing has also been another large distractiong. Hell, even just now I'm listening to my Christina Aguilera CD at full blast, only turning it down to watch the new Kylie Minogue video. And there's no one I want to discuss my current dilemmas with, because everyone knows everyone else. It's a pity that I don't have a friend who is detached from my other ones so they wouldn't have a semi-biased opinion.

I'm slowly regressing back into a state of apathy. Or at least the need for complete disassociation.

. . . . . posted:||11:44 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Um.. yeah, so you can flush happiness down the drain.

I blame Hesse, Freud, and Jung for the bizarre dream I had last night. Well, it wasn't so much bizarre as it confirmed something that I'd hate to admit.

But, I'm afraid to mention it here because people talk.

Principle keeps me from getting another diary to rant in.

Even the Puppy Dog and Lil Lost Kitten from last night on offer me fleeting happiness. And so do Dolphin and "Bill."

Another thing I've noticed, this time about Hesse, Jung, and Freud. It seems to me that all psychological theorem deal with the human as an individual. However, is it possible for one to reach that "awakening" and complete reevaluation of everything with someone else? Has there ever been a psychologist who has considered cooperative self-actualization between two people? Not so much using someone else as a ladder or stepping stone to contentment, but to integrate another into one's persona.

Just a thought.

. . . . . posted:||11:14 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Nope, can't get my spirits down when I'm on a musical high. Nevermind the embarassment of Language Fair, the bordem of sis' orchestra performance, or the ackwardness at the UNLV library from all the college students.

I got to see JCSS, which was rather well performed. Had a larger impact on me than Hello Dolly did, so that's very impressive. The little things bugged me though, mainly Judas' inability to scream the high notes. Jesus performed beautifully. The roman guard looked more imposing when their costumes resembled those of the Nazi regime, however. None the less, an excellent performance.

Nope, can't get me down.

. . . . . posted:||11:33 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Tired. Fatigued. Catatonic. And other delicious synonyms to fill the void left by a missing adjective. 15 hours till I got to go home. From school to almost home at 6pm, then from almost home to church till 8pm. And I don't feel like going to confirmation classes anymore.

I need to get handcuffs. Or get dominated.

I just feel an urge to get punished. Not because of some sado/masochistic desire. Because I want to suffer some sort of retribution. But I have no discipline to give myself just penance.

Currently wishing that someone else would figure it out and say something.

The moment they do, however, I'll end up stuttering and mumbling. Never finishing any sentence.

... it annoys me that I have the largest vocabulary in the family and am the only one capable of finishing an entire sentence without slurring the damned thing together...


. . . . . posted:||10:03 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Disappointment and annoyance. Two members for sis' singing group didn't show; one doesn't really need to be there, the other does. So I had to pitch in and fill her part. Sadly, I dance better than all the others.

Disappointment and frustration. This plug-in isn't cleaning up the vocal track as well as I'd wish for.

Disappointment and defeat. Tyler wasn't at the cast party/dinner.

I need to stop taking life so seriously again.


. . . . . posted:||10:28 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Cooled off much? Yes.

Went and saw Pop Concert. Disappointing, technical merit wise. The stage direction needed severe help. Several of the singers needed to learn how to put emotion into their singing while others tried too hard to make themselves sing exactly like the cd. Oh, and they gave Incubus' "Drive" the boy band treatment. Grr.

But one thing I have to say: I feel sorry for James. And the entire audience felt the same way.

And yes, this performance should've been in the blackbox instead of the main stage. Intimate settings are better for the slower songs.

DJ was there wearing a black collar top (::gasp!::) but with jeans (::disappointment!::) and had dragged along two BMS Starlite-ers who'll be coming to LVA next year. One was a boy who had recently come out. Didn't even have to mention it; he had that "kid in a candy store" look whenever he saw all the people in the crowd. The other was a girl who had a thing for J. Lopez (not the singer, the dancer) and kept staring at him during intermissions.

But yes, I agree that the show was lack luster. Oh, I said that already? Hm, damn.

Dad seemed extra irritable today. And he seems to read acts of politeness from me as acts of disrespect. Just because they were coming from me. Hrm. Yes, I'm half to blame, but he's definitely holding back a bit himself. Aren't you, dad?

Total Accumulative Score: 33

. . . . . posted:||12:12 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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I'm at my wit's end at the moment. Really I am. Yes, I have been avoiding you these past four weeks. It was easy because apparently you were avoiding me too. Avoiding all of us.

Well, fuck you.

Normally when someone on my buddylist goes on and off it's a sure sign that they're just checking to see if a certain someone is on. Normally I don't mind too much.

But I can't help but feel a little bit betrayed.

So fuck you.

Fuck your dodgey ways.

Fuck your broken promises.

I'm so sick and fucking tired of this stunt you are pulling. I had patience and you wasted it. So enjoy what little sympathy you can get from me when I see/speak to you next.

