Crazy night

Tony's 21 - we were all punished because of it.

In any case, it was a good time. New Deck and Mad Mex. I found out I quite enjoy Southern Comfort mixed with lime juice.

Picked up a pamphlet on veganism as I was eating a hot dog, today, and the irony did not escape me.

I've begun to write again. I mean really, honestly, actually write. And I don't have any comparison to how good it feels. It's writing for the first time in a long time, like stretching your legs after 12 hours in a car.

It's painful, yes, but you're grateful for the sensation anyway.



can't things ever be right?



Yeah, work was crap as usual. 

I put in my two weeks' notice. My boss was quite understanding, something I didn't really expect. 

Speaking of things I didn't really expect...

I suspect (well, confirmed, but I don't know to the extent) that Trish has found someone else.

Stung, a little.

But I've given it up. It is not my business, any longer. The night I told her I couldn't do it anymore was the night I gave her the right to do whatever she willed.

Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

I'm listening to Ruska in the uncomfortable warmth of my room, laying on the floor and typing this as I wait for class. 

It occurs to me I should do laundry.

This song is tragic.



It's over, of course. I knew it would be.

The dying cry of our relationship was, to be expected, an argument. We certainly went out with a bang.

And it's been weeks, two I think. Maybe more. And I recognize, now, that I am happy..

And with this host of energy that I've gained, I've invested it in greater things. I am down to one hundred and eighty-two pounds. That is twenty-three pounds less than when I arrived in Philadelphia.

God I love saying that.

I've got to go to work. This was supposed to be longer, so I'll supplement later. :)



Things are constantly changing.

Stepping forward, and
Taking any offered hand
I ford this meandering river of
rushing guilt and desperate love
and on the nether bank I stand.


You're telling me something real...

Hey. I just thought I should let you know something. You're probably too busy to notice it. So I guess I'll write it down so you can refer to this at your leisure, remembering bits and pieces in context, coming back to it when you finally figure out that you just screwed up something big.

I guess it's not so much that there's no easy way to say it as there is no easy way to get it through to you. So, plain and simple is the way to go, I guess. If you don't respond to bluntness, I really just sort of give up, more or less.

You ignore me. And it hurts. It hurts bad, okay? I don't even think you realize. You are so absorbed, so completely oblivious and buried in your own life and full to the breaking point of your own ego that you've just got no freaking idea. I've heard "I love you" from your mouth, and yet to this day I can't even get an instant message out of you without doing it first.

I would bet money against malice. You have a mean streak of course, and I've even been on the bad side of it. But you assure me all is well, and I believe you. But for goodness' sake, is there something keeping you from talking to me? Am I worth so little to you? Do you care nothing for me?

I've resolved myself to refusing to intiate contact with you, something I follow with only moderate success. I guess I care too much, I don't know.

But I guess this whole letter, this letter that you most likely won't read, is more for me than you. Thanks, though. Self-esteem is over-rated anyway.




So I've been working on becoming healthier. Starting this monday, (I know, yesterday, shut up) I started jogging with Kimmie and Tony. The first day we went two miles or so, and I didn't have to walk much of it. I think we did a 14-15 minute mile jogging. Bad, I recognize, but for the love of god. It was more than I have ever deliberately run in my entire life. 

Tony is really up into it, but the man also used to run cross country. Kimmie runs on occasion. For me, this is a system shock. I hurt.

Which is why I almost bailed today.

But I didn't end up doing it. I downed some pasta and rode my bike up to Kimmie and Tony's (mistake, should have had Kimmie come get me since I wouldn't have worn myself down with the uphill ride.), and we went.

3 miles this time.

I walked more often but I gave myself less time to do so each time. We got it down to about a 13 minute mile I think. Kimmie was very encouraging, asking me how I was - the girl is a good friend. Tony and I had a mini showdown and at one point, when I was walking, he pushed me into running again. I'm just not there yet.

