i feel like sleep is the consummate form of ambivalence. 0 1 0 1 sleep lets you evade choice. i don't know what i am doing here in buffalo. small things matter.. going to parties, concerts, walking around parts of the city.. and i combat the frustration of living at home again with long naps.

i imagine my ambivalence at school translates into doing homework. i have the choice of either failing or trying really hard to do well, so instead i settle for simply going through the motions of doing work. if i had my choice right now, i would be shooting amazing photographs, or playing amazing guitar or having amazing sex -- but my existence is one of mediocrity. i peruse over jeff buckley tabs, toss my camera into the bottom of my bag whenever i go out, and conjure up fanticiful meetings with lovers that climax at sleep, rather than orgasm.

sometimes too much of my life is lived in my head, and i feel that it is responsible for killing activity. then, sometimes, i wonder if my suppression of imagination strikes me with a second sword. all i know is that the things in my life are far too intangible for my liking. there are pictures in my head but no poems, grand ideas and theorems but no realism that forces them into being, and no skill.. there is nothing that i can make with my hands. i lack vocation, but i also lack intellectual projects. i am sick of this human existence thing, because even it is not instantiated in a vital way. Common humanity remains obscured, even when i strip myself down to the essentials. my life is both pedestrian and transitory. i digress. i think i will sleep in the new year. nothingness is not simply the absence of beauty (and ugliness), it is the absence of logical action. its the point at which i logically arrive

my tongue tastes salty. i burnt the tip the other day, and now taste sticks to it. since i;ve been home i've listened to jeff buckley'sgrace and the buena vista social club nonstop, flipped through guitar tabs, and taken baths. once, i even lit a candle, and i also tried to sleep naked one night. i love buffalo, i hate buffalo. i like break, i hate break. i still don;t know what to do with time on my hands. when its mismanaged, i simply get annoyed, but nothing improves. i wish, when left to my own devices, i could create.

so, i've done college -- atleast, a semester of it. things feel like they are in a good place. i dunno. academics are in the air, but as far as relationships go, i feel like i've made lots of organic bonds with people. some of my connections are also mechanically solidaristic, but hopefully over time i'll be able to ween myself away from them. i've looked for geuineness in people, and for the most part i've gotten it.

so, now i'm heading home. hopefully, to shoot lots of photos and listen to music and read and perhaps write poetry. it will be nice to reenter peoples lives. perhaps i might even work at vive... the only thing i don't want to do is sit on my ass. when things are demanded of you all the time, like at school, you demand more of your time. i don't want to be idle for the next three weeks.

goodbye from new haven :::

whenever i talk for long enough, i spew forth fascinating statements. here are the some of the conclusions that i have arrived at recently:

nirvana's music was not apathetic, it was non - self righteous cynicism.
because we live under a (media induced?) false consciousness, all opinions are two dimensional.

i went to a mudhoney concert in nyc on friday. the people standing next to me at the show smoked three joints, and i reeked of smoke when i got home. i've been spraying my afro with perfume for the past two days so that i don't have to wash my hair :)

oh, i remember the tears .. oh i remember flinging sobs into mother's lap, battered and broken --
i wish i could have been the comfort that stilled your tears

i evolve on a punctuated equillibrium: every two years i am a completely different person

i was flipping through a scrapbook that i began junior year yesteday, and i fucking hated every page of it. i ripped sections out left and right. half of it was pictures of white women from seventeen and ym ads juxtaopsed next to song lyrics. when i was compiling the book, i remember being amazed by all the great images that i could find in magazines. i thought that i applied them wittily, made statements, was reflected back. now i scoff at the fact that i believed that they could actually describe me

2000: i was in my over ambitious teeny-bopper phase. i dedicated a site to ours. wrote fairly decent poetry (something that i am nostaglic for). was afraid of giong to concerts on the off chance that i might smell weed. still thought about school alot. called my grandmother instead of visiting her. loved the knicks and yankees, and stuff like football. loved the foo fighters and the chili peppers. wrote inspirational journal entries to myself that said things like:

