I think - just maybe - I might be happy. Or, at least: I'm getting there.

Interesting fact of the evening: I am rather adept at moshing. I have also annihilated my fear of famous people. Huzzah!

Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell Swell.

Kindness I am back on facebook so introduce me to Tom Tipton OK.

and, now, I apparently can't delcare a music major, my psych major's pretty fucked, and I don't really have time to start anything else. Hurr.

so, tomorrow, I find out whether or not I'm being expelled from university.
and, on friday, I give my first live performance of something three years in the making.


...holy shit. I am not prepared.





(lol, Illidan)

This semester was shit. I got one B-, one C, and one smack on the noggin with the FAILHAMMAR. Mom suggested to me that, with multiple failing grades in psychology, graduating with a psych major would be a shit decision. So, now, I finally get to be a music major! Huzzah! I now have a legitimate academic excuse to pursue my real interest and desire. Silver lining, eh?

That is what I'm probably going to dedicate this LJ to - writing down little important thoughts that come to me as they come to me.

This morning's thought is that I am very, very good at suppressing my emotions and simply doing what I believe a situation calls for with very little emotional investment. I have been doing so for a very long time - I used to complain to my shrink that I "couldn't feel anything," as the only emotion I could genuinely recognize myself as experiencing on a regular basis was frustration (and perhaps fear). But sometimes, things happen that bring all these emotions to the surface, and they tend to explode rather unpleasantly, usually resulting in confusion, anger and, in some cases, lulz. I'm still very much a boy, caught up in that perpetual phase of trying to figure himself and za warudo out. I'm not sure if I even believe what I am writing now. It is very difficult for me to trust myself, because my mindsets and worldviews switch polarity  on a daily basis. This may, in part, be why I don't hang around people too much or form very strong connections with most people - because I fear causing or sustaining damage on account of my volatile nature. I thank those of you that have put up with me despite my moderate insanity, and hope that I will become a bit more stable, consistent, and healthy in the near future. I'm sure as hell going to work for it.

Disclaimer: also not addressed to any one person, if you think it's you it isn't, blahblahblah... but Lani, seriously, no-comment entry is FTL.

I've decided that I want to spend a huge portion of my life making people happy, or doing little things that create to the overall total net amount of happiness on the planet. I also want to cause plenty of mischief, and hope I'm able to do both simultaneously.

So you thought that writing an endless series of crime shows, in which every criminal is always captured, every cop is a supermodel, and Mr. Lead Cop is always either Captain K. Shit or some mutant with supermegaawesome brainpowers would be a good way to convince us that, yes, indeedy, being a criminal would suck, for it would inevitably result in failure, incarceration, and pwnage by one of the fucking X-Men?

Nice fucking try, assholes.

I don't know how to say this, but I think I need to move the fuck away from everyone for a while. Most of the people I know are a bit fucked up, and I'm proud of this fact - I hate boring people, and I think people with quirks, proclivities fetishes and even psychoses are immensely attractive and colorful, and I would rather hang out with an axe murderer than anyone "average." But I give myself the illusion that I actually know what is right for people or that I can help them. I don't. I don't have any fucking answers and I don't know how to steer you in the right directions. For whatever reason, probably a self-serving one, I wish I did. I wish I could mend your wounds and give you the answers to your questions and equip you with epic dragon-slaying weapons and help you make it through the shitswamps of life. But you know what? I've gained 40 pounds over the past 2 months, I'm depressed as fuck, I'm a nihilistic, manipulative, lying, stealing, destructive, unacchieving loser who's greatest claim to fame is teaching his dog not to shit on the rug. I will probably be kicked out of college, after which I have no idea what will happen - but it won't be good, and I'm probably going nowhere. I know that people enter into friendships in a give-and-take sort of situation, and that people are supposed to help each other work through their problems. And I know that by writing this all down and making it public I'm putting myself in a position where I'm not going to be able to go to others for help. But, seriously. Do not come to me with your problems. I am more fucked up that you and will probably: A. misinterpret everything, and B. give you terrible advice that will not help you at all or will make things worse.

So, now that the WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMBULANCE has driven by and is fading into the distance, I'd like to wish you all a merry fucking christmass. Good luck with your shit, and may the force be with you.