. . . . . posted:||11:24 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Mmm. "Breakfast at Tiffany's." It's a wonder that I've never wanted to watch this movie before. So, mix Breakfast at Tiffany's with Cruel Intentions, spice with Moulin Rouge... and that is how I wish to live life. Well, as a child of Dionysius and purely for pleasure.

No, that's not how I want to live life. But I want to experience it. I want to taste it.

But yes, "Breakfast at Tiffany's" is an amazingly splendid film.

. . . . . posted:||3:33 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Hmm... Me? Sleeping for 10 hours a time? No, that is not a good sign. Especially when I get my extra 6 hours sleep. That is what accounts for my recent absence from anywhere on the net. That and I'm still avoiding someone. Speaking of which, I was retabulating the score today, and I thought that I only had 19 instead of 21 and that made me happy. Then tonight happened and that 19 became a 20. At least it's still better by one, right?

Drum roll please. The number one reason why I hesitate to tell people personal things is... I would appear weak. It's my vice, I believe, that people think I'm a pillar of strength. Most of my group members for school projects think so, anyways. Yes, I'm following the path of most to all men, the need to be strong. I just don't act masculine, but detached and stoic. Take for instance the introduction of deadjournal to me. I know of three of my friends who have those things, and it is surprising to see how fragile their whole persona is. Again, I want to talk to one or two of them who share this particular problem... but they're all girls. Hn.

I need to meet a guy who has been through the things I have. Well, on this concern anyways. Problem is, they are few and far between. I do so happen to know of one guy, but I won't annoy him with an email from a stranger. It seems wrong.

Funny how I always need someone to talk to, but when someone comes along I clam up.

Today during lunch I was in dire need of cheering up and energy-infusion that did not involve sugar or caffiene. So, I was heckling Marcy, Claire, and Kristen to name any musical ("besides Moulin Rouge, dammit!") so I could sing and be happy. We tried it at first with Spice Girls songs, but that got a bit scary. So, can that idea.

Still caught up in the image of a dark dancing hall, bossa nova, the light from a slowly rotating disco ball, and arms wrapped across anothers chest as they moved in time with the music. Been trying to capture that in my more recent drawings... but with no real life models, the proportions are off. Hn.

Currently finishing an application to join National Honors Society. Specifically the essay portion. It's hell.

. . . . . posted:||10:41 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Take the car out on a friday night, even when you have nothing to do and no where to go. Get on that secluded belt way and drive as fast as you dare or as fast as the can handle. Watch the progression of streetlights as they pass by you so fast they are only streaks of light. Roll down all the windows and rest your elbow out the side. Don't forget to keep the moonroof open. One hand on the stick shift, the other on the steering wheel. Both tapping out some unknown rhythm. Feel the wind whip through your hair. And don't forget to blast the music you're listening to. The one that makes you want to ride to the end of the world.

. . . . . posted:||2:07 AM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Saw Tyler at confirmation class tonight. Well, not so much saw him as glanced at him through the open door to his classroom.

And I wondered what I ever saw in him.

It's a good sign? No. Because then my wandering eye will fall on some other unsuspecting victim of my affection.

And that never manages to stay pretty.

. . . . . posted:||9:18 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
So yes. I've been deliberately avoiding said person for almost two weeks now. Why? Because... said person wouldn't be happy with the news/confession I have to deliver. That's adding another 21 to the tally. Don't ask.

Someone pulled the fire alarm two minutes before the dismissal bell rang today. I was non-plussed, being made to go outside without fully packing up and cleaning up my art supplies.

Currently decaling (read: painting thin layers of plastic onto printed images) for my sketchbook assignment. Estimated time of completion: 4 hours. Sadly, I'm not exaggerating.

I feel that it is time to break out the Janis Joplin CD. Or the handcuffs.

I just need to feel some sort of retribution for what I've done these past two weeks. Yes, the guilt is killing me. Yes, I need a little abuse to validate myself. Why? Even I don't know. But I have the urge to be tied up, hand cuffed, or strapped down and thoroughly bashed. Not so much the cutting of flesh, but being slammed into walls and panes of glass will suffice. Or being bitten.

Either or, I want blood drawn.

. . . . . posted:||9:15 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Erm, hi?

I was a bit disappointed that today I didn't do much for my whole April Fools stint. Didn't really think things through for today, I guess. The full extent of my trickery was feigning the need to get in a threesome with Stan and Flavey. That didn't come off very well though.

I wanted to do more stupid flirting... but oh well.

No, I will not do so during confirmation class. Plenty of close-minded jocks in my class just aching to pound on any fag they find. So, I wisely keep my mouth shut 'bout that. Even if I wear my black nail polish to it every monday.

So... tired. Need sleep. No mana. Hungry.

Oh, and found out that my friends are all bored high schoolers. The italian sub I bought for lunch, which I didn't eat because at the time I wasn't hungry, is still safely in it's plastic encasing. We named it George. And we're keeping it till senior year. Honey gets to have it tomorrow. Eep.

I'd go and eat or sleep... but there's nothing appealing in the house at this moment. Well, there are a lot of appealing things. Damned diets. -_-;;

. . . . . posted:||3:04 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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