The Traits I Will Possess 15 years From Now:
Best (of the best, creme de la creme)
(much) Success
Prosperity(well deserved, achieved in the highest means)
Fame ( fortune)
Humility(& a normal sized head, too)

1998: i was terrible. my best friend was ebony jones, and we winked at boys and sang songs like "oh what a lovely bunch of coconuts, diddly dee." i was obssesed with the male anatomy although i had no idea what sex was. i was in love with either marcell or brandon or Ginuwine or Allan Houston, really don,t remember, possibly some combination of the three. maintained Chi Chi Salsa's Ginuwine shrine on angelfire.com. (it was a damn well put together site, though...). also may have liked jaja. don't remember. exclusively was into RB. got into three fights with girls over stuff like masturbation and gossip and watches. was a terrible person.

pre 1996: year demarcations don't really factor in at this point. catherine emery was my best friend, and she was very tiny. we dressed up in my rio de janeiro dance costume at a sleepover. jaja would come over to my house alot and eat green apples and play soccer. i was always goalie. i was fairly shy, but i had a boyfriend once. his name was derek, and we sat on the bus together and drew pictures. he was an artiste. i took dance lessons at center stage, and they hated black people. before 5th grade, i was called medusa because i wore small braids. i changed schools because of the bullies, and got a perm. then in 5th grade, i was recrowned with the title "forehead woman. in 6th grade i started beating up the kids that teased me. i went home crying one day because i got a D on a geography test. no one could understand why i was upset

present: i am comfortable with this current version/incarnation, aside from its admitted mediocricy. i like poetry and i am never careless with the written word, but i don't write much. i rationalized marijuana a while back and concurrently decided that i wouldn't run to be the first female president. i sympathize generally with anarchists, and my politic could be described as one of extreme critique. i have a guitar, and most of the music i listen to consists of loud angry women, angry beligerent punks, or tortured guys from seattle. i sport a fro. i abstain from meat consumption

according to my calucations, i have approximately 13 months reamining before this afrocentric-punk-grunge-leftist-vegetarian thing expires.

so, my plan for self love has ceased to kick in. i have so many warped notions of self, i don't even know how to begin untangling the loathing from the reality. whenever i am attracted to someone, i construct a three page list of things that i have to improve about myself. ways in which i have to prepare, and make myself marketable. if only i was skinnier. if only my acne would go away. i only i had more symmetry. if only i were more delicate, graceful, womanly..had smaller bones and features. i can't even tell how i really look anymore. mirrors lie -- my image looks different on every screen and surface it lands. my own sense of perception lies. i just end up feeling damaged. my list of necessary impovements grows.

not only do i hate these thoughts that conspire agasint and accost my very being, i hate the fact that i am banned from expressing them. graceful, delicate, womanly? how dare i bind the corset back to the torso of the woman? there are so many ideas on my tongue, so many postulates brewing -- but to speak any of them would automatically make me un-feminist, reactionary -- the silohuette of a women sickened from viewing too many issues of seventeen. i am sick of silencing that decadent and erroneous language, because the thoughts don't just go away by virtue of being unsaid. they fester .

i have always been disgusted by my female friends who fault their existences because they don't have boyfriends. yet i am begining to realize that it is just them allowing their true selves to speak, the id whining about its needs, stripped of all insinuations of revolution and righteousness. if i were to allow my inner voice to spew forth, it would articulate that i too am still in search of validation. but the ego, or the super ego, or whatever the regulatory force that exists in freud's model, restrains the syllables from forming outside of this space, this blog -- not entirely private, far too self-conscious, but still, a space for my thoughts . .censored and glammed up with vocabulary as is. nonetheless, my hormones will shift, it will pass... i will swear off dependancy again soon. honesty for me comes and goes in cycles .. 1 week horny, 1 week reflective, 2 weeks of denial

hey you! love me back - the verse of a poem that i have long misplaced . yet fitting, as always

this is one of those days where i wish that i could temporarily cease to exist

this is unbelievably funny:

"Just think about the activists in your college: aren't these the same people who are just dying to gossip about their own sex lives?" - winston smith

i had a hot date last night (cat calls in backgroud).. it was a blind date. i survived. but sheesh .. what an extremely bizarre idea..