Disclaimer: this is not addressed to any one person. if you think this is about you, you are wrong.

she just met the guy who won this season of Survivor in the supermarket.

Mom: *leeeeer*
Guy: "*sigh* yeah, you guessed it."
M: "You're that guy, from that show."
G: "Uh-huh, Survivor,"
M: "You won, you were, like, king shit, right?"
G: "Sure, whatever. *Sniff*"
M: "So, how are you handling all the press, all the, uh, attention?"
G: "Well, I was pretty much a ham before the show anyway, so it's no big deal."
M: "You must have been a ham to go strut around on a show like that."
G: "... yeah."
M: "So I notice you're carrying [two small bunches of] flowers. They for your wife or somethin'?
G: "That's right! I'm gonna surprise her."
M: "You think with all the money you won off that stupid show, you'd be able to afford something a little more than THAT."
G: "Look, lady, wi-"
M: "What are you doing out at the store this late, anyway? Shouldn't you be off celebrating?"
G: "I've been shoveling snow all day. I was snowed in, so I had to dig my way out."
M: "Huh. Well, it's good to know you're getting back to some real work. Welcome back to Maine."

Me: *facepalm*

M: "Hey Jonathan you know what would be a good idea."
J: "No mom what would be."
M: "Let's go shovel some snow for a while ok."
J: "Mom but it is 12:02 AM and I have a cold and also look outside, there is a blizzard."
M: "Exactly."

about 1 hour later
M: "Okay we're done."
J: "..."

and tomorrow
J: "Hey mom guess what."
M: "Ok no just tell me."
J: "You know that cold I have."
M: "So what."
J: "So now it's the plague. Apparently blizzards aren't chicken soup amirite."
M: "Shut up and study for your exams they are tomorrow."
J: "I KNOW GODDAMN IT WHERE ARE MY GODDAMN SHOES."

No matter how pointless, harmful or idiotic an idea is, enough people will become attracted to for it to be legitimized. So why am I not a bunny-suit wearing, gogo-dancing cannibalistic child-fucker already?

It may have had something to do with this.

Well, hooray, I've kept up with the trend of writing an entry each day. Whoop-de-do. Go me. Rah. Rah. Rah.

I think I've seen every episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia now. It's a grand show. I'd recommend it. Set aside a Sunday afternoon, get plenty of pizza and beer, gather your least sane friends around you, and watch it through from the beginning to the most recent episode. The episodes get crazier and more amusing as things go on - by the time the series peaks, you'll (ideally) be drunk, tired and giddy, which should enhance the experience. Oh god what am I talking about it's a christdamned TV show.

My mono or whatever is receeding, finally. I no longer have massive repositories of pus in the back of my throat. I will hopefully be all clear in three days or so. I still don't know exactly what the fuck I have, but will likely find out from the Doctor tomorrow.

I got on the scale today, and discovered, much to my disappointment, that I have gained 12 pounds in the past month and a half. This me a sad post-ape, and I want to do something to change it. So, as of tomorrow, I'm thinking back to full-bore veganism, no chips, and no soda for a while. If you see me breaking these rules and actually give a shit, feel free to kick me in the groin.

I finished new song for one of my music courses. I may end up performing it! It was fury-inducing to work through, but I'm glad I got it done and over with.

I will probably be trying to learn or break dance as soon as my phantom disease disappears.

I have new shoes.

I'm going to bed feeling useless and lost and anxious. Now I know why I keep my emotions sealed up. Because when I do let them out, I don't know what the fuck to do with them. Problem is, there are holes in the container, and every once in a while, things leak through, and I don't know how to clean up the spills.

I'm fucked.

( SUM EMO STUF GOEZ HEARE )


So, anyways, more on the writing. It's been a while since I've written seriously. My linguistic muscles have atrophied somewhat, and are in good need of revitalizing (read: steroid treatment). This journal might help. Writing the script to the Phi Phenomenon might help, although I don't know if it'll go anywhere. I don't really expect that anyone will pay attention to it right now, given finals and everything - I'm not even supposed to be working on it, given how much shit I've got to get done over the next few days. It's a refreshing experience, though, in that the more I write, the more opportunities for expansion and branching pathways come up. Things become apparent in the process that no amount of preparatory mental deliberation could ever have helped me predict or determine; and I think that's a lesson that I need to apply to my life on the whole. Learning through doing is really the only way I'm going to be learning much of anything at all.