And the last 50 or so meters, AFTER the whole two miles or so, I broke out into a sprint. "Kicked it in," as Tony puts it. I got to the grass and almost threw up. I didn't have the energy.

After we get back to their place, we sit around for a bit and eventually I leave. Time for a bike ride! Shrey and his friend Jason came along, we went back down to the art museum. Rode about 9 miles on it, a total of about 11 miles or so for me on the bike.

I swear I am so sore I can't feel my thighs.

But damnit, I am working out! I am eating SO much better (first mt. dew of the week, gonna keep it to water), I am doing the whole exercise thing, and I am keeping snacking to a minimum. Do I expect to lose 20 lbs by next thursday? No. But does this feel better than when I would sleep 18 hours a day?

I reckon.



I recognize now that I haven't given you, dear readers, a proper recap of everything that's gone on up to now.

1.) We got the place.
Yep, I am living in the apartment we wanted from the start. The other two sets of people that applied were both rejected. Divine providence, methinks.

2.) I hate my class schedule.
Yeah, I HAD 19 credits and dropped one. So now I'm down to 16 credits - class from 9:30 am to 5 pm straight, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Friday I have an optional recitation. There are two or three of my five classes I walk into and feel like I'm drowning. I am convinced this is a bad thing.

3.) I missed my Philly crew.
Paul, Drew, J9, Kimmie, Tony, Joanna, Hrehor, Cameron, Brandie, Mike, et al. I realize that I feel like I can be myself more often with them. No sense of claustrophibia, of adherence to my past, of expectations and horrible experiences.

4.) I miss my Erie crew.
Trish, Sarah, Greg, Kelley, Laurie, the Gamecrazy guys, my family...I miss them. Familiarity. I miss those I didn't get to see enough because of work and prior engagements. I miss those I could be close to, feel a connection in Erie.

That's really all.


I've been reading The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell, and I came across a passage describing the night of consummation between two that have just been married: One, an astronomer and the other an AI specialist and former child prostitute (long story, read the damn book!):

     "One afternoon Jimmy had lain next to Sofia, marveling at her small perfection and his good fortune. He had never assumed that she was coming to him an innocent and so, tracing the pure line of her profile with his finger, he looked down at her, his deep-set smiling eyes filled with erotic speculation, and asked in low tones of intimacy that left no doubt about his meaning, 'What pleases you, Sofia?'
     She burst into tears and said, 'I don't know,' for it had never occurred to her that anyone might ask such a thing."

What an intensely sad thing. 


I guess I could say it's a shame.

"But I realize these people are relying on something to be whole. Don't we all? Why can't I rid myself of this scorn? I'm not better. I am not better than anyone."
~exerpt from my pen-and-paper journal

Hope snatched from the jaws of uncertainty and unhappiness and homelessness. We've been handed a perfect opportunity to once again have this personal space in a bustling metropolis. And now it leaves us once more, making me feel as though I am being toyed with.

The forecast says thunderstorms and rain friday-saturday, with a high of 68 degrees. It's 43 now.

I feel empty, packing my life here to leave again. Not that I am unhappy to be in Philadelphia, merely that I do not feel any attachment to the things I'm bringing.

Or something. I don't know.

No one reads this anyway.


I can never say.

I clothe myself in outdated rage. In hopeless, stupid, old fashioned anger.



"You, my hidden pearl of pure and perfect love,
And I'm a living example of 100 percent the opposite of this,
If I ask the same questions
Well maybe I repeat myself from time to time,
But it's because everyone who answers me is a liar."

Apartments seeing snags. Every piece of my life that just last week felt like it was coming together neatly has extracted itself from its position and unraveled itself. At least I have a job down there, even if I have nowhere to live.

Trisha left for Chicago today. It's freezing out and I ate too much pizza today, and I've been cleaning (staring at my crap) and watching episodes of Nip/Tuck and talking to Joanna about what we're going to do. I feel like my mother would rather say "I told you so" and be pessimistic rather than try to help me think of something. She is longsuffering, I give her that.