feeling good...

however, there are a bunch of files missing from my computer. i managed to get backups, but its still troubling.

i finally got that bitch of an blog archive to start working, too. hope you enjoy

my new party symbol: naked woman holding a machine gun

i have resigned myself to my blackness, my essential being, or atleast its outward manifestation. the body that refuses ungracefully to fit into cultural modes; a face pocked with cracks and sleep lines from years of depravation. thighs that defy proportion and graze with movement; unruly thick hair that cannot be washed and conditioned daily or combed. a stretch of damaged pysche and unexplored skin.

i am what i am, and i am determined to love it. somehow.

wo xihuan chou, keshi wo bu chou yan.. the vocabulary that an evening of chinese review yields

i have had a host of weird dreams over the past two weeks. last nights fantasies included a seal, a washer machine, and some potato chips. prior to that we had a screening of crimethinc letters from a college drop out, courtesy of sociology boy; several completely fictional instant message convos, a dream about repeatedly dining and dashing at the same restaurant over the course of a day, and then there was the perverted footsy thing. i;d love to have a psychic reading

as i was making my one and a half block journey from class to dorm this afterrnoon (walk 15 meters down hillhouse, turn left on grove, walk to the end of the block, right on chapel -- 7 meters to home) i spotted 2 mercedes, 3 bmws, and 2 jaguars parked along the street. x type from 29,950, s type starting at 42,495.. e320 sedan 47,615 * 2, 2003 coupe 46,500 (* 2.) an old model coupe, approximately 20,000. in 3 minutes, i passed approximately $280,675 worth of plush animal carcass interiors and scrap metal.

is this a yale thing.. a characteristic of the ivys? riches, priviledge, and myopia?? is this the course of events, the life path that i have commited myself to? where obscene material assets becomes signifers of intelligence and sucess?

i am trying to dream up a series of stickers or signs that i can tape to the windshields of these cars. "instead of buying a benz, why don't you adopt a homeless (person)".. "yeah, lets flaunt about our social stratification" .. "when's the last time you gave to chairity?" i can't think of anything especially witty (looking for sugestions, feel free to comment). but god, if there isn't anything more noxious than advertising possessions, especially in new haven, a city of the have nots...

i will soon tire myself of autobiography --

i am running away to another state
or no state
the place at the intersection of
borders
the lines cross
and bend
somehow
but never meet

the shadow of a fence is
scratched across my face by
a ray of light

why is it that my weekends consist of one amazing night and one crappy night?

friday, i stumbled around the streets of new haven with limited coherence, and i managed to see a band called the scientifics perform on a curb. (what an amazing thing to see given the circumstances! it almost beats the welch fight club scene that i caught two weeks ago, or the lounging on the bed thing..) the drummer is in my socy class, and i have decided that i want him.

saturday, zaroka/nirvana/a crappy mice infested indian restaurant sent me to the hopsital. i ganked a pair of hopsital slippers. okay, so the hostess was nice, and they had good sweet lassies. but the lentil soup was atrocious, and the biryani was terrible. dammit if i don't know my indian food. fuck the fact that the ambiance was nice .. i'm all about india gate and their malai kofta

while i was not doing my homework, i some how stumbled upon a website of celebrity mug shot photos and arrest logs (totally my thing, darling..) here is what i discovered:

"Matthew McConaughey was arrested by Austin, Texas police in October 1999 and charged with possession of marijuana and drug paraphernalia after a neighbor called to complain about music blaring from the actor's crib. When cops arrived, they found McConaughey dancing around in the buff and playing bongo drums. The drug charges against McConaughey were eventually dropped, though the star did plead guilty to violating Austin's noise ordinance, for which he paid a $50 fine. "

wow, naked bongos .. it must have been some amazing shit...

being a student is such a bizzare, unnatural condition -- i complain about the amount of books i have to read while real live people complain about their lack of food, or the bombs that america drops over their heads at night "for the sake of peace" i brush past the outstretched hands of homeless people because "college is so expensive.."

fuck me and my priviledged life as an intellectual

sniper killings-- how awful. what a jarring disruption to order, tranquility, family. i pity the people that are being left behind.