This factors in to my course decisions for next semester. Here's a look at what I've selected, with sum comments ftl:

( Courses, indeed )
I want to start living, frolicking, experimenting, creating and destroying.

In the meantime, I will listen to this song and giggle hysterically.

( Observe as I rant about a video game for a while )


In other news, I'm back in Maine - whoop-de-damned-doodly-doo. I've spent most of the day performing shit errands for my annoying relatives and nursing my sore throat. Oh, yeah: my doctor never actually gave my a diagnosis for that shit, so I googled it. Turns out I either have Tonsillitis or Throat Chlamydia (It's not throat chlamydia). Either way, it kinda sucks going through it, but it'll be fun to brag about when it finally does heal up.

I think I've decided on a basic plan for the next few years of my life. I have an interest in learning many things, so I'm gonna do what I meant to do in the first place at college: take a variety of courses across a fairly wide range of disciplines. I'm thinking of resurrecting my writing "career" by taking a lit course or two, in addition to an intro to computers course, a music course, and a psych course. I'm really interested in robots and nanotechnology, but I don't know if I'd quite fit the bill for that sort of work - but I'm almost finished with my psych degree, and I've got enough time to explore before starting work in the real world, so I might as well figure out what I'm capable of and what I actually enjoy doing before tackling the next leg of my life's journey.

I glanced over my list of 100 things to do before dying, and some of them are actually pretty do-able. Maybe I should resolve to try and accomplish one every two weeks or so?

I'm doing OK.

Being one thing doesn't preclude me from being others.
But I'm tired of nothing.
So, fuck it.
I'm going to succeed Merzbow.

When you spend most of your time alone, you develop strategies to justify your isolation, to numb the discomfort a little bit. You can't avoid the solitude, so you begin to love it, and the little things that brought it about, and those that perpetuate it. Like the weird little things you read, the odd little texts that you think no one's heard of yet, obscure anthologies of nothingness you happen to find half-covered by a crusty porn mag in in the 7-11 during the midnight shift with the bloated manager who's always got that one hand up his ass, or protruding from atop the Religious Literature column like an Atheist impaled on a church steeple. Those are your private little treasures, and the feeling that you, and you alone, harbor a unique understanding with and for them is what makes the isolation permissible.

And then you find out that this isn't some private little world you've stumbled upon, some secluded alternate universe over which you may reign supreme in your insignificance: the stifling tranquility you've come to accept, nay, crave, has become a vehicle for the amusement of others far less needing - and far less deserving - of its requiem. It's no longer yours. It's no longer private. It's been invaded. Raped. Shit on. And the insignificant niche you pledged yourself to is contaminated, sullied by extrinsic instances. It's useless. There's little purity in the world outside, and the last ounce of purity you've been squirreling away for your own private consumption is festering and fermented. Invaded. Raped. Shit on.
So, you're stuck. Trapped between shit and nothing, nothing and shit. And you wish that everyone would just start fucking each other and suckling their babies or getting aids or playing in 70s rock cover bands or whatever, whatever will get them to leave. But their presence is cancerous: it swells and persists until the parallel shit-universe you made up for yourself collapses and merges with the original, Mother-shit-shit-universe, progenitor of you and all your ephemeral pseudo-manifestations of false free will. This all lasts until you find some other hole to burrow in. That all lasts until someone inevitably strolls over to it, squats down, and shits in it.

According to some psychologists, I should just lie to myself until the fictitious partition becomes "real," and engulfs the "actual." But the very purpose of the former's existence was to deny the impulses inherent to the latter.

I have lost.

In other news, Tao Lin is coming to Brandeis, and the fucking "rock n roll club!!" is hosting the event.

I am surging with emotions, most of which I cannot comprehend, let alone quantify.
This is good, because I can feel.
This is bad, because I lack control.
This post is stupid. I'm confused.