I see my moods resurfacing in some emotional pattern I've yet to fully understand. I do not want to return to Philadelphia depressed, or homeless, or already having been defeated by classes I haven't taken yet. And yet my thoughts have drifted to 10th-11th grade on more than one occasion. I'm almost 21 here. I need to give up my past and I realize this.

"My jeans, your shoes, we'll throw away everything..."

I just feel sick of all of this. I want to have a place solidified instead of a half-assed plan to go down early and crash on someone's couch.


For the record

It's cold as hell outside and I'm up at 6:01 AM on a Wednesday.



it's amazing, the thoughts.

"All the suspense
That we’ve created,
Now it’s wasted,
And we can’t change it.
The beginning to the ending,
I find myself remembering..."
"So Cold I Could See My Breath," Emery

The weather's been terrifying as of the past few months. Warm/Cold in some sort of yin-yang dance of  global warming and rising oil prices.

Right now it's 58 degrees out. Not that I'm really complaining.

"My hands across your clothes..."

I got my CDs in the mail yesterday - Emery's "The Question" and MewithoutYou's "Catch For Us The Foxes." I'd downloaded Emery but deleted it because I felt bad and purchased the CD. I really do buy CDs when I like them. I can't wait to purchase Onesidezero's new one - their tracks on their site are just like their old CD. I love it.

I go back to school in 18 days. A little over two weeks. It's exciting. Joanna called me last night to tell me she found a place for us, she thinks. Apparently the layout kind of sucks, the bathrooms are small, and it's filthy. But the owners said they'd paint and clean and all that before we moved in. And it's in a great area (23rd and Spruce) about a mile and a half from Drexel. I can handle that walk every day. :) Yes, in the rain too. I can always take the subway on Market.

Unfurnished, though, so we get to tear everything in my room down and have fun moving it. Bed, ONE BOOKSHELF, a new desk I'd like to actually just buy and keep packed in its box until I come back.

On the positive side it's gonna be a great way to eliminate the clutter of my life.

I lost two games worth $40 - I am very upset about it. They were GBA RPGs (FF I & II and FF IV). No one cares but I thought I'd share my grief.

I think I'm gonna take a walk before work.



Leave for school in 20 days. Birthday 4 days after.

Oh my god I'm turning 21.

Schedule sucks. Classes 5 days a week, 19 credits. All stuff I need and haven't taken. But I get up at 8 am for some classes, etc.

Oh well, I usually get up at 5:30 so this is not that bad.


Bad day

So I'm definitely having a bad day up to this point. It's about 5:45 and I'm riding the bus home as we speak (ah, ecto). Last night I'd crashed at Greg's house. So he dropped me off at work this morning, and took off before I realized the gate was locked. I would have to walk around the entire complex to get to the gate on the opposite side. Easily a mile. And last night it decided to snow, and this morning it decided wind was a good idea. It took me a half hour in 31 degree weather, walking in the grass next to a high-traffic road, to get there. THEN I HAD TO WALK THROUGH THE COMPLEX TO MY BUILDING. It was like walking along a G shaped course. All because the security guard couldn't see me, or didn't care.

So I had to stay at work till 5:30 instead of my usual 3, because I was late coming in (intended). Forgot my lunch. So I am rather hungry right now. We had a safety meeting, which wasn't bad because usually we have food. This time there were only old cookies. Oh well, who's complaining. So I had those (got the last Mt. Dew!) and went back to work. Left work to stand outside for the bus, I was 15 minutes early. More intimate times with the freezing wind. I step on the bus, and I'm told it has to make a half-hour layover at the depot. So not only do I have to take the normal hour-long busride home, I have to go for an extra half-hour, sit there at a bus depot no less (I feel like white trash), and get home at 7 pm. It's not worth it. God.


I just want to curl up with Trish and sleep.