i think that every man deserves the opportunity to die old in his or her bed.

my parents visited this weekend. they took me out to eat (vietnamese, vegetarian, mexican, soul food) and they bought me a 20 lb sack of rice. the fact that i felt uncomfortable saying goodbye reminded me that deep down i probably miss them alot more then i think.

anyways, yeah. i've spent both friday and saturday inside. we'll see if i get some work done..

fun fun fun

i wrote something today .. god, what a release. i think i'll call it the feminist manifesto

i've realized that i've been taking myself way too seriously these past few days. so to that, i say: this killa fish will kick yo ass. unless you feed it potato chips. hmm, potato chips

oooh...i'm listening to nick drake right now, and its making me feel really good. (recommends: saturday sun, fruit tree, i've been smoking too long, pink moon)

anyways, i am thinking about writing a novel. it would be more like an autobiography, kingston-esque .. a combination of ouidaism, discreete mathematics/wake up, the yale writing essay...it would be so amazing. i would be so amazed.

ive decided that i cant try to censor myself here, present one side of things in favor of another ... offer only the suitable, politically correct, and judicious package as encapsulation to my thoughts

free speech free thought freed voice .. please take no offense, and bear no judgement

To save a man's life, I can understand cutting off his arm. But I don't want anyone to tell me that he will be as dexterous without it

-alexis de tocqueville

alexis rocks

when a man or a party suffers an injustice in the United States, to whom cam he turn? To public opinion? That is what forms the majporty. To the legislative body? It is appointed by the majority and serves it blindly. To the executive power? It is appointed by the majority and serves as its passive instrument. To the police? They are nothing but the majority under arms. A jury? The jury is the majority vested with the right to pronounce judgement, even the judges in certain states are elected by the majority. So, however, iniquitous or unreasonable the mesasure which hurts you, you must submit.

-alexis de tocqueville

there is nothing more uncomfortable/fascinating than watching pornography with a room of unsuspecting men and women...y tu mama tambien rocks! i got to trip around new york city yesterday, it was ..i dunno, new york. i am always amazed. i took two rolls of photographs, and i saw two jarring things when i was there: a woman, early twenties, pierced and tattooed and punked out, sitting on the street homeless crying .. and a man, pushing a shopping cart full of bottles, tripping over the curb. the sound of his cart flipping was like a rack of dishes breaking by the sink.. glass and hail

i've greatly expanded my vocabulary. gank is to grab, bop is for pops, and whodie is to dude like fuck is to rude. dammit, i've turned into dr. seuss. thats what the $40k was for. now i';m just wishing that i had some filler for my pipe. or a material version of that shadowy figure i hurl against my wall every night and kiss

how do you press the mute button on a human being?

thanks ljubica, the taspbook and babel fish: ..

people at night

The nights are not made for the quantity. From your neighbour the night separates you, and you are not to look for it nevertheless. And you make your room light at night, around humans to look in the face, then you must consider: whom

and thus i became a racial separatist:

there are way too many preppy white boys here

i think i'm sick of college ... the novelty has worn off

do you like being able to wear pants?

::on anti feminism

and then there were two ::(days):

first we will pay for this wife, then we will get more cattle...

said goodbye to angie today. then i sat around in the back of khuyen's car for a couple of hours and talked about nothing and more nothing and then school. the future. it was really really beautiful

i found out today that ours is coming to buffalo sunday, the day after i leave for school .. i got so frustrated, jittery and upset.. after months of trying to locate them in different cities, toronto and detroit .. i was locked out of seeing them preform because, by several hours, my home will cease to be home .. buffalo will become that far off little city, 9 hours west, rather than the logical place to breathe and exist

the whole experience made me realize that i only have 6 days left, instead of seven .. instead of eternity ... and after that countdown i'll be ripped away from home forever. despite christmas breaks and spring vacation. and those sprawling months of summer

i'll no longer moniter the weather channel for snow .. share comradery with strangers while stranded in bus depots, the victim of blizzards .. chicken wing festivals will fail to arouse me ...nor will the latest basement show, or the goings on at parties, or the downtown coffee shops, or the morning traffic on the 33 west... on august 24th i am being locked out of home so assuredly that danger lurks in my mere attempts to remain invested.. . i am losing my citizenship by only a few hours of travel ..

