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[04 Jul 2006|01:47am] |
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I just changed my Myspace page, so that basically makes me a new person. Right?
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[25 Apr 2006|04:45am] |
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mood |
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 sick |
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Can I just state, for the record, that I smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in seven hours.
With 60 minutes in each hour, and 7 hours, we arrive at 420 minutes.
Dividing 420 minutes by 20, the number of cigarettes in a pack, we arrive at 21.
I smoked 1 cigarettes every 21 minutes. The average time it takes to smoke is a cigarette is about 7 minutes. I took a 14 minute average break in between each cigarette.
Holy fuck.
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| Fleeing the valley of whirling knives |
[04 Mar 2006|08:53pm] |
I need a stiff drink and a long hug more than anything in the world.
Wait, I take that back. I need to not feel like a despicable wretch. The drink and hug are just a means to an end.
Fuck, I say, FUCK.
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| New things: |
[15 Feb 2006|06:16pm] |
I hate money.
I lost my knife, an item which was arguably my most cherished possesion.
I lost a graphing calculator, an item valued at ~$120 dollars.
I am simultaneously reading six books, but when I say "reading", I really mean to say that I have started reading them, but am finding difficulty motivating myself to continue. I do, however, always carry them with me.
I am in debt by ~10 letters.
Every monday I stay up until 6AM or later doing homework. I go to school at 9.
I take a shower every couple of weeks.
For ten whole seconds on monday, I was 100% positive that god exists. I was relieved when the 10 seconds ended, because for the moment that I held certainty of god's existence, I also held certainty that he/she/they/it hated me.
If I was a superhero, my recurring villains would be coffee, cigarettes, sleep, time, distance, and gravity.
My super-power would be anxiety.
I need a haircut.
I want to go drum, but my aunt is asleep.
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| The questions presented are strictly non-rhetorical. |
[05 Feb 2006|06:12pm] |
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Lately, I've been harboring an awful lot of stress and depression. The details aren't important, but the end result is a restless fever I can't seem to get rid of. Many nights I just wish to all-heaven that I could excise some of this tension, yet am unable to find any way to do it. I end up endlessly pacing my melancholy like a hospital corridor; the light is all wrong and I'm pretty sure someone is dying. None of it is healthy, and i'm next to positive it's all irrational. I pose a question to you, in effort to, at the very least, symptomatically treat this everpresent neurosis:
How do you find catharsis? When you feel like shit and your mind is screaming "Get the fuck out of your life", what do you do? I want to wring this shit out of me like a washcloth.
P.S. In the event that some of you might be concerned for my mental health, don't. I'll be okay.
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| 19 Year cycle. |
[14 Jan 2006|12:53am] |
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I smell of deodorant. In fact, I reek of it. Deodorant, right? Pfft, more like reodorant. Goddamnit.
The total amount of money in my bank account may very well be more than the amount I've spent in the last 6 months, or even year. What the fuck am I suppose to do with it?
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[14 Dec 2005|11:50pm] |
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mood |
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going through the motions |
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So, I'm an engineering intern. I get up at 8:30 and get home at 6:30. I work in the interim, I screw screws, glue snubbers, and plug daughtercards into motherboards so they can be tested. I'm always surrounded by bubble-wrap. Everything has to be put in bubble-wrap. Always.
By and large, it feels like a masquerade. I rifle through my threadbare wardrobe, put on my cleanest looking clothes, and work in an office building full of engineers. They all say "Hi, pleased to meet you, my name is such-and such" But I can't remember their names because I don't think they are earnestly "pleased to meet me". I always feel like somebody is going to tap me on the shoulder and say "Hey, who are you? How did you get in here? I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave" and then forcibly eject me from the building. It hasn't happened yet, but it might. Somebody already criticized my clothing, but I think it was good-nature office-mate ribbing. It is, however, a sign that my ruse is coming apart. The engineers will notice I'm not one of them soon.
I've also been devouring books, and going on dates with myself. Romantic walks in the cold, cups of tea, gentle music and stargazing. My life feels nuts. I spent a year in utter mediocricy, and lots of things just start popping up when winter hits. Anways.
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| Blah |
[03 Dec 2005|01:23am] |
"If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now (even if we don't speak often), please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me.
It can be anything you want -- good or bad -- BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.
When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.... if you want..."
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| I can't believe I have shingles. |
[13 Sep 2005|12:58pm] |
Dear Shingles,
Get out of my body.
Zeke.
P.S. You are an old person ailment, what the fuck are you doing inside me?
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[23 Jul 2005|06:48pm] |
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Hooray, it's my birthday.
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| Making ammends, and absolving myself of blame. |
[17 Jul 2005|06:34am] |
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There I was thinking about things at [timestamp] o'clock, and it came to my attention that I love alot of people. You know, love them, with whatever poignancy italics can convey. Alot of the people I love probably don't know this; I haven't gotten around to telling them, I suppose. And most of them might or might not think I'm cold-hearted and slow to love, but I do love. I'm full of loneley, brooding love.
In conclusion, if you think I might love you, I probably do. Never let anything I do, say, don't do, or don't say persuade you otherwise.
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[28 Apr 2005|01:49am] |
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mood |
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Internal combustion |
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I have realized I am not a car.
Cars are driven; I am not.
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[19 Apr 2005|02:51pm] |
I have a cell-phone.
This is my number: 3035145567
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[01 Mar 2005|12:57pm] |
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So, there's this author, right? And this author, five days a week, writes stories that are exactly 101 words long. I think they are pretty neat.
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[28 Feb 2005|03:30pm] |
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mood |
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I smoke too much |
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Lazy clouds of smoke drift above us,
and ash floats down like flakes of winter.
The ground becomes covered in a fresh white blanket;
we end up making snow angels in it.
The medium might be wrong, a bit less magical,
but we make the best of what we've got.
Maybe we both have cabin fever, or delirium.
In any event, it's still our wonderland.
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[22 Feb 2005|05:26pm] |
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( love )
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| Is it taboo to love your parents? |
[13 Feb 2005|02:12am] |
When you go to bed feeling guilty every night.
When you wake every morning for the sole reason that you will get so much shit if you don't.
When you agree to go on some bullshit camping trip just because you can't think of anything better to do.
When you feel antisocial because your friends aren't good enough/you aren't good enough for them.
When you ditch a trip back to denver, get drunk in an alley, and wander anxiously until the last bus leaves to your parents house.
When you get to your parent's house 15 minutes before your father calls and tells you his last remaining parent died minutes ago.
When your mom comes home and gets into a conversation with you [while you are drunk] about how depressed you are, and she knows you better than anyone, and she doesn't give a shit how much you fail, and she doesn't give a shit when you tell her whatever bullshit you think you need to get your life working.
When your mom makes it feel okay to fuck every responsibility you have that isn't necessary and lets you know that you are, and should be the highest priority in your life when you are 18-fucking years old.
When everything feels so much easier because your mom is an intelligent individual, and loves you more than anyone has ever loved anyone in the history of anything.
When you know that you life is fine because you are basically your father, and your father is amazing...
You fucking cry into a tallboy, sleep it off, forget the stupid life you live, and get ready to go funeral-clothes shopping.
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