Well, I'm testing out a blogging program called ecto. It's pretty neat. Allows offline blogging, which is useful. Also allows for rich text editing, something that I could do with Blogger's website, but unfortunately Safari isn't quite supported yet.

Problem is, it costs money. Money I don't have.

I have 19 days left to decide, anyway, and this is a really, really nice program. Maybe using it will change my mind and I'll bite the bullet and buy it.

Anyway - slept in late today. 9:30 ish. w00. Sort of hung around with Trish. Yesterday, I'd bought a 'Cube game on a whim called Future Tactics: The Uprising. It's a tactical game, but it combines action in the gameplay - no stats or skill points. You actually have to aim your gun and whatnot, and movement is free within the circle of your movement range radius.

It's quite fun, actually, and I only paid $5 for it so I don't feel I wasted my money. I've got a stack of games I've set aside from work that I've got to buy. They add up to $93 AFTER a 20% discount and they're USED. Most are, anyway. It's stupid - it's not like I've got the time or money for these things. It's either work now or school in three months.

Meanwhile, this is my longest entry in a while. It's odd how I just can't bring myself to write in a blog. I'm still trying, even considering making a podcast, but as far as it goes, I just don't do it. I don't really know why. I think it's the readers - I don't have the audience I had in Opendiary, so it's not like I care anymore. Which just goes to show that blogs, in my case, are pretty much masturbatory.

although, masturbation *does* feel good...hm.


Animal Crossing Homeland Security?

I haven't posted in a while, but after seeing the supposed RIAA jab (Thanks BoingBoing!), I found this and thought that maybe Animal Crossing is truer to life than we thought...



I don't understand the moleskine obsession, of which I am a part. Little hardcover black journals with a back pocket and a strap to hold them closed. Brownie had one about two years ago, and I saw him write in it and became obsessed. I'd forgotten about them just in time to walk into my school's bookstore and find a display. So I bought two. And I haven't filled any, but I am working on it and I'm just crazy for the little buggers.

I have always, always preferred small journals. I hate large ones. I want something I can stick in my pocket, even if it contains fewer words. Multiple volumes are cooler looking on the bookshelf, anyway. And while I don't get much use out of the pocket, I will say that I used to hate the elastic strap and now I'm sold on it. It's nice to protect the pages of this book I'm pouring so much time and energy into.

Ink is permanent. Ink is real. Ink refuses to hide mistakes, instead forcing us to confront them. I see the construction of my soul outlined by these ink splatters, the crossed out words and misspellings. I do not try to hide from the ink's record of my humanity.

It's unexpectedly liberating to see the pages begin to pile up. Ink that you don't recall having written just a few days ago, the details coming back to you in sweet washes of memory. I feel like my words are the building blocks of my legacy, and I cannot help but imagine my grandkids or great-grandkids going into their attic and finding a dusty old box with my army surplus messenger bag, a few letters I wrote, some keepsakes, and a stack of journals. I hope they will be the sort of child who is mature beyond their years, one interested in the private thoughts left by their elders. And I imagine them cracking open the first of the journals, where it all begins:

"Cold wakes me better than caffeine..."


Roadblocks and Digital Divides (with a soundtrack by Trans Siberian Orchestra)

Well, I've written 12,990 words of my novel so far. I am 25.98% to the 50,000 word mark they expect you to hit November 30 at midnight.

And yet it's day ten and I should have 16,670 words by the end of today. I am almost a full day behind. And usually work is quiet and boring and I can just get away with sitting there writing. But now. NOW when I'm behind, suddenly there's work for me to do! It's not like I can complain. "Oh no! The people paying me are finally expecting me to earn my money!"

Nonetheless it's irritating that catching up is such an uphill battle.

But I think I'm gonna haul some today and get at least 3,010 words out of the way. I mean, if I can. Being a third of a day behind isn't bad. And I think my best strategy is to write in spurts. I kept pacing myself at lunch yesterday by forcing myself to write 100 words between bites. I got mixed results, but I hit 12,990 before I knew it.