and the 25th is too late.

one of my favorite poems in the world is robert frost's "after apple picking..." which is weird, because i don't really like robert frost

im out of here in 28 days .. i don't think i've been more scared of anything in my life

i have chipmunk cheeks...need codine, baddd

so, in late breaking news, my hampster made a daring escape from his cage yesteday .. i found him a curled up next to the sink in my bathroom .. it was endearing, really .. i splashed water on him to get him to wake up, and then i gave him a sink bath with vanilla scented body wash

tomorrow (or today rather) i get my wisdow teeth pulled out. aside from the normal anxiety one has towards surgery, i am beggining to resent the whole idea... sideways or not, my wisdom teeth are part of my body, part of me .. and here i am removing them, casting them away as carelessly as a vestigial tail. they never hurt anyone ...
i wonder if i am making myself less whole

i managed to blow my entire paycheck from work. a minidisc player and a pretty green bicycle. now i just have to wait for the mail

online id photos are a fucking evil thing. grrr

i feel like i've done a few things right this week. blogging is not one of them, god, the pretension of it all. but when i thought i was giong to go bed two hours ago i went down and did the dishes instead. and then i drank rasberry tea and listened to the chili peppers again and wrote thank you notes to everyone i was supposed to a month back. and now i''m listening to michelle again and i feel warm and kind of full. its a good thing

i want to tattoo someting on my wrists... and then when i bend them together i can cup my face

today my head felt so heavy i could barely stand up .. i drove to wegmans with my windows rolled down listening to the chili peppers, and then i stood in front of the organic food bin and read all the labels for twenty minutes... i love it when i find a song that doesn't just describe my mood, but makes me feel ...right now i'm listening to the beatles' "michelle my belle" and elliot smith's "needle in the hay." when i heard "michelle" for the first time three months ago, i was in the cemetery trying to locate my grandmother's grave. i hate big sprawling graveyards, where you have to reserve your plot six years before you die .. but the melody, the sentiment of michelle seemed perfect ... even though i had no idea what lennon was saying ... i think it almost made me cry. when i first heard "needle in the hay", i was watching ritchie's suicide attempt in the royal tenebaums. ..him forcing the breath out of his lungs .. there can't be anything more sane than embracing fate .

my tear ducts are stale with disuse.

i love how i can block out the stars with my fingertips.

i wish i knew how to meditate.

i stumble through words these days like roadblocks .. nothing i say is as sharp or precise as i want it/or it used to be.. i want my words to be weapons, dagger sharp with meaning and intent... i hate feeling as though my tongue is lead ladden, i hate not being able to write poetry... i feel like i am entering the fall with all my tools rusted, hands at my sides. eloquence is all i ever had ... the gift of articulation... it has made every history paper a composition, every bio lab a narrative ... i am so used to writing and expressing, even if it is just the same mudane things, english homework and lecture notes ... although they are only modes of distant observation, my tongue and pen are my only means of reflecting back the outside world

i discovered today why i refer to myself as isolationist sometimes when my vocabulary bedevils me for a better word .. why i say i'm shy, why i don't always talk to people .. why i can't see myself with someone ... its because being alone gives you the luxury of imperfection ... and i need it. i don't know what would become of me if i were exposed.

warts warts warts warts. i like them. they are a squat word

the technical virgin pledge

I believe that vaginal heterosexual intercourse and its accompanying possible consequences of pregnancy should be postponed until marriage or college, whichever comes first.

However:

I believe that orgasms are an important part of a healthy and balanced life.

I believe that masturbation should be encouraged among males and females of all ages, both by manual methods and with the use of vibrators, dildos and other such devices.

I believe that sharing orgasms with others, via manual, oral, and anal sex between consenting partners, whether of my same sex or the opposite sex (providing proper safety techniques are utilized) is a moral and desirable activity for myself and my peers.

I will encourage others to join me in my beliefs and activities.

