I've already met all of the people I want to know for the rest of my life. What are the chances that they will all live in the same place in the end? I mean, I guess they are fifty fifty - it will happen or it won't - and that's pretty good, right?



But still I suppose I always meet a new freak.

The world makes a lot of people afraid or guilty of expressing their love, and I am one of them.



Fiber optics, a podcast, friends sharing and staying connected, mail, music done right, a clean room, a weird room, my records and books, an empty house

This is what I have to work with. Hopefully I will be productive in a manner which my loved ones will be proud of, though I am just trying to cover up how awfully isolated I feel here. Which is good.



A lot of things are happening in my creative brain, but I still think about running my bike into traffic on purpose sometimes, when I don't know what to do with the love I cannot appropriately express.

Color my life with the chaos of trouble, 'cause anything's better than posh isolation

If I had to say something to everyone, I couldn't


Maybe I'd say, For my next birthday, I'd like my eyes to pixelate in a country where no one on the street is speaking English.







I want to be surrounded by people that are completely honest about what they like and what they dislike. The strings of words they think, what they feel, what they aren't able to, and the things that have happened which, if even hard to admit, are to blame.


And if I'm not there, I want them to be surrounded by one another.

To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But then, one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy, one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness.

If you could only stop your heartbeat for one heart

Bill Callahan's Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle is the best album of 2009







Little tiny pieces of peace for me sometimes
Everything I've eaten for a week has spinach in it
Of all the people in the world, why should I love you?
Somehow my brain still associates love with good things
I still like to think about it and feel it

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Every other year is gone away to me and I can't remember any other version of myself. Keeping a notebook doesn't work for me, I can't express myself in words about what I did or who I thought I loved.

I am the non-linear, hope in clairvoyance, I am the gold that dances around your hair when you stand in front of the setting sun



2009 was so painful and then like 3 things were good



2010 is going to be my best year.. I hope it gets really fucking meta

where are everyone's goals and I'm scared

I want to go back in time with you to when everyone traveled by trains

I want to give you things to which you can look forward

And I can still use your light to read by
But I can't use your feet to keep my feet warm

Don't be upset
And I will try not to be upset

I want to marry you
Or leave something of mine at your house for a long time

Each day: you wake up, you are sad and grateful to be alive, you are mostly very distracted, something happens that affects you deeply and no one else can understand what it means to you, no one understands what they mean to you, you ponder the potential of turning that esoteric meaning into art only to concede, you get fucked up, you sober up, you ponder the weight of anything, you ponder the potential for anything you do to matter; it doesn't. You are alone.




I just don't think anyone I know understands how badly I hurt every day.