And tonight's the Trans Siberian Orchestra. Trisha and I got really, really good seats. We're gonna go to Molly Brannigan's, a local Irish restaurant/pub, and we're gonna eat there, and walk around downtown, and then go see TSO at the Civic Center.

More later. I now own four Moleskines.



I've begun my NaNoWriMo novel.

Here's the prologue:

"It was 6:42 am, Eastern Standard Time. New York City. Outside, people were beginning their mad dash to work, running around like ants in some gigantic anthill a sadistic twelve year old kicked apart. The sun was shining, blinding people driving east. People checked their Terminals while they ate, drove, dressed. They wanted the latest news (China develops another biopatent), the results of the elections (Morganson wins Manager again in a landslide), to see how they made out on their last bet (The Colts lost to the Packers).
People communicated over the Collective – stocks were traded, games played, debates lost and won. Wireless data enveloped the Earth like a digital ozone layer, protecting users from information blackout. Everything was translated into pulses of ones and zeroes. The human consciousness had become a river, suspended high above the clouds by a net of satellites and access points."

So there you go.


I am so bad at this.

You know what it is?

I updated when I had an audience. When it was OD. When there was a community bookmarks list full of people all wanting to know my side of the latest garbage going on at Academy.

Oh well. I will try again! And again, if need be. And again.

http://foundationstone.com.au - I'm beginning to learn the Hebrew alphabet (Some people call it the 'aleph-bet,' because its first two letters are Aleph and Bet. Our A and B, basically.) - I figured I should probably learn what the stuff I permanently wrote on my back says. Especially before I get more.

It reminds me of a slightly harder version of the time I learned the Cyrillic alphabet - they're not nearly as hard as they seem. It just took a day for me to recognize most of the letters. Before I even begin to learn the language, though, I want to be able to phonetically pronounce all the letters fluidly. I want to know that alphabet like the back of my proverbial hand. I even used one of my moleskines to start a Hebrew notebook so I can copy pieces of the Torah and stuff. I want to learn Arabic, too. I want to buy that parallel Arabic/English Qur'an at the bookstore. But first, Hebrew and a Hebrew Torah. or Tanakh.

Work's boring. And I mean boring. I do nothing. Except my boss gave me a data-entry job that sucks. I entered 3500 lines into a spreadsheet. Just finished today. And I have another stack to do depending on whether or not some guy can find the file where he already did it.

I swear I'll hang myself with my ethernet cable.

Anyway - They said they didn't get my paycheck because they entered me into the system the day after the week started. But I got it nonetheless. Which is nice. I owe some people a bit of money. AND I have to start saving now for tuition, because it's gonna be a doosie.

Finally - I start Game Crazy on Sunday. Me. In a video game store. Getting to stand around and TALK ABOUT VIDEO GAMES.



Synathaesia colored blue...

Listening to: Legacy (Junkie XL remix) by Infusion

Well, now Inner Universe by Origa.

same thing.

The past week has been a whirlwhind. Trisha and I are on about 8 months. I've still got to get a job. I've still got to VERIFY my Gamecrazy job. I've got to unpack still. I've got to learn more computer programming and more networking and more everything else. I'm nuts.

And there's the creative. Oh, the creative.

It's like there's this black hole again. Sucking out all my energy to write, to draw, to learn...I just know I want to accomplish something while I'm home and I'm terrified I won't.

Tonight I watch the Phantom of the Opera. :) glee!

This is pointless.


A new day, another sunrise, a week of finals

I'm listening to the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy radio shows (old school, found an mp3 rip).

Finals are panicking me, I have no coop yet, I want to go home and it's taking a week, and just gah. It's insanity.