Signed:

Who am I? Can the essential self be depicted? Or is what is essential precisely that which can never be represented? Does the act of self-representation change the subject?

i'm the kind of person who doesn't readily seek friction in my life, unless i am really ready to go toe to toe in debate. so i'm tired of turning to the people that i've considered my friends and getting headache's arguing superfluous "i'm more punk/socailly conscious than you are" bullshit.

another dilemna that i have is that everyone i interact with seems to just use me to provoke a particular emotion. aside from my friend who abandons me mid-speech when the guy she has a crush on comes along, one of the most annoying instances of this lies in this boy who has taken to following me around and waiting for me after class everyday. he's a 14 year old guy who is gay and upwards of 6 feet tall, and we met through gsa but now he waits outside of my all classes and makes an elaborate display of hugging me and the like. yet he does most of it as a facade to try and scope out another homosexual boy in my class. essentially i am relegated to his prop, dragged and fondled, grinded against and subjected to the claws and throes of the senior rumormill (she's dating a freshman? ewww!), while he looks over my shoulder to check on the boy for whom he harbors affections. i'm a fucking tool to him..he won't even share with me essential aspects of his life. instead he follows me around, talks about his boyfriends, and looks over his shoulder while crushing me in his arms..

i really don't think i like people.

conform consume obey

my revealation for the day: there are no words to describe pain, without some kind of symbolic pairing...usually darkness, or emptiness, pitted against fairer virtues... or the opposite, i guess, like robert frost's designs, an alabaster white death. but they are always just words .. not a conception of the actual feeling. i feel so limited by the english language, or atleast the little that i know of it, anyways. to me, pain is realizing that you forgot to do something as basic as breathe in the wave of the everyday humdrum-- the searing feeling inside your lungs as they hunger for air. i saw a picture of my grandmother yesterday and i realized that i hadn't even paused to think about her during the past month. it was a suffocating kind of hurt.. i feel so negligent.

i realized that so much of my life hinges on the idea of familiarity. everything that is pleasing or displeasing or ideal or objectionable sums itself up as a factor of my level of comfort. it makes everything in my life transitory. i went to tasp and became fixed and attached, and when i returned home i ached from a sense of loss. then after several weeks, i forgot the feeling. i became reacclimated. the past and its emotion disipated, almost as if it was rewritten.. i've become familliar with checking the taspboard every night, with restraining my communication to electronic messages. i've become famiiliar with not hearing from thiago, david , yili, sam or linda...

it frightens me that my emotion is so hinged on time and location. it blurrs my perception of history. i only know what has intergrated itself into my schedule.. talking to the same 20 people at school, rehasing the same dull homework assignments, sleeping through the same classes, emailing the same list of cyberspace friends.. i've become too comfortable with everything.. i hate the mundainity

You are worth exactly: $2,179,950.00.

We hope you can find somebody who is wealthy enough to afford you.

A MEASURE OF INSECURITY
God is a measure of our own insecurity, God is used as an incentive for us to kill, To protect governments own security
Security of their wealth and power and legalised crime
The myth of god keeps us all in line
To beg for forgiveness from something unreal, not there
God is a con, god cannot care
War’s alright cos god justifies it
But does god say this, does god exist?
Or is god a lie used in governments piss?
The voice of god is really the sound of government
Masses have and will die for this great myth
...Yet we’ll still take the brunt
God is a measure of our own insecurity
We want life after death
We are so afraid that we may be ‘alone’
And that the responsibility of past, present and future
Lies with us alone
Well, it does. And accept it we must
We must let our minds be free
And decide what is right or wrong individually
You see, this means realising our moulded stupidity
Religion plays a big part in the mind fucking process
We are all subjected to from an early age. Is it not
Convenient that the christian morality suits so marriage
Like the requirements of the state? These ethics are
Forced upon us at school. We are given no time to
Question. And by the time we reach a stage where we are
Quite capable of knowing perfectly well what we want, we
Already firmly believe we want what we are told. This
Indoctrination thus leaves us in later life with lessened
Self belief and self determination. Surely it is time
Enough for us all to question our own thoughts and
Actions and decide for ourselves what we think is right
Or wrong?... Individually

Feminism as an ideal has not become obsolete.

