Humble Daydreams of a...

greynoise @ 2006-07-04T01:47:00

2006-07-04T07:48:35Z

I just changed my Myspace page, so that basically makes me a new person. Right?

greynoise @ 2006-04-25T04:45:00

2006-04-25T10:49:50Z

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.

Fleeing the valley of whirling knives

2006-03-05T04:01:44Z

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.

New things:

2006-02-16T01:37:33Z

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.

The questions presented are strictly non-rhetorical.

2006-02-06T01:25:57Z

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.

19 Year cycle.

2006-01-14T07:56:39Z

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?

Dancing fingers

2006-01-10T07:31:40Z

It's the coffee, the waning hours sleep, repetative work, or the missed meals, but I shuffle on like i've never shuffled on before. I feel stronger than I ever have. But, I feel crazier too. I'm making money, and spending very little. I signed up for college, and I'll be starting soon. I haven't watched T.V. in a month, except for a bow-hunting show that's on every morning as I gulp down my coffee and roll a cigarette.

I don't know what I'm going towards, these days. "My life feels nuts" has become a standby of mine. I just say it when I don't have anything else. I have alot of doubt and regret about almost everything. Time was, I never got angry, really. I seem to get angry these days, maybe it's normal or not. I can't tell who I want my friends to be, and I can't decide if I want to be alone or not, most of the time. Part of me screams that I'm not cut-out for a real life, but I feel more functional that I have in years. And it almost makes me angry at what I've surrounded myself with. Sometime, I'd like to leave a wad of bills on the table, with a note to my parents saying "Thanks for all the help, I'll talk to you later." and just get the fuck out. I'm building up a bike, and I might paint it and love it like a child. I'm buying a longbow, and I can't wait for summer to hit. I might just go through the motions of life and zone out until then. Maybe I'll go to panama and stay at my uncle's farm; i'll wear short-shorts and tanktops while my muscles grow, and my skin darkens. Maybe my hair will grow longer and wilder. I sleep with my shirt off these days, too. And sometimes I shower just to feel the water. And every part of me is screaming "Get the fuck out". But, I do go on...

greynoise @ 2005-12-14T23:50:00

2005-12-15T07:04:30Z

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.

Blah

2005-12-03T08:23:05Z

"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..."

I can't believe I have shingles.

2005-09-13T19:03:12Z

Dear Shingles,

Get out of my body.

Zeke.

P.S. You are an old person ailment, what the fuck are you doing inside me?

greynoise @ 2005-07-23T18:48:00

2005-07-24T00:42:34Z

Hooray, it's my birthday.

Making ammends, and absolving myself of blame.

2005-07-17T12:43:59Z

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.

greynoise @ 2005-04-28T01:49:00

2005-04-28T07:50:03Z

I have realized I am not a car.

Cars are driven; I am not.

greynoise @ 2005-04-19T14:51:00

2005-04-19T20:48:04Z

I have a cell-phone.

This is my number: 3035145567

Cigarettes are food.

2005-03-18T21:31:27Z

Everything is beautiful, and nothing hurts.

Poo-tweet.

greynoise @ 2005-03-01T12:57:00

2005-03-01T19:58:56Z

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.

greynoise @ 2005-02-28T15:30:00

2005-02-28T22:45:02Z

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.

greynoise @ 2005-02-22T17:26:00

2005-02-23T00:27:20Z

Fight on, robot soldier!

My first funeral.

2005-02-21T11:23:03Z

There's something about the finality of death, something about the screeching halt. Like life that carries so much momentum, like physics and the distribution of energy. The sire of my sire died; a man, now dead, who loved me and was met with vicarious reciprocity, a love I gleaned from my father. That man, that booming voice, is dead; a screeching halt. His momentum was lost and the whole family responded and seemed to throw up their arms and say "Fuck it". In between the sermons and exaltation of my grandfather we were drinking whiskey with each other, smoking cigarettes and joking with sarcastic cynical wit. We lied and gambled and sinned around the holy ceremonies. It was fucking strange divying up possessions, claiming dibs on the various memories we each had tucked away in my grandparent's house. We lost our reservations and pried into their things, and the lives my granparents once had. Apparently, behind the veil of parkinson's disease, my grandmother, as we all learned by reading her love letters to my grandfather, was a fucking pistol of a woman, determined, crude, and brash. It was strange in Dothan, Alabama, giving and receiving love just for the sake of love itself. I walked through the door as I am: a scrawny, scraggly, dirty, nervous, chain-smoking ne'er do well, ne'er do anything, coward of a boy, and I was accepted with open arms. Given hugs and kisses and love from the same arms and lips and hearts that all of us were given by that poor, dead man. And I think we all realized it was a first for all of us. My grandfather can only die once, and their grandfather can only die once, and their father can only die once. No matter how wordly you are, you can't see corpse of a man who loved you without taking a deep breath. It was all strange, and it was all real, and everyone dropped their sanctity at the door and mourned responsibly and realistically. All in all I suppose it was a pretty good first funeral.

Is it taboo to love your parents?

2005-02-13T09:19:37Z

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.

Fact:

2005-02-04T02:37:34Z

The greeks were steampunk as fuck.

greynoise @ 2005-02-01T19:03:00

2005-02-02T02:05:14Z

My life is unawesome tonight, and also in general.

Reasons life is awesome.

2005-01-27T08:30:59Z

In chronological order: Found out I have a job interview tomorrow, made a unicorn stencil, hung out with Lily, got drunk, had a drunk conversation with alaska, sang nintendo music on the bus, thought about love, got my parents to give me money, watched Laputa: Castle in the Sky, manipulated myself to a sexually fantastic medley of erotic thoughts involving some of my closest friends and dearest perversions, thought about airships, listened to nintendo music, had hair not unlike a mad scientist's, took a shower, smoked too many cigarettes, wrote this.

Things that will, in the future, be past-tense-awesome: watched dragonslayer, thought about being a dragonslayer, drank whiskey because dragons breathe fire and dragonslayers drink it, slept, got the job, thought about airships more.

Subnote about unawesome things: The only things I seem to appreciate, understand, or think about are things which either don't exist, or have no reason to. Distance, in every sense, is not awesome. Also, neither is insomnia, anxiety, depression, weakness, fear, self-destruction, and solitude.

What I want to be when I grow up.

2005-01-18T23:00:49Z

In the future, scientists will create awesome robots. These robots, in thanks, will slay their creators. Also, these robots will make better robots that can fly, and shoot lasers, and turn invisible, and have super strength, and super speed, and super smarts, and can also still have sex. They will also be able to time-travel, and will use this capability to go back in time and make me exactly like them. I will use my new robot powers to travel back in time and slay dragons. It will be awesome.

That face.

2004-11-25T12:35:36Z

Everyonceinawhile,
I'll be smoking. Smoke will be sneaking into my eyes and i'll freeze. Staring ahead, my mouth wide, exhaling. I wait for the smoke to leave my eyes, or nose, or other sensitive areas. It's always a tentative moment... My face is always the same: Wide eyed, Deer in headlights, Indeterminate pain approaching, frozen.

Wait for the smoke to leave your eyes Zeke.
You'll be better in no time. Sit tight.