I'm getting along better with my roomie now than I did all spring and summer. Yay for moving out. :grumble:

Anyway, so yeah. I am really excited to come home. I've been making lists galore - I think this is my time to actually get in shape, get ready to change who I am. I'm writing again. Nothing much, but getting into the habit is so nice. I'm also looking at honing my computer skills. I was recently given an 866 Mhz Pentium III tower with 128 mb RAM, a CD-ROM and a CD-RW drive, and no hard drive.

I'm gonna drop a couple of 250s in that baby and store nothing but music, movies, and TV shows on it. :D


Something a little different.

I'm back to my fucking emo bullshit self.




For the record.

This person is why I hate stuff like Myspace:


And again I feel ridiculous.

I just got a myspace.


It's that darn internet medium again. Did you know that a third of all internet traffic is Bittorrent alone, one of about 4,000 filesharing applications? People are myspacing and socializing and community blogging and bookmarking and sharing and chatting through a screen. If it's a laptop, it amazes me further. It's as though we have this little window through which we'd rather view life. We have our cell phones and our PDAs and our game consoles and our laptops and our mp3 players - what more could we want? We're certainly not interested in picking up a soccer ball and having some fun in the *gasp* sunshine.

No wonder our nation is so obese. We all have wifi and free time. Combine the two, and lord knows *I* don't want to go anywhere. I sit in my room and shoot zombies and play Fallout and AIM and blog. I'm pathetic, but so's everyone else.

It's an addiction. Podcasts are an addiction. Webcomics are an addiction. Blogs are an addiction (did you check out BlameBush! ?). New sites are an addiction.

I am rambling and I am useless.


Why Blogspot Just Isn't The Same

In high school (which was definitely my peak "blogging" time), I posted in a blogging community called "OpenDiary." It slowly succumbed to the demands of server operation costs and the overwhelming popularity of LiveJournal. It's since become a haven of spyware, pop-over, pop-under, pop-inside, pop-around, pop-through, and pop-next-to advertisements, banner ads, and related idiocy. At one point, however, this system was the perfect blogging spot. Because of the fact that it was a COMMUNITY.

Blogger has none of that. Jumping to a note leaver's blog in OpenDiary was as simple as clicking on the note leaver's name. Poof, you were at their blog's homepage. In blogger, the fewest number of clicks I've found is 3. It's ridiculous. You go into their profile, find their blog listing, and click on the title. It's horrible.

The layout of Blogger beats Livejournal by a long shot. Yet, it is still inferior to OpenDiary in my opinion. OD had a really nice front page you could design to your liking, followed by a list of blog entries that would update as the posts occurred. Livejournal added each new entry to the top of the page. A horrible design for people who have to catch up on blogs they haven't read - especially when the blogger likes to post long entries. The oscillatory dance of scrolling that is the result of this blog design is nauseating.

OpenDiary - all my friends were doing it. It was an addiction. Our school's proxy made it illegal. We were a hive, sharing our collective experience. Our community was a network - a collection of lenses all focused on the same stupid, teenager-y, amazing, exciting, emotional events in the lives of a group of kids. And it felt like a home.

I know I could learn web design and whatnot. I could attempt to recreate it. But I guess I don't see the point All our friends are scattered, and in this world of pressures to "grow up" - some of the wonder is lost. I dunno.


Holy God It's the Internet!

Progress being made. The structures of my work are being created within a world of my words, divised of my of mind.

Information overload is imminent I think. I just downloaded iTunes 4.9. It's got the option to subscribe to podcasts, which are basically just radio shows that are downloadable.


It's just too much. I want news, I want entertainment, I want etc. There's too freaking MUCH.

I feel like there's this digital age coming that our technology isn't ready for. RSS feeds, which are automatic downloads of just the text of articles and news. Everything has them. Heck, you can even get them on Blogspot. I use them for my Slashdot 4.9, my CNN, my news. Everything.

There's e-mail (gMail, hotmail, yahoo, corporate and educational accounts), moblogs, IMing clients (AIM, ICQ, MSN) - it's insane.