Which Star-Crossed Marvel Lover Are You?

If your son has undergone a sudden change in his style of dress, you may have a hacker on your hands. Hackers tend to dress in bright, day-glo colors. They may wear baggy pants, bright colored shirts and spiky hair dyed in bright colors to match their clothes. They may take to carrying "glow-sticks" and some wear pacifiers around their necks. (I have no idea why they do this) There are many such hackers in schools today, and your son may have started to associate with them. If you notice that your son's group of friends includes people dressed like this, it is time to think about a severe curfew, to protect him from dangerous influences.

- adequacy.org -- if you suspect you son is a computer hacker

There is a reason why Nintendo tried to limit my involvement to giving out clues and various other insignificant tasks. That is because I can't last a whole game as the center of attention without smoking up. I am pretty fun to chill with, as long as no one makes snide remarks about my height, but I am not suitable for young children. This doesn't bother me too much. I don't crave the spotlight like others do. I have my friends, my bong, and a constant paycheck. Being Toad rocks muchly.

What Super Mario Bros character are you?

I'm a shy, sensitive punk rocker, the most artistic of them all. I'm Kurt Cobain!
Click here to find out which Nirvana grunge rocker you are!

do you ever notice that the day isn't enough? that no matter how much you sleep, no matter how much you dream, the first hours of the new day are always unbearable? do you know what its like to be restless, to feel like the living dead, to be an insomniac during r.e.m? do you know do you know do you know what its like to be in my skin?

the fabulous tale of "the huge stupendous blizzard attack" here it goes:

one foggy monday last novemeber, the buffalo public school system decided to have school. all the students in the city marched like good little worker bees to their respective institutions of learning, and commenced a day of mind-expandment (expandment??) when they happened to notice that they couldn't see more than 5 feet outside the window. Turns out, the "huge stupendous blizzard attack" was in their midst, and before they knew it there was zero visibility, 2 feet of snow, ferocious winds, and an hourly snow fall of about 8 inches. a little girl (little because she was short, not little because she was young) who had just discovered she had a nickname, chini, was scurrying to catch her bus afterschool when her sister yelled at her that they were going to get picked up by their dad. in a bout of idelible foolishness chini listened, and she missed her bus in favor of an elusive ride after school. after about a half and hour and still no ride, chini called home with her terrible terrible cell phone that never works and discovered that her father had abandoned all ideas of picking them up. his "excuse" was that his van (the one that's tall enough for jim to stand up in) was stuck in the driveway, and that alas they would be wise to try and catch the bus home after school.

after repeatedly throttling her sister for making her miss her first bus, a lumberjack/computer teacher noticed the murderous gleam in chini's eyes and offered to give the two sisters a ride home. eagerly, chini nodded and they piled into his lumberjack/computer supply van. four hours later during a typical 8 minute drive home, after driving two mph, sticking heads out the car window to try and see the road ahead, getting into another car to help get them out of a snowbank, and narrowly avoiding freakish displays of pink lightning, chini and her sister were dropped at the corner of their street, treked two blocks home, and were immediately diagnosed with frostbite and were forced to climb fully clothed into a bathtub of hot water. chini's other sister never made it home, and she slept at a friend's house after their school bus got stuck. many of chini's friends spent the night at school (eating cafeteria cookies for free), another slept at the house of another student she barely knew, and many others slept in their cars on the highways, bus depots, fire stations and supermarkets. ever since that fateful day when nearly 2,000 students never made it home, buffalo has been a "snow pansy," and we get roughly 6 unnecessary snow days per year.

i''m waiting for the day when buffalo becomes an ice colony, equiped with little self-suffieicent communes situated under bio-domes...

get out get out get out get out get outget outget outget outget outget outget outget outget outget outget out

Walk through any mall in America. Browse through the racks at Old Navy and Abercrombie & Fitch and the Gap. The colors are bright and chipper. The sales staff is peppy. The look is vaguely retro—upbeat 1962 pre-assassination innocence. The Gap's television ads don't show edgy individualists; they show perky conformists, a bunch of happy kids all wearing the same clothes and all swing-dancing the same moves.

In short, at the top of the meritocratic ladder we have in America a generation of students who are extraordinarily bright, morally earnest, and incredibly industrious. They like to study and socialize in groups. They create and join organizations with great enthusiasm. They are responsible, safety-conscious, and mature. They feel no compelling need to rebel—not even a hint of one. They not only defer to authority; they admire it. "Alienation" is a word one almost never hears from them. They regard the universe as beneficent, orderly, and meaningful. At the schools and colleges where the next leadership class is being bred, one finds not angry revolutionaries, despondent slackers, or dark cynics but the Organization Kid.

- from the atlantic

do you ever wonder what will happen if someone finds out? would it bother you if it became your reputation, your moniker?-- *yournamehere* ?...do wonder what would happen if "harvard" or "yale" found out, or how it could limit you if someone knew?...do you worry that one day someone could expose you? -- that at your presidential inaguration, a shadow from the past would exclaim and point fingers? could you leave it all behind?...

do you ever wonder if one day you'll become addicted? that what started off as play could consume you or become your religion and culture?

do you fear that one day, there will be synapses and cells you won't be able to reach -- thoughts or abilites that have clouded over? do you every worry that your mind and consciouness will be fundamentally different than before?

is this all cliche -- over glamourized and romanticised? are you different from upperclass prep school kids who posture to rebel? -- do you want to be? is this a philosophical/psychological experiment? do you care about the ethics of it all, or do you ever attempt to rationalize things? what would you tell your kids -- the lingo or the "truth"?

what is it like to be a hypocrite?

oh bloody hell

today's crazy ranting of one lottidi:

Listening to music should be a discerning process involving criticism, reasoning, and analysis. Although the significance of rhythm often asserts itself over the significance of lyrics, electronic and industrial music still require from subscribers the same amount of intellectual involvement. Ignoring lyrical messages in industrial and electronic music for the sake of the “beat” is irresponsible. Dancing to Nine Inch Nails “Closer” at a nightclub or chanting the words “Smack My Bitch Up” while listening to the radio are the actions which perpetuate and reinforce offensive lyrical discourses; and they act as indictments against the music listener, not the artist. On the contrary, the electronic and industrial music that consumers endorse should satisfy the needs of both passive and analytical listeners

my friend and i always engage in torrential arguements about the nature of our existence... she believes that ideas aren't original (they are improvements upon preexisiting thoughts), that copywriting and patenting wrongfully assume that originality exists, and that people wouldn't view marriage/college/having respective jobs/ living in nice homes as a key to happiness if society didn't dictate their reactions. i don't really disagree with all of her premises, but they frustrate me because they kind of sabotage the idea of free will.... and i find it disconcerting...

as far as ethics and morals go, i find them to be rather opportunistic...lying and cheating are bad, only if they doesn't serve as a benefit...and aside from murder, most "moral codes" are only unconscionable when a risk of disovery exists... i imagine that alot of my morals have been instilled by the universal commandments of religion (almost unconsciouly, because as of now i don't have a faith).. and even more ubiquitously, by the idea of good verses evil. through this vein, i've been taught that smoking is bad, doing poorly in school is bad, using drugs are somehow evil, etc. even through experimentation with the taboo, i find myself having to qualify my actions as "good" -- i'm a good person with good intentions.

frets - 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
1st E-||-F-|---|-G-|---|-A-|---|-B-|-C-|---|-D-|---|-E-|
2nd B-||-C-|---|-D-|---|-E-|-F-|---|-G-|---|-A-|---|-B-|
3rd G-||---|-A-|---|-B-|-C-|---|-D-|---|-E-|-F-|---|-G-|
4th D-||---|-E-|-F-|---|-G-|---|-A-|---|-B-|-C-|---|-D-|
5th A-||---|-B-|-C-|---|-D-|---|-E-|-F-|---|-G-|---|-A-|
6th E-||-F-|---|-G-|---|-A-|---|-B-|-C-|---|-D-|---|-E-|

but if you think / that i'm not strong / you best watch out

open your eyes and see