It's almost as if this whole Internet thing has become so gorged with information that it's being reduced into a pure source of information. Even the interfaces for finding this information, the search engines and blogs and etc. are sources of their OWN information. Del.icio.us and Craigslist are two examples.

It's just...it blows my mind.



I can't wait to have my own apartment.

moving right along.

I bought more empty notebooks. It's as though my mind, or possibly my soul, is crying out to begin writing. And yet I can't bring myself to go beyond the meager beginnings I will myself to write down. I have writer's block to the nth-degree.

"Angels and demons were circling above me" -Origa, Inner Universe

I feel like I'm trapped in the service of this monstrous thing. It's really lame, but I feel like I'm giving birth. I've got this convoluted, complex, exhausting set of ideas in me. And I can't bring myself to sit and get some of it out and fix it and HAVE IT COMPLETE.

Ah well. Tomorrow's a new day, and I'll get it done then.



Creating is now as simple as clicking a Javascript button. It's a sad thing.

And yet, who can say? Is writing a single letter on a blank page creation? Is it creation to splatter paint?

I don't know. It plagues me.

My real question, right now, involves my past. Looking back, I can't really say I've been all that unsuccessful with girls. Thank God I've found Trish now. But I've always had girls interested in me. And I know girls tell me I'm attractive and whatnot - but I'm anything but Hot. I mean the traditional, Abercrombie & Fitch model HOT. I'm chubby. I have a weird bump on my nose. I'm *short*. And so I'm forced to deduce that the whole personality thing really WORKS.

I mean, my personality is extreme. Not X-Games extreme. Just...very opinionated. Passionate. I don't take crap. Well, yes I do, but I also think that adds to the whole thing.

I just want to construct an idea of my personality. What makes me who I am? What attracts women to me?

I'm at least somewhat funny. I smile a lot. I like to listen to people and help them with their problems. I consider myself a generous and giving lover.

I know this is an entirely narcissistic exercise. I realize that I'm merely looking to boost my own self esteem by asking these questions. But I don't mind that. I am completely and utterly happy in the relationship I'm currently in. Never happier in fact. I'm not looking for some other girl. I just want to understand myself better. And what better way than through the reactions other people have to you?

I think a little investigation is in order.


You came at me...

With the understanding of a man and the wrath of a god...

This is for all my homies in...


No, I'm not done blogging. I'm just very busy. I want to blog. (see: earlier entries) I'm just so overwhelmed by school and whatnot.

I will return! AND WITH VENGEANCE!



Digital leash

Sometimes I sit and wait for communication.

Check my buddy list every three seconds, have my desktop automatically update every time I have an email sent to me, cell phone on vibrate and ring.

I'm even afraid to leave the room or wear my headphones.

And yet there are other days when I go and sit under a tree down by the art museum with a book and a pencil and tell the rest of the world to go fuck itself, nice and proper.


Creating a world of words..

I find myself to be incomprehensibly irrelevant, sometimes. On occasion, I just see myself and realize how complete and utter my detachment is. I'm 400 miles from home in a city full of people that have nothing to do with me. We're college students and homeless people and lovers and people just looking to get drunk. We're one of the most depressed cities in the nation and it's because of this poverty, this sense of oldness and degretation that seems to pervade every single part of our surroundings. Even Penn has a sense of oldness, of the Alt, of feeble masks that mimic the glory it once bore.

And at the same time, in all of this, I find such irony in things like the way Drexel has christened a part of Chestnut street the "avenue of technology" - as though we were truly embracing a futuristic vision of what we thought our world should be.

Rocket packs. Meals in pill form. A soapbox for every person, a website in every home.

It's really so sad.


Using the internet to plan my life.

Scheduled today. Woke up at 7:30...then 7:40...then 7:53...then 7:55 - finally decided to log onto the scheduling site and nervously tick down the seconds until 8:00 am, at which point I had to scramble to enter in those DAMN CRNs. So I got all the classes I want.

I have class tuesday, wednesday, thursday.

As in, no class monday or friday.


This blog thing is getting out of hand. It's so ridiculous. I'm in a Creative Writing workshop, and I just used the term Bizzle.

Kill me.


.the start.

Well, this is it. I like this blog, I think I'll keep it. Blogspot, you guys rule.

Just so you know.

Anyway - I guess today is the day I decided I liked it when I had a fan club. Today's the day when I realized how much I miss having people leave comments on my blog. Blogging is so stupid. No one should ever do it. But we do. We're selfish, narcissistic, and actually believe that people want to read what it is we have to say. LIES! No one cares. It's the internet. Millions of people and you've got the key to an issue? Your opinion matters? HA. I scoff.


I saw my old journal today. The one with the clippings and whatnot. And then I saw that miniature book I had, entitled: "Artifacts of a Social Revolution" with all the garbage I'd vomited into it. It was kind of depressing to see that I had nothing to say after that.

But I'm back. So I'll continue writing. Because I'm pathethic. Because I'm narcissistic.

Because I think my opinion matters, on the Internet.


Creating a Routine Reality

I've got these things I always want to do. Recently I discovered Podcasting, and before that I'd heard of kits used to create a pirate radio station. Hmm. I always have delusions of becoming a catalyst for social change. I want an audience. I want to generate something people care about. I don't believe I can do that, though. So I always decide to do one thing: BLOG. Blogging is a trend online. Millions of blogs. All boring. Well, most boring. But there's types of blogging:

1.) Writing - regular, vanilla blogging. I did this for a long long time on Opendiary.com, but it was the boring and pathetic ramblings of a depressed teenager. I'd rather create something of value, thanks. So here is binarychris.blogspot.com, with that intent.

2.) Moblog - as far as I can tell, this is just photoblogging, usually with a crappy camera. People take the obligatory "deep" pictures. see www.t-six-ten.com for an example. It's art!

3.) Podcasting - audio blogging. Radio shows with the downloads and the computer and the FCC going away. I like the idea, I just have nothing interesting to say.

So I've made about a billion lists of "Things to do" - my digital camera is my sony PEG-NX70V - hideous 640x480 quality, but good for the cliche moblog. And I like to take quick, crappy photos that tend to have the raw qualities that bring out the true nature of the scene I'm capturing. I still want a 74 megapixel camera, don't get me wrong - but creating grainy works of staggering irrelevancy isn't too horrible either. I also plan on writing. I have essays upon essays. I have opinions. Ask any of my friends. Holy crap do I have opinions. I just never have the unction to post them. I'd like that to stop. I think it will. I want to blog again. Daily. Meanwhile, the idea of creating something of value in the auditory realm sounds nice. I love the idea of spoken word, or radio drama, or whatever. I've even read my crappy poetry into one of those awful microcassette recorders. But nothing seems to fit with what I want. I don't know. Maybe I don't have a radio personality.

I love the idea of creating a photography challenge. A moblog with a point. A gallery of beautiful things. But I don't have anyone who consistently does that sort of thing, and I don't have anyone who would want to. So I lose there, too.

So maybe I should just create content for this blog, post in it, and send the link to positively everyone I know.



Cutting the ribbons with razors...

Well, new blog. One I can update from work. Seems to have a workable design. I could get used to this. Now if only Greg and I could put it up on binaryprophecy.com.

Greg and I haven't had much time to chill lately. That's lame. Oh well. So this weekend I'm going down to Thiel with Sarah and Emmy to visit Trisha. That will be fun.

Holy crap. MAD haircut style. Lame as all getout, of course. Real short. Everyone loves it but me, and it's growing on me. I'll live.

I leave, with you, ladies and gentlemen -- a poem.

Words flowed from your lips like fermented honey
And their sweetness touched my tongue
As the dagger met its mark
And there was beautiful redness.